IT'S THAT TIME of year when every Tom, Dick and Jezebel report on seeing a sky full of UFOs. Or some semblance of flying saucers and even abductions by "little green men" from here to Brazil and every place in between.
However, the Ol' Columnist has been left out of the mix.
Now, the closest I've ever come to actually seeing a flying saucer was when an angry reader once tried to use my noggin for target practice. You'll notice there's still a large welt on the left side of my head.
On Monday, when I suffered one of those frequent brain drains, I decided to go to "The Source."
In case, you don't remember, "The Source," has a name: Brian Doling of B.J.'s Books & Things. And for this scribbler, as I've said before, his book nook is a haven.
Without even consulting him for directions, I knew what I was looking for, for a change. And there staring at me with massive eyes was a column idea in paperback form -- Transformation with the words -- Know this: they are watching and the other was Breakthrough -- The Next Step. Both were written by Whitley Strieber.
Of course, Strieber started off the wave concerning UFOs with something called Communion. And you've read it or, at least, thumbed through it at least once, right?
And so I settled down to re-read his startling adventures and discovered he wasn't alone in his pursuit of unearthly and strange creatures.
Strieber has a website, aptly called Unknown Country, and it opens up another world -- some beyond even my imagination.
Perhaps, they are just hallucinations or as someone wise once, uttered: "You've been sniffing too much glue."
Then some have determined these UFOs, abductions, cattle mutilations, crop circles and other strange occurrences as pure bunk while others put them in the "religious" category, calling it all the works of the devil.
While Strieber has opened up an unknown world, three others have been prominent as veteran "explorers."
* Linda Moulton Howe: A graduate of both Stanford and University of Colorado, is a noted documentary film, TV and radio reporter, particularly in the area of "worldwide animal mutilation" with A Strange Harvest and Strange Harvest 1993.
She has also produced and created Earth Mysteries: Alien Life Forms for Fox. In addition, Howe has written such in-depth books as Mysterious Lights and Crop Circles, An Alien Harvest, along with Glimpses of Other Realities, Volumes I and II.
One of the fascinating items on her website, earthfiles.com, involves a photo of a copper plate discovered in 1967 after an apparent UFO sighting at an Edmonton golf course. It shows a diagram with "writing and ancient sigils (lower elongated combination of symbols)."
Although I lived for some time in Edmonton, I never heard about any UFO landing on any golf course.
* Art Bell. Of course, you've never stayed up late at night, and tuned in to this radio master of the paranormal, UFOs, conspiracy theories, the occult and alien signals? Of course, not. And neither have I. Millions have and they told me about Bell, who's off the airwaves at the moment. Is he temporarily retired and planning another comeback? That's possible. Stay tuned to Coast to Coast AM.
* Brian Vike. This independent UFO investigator/researcher works out of the small town of Houston, B.C. and has a well-run website at hbccufo.org and is the radio host of The Vike Report.
Just this week, his radio program has featured Miriam Delicado, who's written an account with tall alien blonde beings in B.C.
Vike also posts eyewitness sightings such as "an object moving in a very slow circular pattern and blinking/flashing muktiple colors" in the area of North Shuswap Lake on Wednesday, Feb. 20 at 12:31 a.m.
If you believe that was the only isolated incident, then think again, for there were more than 440 "sightings" reported in 2007. That included 137 in B.C.
Now, excuse me, while I finish up reading Breathrough and Transformation. By that time it will definitely be nightfall and time to scan the heavens for those strange flashing lights.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Of meteors, lunar eclipses and sea creatures
IT WAS SOMETHING straight out of science fiction. It started with a strange meteor flashing across our skies; the total eclipse of the moon; a dying U.S. spy satellite being shot down; earthquakes in such diverse places as off the coast of Norway and even in Nevada plus strange sea creatures discovered in Antarctica.
And what's more those National Blabber-type stories were all true. At least I think they were.
Some days, this scribbler usually spends his time scratching what little hair I have on my noggin, contemplating something to fill this space. But not today.
Actually I could fill a hundred or so pages. No, Mr. Editor, I won't attempt to do that.
So where do I begin: Oh, yes, that meteor , which I didn't see. Of course, someone over in Kamloops did. And then I went searching with the question upper-most in my mind: What happened to it?
In an AP story out of Spokane, some egghead profs said it probably burned up some 19 miles up over the Blue Mountains, near LaGrande, Oregon.
So that's one issue solved.
Next in line came the total eclipse of the moon, which I missed. Of course there was a reason for that, although I was looking into the sky for an answer. It seems most of us in B.C. missed the start, middle and end of it, for as the AP story goes, "it occurred before the moon rises."
Aw, shucks, now I'll have to wait until Dec. 20, 2010 for the next one.
One news story I did catch was a TV tape of the U.S. Navy shooting down that dying spy satellite somewhere west of Hawaii. That missile apparently hit the satellite and smashed the potentially toxic fuel tank into pieces no larger than a football. I'm still checking the skies over the Ol' Homestead for some errant "pigskin" whizzing through the air at a zillion miles an hour.
The next story which caught my eye was earthquakes in diverse places, as the Good Book says. It seems a 6.2 rumbled in the Norwegian terrority, known as the Arctic Svalbard islands. It's an isolated area so it's fortunate there were no casualties reported.
Another rattling experince occurred in what's known as the sparsely-populated Nevada gold country. It was measured at 6.0 and caused fires in grocery and truck stores in a little place called Wells, which has an historic street dating back to the late 1800s.
And then in my final tour of the newswires, I came across the headline:"Scientists capture giant Antarctic sea creatures."
After meteors, lunar eclipses, spy satellites and earthquakes there came creepy-crawly things such as sea spiders plus worms the size of dinner plates.
After absorbing the latest news from the heavens and earth, I started mulling over some recent newsletters I received from my old Jerusalem friend, Ernie Mauch (aka Elijah the Prophet).
In a number of them he "prophesized" about the sudden appearance of a gigantic Planet X heading towards Earth.
And then he followed this up that the monarchy was somehow involved and of a giant submarine.
And what's the name of this massive sub?
Well, it could be the Royal Navy's HMS Astute, which weighs in at 7,400 tons and can carry 38 Tomahawk missiles along with an 98-man crew. What's more, it will be operational in 2009 and based in Farlane on the Clyde in Scotland.
Whether one should put stock in such "prophecy," about a "hidden" planet and monarchy in a giant sub is highly questionable.
Then again I would have never believed in worms the size of dinner plates.
PREDICTIONS FROM 'THE SEER OF THE CENTURY' (From Uncle John's Bathroom Reader): John Watkins, a Philadelphia newspaperman, wrote in the Ladies' Home Journal in 1900, about a future full of subways, air-conditioning and even satellite TV. This is what he wrote about "automobiles being cheaper than horses." Remember this is 1900. "Farmers will own automobile hay-wagons, plows, harrows and hay-rakes. A one-pound motor in one of these vehicles will do the work of a pair of horses or more ... Automobiles will have been substituted for every horse vehicle now known ... The horse in harness will be scarce, if, indeed, not scarcer, then as the yoked ox is today."
And what's more those National Blabber-type stories were all true. At least I think they were.
Some days, this scribbler usually spends his time scratching what little hair I have on my noggin, contemplating something to fill this space. But not today.
Actually I could fill a hundred or so pages. No, Mr. Editor, I won't attempt to do that.
So where do I begin: Oh, yes, that meteor , which I didn't see. Of course, someone over in Kamloops did. And then I went searching with the question upper-most in my mind: What happened to it?
In an AP story out of Spokane, some egghead profs said it probably burned up some 19 miles up over the Blue Mountains, near LaGrande, Oregon.
So that's one issue solved.
Next in line came the total eclipse of the moon, which I missed. Of course there was a reason for that, although I was looking into the sky for an answer. It seems most of us in B.C. missed the start, middle and end of it, for as the AP story goes, "it occurred before the moon rises."
Aw, shucks, now I'll have to wait until Dec. 20, 2010 for the next one.
One news story I did catch was a TV tape of the U.S. Navy shooting down that dying spy satellite somewhere west of Hawaii. That missile apparently hit the satellite and smashed the potentially toxic fuel tank into pieces no larger than a football. I'm still checking the skies over the Ol' Homestead for some errant "pigskin" whizzing through the air at a zillion miles an hour.
The next story which caught my eye was earthquakes in diverse places, as the Good Book says. It seems a 6.2 rumbled in the Norwegian terrority, known as the Arctic Svalbard islands. It's an isolated area so it's fortunate there were no casualties reported.
Another rattling experince occurred in what's known as the sparsely-populated Nevada gold country. It was measured at 6.0 and caused fires in grocery and truck stores in a little place called Wells, which has an historic street dating back to the late 1800s.
And then in my final tour of the newswires, I came across the headline:"Scientists capture giant Antarctic sea creatures."
After meteors, lunar eclipses, spy satellites and earthquakes there came creepy-crawly things such as sea spiders plus worms the size of dinner plates.
After absorbing the latest news from the heavens and earth, I started mulling over some recent newsletters I received from my old Jerusalem friend, Ernie Mauch (aka Elijah the Prophet).
In a number of them he "prophesized" about the sudden appearance of a gigantic Planet X heading towards Earth.
And then he followed this up that the monarchy was somehow involved and of a giant submarine.
And what's the name of this massive sub?
Well, it could be the Royal Navy's HMS Astute, which weighs in at 7,400 tons and can carry 38 Tomahawk missiles along with an 98-man crew. What's more, it will be operational in 2009 and based in Farlane on the Clyde in Scotland.
Whether one should put stock in such "prophecy," about a "hidden" planet and monarchy in a giant sub is highly questionable.
Then again I would have never believed in worms the size of dinner plates.
PREDICTIONS FROM 'THE SEER OF THE CENTURY' (From Uncle John's Bathroom Reader): John Watkins, a Philadelphia newspaperman, wrote in the Ladies' Home Journal in 1900, about a future full of subways, air-conditioning and even satellite TV. This is what he wrote about "automobiles being cheaper than horses." Remember this is 1900. "Farmers will own automobile hay-wagons, plows, harrows and hay-rakes. A one-pound motor in one of these vehicles will do the work of a pair of horses or more ... Automobiles will have been substituted for every horse vehicle now known ... The horse in harness will be scarce, if, indeed, not scarcer, then as the yoked ox is today."
Saturday, February 16, 2008
The truth is, someone is lying!
IT WAS FAR from the Grand Inquisition. In fact, the star witness never showed up and one politician wanted to know what uniform Roger Clemens would wear into the Hall of Fame.
So much for Judgment Day in Washington, D.C. when most of the politicians wimped out and sat there star gazing at the mere presence of the aging pitcher.
And four hours later I was still waiting for some answers and what I got was this empty feeling that someone was lying. Perhaps, that was applicable to others in the packed hearing room.
In the wake of the vaunted Mitchell Report, the Washington bureaucrats wanted to dissect trainer Brian McNamee's accusations that had pinpointed Clemens among others.
Seemingly, America's national passtime was at stake.
But what began with loud declarations dissolved into a dying whimper.
While Clemens vehemently denied using these so-called 'roids of ruin,' trainer McNamee, an unsavory character to some in the room, stuck with his story that he had injected Clemens time and again.
To some politicians, the McNamee's version seemed plausible while others pushed such accusations into the corner like so much waste.
In the past few years, former superstars such as Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa and even Barry Bonds have come under suspicion that their achievements were artifically induced. Only time will tell.
While McNamee was the chief accuser against Clemens in the Washington hearing room, the star witness, as we indicated at the beginning, was AWOL.
Clemens' best friend and pitching partner, Andy Pettitte, was given a pass to skip the proceedings as was another star performer, Chuck Knoblauch. Both had admitted to having been injected.
While Clemens licked his lips he tried to push his theory that Pettitte had "misspoke." He would use that phrase a number of times during the four-hour session.
Pettitte, often called a fine Christian man, had left the politicians with a deposition, which was startling in its implications about McNamee injecting him.
"One day I have to give an account to God and not to nobody else of what I've done in my life ... And that's why I've said and shared the stuff with y'all ... that I wouldn't like to share with y'all." Knoblauch was also candid about his involvement.
Since Clemens declared his friendship with Pettitte, the question remains, as others have asked, what would have happened if Andy had actually shown up at the hearing.
Prior to the talkfest on Wednesday, Clemens appeared like a roaming ambassador, checking in with the politicians and their staff; signing autographs and posing.
Meanwhile, McNamee shuffled his feet, knowing his past would catch up with him, and, to his credit he admitted he had been caught in lies on a number of occasions.
In 1994, pro wrestling and its chief promoter Vince McMahon along with his star attraction, Hulk Hogan (Terry Bollea), went to court in Long Island concerning the abuse of steroids. Although McMahon was cleared of all charges, it began to open the window to a previously-closed world.
Since then other sports have revealed 'roids and HGH use has become a growing problem. Some would say even an epidemic. Not only has the tentacles reached into the pro ranks, but it has also affected the younger generation of would-be athletes.
In December 2004, U.S. President George Bush, a former part owner of Texas Rangers, was quoted as saying MLB management and the players' union should take "strong steps" against "illegal performance enhancers."
Although those "strong steps" have been more like a crawl, the long-awaited Mitchell Report gave some hope that dramatic changes would eventually be made. So, I must admit, the Washington hearings were welcome in the continuing effort to try to clean up the grotesque image surrounding pro sports these days.
While Wednesday's followup to the Mitchell Report has shown that Pettitte and Knoblauch were part of that so-called 'roids and HGH culture, others have been added to the list such as Baltimore's Brian Roberts, Dodgers' Gary Bennett, Colorado's Matt Herges and Glenallen Hill, according to the MLB website.
And the list, although slow in developing, goes on and on.
BASEBALL NAMES (From The Best Of Uncle John's Bathroom Reader): Los Angeles Dodgers: Formed in Brooklyn, N.Y. in 1890. Brooklyn had hundreds of trolleys zigzagging through its streets, and pedestrians were constantly scurrying out of their way. That's why their baseball team was called the Brooklyn Trolley Dodgers (later shortened to Dodgers). The team moved to L.A. in 1958.
So much for Judgment Day in Washington, D.C. when most of the politicians wimped out and sat there star gazing at the mere presence of the aging pitcher.
And four hours later I was still waiting for some answers and what I got was this empty feeling that someone was lying. Perhaps, that was applicable to others in the packed hearing room.
In the wake of the vaunted Mitchell Report, the Washington bureaucrats wanted to dissect trainer Brian McNamee's accusations that had pinpointed Clemens among others.
Seemingly, America's national passtime was at stake.
But what began with loud declarations dissolved into a dying whimper.
While Clemens vehemently denied using these so-called 'roids of ruin,' trainer McNamee, an unsavory character to some in the room, stuck with his story that he had injected Clemens time and again.
To some politicians, the McNamee's version seemed plausible while others pushed such accusations into the corner like so much waste.
In the past few years, former superstars such as Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa and even Barry Bonds have come under suspicion that their achievements were artifically induced. Only time will tell.
While McNamee was the chief accuser against Clemens in the Washington hearing room, the star witness, as we indicated at the beginning, was AWOL.
Clemens' best friend and pitching partner, Andy Pettitte, was given a pass to skip the proceedings as was another star performer, Chuck Knoblauch. Both had admitted to having been injected.
While Clemens licked his lips he tried to push his theory that Pettitte had "misspoke." He would use that phrase a number of times during the four-hour session.
Pettitte, often called a fine Christian man, had left the politicians with a deposition, which was startling in its implications about McNamee injecting him.
"One day I have to give an account to God and not to nobody else of what I've done in my life ... And that's why I've said and shared the stuff with y'all ... that I wouldn't like to share with y'all." Knoblauch was also candid about his involvement.
Since Clemens declared his friendship with Pettitte, the question remains, as others have asked, what would have happened if Andy had actually shown up at the hearing.
Prior to the talkfest on Wednesday, Clemens appeared like a roaming ambassador, checking in with the politicians and their staff; signing autographs and posing.
Meanwhile, McNamee shuffled his feet, knowing his past would catch up with him, and, to his credit he admitted he had been caught in lies on a number of occasions.
In 1994, pro wrestling and its chief promoter Vince McMahon along with his star attraction, Hulk Hogan (Terry Bollea), went to court in Long Island concerning the abuse of steroids. Although McMahon was cleared of all charges, it began to open the window to a previously-closed world.
Since then other sports have revealed 'roids and HGH use has become a growing problem. Some would say even an epidemic. Not only has the tentacles reached into the pro ranks, but it has also affected the younger generation of would-be athletes.
In December 2004, U.S. President George Bush, a former part owner of Texas Rangers, was quoted as saying MLB management and the players' union should take "strong steps" against "illegal performance enhancers."
Although those "strong steps" have been more like a crawl, the long-awaited Mitchell Report gave some hope that dramatic changes would eventually be made. So, I must admit, the Washington hearings were welcome in the continuing effort to try to clean up the grotesque image surrounding pro sports these days.
While Wednesday's followup to the Mitchell Report has shown that Pettitte and Knoblauch were part of that so-called 'roids and HGH culture, others have been added to the list such as Baltimore's Brian Roberts, Dodgers' Gary Bennett, Colorado's Matt Herges and Glenallen Hill, according to the MLB website.
And the list, although slow in developing, goes on and on.
BASEBALL NAMES (From The Best Of Uncle John's Bathroom Reader): Los Angeles Dodgers: Formed in Brooklyn, N.Y. in 1890. Brooklyn had hundreds of trolleys zigzagging through its streets, and pedestrians were constantly scurrying out of their way. That's why their baseball team was called the Brooklyn Trolley Dodgers (later shortened to Dodgers). The team moved to L.A. in 1958.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Even The Other Brother In The Spotlight
YOU'VE SEEN the commercials. The Manning Brothers -- Peyton and Eli -- licking the icing off cookies in an empty stadium. Then there's one where the pair are horsing around in the hallways of ESPN.
And when I saw those commercials it brought home the affinity brothers have for each other. They were kids again. So much for the millions and even the accolades from being Super Bowl champions. Peyton with the Indianapolis Colts and, more recently, Eli with the New York Giants in Sunday's Super Bowl XLII.
It sent my mind deep in my own family memory bank of my hulking kid brother, Garry, and myself walking along a main Calgary street and lifting our much shorter father off the ground and carrying him for half a city block. And laughing all the while. It was one of those incredible memories, which only a brotherhood of brothers would ever understand.
Of course, every time I think of that Calgary street scene a smile creases my face. While our dad has passed away and Dr. Garry is now a noted Winnipeg psychologist, who travels throughout the world, giving lectures, he'll always be just my kid brother.
So when I filtered through a bevy of SI photos on the Net, one which stood out was one with father Archie, the one-time New Orleans quarterback, and the three brothers -- Peyton, Eli and Cooper.
Perhaps, the name Cooper might not be a household name, but he's been, nevertheless, an inspiration and a rock to this illustrious sporting family.
While the other members of Football's First Family, including mother Olivia, have been front-page news in the past, this year Cooper has received his due. And it's about time.
In 2004, in the St. Petersburg Times, Dave Scheiber put into perspective both life and football. It bears repeating the essence of that featured article concerning the least-known Manning.
What's so unqiue about Cooper is that despite his promising football career coming to a grinding halt after being diagnosed with "spiral stenosis," his enthuasiasm has been overwhelming for life.
He's moved on to become a successful trader in oil and gas stocks and while he could have become a negative force, he has been the one with the sense of humour, which, seemingly, puts life in perspective for both the "serious" Peyton and the "laid back" modus operandi of Eli Manning.
The Older Brother began learning the football trade at the knee of his father, Archie, the NFL veteran, and that early training certainly caught the interest of his father's alma-mater, Ol' Miss.
Those fatherly skills seemed to be inherited by Cooper, who at 6-4 and 185 pounds with exceptional speed and agility, appeared to be headed for greatness at a tender age.
Although two years younger, Peyton, certainly looked up to his older brother. However, their horse-play must have caused their quiet father to wonder at their sanity. In the wings was the the much younger brother Eli watching their antics.
During recent TV commercials, it appeared as if Peyton and Eli were the real cutups, but, in actuality, The Older Brother, although unseen, held the trump card in the quick-witted department.
During his illustrious high-school career, Cooper Manning, had his father's abilities and even on the basketball court he excelled. Later, he and brother, Peyton, were an astounding pass-and-catch combination.
Then the troubles began -- first slowly -- and then they accelerated.
Father Archie took Cooper to a New Orleans surgeon, who discovered he had "an injured ulnar nerve," which is not uncommon and can cause numbness in the fingers and hands.
However, when he arrived at Mississippi as a freshman those physical troubles continued and his father took him to the Mayo Clinic, according to Scheiber.
It was then the seriousness hit like a ton of bricks and a three-hour operation due to spinal stenosis sent his athletic career careening.
While such news might have destroyed some, Cooper Manning , has turned it into a positive and he has become an anchor to both brothers and one of the reasons both have laid claim to highest prize in pro football -- the Super Bowl.
One of the most telling statements from Scheiber's story was Cooper's attitude. "I'm just a big believer that things happen for a reason ... You can walk around and be a sad guy, but that never appealed to me."
And when I saw those commercials it brought home the affinity brothers have for each other. They were kids again. So much for the millions and even the accolades from being Super Bowl champions. Peyton with the Indianapolis Colts and, more recently, Eli with the New York Giants in Sunday's Super Bowl XLII.
It sent my mind deep in my own family memory bank of my hulking kid brother, Garry, and myself walking along a main Calgary street and lifting our much shorter father off the ground and carrying him for half a city block. And laughing all the while. It was one of those incredible memories, which only a brotherhood of brothers would ever understand.
Of course, every time I think of that Calgary street scene a smile creases my face. While our dad has passed away and Dr. Garry is now a noted Winnipeg psychologist, who travels throughout the world, giving lectures, he'll always be just my kid brother.
So when I filtered through a bevy of SI photos on the Net, one which stood out was one with father Archie, the one-time New Orleans quarterback, and the three brothers -- Peyton, Eli and Cooper.
Perhaps, the name Cooper might not be a household name, but he's been, nevertheless, an inspiration and a rock to this illustrious sporting family.
While the other members of Football's First Family, including mother Olivia, have been front-page news in the past, this year Cooper has received his due. And it's about time.
In 2004, in the St. Petersburg Times, Dave Scheiber put into perspective both life and football. It bears repeating the essence of that featured article concerning the least-known Manning.
What's so unqiue about Cooper is that despite his promising football career coming to a grinding halt after being diagnosed with "spiral stenosis," his enthuasiasm has been overwhelming for life.
He's moved on to become a successful trader in oil and gas stocks and while he could have become a negative force, he has been the one with the sense of humour, which, seemingly, puts life in perspective for both the "serious" Peyton and the "laid back" modus operandi of Eli Manning.
The Older Brother began learning the football trade at the knee of his father, Archie, the NFL veteran, and that early training certainly caught the interest of his father's alma-mater, Ol' Miss.
Those fatherly skills seemed to be inherited by Cooper, who at 6-4 and 185 pounds with exceptional speed and agility, appeared to be headed for greatness at a tender age.
Although two years younger, Peyton, certainly looked up to his older brother. However, their horse-play must have caused their quiet father to wonder at their sanity. In the wings was the the much younger brother Eli watching their antics.
During recent TV commercials, it appeared as if Peyton and Eli were the real cutups, but, in actuality, The Older Brother, although unseen, held the trump card in the quick-witted department.
During his illustrious high-school career, Cooper Manning, had his father's abilities and even on the basketball court he excelled. Later, he and brother, Peyton, were an astounding pass-and-catch combination.
Then the troubles began -- first slowly -- and then they accelerated.
Father Archie took Cooper to a New Orleans surgeon, who discovered he had "an injured ulnar nerve," which is not uncommon and can cause numbness in the fingers and hands.
However, when he arrived at Mississippi as a freshman those physical troubles continued and his father took him to the Mayo Clinic, according to Scheiber.
It was then the seriousness hit like a ton of bricks and a three-hour operation due to spinal stenosis sent his athletic career careening.
While such news might have destroyed some, Cooper Manning , has turned it into a positive and he has become an anchor to both brothers and one of the reasons both have laid claim to highest prize in pro football -- the Super Bowl.
One of the most telling statements from Scheiber's story was Cooper's attitude. "I'm just a big believer that things happen for a reason ... You can walk around and be a sad guy, but that never appealed to me."
Friday, February 1, 2008
Paging the Almighty From a Great Height
THERE I WAS snoring away the other morning when The Missus decided to jar me awake.
No, it wasn't another urgent message about Britney being rushed away in an ambulance to receive psychiatric help. Nor was it about the reason Tom Brady delivered an armful of flowers to his galfriend prior to Sunday's Super Bowl XLII outside of Phoenix. If it had been that I would have been asking man's oldest question: "What in the world did Tom do? He must have really messed up!"
Now, to the ladies, bouquets of flowers, whether daffodils or red roses, mean sweetness and light, but every red-blooded man knows such a delivery means he just broke all the partnership rules. At least it did in my younger days when such a "commitment" might have earned a semi-pardon, for, maybe, 24 hours.
No, The Missus was informing me of an Air Canada flight, which was forced to land at Shannon. That's in Ireland, for those of you without a map.
Alright, don't be so insensitive, Corbett, I can hear someone in the back row bleating right now, and they're probably right.
But when the co-pilot of an elephant-sized plane flying from Toronto to London's Heathrow decided to have a nervous breakdown, as the wire services reported, then I would have been headed for the nearest exit with a parachute in tow.
There must have been stark terror for some passengers aboard that flight when the co-pilot was subdued and then "escorted off the plane with his wrists and ankles in shackles."
After being informed of this incident by The Better Half, I spent an hour or two tracking down wire service reports.
Reporter David Sharrock of the Irish Independent filled in the details concerning the co-pilot's plight and how he began "asking for God," at some 30,000 feet over the Atlantic.
It seems the pilot was forced to handle the plane as some colleagues and even an off-duty Canadian armed forces type held the man in check and then removed him to a Shannon hospital.
One passenger told the CBC, this man was swearing and calling for God.
Sharrock then concluded his story that it wasn't the first incident. In 1999 an EgyptAir co-pilot, flying out of New York, also starting "calling out." However, on that flight, some 217 people perished.
Fortunately, over Ireland, the Air Canada flight landed safely.
***
TAKE TWO: Perhaps, there's an explanation, but can anyone tell me the reason a NHL goalie, who must being earning a zillion dollars a season, would miss practising with his club? Not once, but a couple of times.
The wayward star, Ray Emery of the Ottawa Senators, said he couldn't find his way to the right rink the other day.
Emery, who claims he's working on some "different things," definitely needs an attitude adjustment. What he probably will get is a trade to somewhere in the Far North (as in NWT) and a map to the local rink.
***
TAKE THREE (From Joshua Piven and David Borgenicht's The Worst-Case Scenario Handbook): How to foil a UFO abduction. 1. Do not panic. The extraterrestrial biological entity (EBE) may sense your fear and act rashly; 2. Control your thoughts. Do not think anything violent or upsetting -- the EBE may have the ability to read your mind; 3. Resist verbally; 4. Resist mentally; 5. Resist physically. My advice: Go for the eyes, if it has any.
And here's one for winter: How to unstick (or is that unstuck?) your tongue. If your tongue is stuck to a cold pole, place your glove hands on the pole closest to your tongue. Hold them there for several minutes. As the pole warms, the frozen area around the tongue should begin to thaw. Gently pull your tongue away from the pole. My advice: Very gently. Incidentally, I ran this advice in 2006 ... did you listen?
***
AND ONE LAST WORD (From the late and filthy rich J. Paul Getty): "Rise early. Work late. Strike oil."
No, it wasn't another urgent message about Britney being rushed away in an ambulance to receive psychiatric help. Nor was it about the reason Tom Brady delivered an armful of flowers to his galfriend prior to Sunday's Super Bowl XLII outside of Phoenix. If it had been that I would have been asking man's oldest question: "What in the world did Tom do? He must have really messed up!"
Now, to the ladies, bouquets of flowers, whether daffodils or red roses, mean sweetness and light, but every red-blooded man knows such a delivery means he just broke all the partnership rules. At least it did in my younger days when such a "commitment" might have earned a semi-pardon, for, maybe, 24 hours.
No, The Missus was informing me of an Air Canada flight, which was forced to land at Shannon. That's in Ireland, for those of you without a map.
Alright, don't be so insensitive, Corbett, I can hear someone in the back row bleating right now, and they're probably right.
But when the co-pilot of an elephant-sized plane flying from Toronto to London's Heathrow decided to have a nervous breakdown, as the wire services reported, then I would have been headed for the nearest exit with a parachute in tow.
There must have been stark terror for some passengers aboard that flight when the co-pilot was subdued and then "escorted off the plane with his wrists and ankles in shackles."
After being informed of this incident by The Better Half, I spent an hour or two tracking down wire service reports.
Reporter David Sharrock of the Irish Independent filled in the details concerning the co-pilot's plight and how he began "asking for God," at some 30,000 feet over the Atlantic.
It seems the pilot was forced to handle the plane as some colleagues and even an off-duty Canadian armed forces type held the man in check and then removed him to a Shannon hospital.
One passenger told the CBC, this man was swearing and calling for God.
Sharrock then concluded his story that it wasn't the first incident. In 1999 an EgyptAir co-pilot, flying out of New York, also starting "calling out." However, on that flight, some 217 people perished.
Fortunately, over Ireland, the Air Canada flight landed safely.
***
TAKE TWO: Perhaps, there's an explanation, but can anyone tell me the reason a NHL goalie, who must being earning a zillion dollars a season, would miss practising with his club? Not once, but a couple of times.
The wayward star, Ray Emery of the Ottawa Senators, said he couldn't find his way to the right rink the other day.
Emery, who claims he's working on some "different things," definitely needs an attitude adjustment. What he probably will get is a trade to somewhere in the Far North (as in NWT) and a map to the local rink.
***
TAKE THREE (From Joshua Piven and David Borgenicht's The Worst-Case Scenario Handbook): How to foil a UFO abduction. 1. Do not panic. The extraterrestrial biological entity (EBE) may sense your fear and act rashly; 2. Control your thoughts. Do not think anything violent or upsetting -- the EBE may have the ability to read your mind; 3. Resist verbally; 4. Resist mentally; 5. Resist physically. My advice: Go for the eyes, if it has any.
And here's one for winter: How to unstick (or is that unstuck?) your tongue. If your tongue is stuck to a cold pole, place your glove hands on the pole closest to your tongue. Hold them there for several minutes. As the pole warms, the frozen area around the tongue should begin to thaw. Gently pull your tongue away from the pole. My advice: Very gently. Incidentally, I ran this advice in 2006 ... did you listen?
***
AND ONE LAST WORD (From the late and filthy rich J. Paul Getty): "Rise early. Work late. Strike oil."
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
So What's Next For Us Mere Earthlings?
THOSE DOOMSDAY THEORISTS must have been wallowing in their gory this week. And somehow this unstable planet did survive. Barely. And it's only Wednesday.
As an investigative journalist of everything planetary, I kept a close watch on the sky; considering it was layered with snow from here to the Arctic circle.
And my mind was cluttered with immediate thoughts of wayward asteroids, a growing problem with space debris, a disabled spy satellite threatening the earth and even snowstorms in such semi-tropical places as Jerusalem
Then came the words of Ernie Mauck, who now calls himself Elijah, who pushes his theories in which he calls everyone from President Bush to Prince Charles corrupt. He's also someone who looks skyward for the appearance of Planet X, aka Nibiru and even Wormwood from Revelation, which will annihilate us all.
Pass the Bromo-Seltzer. Even Alka-Seltzer might help.
So, fellow earth-bound mortals, let's go down the list:
* Wayward Asteroid 2007 TU24. I don't know about you, but I missed it; all that snow and another thing it was dark around the Ol' Homestead in the middle of the night. According to the solar scientists it was between 150 and 600 metres in diameter and came within 334,000 miles of Earth. Apparently, a strong telescope would have picked it up.
In quoting Chee Chee Leung in the Sydney (Australia) Morning Herald, 2007 TU24 was "one of an estimated 7,000 near-Earth objects of its size or larger, which comes close to Earth on average about every five years." One of these giant rocks smashed into this planet in the ancient past, wiping out the dinosaurs.
Believe it or not, I wasn't around back then.
* Space debris. That's plain ordinary junk and it's lodged between 550 and 625 miles above us, according to a report from AP science writer E. Schmid. Now, I'm no expert, but being plunked from that distance, would give you a severe headache, whether it weighs an ounce or a ton.
* Disabled Spy Satellite. This one troubled me, for this spacecraft, which is out of control, weighs in the neighbourhood of 20,000 pounds and is the size of a small bus. It's headed our way in late February or early March, according to AP's Eileen Sullivan.
On the GlobalSecurity.org website, the main concern from an uncontrolled re-entry is not the debris which will reach the Earth's surface, but the spacecraft's secrets might be recovered by "a hostile intelligence agency."
* Snow, snow and even more snow. Perhaps, it means little to North Americans, but to a former newsman living in Israel, it's significant. It rarely happens, but Tuesday there was a report of a man frozen to death on the streets of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem was shutting down in advance of an Arctic blast.
Frigid temperatures in our part of the world is understandable, but in the semi-tropical weather of the Middle East it is almost unheard of.
Also the conspiratorial experts were at work, for surrounding the icy conditions was the news that the Winograd Report concerning the recent Lebanon war could be enough to oust the government of Prime Minister Ehud Olmert. Some say it would be an Act of God.
* Prophet Elijah. While some would sneer at the words of Ernie Mauck, who gets his "messages" across through the Internet, this bearded man, who resides in Cyprus, details the world's fate, particularly, with the Planet X (Nibiru) and its effect on our planet's orbit.
In the June 19, 1982 New York Times, it read: "Something out there beyond the reaches of the known solar system is tugging at Uranus and Neptune. A gravitational force keeps perturbing the two giant planets, causing irregularities in their orbits. The force suggests a presence far away and unseen, a large object, the long-sought Planet X." It could make it our way, at least Elijah thinks so.
So what's next? After all, there's been 9-11; a Pacific earthquake and tsunami; Hurricane Katrina; Avian flu and global warming looming on the horizon.
It's time to pull the covers over our heads in my opinion.
As an investigative journalist of everything planetary, I kept a close watch on the sky; considering it was layered with snow from here to the Arctic circle.
And my mind was cluttered with immediate thoughts of wayward asteroids, a growing problem with space debris, a disabled spy satellite threatening the earth and even snowstorms in such semi-tropical places as Jerusalem
Then came the words of Ernie Mauck, who now calls himself Elijah, who pushes his theories in which he calls everyone from President Bush to Prince Charles corrupt. He's also someone who looks skyward for the appearance of Planet X, aka Nibiru and even Wormwood from Revelation, which will annihilate us all.
Pass the Bromo-Seltzer. Even Alka-Seltzer might help.
So, fellow earth-bound mortals, let's go down the list:
* Wayward Asteroid 2007 TU24. I don't know about you, but I missed it; all that snow and another thing it was dark around the Ol' Homestead in the middle of the night. According to the solar scientists it was between 150 and 600 metres in diameter and came within 334,000 miles of Earth. Apparently, a strong telescope would have picked it up.
In quoting Chee Chee Leung in the Sydney (Australia) Morning Herald, 2007 TU24 was "one of an estimated 7,000 near-Earth objects of its size or larger, which comes close to Earth on average about every five years." One of these giant rocks smashed into this planet in the ancient past, wiping out the dinosaurs.
Believe it or not, I wasn't around back then.
* Space debris. That's plain ordinary junk and it's lodged between 550 and 625 miles above us, according to a report from AP science writer E. Schmid. Now, I'm no expert, but being plunked from that distance, would give you a severe headache, whether it weighs an ounce or a ton.
* Disabled Spy Satellite. This one troubled me, for this spacecraft, which is out of control, weighs in the neighbourhood of 20,000 pounds and is the size of a small bus. It's headed our way in late February or early March, according to AP's Eileen Sullivan.
On the GlobalSecurity.org website, the main concern from an uncontrolled re-entry is not the debris which will reach the Earth's surface, but the spacecraft's secrets might be recovered by "a hostile intelligence agency."
* Snow, snow and even more snow. Perhaps, it means little to North Americans, but to a former newsman living in Israel, it's significant. It rarely happens, but Tuesday there was a report of a man frozen to death on the streets of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem was shutting down in advance of an Arctic blast.
Frigid temperatures in our part of the world is understandable, but in the semi-tropical weather of the Middle East it is almost unheard of.
Also the conspiratorial experts were at work, for surrounding the icy conditions was the news that the Winograd Report concerning the recent Lebanon war could be enough to oust the government of Prime Minister Ehud Olmert. Some say it would be an Act of God.
* Prophet Elijah. While some would sneer at the words of Ernie Mauck, who gets his "messages" across through the Internet, this bearded man, who resides in Cyprus, details the world's fate, particularly, with the Planet X (Nibiru) and its effect on our planet's orbit.
In the June 19, 1982 New York Times, it read: "Something out there beyond the reaches of the known solar system is tugging at Uranus and Neptune. A gravitational force keeps perturbing the two giant planets, causing irregularities in their orbits. The force suggests a presence far away and unseen, a large object, the long-sought Planet X." It could make it our way, at least Elijah thinks so.
So what's next? After all, there's been 9-11; a Pacific earthquake and tsunami; Hurricane Katrina; Avian flu and global warming looming on the horizon.
It's time to pull the covers over our heads in my opinion.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Chilling Memories From The Big Easy
AFTER PLACING MY HAND -- my now unthawed hand -- on a stack of NFL rulebooks, I promised never to write about Super Bowl I or 7,348 again.
However, promises are made to be broken. Or that's what someone unwise once muttered.
Of course, a week Sunday's 42nd edition of Super Hype in sunny Arizona will mean a matter of Xs and O's to some, but for the Ol' Columnist it will stir up a batch of bitter memories -- of pain and suffering.
Alright, stiff upper lip, Big Fellow, learn to play with pain.
"Aw, shut up," I say. "Look at my fingers, all gnarled ... quick, call in the Doc."
Of course, these digits have looked like this since Jan. 12, 1975 when the Pittsburgh (The Steel Curtain) Steelers ran over the Minnesota (Purple People Eaters) Vikings 16-6 in Super Bore IX in a New Orleans' cow pasture called Tulane Stadium.
Preceding that afternoon, I had savoured a stackful of sizzling steaks cooked in the middle of the Superdome. It was before it had been officially opened to the public and the horde of scribes and/or ex-jocks had congregated to live off NFL handouts.
It was long before the flood, which devastated New Orleans and long before Bourbon Street was awash with gin mixed with party favours.
So there I was soaking up the atmosphere and steak sauce when I learned of the change of venue from the Dome to a university campus I had barely heard of before. Tulane, ah, Tulane, the Sugar Bowl ... Cajun music, jazz, etc., etc.
Getting off the bus, I knew this would be an afternoon to forget; for the wind whistled through my shirtsleeves and sent shivers up and down my back as I climbed the rickety stands ... These weren't the luxurious elevators I heard one of the league's flacks talk about.
So where was the expansive press box where the elite such as myself would sit?
"Excuse me, Mister, you're in Row 2,487 Seat 00073," snarled a young voice, emphasizing I would be in the "cheap seats" since I was from a non-NFL city. "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me," I kept repeating as I tried to manoeuvre my lanky frame and a portable typewriter past protruding legs.
"Ah, here's my seat (still wet from overnight rain)," I muttered to myself.
Next came the quantum task of trying to fit the little typewriter on my lap and typing ... NEW OR ... that's when an elbow jabbed me in my right arm and I knew, immediately, it was going to be a long and frigid afternoon ... NEW ORvhutiiogt648hhdek54342 ... Ah forget about it, I'll wait until half time before typing any more about Terry Bradshaw and Franco Harris vs. Fran Tarkenton and Chuck Foreman.
So this is the glamorous life of a highly-skilled sportswriter?
By halftime, all my fingers were curled in a grotesque manner as the temperatures dipped to 236 below ... or was it 237? That's when I decided to type up my game column back at the "toasty" hotel.
Next came the halftime show with the Grambling State University band and the half-time "meal." The music with its tribute to Duke Ellington had my toes a-tappin, but the free "meal" was an icy steak and putrid sauce, which I managed to smear on my clean shirt.
Then came the grand finale. What's that about?
Well, there I was in the dying seconds of the game; standing on the sidelines waiting for the final whistle when a Pittsburgh monster rumbled for the nearest exit, but not before mangling my now-frozen toes.
Even today, so many years later, my typing fingers still hurt and my toes (on my right foot) are twisted in a disgusting manner. Thanks a lot, Big Boy, I'll remember you in my (ill) will.
Was there any more to this version of Les Miserables?
On the return to my hotel, I found my typewriter carriage had shifted and the keys had become glued. My next move was to phone "it" in.
Without mentioning one word about that bitter afternoon, I started dictating to the sports desk: "NEW ORvhutiiogt648hhdek54342 ..." The voice at the other end blared: "What's the matter, Corbett, you sound cold." That's when I realized my ears had sustained a severe case of frost bite.
Even today, 33 years later, when questioned, I'll, repeatedly, ask: "WAAAAAHATTT?"
P.S. Incidentally, IX was the third and last Super Bowl ever played at Tulane. The 80,997-seat stadium was mercifully closed on August 3, 1975 and demolished in 1980.
However, promises are made to be broken. Or that's what someone unwise once muttered.
Of course, a week Sunday's 42nd edition of Super Hype in sunny Arizona will mean a matter of Xs and O's to some, but for the Ol' Columnist it will stir up a batch of bitter memories -- of pain and suffering.
Alright, stiff upper lip, Big Fellow, learn to play with pain.
"Aw, shut up," I say. "Look at my fingers, all gnarled ... quick, call in the Doc."
Of course, these digits have looked like this since Jan. 12, 1975 when the Pittsburgh (The Steel Curtain) Steelers ran over the Minnesota (Purple People Eaters) Vikings 16-6 in Super Bore IX in a New Orleans' cow pasture called Tulane Stadium.
Preceding that afternoon, I had savoured a stackful of sizzling steaks cooked in the middle of the Superdome. It was before it had been officially opened to the public and the horde of scribes and/or ex-jocks had congregated to live off NFL handouts.
It was long before the flood, which devastated New Orleans and long before Bourbon Street was awash with gin mixed with party favours.
So there I was soaking up the atmosphere and steak sauce when I learned of the change of venue from the Dome to a university campus I had barely heard of before. Tulane, ah, Tulane, the Sugar Bowl ... Cajun music, jazz, etc., etc.
Getting off the bus, I knew this would be an afternoon to forget; for the wind whistled through my shirtsleeves and sent shivers up and down my back as I climbed the rickety stands ... These weren't the luxurious elevators I heard one of the league's flacks talk about.
So where was the expansive press box where the elite such as myself would sit?
"Excuse me, Mister, you're in Row 2,487 Seat 00073," snarled a young voice, emphasizing I would be in the "cheap seats" since I was from a non-NFL city. "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me," I kept repeating as I tried to manoeuvre my lanky frame and a portable typewriter past protruding legs.
"Ah, here's my seat (still wet from overnight rain)," I muttered to myself.
Next came the quantum task of trying to fit the little typewriter on my lap and typing ... NEW OR ... that's when an elbow jabbed me in my right arm and I knew, immediately, it was going to be a long and frigid afternoon ... NEW ORvhutiiogt648hhdek54342 ... Ah forget about it, I'll wait until half time before typing any more about Terry Bradshaw and Franco Harris vs. Fran Tarkenton and Chuck Foreman.
So this is the glamorous life of a highly-skilled sportswriter?
By halftime, all my fingers were curled in a grotesque manner as the temperatures dipped to 236 below ... or was it 237? That's when I decided to type up my game column back at the "toasty" hotel.
Next came the halftime show with the Grambling State University band and the half-time "meal." The music with its tribute to Duke Ellington had my toes a-tappin, but the free "meal" was an icy steak and putrid sauce, which I managed to smear on my clean shirt.
Then came the grand finale. What's that about?
Well, there I was in the dying seconds of the game; standing on the sidelines waiting for the final whistle when a Pittsburgh monster rumbled for the nearest exit, but not before mangling my now-frozen toes.
Even today, so many years later, my typing fingers still hurt and my toes (on my right foot) are twisted in a disgusting manner. Thanks a lot, Big Boy, I'll remember you in my (ill) will.
Was there any more to this version of Les Miserables?
On the return to my hotel, I found my typewriter carriage had shifted and the keys had become glued. My next move was to phone "it" in.
Without mentioning one word about that bitter afternoon, I started dictating to the sports desk: "NEW ORvhutiiogt648hhdek54342 ..." The voice at the other end blared: "What's the matter, Corbett, you sound cold." That's when I realized my ears had sustained a severe case of frost bite.
Even today, 33 years later, when questioned, I'll, repeatedly, ask: "WAAAAAHATTT?"
P.S. Incidentally, IX was the third and last Super Bowl ever played at Tulane. The 80,997-seat stadium was mercifully closed on August 3, 1975 and demolished in 1980.
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