THE Miko meets PTFC

 

 It was Saturday... match day... Cascadia Cup day.  We were playing Vancouver at our home field... and yet... It wasn't what I was looking forward to the most on that day.  My brother Miko was arriving to visit that evening.
     My family had decided about a week before that we'd just sit in the 200 level... introduce Miko to the DBV, and let @MunchkinFunk teach him the chants in that gentle way that he does for all Noobs.  I mean, I do my part, but Ryan breaks it down pretty well.  Gate 3 was opening at 6 PM, and Miko wasn't landing in PDX until 5:15 PM.  There was no reason to take our usual place in line culture if we weren't going to participate in the early entry anyway.  It's not like Miko would have a wristband or anything.  But then @thehack333 talked to me at work about meeting him there... and the wheels in my head started turning.
     On Friday night my wife and I were discussing it and we had a plan.  The kids wanted to go early.  We could get in line and get wristbands... then I could leave to get Miko from the airport.  Joselyn and the kids would square away our 108 seats and we would join them as soon as we could get back and get in.  The kids could play their (now becoming traditional) pick up soccer games at Morrison and 18th, and Miko could get to experience the TA from section 108.

     The morning went as planned.  We arrived at about 9:30 AM and set up camp.  That's right, 9:30 AM on an 8:00 PM game day (and I was wristband 297).  This is the line culture that we participate in.

Some of us made trips for coffee, trips for McSomething-or-others, Pizza and beer at Hot Lips, and of course we passed the ball around.  The overcast sky cleared up, the temperature began to rise, and so did my excitement as it came closer and closer to time to go get Miko...

"The Brown Tornado".  

    THE Miko was a friend of mine from the Army.  He was finishing his short career when I was starting mine, and I bet we weren't even at Schofield Barracks together for a year.  It's one of those bonds though, that once made, will never be broken.  It started simply... he was old enough to buy me beer.  Now no matter the level of affinity I felt toward ANYBODY who would buy me beer when I was nineteen, I didn't call each of them my "brother".  He was from Los Angeles, California and I was from Los Albany, Oregon.  Quite the difference in culture.  I thought he was pretty crazy... he thought I was pretty crazy.  It worked.  We stayed in touch after he left and we've visited each other more than a handful of times in 20 years.  He came to Oregon for my wedding and I went to California for his (faux) graduation.  (It seems he was a credit short, so was able to walk twice... but I only made it to his first graduation party... the one where he didn't actually graduate).  I have a whole series of Miko stories... including why he's called "The Brown Tornado" (hint: it may have to do with a professional wrestling trial... or maybe a gangbang he participated in...) so stay tuned to find out.  He's a brother through and through and I couldn't wait to share the Timbers experience with him.
     I had arranged to receive a ticket from @Stephanzy106, and as we approached the wristband allocation spot at gate 3, my man showed up.  I want to thank him again for helping me out.  Since I live South of Portland and don't have to deal with PDX traffic, I wasn't sure how long it would take me to get my rig from Sunset Transit Center to PDX, then get Miko and I back to Jeld-Wen Field after he arrived.  I had heard that there were some issues with I-84.  I left at about 3:15 on the max from downtown to STC.  I was at the airport parking garage at 3:54.  His flight arrived a little early and he came through the gate at 5:10 PM, and we were at Hot Lips, sharing a pitcher and having pizza, before gate 3 opened at 6 PM.  It was amazing... We were in God's favor.  Things were going oh so right... I knew we were going to win.
     We managed to end up about five rows up in 108, toward the 107 aisle.  I pointed Sunday White out to him, and told him to do whatever she says.

His comment was "her armpits are so smooth.  I want to lick her armpits".  

I had told him on the way... this is one of the only times I'd ask him to be a lemming, and follow all of us over the cliff.  This cliff though, was a cliff that drops to soccer ecstasy.  You MUST sing.  You MUST use your arms and hands.  You MUST pour your soul out of your mouth.  Follow the Capos as they take you over the cliff.  I'm kind of an anti-lemming guy, as I know he is, but this is different.  At that moment, you must allow yourself to go with the masses.  I pointed out the scarves during the star spangled banner.  I pointed out the raised hands and forearms as we chanted "PT"-"FC".  I was so proud... and so happy to be able to share something this special with my brother that I don't get to spend nearly enough time with.
     You know how the story goes.  He went to the bathroom and bought a round of drinks.  While he was gone, Ryan Johnson scored.

When he returned.. smoke was still in the air.

It was shortly after that a VAN player scored too.  So what did I want to do?  I wanted to send him to the bathroom and beer run again... but no dice.  It ended as a tie.

     Miko pointed out that we always seem to hit the ground running, whether it's me visiting him or him coming to Oregon.  Whether it's me hearing about a show on the way to the airport to pick him up (and us ending up seeing Goldfinger downtown directly from the airport), or to us hitting the Downtown bar scene immediately on his arrival.  This time took the cake in my eyes.  Being able to bring him from the airport directly to a Timbers game, a Cascadia match at that, was the funnest and best thing so far.  I was able to introduce him to 20,000 of my closest friends, and I really appreciate how you guys accepted him in so readily.  Rose City Til I Die.

Wristbands on Opening Day

   
First of all, I want to say that the wristband idea was a good idea.  I'm not sure if it was a recycled idea, an original, or what... but I believe that it helps.
     We all know that if you want to get an early wristband, you STILL have to get there plenty of time before the wristband window opens up.  Sometimes the "three hour window" (between 3 and 6 hours before kickoff) doesn't help in my "need for sleep" department but, it's doable if there's a need for me to be in a certain area of the 100s or front rows of 200's.
     On opening day this season vs New York, my daughter and I were in the wristband line at 7:15 AM and word was that the wristbands would go out some time between 10:30 AM and 1:30 PM.  Her brother and her had worked on their two-sticks and we needed to get to a place where people would see them.  It was to be the conclusion of our little family project... so we needed to get into the heart of the Army.
     I have sat in line several times before, but usually it's with an adult friend or two and involves half-hidden bottles of alcohol and a trip or two to Hot Lipps for Pizza and bathroom breaks.  This was the first time getting there early with Emma and letting her get this particular game-day experience.  Instead of the warmth of whiskey or fullness of beer, hot chocolate was in order and it was perfect.  We were by the bus stop on the corner of Jelly Wen, sitting in our chairs, and watching the pick-up soccer game that had developed.  Part of the time she was wrapped in her Timbers blanket, keeping warm while sitting there, and part of the time she was kicking the community soccer ball against the wall.  We passed the ball around a bit, and had an overall good time.

Some of the time Emma was wrapped nice an cozy in her blanket

Emma was able to play with another Little Timber

 Some of the time we were kicking the community ball around

The Palmerball retrieval team from the
pickup footy game

     One regret I have... she asked if she could join in with the pick-up footy that began, but everybody was a lot bigger than her, and I told her she should probably sit this one out... I should've let her play.  But I digress.  Good thing we'll have a few more of these down the road.






     So back to the wristbands.  As the day grew on, from breakfast time to brunch, the line began to swell.  It was visible, and to be expected.  In my opinion, there is a difference between a person walking up to join their partner in line, and a group of people joining the one person who drew the short straw to go get in line early.  It's kind of frustrating, but again, it's not unexpected or earth shattering "stop the world I want to get off" kind of stuff.  So the wristbands were handed out and I was #297 and Emma was #300.

     We wasted a little bit of time, a quick stop at Quiznos on the corner, and my wife and son joined us in Portland (we live South about 45 minutes).  We went to Blue Star Donuts and were able to get in on the last three platters of donuts of the day.  bliss.

Alex hides under the counter at BlueStarDonuts

We visited The Fanladen and headed back to Jelly, where Emma and I sat for a little bit with my wife and son, who were able to get into line at the front of one of the main gates.

    At 2:00 the wristband line was supposed to form again, but there wasn't hardly a line at all.

    At 2:15 the line had begun to form.

This year, there are markers on the posts that indicate what number of wristband should be at what approximate area in the line (they may have been there last year, but I remember a different system, that worked better... more on that to come).  These markers are up in the air and are wrapped around fixed posts.
     We walked toward the 300 marker, but discovered that people with 700 wristbands were standing near it. People that were seated 20 yards behind us in line in the morning, that had wristbands in the 400's were standing near the edge of the building where tents had been from the night before.  There was no enforcement or good will regarding wristband order that was worth a shit.  People that I recognized as long time season ticket holders jumped about 200 spaces in line, and joked about it saying nothing could get them to move.  Some drunk 20 somethings pushed their way in front of my little girl, their wristbands being about 40 behind us.  I don't really stress too much about the 20-30 range regarding tickets, and I wasn't concerned about these guys, but then 10 of their buddies joined them.  Then... a guy that was a little older than me, who was there with his wife and a daughter that was younger than mine, almost fought some of the youngsters that had pushed in front of us.  It was a little bit crazy.
     The problem is there is no enforcement of the number system once everybody returns to line.  From what I remember last year, the 100's (200, 300, etc) were given signs to hold indicating what number they were.  This made it easy for somebody when comparing numbers, to say "you're back there, behind the 300 sign"... it allowed drunk bastards to save face, and help to keep things not so confrontational.  I'd like to see every 50th person with one of those signs, I think it'd make for a more respectable line, keep confrontations down, and help to make sure that people who showed up early, waited in the cold, got their wristbands, spent time downtown, and got back in line when they were supposed to don't get pushed back by inconsiderate jackwagons who don't care.  We're all one big happy family, and there are plenty of seats (as was pointed out by the kids in front of us when they were nearly fighting the old guy), but disrespect and disorder are what they are.
     I understand that the front office took over the organization of the wristband process, but if any of you are able to contact them and relay my request, or if you have a better solution... would you please pass it forward?
     The wristband solution allows a little bit of freedom to roam around and keeps the build-up to the match from getting too far out of hand, but it still can get better.  I think the numbered stick can do the trick.

Whether the wristband line ever comes to order or not, we'll still be there, just for the experience.  We wouldn't be anywhere else.

The RCTID family 2-stick project

     I admit it.  I live vicariously through my kids… or at least use them as an excuse to do the things that I want to do my damn self.  From mohawking my son’s hair and spraying both of my kids’ hairdos a nice green ala Sally’s Beauty Supply, to getting them some scarf on log time as Little Joeys.  It was a simple conclusion to reach that with a little motivation due to some corporate greed, we would be making two-sticks together before you knew it.

     I discussed the situation with mom and the kids.  We talked about right and wrong, the money side of MLS versus the fun and games, the difference between MLS club and supporters group, and we talked about the TA and 107ist.  We talked about what we could do to show our support for the Timbers players, Timbers Army, and for Cascadia. 

     At just about that time, I saw a post on twitter that was from @JNyen:

 “Please enjoy a primer from @disfictional on how to make two-sticks.  Soccercityusa.com/cgi-bin/yabb25  Thanks”

We had a plan. 

      But then… an announcement was made a short few days later that a positive meeting was had between the supporters groups and MLS officials.  The “positive” part was written by supporters group representatives, so I had to take it into account.  What if the kids spent all this time working on “Stop Thief” signs and “Hands Off” messages, but it was somehow all resolved by March 3^rd, and come opening day, the whole concept of the signs they worked so hard on were a moot point?  Emma is 10 and would get the idea, but Alex, at six, wouldn’t.  We’d definitely be the people at the game holding signs up for something that was outdated and already resolved.  So I had the kids draw ideas that had nothing to do with #GrandTheftCascadia, but rather just supported our team.  The team that we love.  We had already come up with some “STOP THIEF” type ideas, but now they made some that we would definitely be able to use.
 

After drawing out the ideas (some drawn by them, some of THEIR ideas drawn by me), we commandeered a card table from the garage and taped the “canvas” down.  Oh wait.. I didn’t explain about the fabric used and how we happened to have so much?

      Let’s just say there was a Sumo Wrestler in our family that went to an adults only Halloween party last October.  Let’s also say that this Sumo Wrestler was me.  The Mawashi, or the diaper looking thing that is worn, is fabric that is about 20 inches wide and about 9 yards long.  I had 40 inch wide cloth folded in half, and 9 yards of that stuff.  White.  Yes I washed it.  Twice.

     We followed the directions forwarded to us by @JNyen and created by @disfictional and made the appropriate pieces.  I folded the edges over to create the pockets/sleeves for the handles to go into and worked my sewing machine magic.  No stitches in me, no stitches in kids’ fingers or lips.  All was good.

     So after taping down the first piece of fabric to work on, it was Emma’s turn first.  We lightly drew her drawing onto the fabric with a pencil, then traced it with a black marker.  Using a couple of different styles of paint that were found in discount areas, she painted her first (OUR first) two-stick.  It was AWESOME and she was so proud.

     Alex’s was next.  He’s a little guy, and I know that he will want to hold his own sign up during the match (I’m apologizing now), so his sign is a little bit more narrow than hers is.  Alex drew an OUTSTANDING ambulance.  He wrote the number 17 on the jersey of the guy he drew on the stretcher, colored it a puke green/blue, and wrote the words “NO MEANS NO!” on his drawing.  I teared up a little.  It was beautiful.

But alas, Freddy “nomeansno” Montero ran away to South or Central America somewhere where roofies are cheap, and we are here making this sign.  I explained to Alex that he was gone, so maybe we should change the words.  He did so, and said that he was happy that the girls in Cascadia are now a little bit safer without Freddy Montero here to be mean to them.  I love my son.

     So we have our two-sticks and our family project is almost complete.  Oftentimes, when the kids are with us, we’ll stand in 208 somewhere and sing our hearts out, and other times, we’ll take them with us down into 107 somewhere between about C and H.  Look for us down there in the first few games.  We’ll be easy to spot, waving our family projects in the air, showing our support for the team that we love.

Give a follow to @JNyen and @disfictional for me.

Vancouver Away

    On this coming Saturday, after a morning watching my daughter play in her U10 soccer game, and coaching my son's U7 team, my wife and I will jump into the car and begin our trip to Vancouver, British Columbia.  No kids,  no plans (other than supporting our Timbers as they win the Cascadia Cup), and no worries... unless you are one to worry about what things may keep you from getting across the Canadian border.  I've heard of crazy things.  That curfew violation from when I was 17 (the gun wasn't in MY hands mr. Mounty sir), the Minor in Possession of Alcohol charge when I was 18 (received while camping, of all things - thank you very much Jenny Rubish for telling the police where you were headed when you were caught on the way there), the underground porn (I watched and/or starred in), the impure thoughts I've had (see previous underground porn reference) and still have occassionally (pronounced "hourly"), or the way that I sometimes call Little People.... "midgets".  Any number of wierd things can keep you out of Canada, but reeeeaaaalllly.... it's not like I'm going to attack Canada or try to take it over.  No "Occupy Canada" here... They have nothing I want.  I don't understand why they would be scared, except they are, after all, halfway French.  Being gun-shy may just be in their blood.
     I must apologize to all of the other Timbers fans, my TA brethern, for I may be at fault for our loss in Shittle.  You see... I wasn't able to make it to the game.  I often refer to the Timbers as MY team, and they must've gotten the memo, because with a couple of own goals (bull SHIT if I give that one to the rapist - #nomeansno) the team, knowing that my wife and I were travelling to watch #Vancouveraway (without the kids), made sure that I could be present when we won the Cascadia Cup.  They WANT me to be able to help celebrate the victory in a foreign country.  I'm sorry fellas... but I will accept the responsibility for the Shittle loss.  I refuse to believe that the loss was an accident, but rather was fate.  It was my team making sure that I could be present to bask in the glory when we win it this year.  People that scoff or grumble that I dare to use the word "glory" when talking about winning the cup in a season like 2012... shut up.  This is my little world, and I can pay attention to, forget about, or ignore whatever the hell I want to.  Positive vibes people.  Til I die.
     We'll make it in time on Saturday to see some live bands singing some TA music, and we'll sing along with them as loud as we can.  What?  Carry a tune you ask?  no.  But we'll sing loud and proud damnit.  Why?  Because we're gonna win the league (next year)!  After we win on Sunday, there will be the costume party to attend.  If you only knew.  So with my wee little frame, at costume parties, I have been a chipendale dancer (the Chris Farley version - look it up if you don't know it), a nacho libre wrestler (El Hematoma), and Alan from the Hangover (in his t-shirt and jockstrap).  So for Vancouveraway... what to wear, what to wear.  It may be cold (no ladies, not a PRE-excuse... just sayin').  Somebody has suggested Queens and Kings of Cascadia... I'm not sure yet... but I will have to figure something out.  It IS a foreign country after all, I should make it good.  Will Canadians (or my beloved CASCADIANS for that matter) be too offended if I went as a dark cloud and dropped Acid Rain?  Would I offend my brothers if I went as an ELF (member), or ALF?  Would I be the recipient of secret handshakes all night long if I did... and "special" brownies and cookies?  I don't know... but I'll have to figure out something good.
     I fully intend to make this one of the best times in my wife's and my lives,  and I hope that some of my rowdy friends are down to help me make it so.  I'll see you all in Vancouver... Rose City Til I Die!!

Touching Base

     Well... It has been a really long time.  I want to fix that.  This is just one of those times when I write just for writing's sake, just to get myself going again. 
     I had several more blog posts but I lost them in the divorce.  Even though I ended up not getting divorced after all... I still lost the blog posts.  I don't think it's actually a terrible thing that they're gone, maybe good for my job (and marriage) for them not to be available anymore... but I kinda miss them a little... I think they were good.  There was one about the time my wife was pregnant and I was caught masturbating... the time I was thinking about going to work while I was still probably .10 BAC from the night before... the one about my friend's garage bar that we nicknamed "Frenchy's" (probably the same story as the thinking about going to work while probably still at a .10).
    My job is going really well right now... best gig ever, helping out the supersleuths at another agency...  My kids are in the middle of their fall soccer seasons.  We're loving the hell out of our season tickets for the Timbers, we don't even care about their win/loss record (RCTID!!), and even made it to the San Jose away game as a family.  Joselyn and I are going alone to the upcoming game in Vancouver B.C. ("Our house... in the middle of BC"), so I have one more place to share the experience that is "the kindergardner" (save for another blog).  Pay it forward fellas, pay it forward.  I've been officiating soccer again this year, feeling pretty good while doing so.  Playing another indoor soccer session again starting Sunday (started LAST Sunday, but c'mon... Timbers vs Flounders in Seattle was on TV... what was I supposed to do?).
     I intend for this to be a place for me to share stories, and not just this "journal" or "catching up" stuff... but I just had to get something written down to break the ice.  I promise to get a story put together soon.

Almost up to date

So the posts I've already put on here today were all older posts, some of them from a few years ago.  I suppose they may be in backward order?  whateva...  Now to actually get on with the rest of my day...

When I root I root for the Timbers!!

Sheepdogs

What I needed to learn about myself and the people I respect I learned from Lieutenant Colonal Grossman. 
LT. COL. Grossman is a propogandist that also worked at West Point.  Propoganda aside, he put a handle on something that made total sense when he broke it down.
There are three main catagories of people.  There are your wolves, your sheep, and your sheep dogs.  The sheep are important.  They eat the grass and keep the fire danger down.  They are the general population and make up most of the masses.
The wolves are the killers who live only to prey on the sheep.  They do not see it as wrong to prey on sheep, that is simply what they were born to do.
The sheepdogs on the other hand, have a bloodlust also....  But they live to PROTECT the sheep.  They love the violence that they need to unleash on the wolves, but will only unleash that violence on a wolf.
The sheep do not like to see the sheep dogs.  They sometimes look similar to the wolves.  They are a reminder that wolves are out there, and sheep would frankly rather just eat grass and pretend that there is no danger.
When a wolf comes out of the forest, the sheep huddle near the sheepdog and love the shit out of him, then when the wolf is gone, the sheep quickly try to forget about the sheepdog.  The sheepdog doesn't mind, because he just lives to protect the flock.
There are varying degrees of each of the three types of people.  A mother who may be a sheep almost all of the time, may quickly turn into a sheepdog when her children are threatened.  A police officer may choose not to take his sidearm with him when he goes to the grocery store, thereby displaying sheep-like thinking "nothing is probably going to happen today".....  When the police officer does that, he/she should look in the mirror and say "baaaaaah", because they are mentally in sheep mode.
A story is told about a police officer who is on a SWAT team in Texas who did not take his gun with him when he attended church with his family.  Why in the heck would somebody want to take a gun to church right?  A deranged man walked into the church during the service and began shooting people.  The police officer could do nothing but lay on top of his son and hope that they survived...knowing full well that he had the skills and knowledge to stop the killling, if only he had brought the proper tool.
Some people who think about the hijacked flight that crashed into the Pennsylvania countryside say "man I'm glad I wasn't on that plane".  Others say "Man I wish I had been on the plane because I could've done something".
It's up to you to decide which of those people you are...and if you choose the wrong one...look in the mirror and say "BAAAAAHHHH"

Super BadAss Bug

What in the HELL is going on?  Everybody is sick and it isn't cool at all.  It went through our family (just kinda sideswiped me so far) and is kicking our asses!!
.......It went through the kids' daycare...
.....through their school....
....through Emma's mouth....
...through Alex's diaper....
....through my work.....
....through the news....
....AAARRRRRGGGHH!!
ok...that's done.  Played my first indoor soccer game in about a year and a half last night, it was a blast.  The good news is that it's basically coed beer league, as opposed to some of the competitive leagues that I've played in before.  I think it was good to transition my way back into it like this....because even this kicked my ass (did I mention that I just had a piece of a badass superbug at the end of last week/weekend?).  The fat belly doesn't help me either.
I had a few assists and one (or two?) goals.  I get almost more satisfaction out of setting up the goal and assisting then I do out of putting the ball in the net.  I don't think that's cowardly....I'd say unselfish...but I really do like that.  There are some good players on my team, which is a nice bonus.  It REALLY is about the fun anyway.
Emma asked me to win for her, and I told her that it was all about having fun....but it sure was nice to win the first game.  Most of the other team were "pick-up" players though, as most of the other team didn't show.
I'm sore today, and feeling like a sissy for it.  Doing a new activity that you haven't done in awhile (read "exercising") really makes fat complain.  I need to keep it up to make it hurt less...but it's just getting there that's the hard part (I seem to remember that I never really got "there"...that I was always "getting there".  Hmmmm, something to think about I guess, but not for too long or I'll never exercise again).  Did I mention that I'm sore?
I know that I need to get back into better shape.  Someone I work with was slashed with a razor across his ear, arm, back, and chest yesterday.  The person who did it was a "ding", no rhyme or reason, just came out of the blue with it.  It's a good reminder for me I suppose, and a wake-up call to exercise.  I want to come home from work to my wife and kids.  And to top it off, I have the high profile job, which doesn't exactly make the best friends.  Those "best friends" may possibly look me up when they get the opportunity, or may just see me by chance on the street. 
Goes back to either being a sheep or a sheep dog....I just have to keep cognizant and ready...while walking the fine line of not being paranoid and stressed about it at all times...or making my family stress out about it.
I haven't been in a real fight in a long time...which is good.  I had my ass handed to me once (made a good accounting of myself before I was knocked out - they remember me), but the point was that I was knocked the hell out.  Kinda like this superbug is doing to my family....-did I mention that?

Killing Babies

It was 1994 and I had been patrolling nightly in downtown Port-Au-Prince.  By patrolling I mean walking up and down hills, smelling shit in the air, avoiding dead bodies that were mutilated and lying in heaps of garbage, carrying more weight than I should have had to, and being glad that I was walking all night instead of all day.  I kept telling myself "good friends, guns, some occasional Black Sabbath when we were hitching a ride in a hummer, nighttime in the Caribbean…how could it be any better".
So on the 25th straight night of patrolling…the "new" Sgt Major walked with us to see what we do.  Because of this…we had done MANY more hills than normal and moved much faster.  I was smoked…but the Sgt Major was even more smoked, and we played it off as if this was what we always did.  Sweat rolled off of my brow as he asked me if this was "normal", and I actually kept a straight face when I said "what do you mean Sgt Major?  This isn't "normal", but this is what we do every night.  I'm just glad we're taking it easy since you're with us.  I wish you'd patrol with us every night so we'd get to keep taking the easy routes."
It was daylight and we were moving to the extraction point.  Along the way, a citizen waved us down and told us about a very large cache of grenades, weapons, and ammo.  He told us that they belonged to an anti-US militia group, but were presently only being guarded by a couple of guys.  He says he will show us where they are.  My LT was salivating so much that we had to re-hydrate him with an IV, and after conferring with the Sgt Major and our Platoon Sgt, we moved out to take the cache.  I want to believe that my Platoon Sgt advised against it, saying that the intel should be passed up first, but the Sgt Major and LT said "no…this is "hot" intelligence, this is a "willing" informant, and we need to capitalize and go NOW."  So we went.
We get to a hillside maze of buildings, you could almost think of as apartments, but if you've seen the beginning of Blackhawk Down where the SF guys are in the marketplace, with the stone buildings with hanging cloths for doors, winding alleys that are about 6 feet wide, and stairways leading into other portions of the maze, you have an idea of what it looked like.  We were at the top of it and the "villa" area was down the hillside into a kind of ravine.  The guide explained which doorway it was, but refused to go any further. 
My two partners and I were assigned to find a way down to the bottom of the ravine and wait there, in case anybody tried to escape out the back.  So we're conducting some building clearing down the villa and trying to get to the bottom without getting ambushed.  Did I mention how windy the alleys were??  Think of them as hallways with no roof, open to the air.  Fairly steep downhill with stairs intermixed.  We make people face the wall and place their hands up, palms to the wall as we pass them.  One lady is glancing VERY nervously at a doorway where the standard issue blanket is acting as a door…and I notice that the blanket is moving as if somebody has just been peeking out at us.  I alert my partners and we make entry.  Safety is off of my m16/203 and I am mentally already killing the Haitian inside that is preparing to kill me.  I am first through the door and am pointing my rifle at two Haitian kids, one about three years old and the other in a crib, probably 8 months old.  There is nobody else in the room, not even another doorway out.  I almost killed those babies and am only glad that I made entry and looked instead of just squeezing the trigger and sending rounds into the doorway and room.
We come back out and finish clearing to the bottom of the ravine.  At the bottom of the ravine I am standing in ankle deep water, and about 30 feet away is a 400 pound pig on a rope that is trying everything it can do to tear itself loose and get to me and my partners.  I can't tell if it wants to eat me or make me "squeal like a pig" like in the movie Deliverance.  Whichever it is, I'm thankful for whoever tied the knot to whatever the anchor is, because if it wasn't a good knot, or a good anchor, I'd be in big trouble.  The other side of the ravine is about a 15 foot cliff straight up, and people keep poking their heads over to look down at us.  I simply wait for the grenade to drop.  I contemplate (several times) just shooting the pig, because it's scaring the hell out of me, and using it as cover in case grenades start dropping on us.  There is nowhere to hide.
After we stand in the water for about a half hour, we are recalled up the exact same route that we came down.  I pass the fateful doorway and think again how close I came to killing those babies.  When we get back to base and debrief, I find out that the "informant" had made the story up.  His girlfriend had just left him for another man, and he wanted that man to get killed, so had sicked us on him.  My LT  (and all of us) bit when he put out the line.  We later were given a class about how intelligence and information works, and why it is soooooo important that you get confirmation before you do a DAMN thing.  We had just learned that point without the class, but I think they wanted to rub it in on our LT. 
I think about what I would've done had I killed those babies on a bogus mission.  Would I have gone AWOL, tracked down the guy who sicked us on his girlfriend stealer/enemy, or would I have gone after the LT, who accepted the mission without real intelligence.  I would've been killing somebody for that, the babies would've needed a sitter, and I would've felt obliged to provide it.

It's Just a BAD DREAM Pile!!

I know that Frank Harris is going to be viewing my account... waiting to read this blog...because I told him the story already and he confirmed that I really ought to write this....
Once again Emma has been sick.  She'd been running a fever that sometimes reached over 104` and it really sucked.  She was wimpering alot and wouldn't eat much of anything.  I think we did ok keeping fluids in her, but she was just plain OUT of commission for a minute (pronounced "5 days"). 
On the second night, she spent the night with her Grandma Maggie...and vomitted in the bed - all over Grandma, her clothes, the blankets...probably the walls and ceiling too.
Because of that, on the third night Joselyn told Emma that she would sleep with her to be there for her if she "threw up" again.  Jo didn't last 20 minutes before she left the room because Emma snores...no wait....SSSSNNNNOOOOOORRRRREEEEESSSSS so loud.  I was called in to sleep with her instead.  There is a reason for this...
All my life I have snored like Emma.  When I was a kid, my mom and dad used to joke about my snoring rattling the door to my bedroom at night (I think they were joking...).  When I went to basic training for the Army, I lived in a dorm that housed 54 of us.  It only took a couple of sideways looks at me and one comment made (something like "somebody back there in that corner (now the sideways looks at me from people) snores WWWAAAY to loud and needs to learn how to shut the fuck up at night") to teach me how to not snore while I'm sleeping.  I just sleep on my side or on my stomach and that keeps/kept me from snoring.  If I started to snore...I heard it and woke myself up...lets just say that I was a light sleeper at that time out of necessity...I definately did not want a blanket party.  I knew that I could probably do ok against one or two of them at a time...but that's not how a blanket part works.  You are totally asleep when the beating starts, and don't have much time to protect yourself.  Whoever has seen the movie "Full Metal Jacket" raise your hand now.  Ok...put it down.
So Joselyn figures that it's my job to lay with her, because I'm sure that I've kept Jo up nights with my loud snoring.  Ya see...the fear of a blanket party has faded and I tend to roll onto my back when I sleep now, which means that I snore.  I know this because (not only has Jo told me ALL about it, but) I snore so damn loud that sometimes I wake myself up.  Did I already mention that?  So IF I go sleep with Emma, and in so doing get a taste of my own medicine, then Joselyn will actually get a decent nights sleep without the doors and windows rattling around her from my snoring. 
When I lie down with Emma, I thought there would be no way in HELL that I was going to get to sleep.  It sounded like she had a curtain of raw steaks hanging down across her throat and she was trying to breath by forcing air through them.  The meaty gurgle of air going into her tiny body was enough to give me the willies and probably gave me nightmares.  I was even scared that she may not be able to continue breathing all night, because I knew there must be some tremendous effort going into making her lungs work, pulling the air in through those steaks like that, and she was sick and weak at the time.  It sucked.  However it happened though, I fell asleep.
Now is another part of poor Emma's sleeping.  She rolls and flails like you would not believe.  If it was very cold in our house...if we relied on blankets to keep us warm throughout the night, she would probably freeze.  Blankets do not stay on her for very long at all because she flails so much.  When you sleep with her, you pretty much need a "redman" suit, which is protective padding worn by the recipient in hand to hand combat training.  One time, she delivered an axe kick to me in her sleep that made me see stars.  Her little heal is small and hard enough to focus all of the energy from her downward swing, straight into my belly.  Joselyn caught one right after me, and we thought she may have cracked a couple of Jo's ribs.  Because of this, I considered bringing home cell extraction gear to wear to bed, but then figured that there wasn't any of that which hadn't weathered some feces before...and I didn't want to add Hep C to Emma's problems.  I thought about borrowing some football gear, but then I figured...she's little...I can take it.  Apparently there's something built into our systems so that we don't really remember the PAIN being as bad as it was.  That's why families have more than one child.  If the mom remembered how bad the pain was, she probably wouldn't have any others.  So I went to bed in Emma's bed without protective gear.
Come about 3:00 AM, I am awakened by Emma's backhanded blow with a closed fists.  She does it again, the knuckles making indentions in my rib cage, under the arm at just above elbow height (you know, the sensitive area where all of the nerve endings are).  She hits me about three times like that while I'm coming out of my coma, before I move over and push her away.  Her eyes are still closed and I wonder what in the HELL she is dreaming about, but I am also privately happy because whoever is in her dream is being handled by a real sheepdog.  She's obviously not buckling under and trying to run away...my little girl is handling her business and kicking some wolf ass.  I manage to go back to sleep while nursing my ribs.
The next morning, Emma has the nerve to tell Joselyn that I kept her awake all night with my snoring.  I can't believe it.  I KNOW she slept because HER snoring sucked.
On my way to work, it struck me.  The person who she had been pummelling (in her supposed dream) was me.  She was not asleep at all when she was hitting me, she just had her eyes closed because she was exhausted.  I had just been given a damn blanket party by my own daughter because I was snoring.  I survived boot camp and my regular duty station in the military without being beaten in my sleep....but I hadn't survived Emma.  I could just see her kneeling beside me, pinning my arms to my side with my sheet, hitting me repeatedly and yelling "It's just a bad dream PILE, just a bad dream!!  Quite snoring or you'll have more bad dreams just like this!"  God Help Me....

Selection

So I posted this already....but it didn't post.  So now I am supposed to remember what I had written.  SSHHHHYEAH right.  I think it was something about being ignorant when I had signed up for the Army.  Not about being ignorant BY signing up, just in the fact that they told me there were no "Airborne Ranger" contracts available and that I believed them. 
I had previously read "Starship Troopers", which is nothing like the movie, and knew that there was no way that I could join the military and not be a killer.  A military photo-journalist or phone operator I was not.  I knew that I had to be infantry.
I know that in the post that was erased I explained about the differences between the different "11" series of Infantry soldiers "b" being Light Infantry (grunts), "c" being mortarmen, "h" being dragon (anti-tank gunners), "m" being mechanized Infantry (Bradleys or other vehicles), "p" being paratrooper, "b4" being "sniper" etc and so forth...
I was initially 11x (x-ray) which meant "needs of the Army" and ended up being trained as a mortarman.  Once I got to the regular unit, I was assigned as a normal light infantry grunt.
In June of 93 I was convinced by some friends (who were leaving - they all eventually left as their time came and went) to try out for Scouts.  The tryouts weren't impossible, and I did OK in them.  I was selected.  Some scout platoons in some battallions weren't all that.  You seemed to have two extremes of Scout platoons...you were either the red-headed step children or you were the Platoon that everyone tried to get into.  1/21 Scouts was a platoon that people aspired to.
ok...it's getting late and I need to carry this on at another time....

Our Lady of Perpetual Downhill

Hallelujah Brethren.  Welcome to Our Lady of Perpetual Downhill.  Draw near and hear the word of the board.  Yes, my brothers and sisters, the run I'll ask you to shred is narrow.  It will be long.  It will be steep with many tempting backroads.  you will suffer and you will sweat; these things I cannot deny.  But have faith ye of small acrobatic capacity.  Shred on, my tiny calved friends, for you shall harvest the fruits of your labors.  Be diligent in your crusade down the mountain.  Do not be fooled by false jumps.  Ignore the demons pounding in your ears, screaming in your brain, "slow down.  It's too fast.  Cut across. It's too steep."  Shout out "Get behind me Satan of sloth.  Yea, though I cut through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no big air, for I have drank and I will be known."  Then we shall dig down deep within our soul and chant "Faster.  Faster.  Faster.  Faster."
And when we ascend back to the top of the mountain, we take a moment of silence, catch our breath, and give thanks to the quad chairlift.  As we gaze at the lodge below, we know in our hearts that we have risen above the slothful and degenerate.  We endure the wicked conditions on the lift, and then stand before the top of the glorious mile long nirvana.
Go now, bomb forth, enjoy, my devoted flock, enjoy.  Let your spirit be filled with the sound of slicing snow and bouncing board.  May you make every turn and bite lower edge not.  May big air come between your board and the ground.  And may your descent be hair, scary, and safe.  And I realize that some of you will not be back, but will find comfort in the lodge and solace on a pair of skiis.
And when asked of your faith you will look to the ground attempting to hide your shame.  you will stutter as you try to explain "...I, I, I used to snowboard..." but the obvious guilt of non-boarding will reflect on your face like a freshly waxed board in the sunlight.  Don't try to make excuses, no explanation needed.  For the rest of us will be here next Sunday, and the Sunday after that.  And if you show up here and find no one, you can be sure we're out there somewhere.  And we'll be praying for your soul...

STA

While I was in the Army, I attended a Marine Corps course at Kaneohe Bay Marine Corps Base Hawaii.  We participated in the same training as the Marines except for the homosexual stuff.  Although we had an Irish dude with us who wanted to try it, the Marines were pretty possessive about their gayness.
The Course that I was in was a five week course called "Surveillance and Target Acquisition".  Yes...even the Marines are such pussies that they have to find a politically correct way to say the word "sniper" that won't offend people.
I had just been to the Army Sniper School at Ft. Benning...which was a sleeper...you were having so much fun that you didn't realize that you may not pass until it was too late....so I knew that I'd do ok in the Marine Corps course.
I've got some really good stories out of that course..from the Staff Sergeant (acting Gunnery Sergeant) who was leading the course (SSGT Sigmund), to the Irish dude who happened to be my partner who ranked 29th out of 29...but don't try to help him because he's a "corporal" God damnit!....what a fucking idiot.
The story I'll tell right now though is about four SEALs who were in the course with us.  That course was when I realized that Navy SEALs are just people too, and I discovered that I would bet on "ME" when figuring out if I could gut through the SEAL courses or not.
They were all cool guys and I was glad to have met them.  We did some beach stalks and some beach runs...and those guys were hogs in that enviornment.  They helped me alot....but then we went into the jungle....
In the jungle it was a total reversal.  I'd ask one of them to point North...and he'd promptly point East.  They were lost as hell in terrain reading and land navigation...so we took care of them and helped them out.  We were one big team - you know...
So we were all on a known distance range.  This is what you see in the movies where you know the exact distance to the targets because you are on a raised berm with a big "300 yards" sign (Marines measure by Yards and Army measures by Meters) next to you.  the targets are big...4'x5' pieces of paper.  The targets are counterbalanced and they are big concentric circles with a "x-ring" in the center.  After three rounds, the people in the "butts" would drop the target, then place a 3 inch red circle in the hole that your round made.  At 300 yards, all three rounds would be under the same red marker.
We kept track of our own rounds and my partner and I were on the lane on the left of one of the SEAL teams.  I fired my three rounds, then shifted and fired one round in the extreme upper left hand corner of the SEAL target, then another round in the exteme lower right of the SEAL target.
So what this did...All three of the SEAL fired rounds were covered by one marker, then there was another round upper right, and another round lower right....so the SEALs thought that they were hitting all over their target. 
I must've done this for about 8 or 10 cycles.  The SSGT Sigmund was walking the line behind us and at first stopped to try to figure out what the hell they were doing wrong.  After a couple of iterations he figured out what I was doing...but instead of coming down on me like thunder, he jumped in their asses "what the fuck squids?  You're not on a ship...you don't need to adjust for waves..." etc etc.  It was classic.  They were checking their scope mounts, banging on their rifle, tearing their guts out trying to figure out why they were shooting so poorly.  Eventually the figured it out "Stephen you mother fucker..."
They eventually saw the humor in it, but I did NOT get near any water while they were around from then on....

The Garage - Honolulu, Hawaii

So here I am...Oahu, 1993.  It's about 11:30 PM or so and I'm in a club called "The Garage".  Looking at google maps, the nearest corner is "Ward" and "Waimanu" (then head SE on Waimanu about half a block).  It was a cool club, especially to a 20 year old who managed to get served...or maybe BECAUSE a 20 year old could manage to get served there...I don't know.  It was dark, loud, and had good shows there sometimes.  I saw Danzig there...the stage was about 2 to 3 feet off of the ground, really close and personal.  It generally was a dance club though.

So on this fateful night, when I discovered that I wasn't invincible, there was an ICE-T concert at the Blaisdale Arena...which if you checked google maps like I said was only on the other side of the block and across the street. 

Now when all of the gangsters that went to see ICE-T get out of their little show, they go back to their cars, get their guns, grab their knives, take a few hits of whatever dope they happen to be into at the time, then find the nearest place to cause a problem.  In Island talk, that could loosely translate into "find a white guy to fuck up...preferably as a group."  (side note...no it wasn't me that they came looking for).

So there is a small group of us at the Garage.  One of my buddies is passed out in the car around the corner.  He had a cast on his arm and drank too much too fast, pissed that he had the damn cast, and was out early.  Another, who we didn't know was going to be there, was Sgt. Beutel from New Jersey.  He was a Sergeant in the scout platoon that I was in the sniper squad for.  I didn't know him that well because I was brand new to the platoon.  My roommate, Overstreet, was there with me.  Overstreet was soon to come over to the platoon, but wasn't there quite yet. 

Overstreet is from Bedford Virginia.  There are two things you don't do (of course I've done both of them and found out the hard way that you're not supposed to do them...if he can't beat you up then he pouts non-stop until you say sorry *** I know he's reading this and that's why I say that*** and his pouting will make you want to commit suicide over time.  I mean, it doesn't stop...)  The first thing you don't do is smear his dip from his lip all over his face, and the other is you don't knock his glasses off.

The gangster went for option two.  So somebody, I don't remember who or how it went down, let me know that Overstreet was getting kicked out and here were his glasses.  I went to head outside with Overstreet and saw Sgt. Beutel on the way.  I told him that Overstreet was in trouble and needed our help.  He said...like the punk that he was..."I don't know him and I'm having a good time in here."  I never forgot that bitch.  Anyway, I recognized that for all the talk he gave about being from Jersey he was just a punk and wouldn't help in a fight anyway, so I went outside without him.  I was just in time to see Overstreet throwing up his dukes and preparing to fight some local. 

I quickly assessed the situation.  Overstreet and some dude were talking shit to each other, about 10 feet apart, and their dukes were up.  There were also about 1000 other local guys standing around (beside and behind) the "bad guy", every single one of them staring hate at Overstreet.  Their yearning for independence from the US was pouring out of their eyes.

I grabbed Overstreet and directed him to our right and down the alley toward our car.  I said "We are not fighting today, we need to leave".  We began walking in single file, with him about 5 - 10 feet in front of me.  Now if you looked at google maps like I said, you can see that the cars are parked facing nose in.  As we're walking, some dude comes out from between two cars and totally sucker punches Overstreet in the right side of his head, who then goes reeling off to his forward left. 

I says to myself "self, there's nothing between you and him, and being that you're in it now anyways..."  and I dropped my fist behind me almost all the way to the ground, and came form Kansas City with it (that one was for you Miller) and punched dude right in the side of HIS head.  He went down, out like a light.

I had no idea what happened to Overstreet.  About the time when I saw the guy go out, and says to myself "self, that was a mighty fine punch", I started getting blasted in the back of the head.

Everything goes hazy from there.  It was slow motion.  I remember that anywhere I threw a punch, there was somebody there to receive it in the face.  I remember kicking a guy in the head and he fell down.  I turned to the right and started fighting somebody there.  The guy who I had kicked started to get up, so while he was on all fours I turned and booted him in the head again, and he was out.  Did I mention that I've played soccer all my life?  So after I booted him in the head and saw him go down, there was somebody on my left that needed punching in the face...so when duty calls...

It was about that time that I was hit in the back of the head (the guy that had been on my original right must not have been out of the game...that bastard).....

Overstreet told me later (the police report had confirmed by the way) that he had gone reeling from the first sucker punch, had seen guys cutting off our forward advance, and had run at them like "red rover red rover"...breaking through them and starting to run.  He saw that I wasn't with him, turned around, and saw me fighting everybody.  Wait...let me rewrite that...EVERYBODY.  He told me that he said "shit!" and ran back into the crowd.  He was fighting and by the time that he got near me everybody turned and ran...and I was lying unconscious on the ground.

back to me

I was blasted in the back of the head, and the medical report said that it was with an object (not the ground or the car that I was lying under)..but something handheld.  I remember fighting, then waking up on the ground with a big "local" face in my face and somebody by my feet.  I started to kick and fight.  The local by my face put his forearms across me and said "you betta think twice about dat son!" and I realized it was the police.  I opted to pass back out.  I awoke again in the ambulance on my way to Tripler Army Medical Hospital.

Now here we were at Tripler, and Overstreet's tests show alcohol in his system.  I had had a couple of beers (note ** the number one answer when a drunk driver is pulled over is "I've had two") but they had been over time and when I was tested no alcohol showed.  I had a concussion out of the deal but didn't miss PT the next Monday...but I DID have to go to the base "sick call" later and get two IVs because I was so messed up. 

Overstreet on the other hand...because he had shown alcohol in his system, had to go through an alcohol abuse program at Schofield Barracks.  He would fill me in after every class so that I would know what to say in case I ever found myself ordered to go...

CC Forever

I won't ever forget that humbling experience.  Any time I'm feeling froggy, that memory rears it's ugly head and helps me to tone it down a little.

Believe it...or not

and some were recovered...

Here are a few of my prior blogs that I was able to recover, just because I had them in another place.  They will follow...

I'm back...

Well, well, well.  I had to go away for awhile, almost a year... but I am back.  I'm not sure if I'll be able to recover my old blogs, but if not.... oh well.  The stories keep coming, this shit really happens to me or people in my life.  I just wanted to get started, but right now am on my way to watch the Timbers.  RCTID!!!