Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
Late last night my wife came down and said, ``You know the windows are open. The neighbors can all hear you swearing.''
So God and I have some more work to do, what can I say?
Few things get me riled like Phil Jackson.
I despise the smarmy swami.
Oh, it's personal, all right.
And professional both.
All the same, Jerry Krause gave me a couple of my biggest stories early on. One column ended up framed in his office at the Bulls Deerfield complex. There was no reason for him to give me a chance, other than he read me and apparently trusted me.
I am forever grateful to him.
BTW, on the sports side, Chicago will never see another general manager with the success of Krause.
I thought maybe Kenny Williams was young and tough enough to do a baseball equivalent with the Sox (say two or three World Series championships), but it is so much harder in baseball and I am fast losing faith.
Back to memory lane.
Let me contrast that with the actions of Jackson. I put a feeler out to see if I could tag along on some fishing, maybe fly fishing, or at least talk about it.
Oh, I got a no back.
Which is fine. There's a way to say no and not burn bridges.
Tim Floyd turned down, politely and professionally, an offer to go bass fishing. Mark Buehrle turned down, politely and professionally, a request to tag along on a bowhunt for deer.
Jackson's people, acting for the great poser, made sure to turn me down in such a way to let me know I was a minor nebbish. Give me a figurative finger, if you will, and I will.
Maybe I was a nebbish, but I really didn't need to have it rubbed in.
Yes, I can nurse a good grudge with the best of them.
I filed the last of my Sunday stuff for the Sun-Times outdoors page and was working on my second or third glass of merlot when I turned the game on.
The score was tied, Kobe Bryant was stepping to the line.
Shortly, thereafter, my swearing started as it all went downhill.
I am still steamed this morning.
And it didn't help that a small storm came through just before the morning ramble with the meathead. That just turned the morning into a sauna.
Even finding several good handfuls of perfectly ripe and overly fat mulberries and raspberries, a double delight, around the town pond didn't help.
Some things stick with you.