Every year a little before this time (as of this writing, nine days ago) a colleague of mine walks into my classroom and recites to me a favorite line from The Wednesday Wars by Gary D. Schmidt (I don’t have the text with me to check my accuracy, so please forgive me if I misquote):
“Spring Break. Is there anywhere in the English language two words combined so perfectly?”
Yes, this week was spring break, and we have celebrated it the way we usually do: house projects, dipping chocolate Easter eggs (Charity does that part—I handle quality control), and hosting 37,485 children at our house. One of those house projects, as many of you know, kind of dominated the week. We redid our roof.
Now some of you may put roofing in that category of things to be avoided desperately, like alternators, chicken pox, and nuclear war. (Archivists, if you still have that letter, please send it back to me! I have spent nine years trying to recreate that level of brilliance, and I confess I don’t even have a copy of the letter in the first place.) However, I was not nearly as nervous about this as some other homeowners may have been. I’ve done this. Regularly. It was odd on the first day of the project when I realized that the person in charge should be the homeowner or the most experienced roofer on the deck, and those were both me. (That day—more to follow.) So I kind of knew what I was getting myself into. I’m also terrified of heights, so that may have offset some of it. Either way, there is a new roof on my house and no leaks in between.
Monday of this week I went shopping with my friend Scott, who is a much more experienced roofer than I. We picked up all the materials that were not going to be part of the rooftop delivery I had already ordered (see below). The roof waited in anticipation. We attached some plywood to the carport to make a slide for the shingles we were tearing off. Then it became Tuesday. Tuesday we waited. (I, in the interim, watched a bunch of children while the girls went to lunch. Most of them went to see The Hunger Games first. Some of those told me how much they liked it. They are still confused by how little their arguments influenced me to see the movie, and certainly how little they influenced me to trade $8 for a chance to see the movie. It’s a paradigm thing, you see. They don’t understand what I value in a film. Of course, the only known individual on the planet who does understand that met up with her friends for lunch later.) (Oh, I also fixed a couple of other things in the house. Irrelevant, but nice.)
Wednesday morning saw the arrival of a dumpster that was supposed to come Tuesday. Wednesday slightly-later-morning saw me up on my roof with scraping shovels, as well as with Rick, my neighbor Mark, and Mighty. I discovered how small my roof really is. We started pulling shingles off a little after eight, maybe eight thirty. We all got down from the roof a little after two, and the work was pretty well done. I had to clean up a lot of misses, but in large measure it was all taken care of. Thank you, Rick, and thank you, Mark. (It was during this time that Charity and her friends made the chocolate eggs, while a gaggle—no, a rabble—make that a murder of children ran around her friend’s back yard.)
Thursday morning I got up on the roof to do the last part of cleanup I had saved—the gutters. Scott joined me that day, and we did as many pieces of prep work as we could before the shingles were delivered. We had the drip edge nailed on and were about to put on the ice shield—the last thing we could do without more materials—when the truck arrived. Charity was already gone to the library at that point, so the five little boys who were down in the yard watched the astounding process as a truck with a conveyor belt brought 1500 square feet of brown three-tab shingles to my roof (which measures 1300 square feet; on a related note, would anyone like some brown three-tab shingles?). They were all very impressed, but what they thought was the coolest was not the machine that can put shingles on the roof, but the fact that the worker rode the machine up to the roof and then back down. Well, the rest of the day Scott and I, with Mighty’s help, shingled the front half of the roof and prepped the back, getting the shingles part way up that side as well. We ran out of gas, and we knew we had a lot of help coming on Saturday. We then laid tarps over the exposed parts of the roof (well, exposed except for tar paper) and set a time to start again on Saturday.
It snowed Friday. A lot. But the roof did not leak. Charity and I took the afternoon to join Paul and his fiancé Kelly in the temple. That was wonderful. Then Robbie and Mary Lou beat us back home. Oh well.
In the meantime that snow melted, thankfully. We got right to work on Saturday, and it turned out that almost every adult in John Merrill’s family who lives in Utah or Wyoming (and isn’t currently pregnant) was on my roof. With that much help and two nail guns we knocked out the rest of the roof by noon. Literally—when we finished Scott checked his phone, and the time was 12:00. Thank you so much to all the help we received. I love the new roof, but I still think my favorite part was Mighty’s repeated response to me. His friends were all down below playing (even his cousins on Saturday), and I kept asking if he wanted to join them. He declined every time, however, saying this: “It’s not every day you get to do a roof!” What a boy.
With the family all coming for Saturday, Charity and I planned to do an Easter egg hunt with whoever was there. We didn’t realize, of course, that eventually that would be pretty much everybody. So the great Handy-Merrill-Tang-Stirling-Jeffery-Peterson (yep, the neighbor kids too) Easter egg hunt ended up being pretty big. Naturally, since John was there to help on the last stages of the roof on Saturday, we assigned him his preferred task of hiding eggs. We released the kids in stages to get eggs. One of the best moments early on was when Tang[3], who had a few eggs in his basket, decided to open one and found that it contained candy. He was done hunting eggs at that point. Eventually we had two back yards full of ten children seeking their glorious jelly-bean-filled eggs, and a little trading so that those who found eggs with bracelets but wanted eggs filled with snakes could get their wish.
I have set up a Google site where I have posted some of the pictures and video from that day. If you want to see them, let me know and I’ll add you as a user. You can then post yours, if you have any.
I want to give you an Easter thought, and I can think of nothing more eloquent nor more poetic than what the Apostle Paul already put down:
For if the dead rise not, then Christ is not raised.
And if Christ be not raised, your faith is vain; ye are yet in your sins.
If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.
But now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the firstfruits of them that slept.
For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead.
For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.
There are also celestial bodies, and bodies terrestrial: but the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of the terrestrial is another.
There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars: for one star differeth from another star in glory.
So also is the resurrection of the dead. It is sown in corruption; it is raised in incorruption:
It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory: it is sown in weakness; it is raised in power:
It is sown in a natural body; it is raised in a spiritual body. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body.
The first man is of the earth, earthy: the second man is the Lord from heaven.
And as we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly.
For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.
So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
Happy Easter,
The Handy Family
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Occasionally Handy--Grammar Day!
Dear family, friends, and fodder,
I decided to mainly write today so that I could share a glorious joke with you. (Those of you who follow me on Google +, or on Twitter, have probably already seen this. Margaret and Christine, I’m so sorry. (They follow me on both.))
March 4th, National Grammar Day, is also my grandmother’s birthday. There’s an excellent pun in there somewhere.
OK, so it wasn’t that great of a joke, but it made me giggle.
Several of you are now saying “I didn’t know there was a National Grammar day.” (The rest are saying, “You’re kidding. There’s a National Grammar Day? What next, a National Root Canal Day? National Scrape Your Fingernails On A Chalkboard Day?” (For the younger generation—a “Chalkboard” is an antique technology that we once used to didactically write, often to larger groups. When you scratch your fingernails on it there issues forth a torturous sound. I think it was a malfunctioning app.))
But yes, March Forth is National Grammar Day. Why did grammarians and other such language-loving nerds choose this particular day, out of all in the calendar?
Because it’s a sentence.
Aha! Now you all gasp with recognition as your brain forces you to quickly recognize the brilliance of the assignment of that day. (Also a pun.) You may also connect that many other nerd holidays fall in March: World Book Day (1), π day (14), the Ides of March (beware the 15), the spring equinox (dates vary—I think it depends on the Iowa Caucuses that year), and let’s not forget Theodor Geisel’s birthday (2). (Don’t recognize the name? His middle name was Seuss.)
So in honor of National Grammar Day, I have decided to cannily split all the infinitives in this letter. (Did I just go back to merrily put in more infinitives, only to mischievously split them? You will have to dazedly wonder.)
News of the actual family goes as follows: Pretty just registered for Kindergarten, Mighty moved up to the beginner class in Tae Kwon Do, and Charity and I tutor a lot of local teenagers.
Thursday of this week (World Book Day) we went to the elementary school to thoughtfully register Pretty for next year’s kindergarten class. She (and most of her friends—Angels and ministers of grace defend those two teachers) got to giddily try some activities with one kindergarten teacher while the parents sat to attentively listen to the other explain what their child should know before the first day. The list is fairly simple—write her name, recognize the letters in her name, and know the numbers 1-10. It was reminiscent of Mighty’s kindergarten roundup: I thought to myself then, too, “So, what if he was ready for that eight months ago?” She is ready, too, though I think she’ll be a different challenge for the teachers than her brother was. (She does, however, have one moment in her past reminiscent of the Hamlet-Point the Leaf controversy. Charity has one hairstyle that they call “Juliet hair” because it resembles the style worn by Amanda Seyfried in Letters to Juliet. The first time she did it in Pretty’s hair, she declared, “I’m the Princess of Shakespeare!” I need to carefully do less to literarily corrupt my children.) Anyway, this is an exciting time for her as she gets ready for school.
Don’t worry, though. She’s still our Pretty. Right now as she is sleeping (read “singing and pretending to quietly be asleep”) a line of riderless cavalry, largest to smallest, crosses her dresser.
Mighty has moved up in his Tae Kwon Do class, as I mentioned. I think I have mentioned before that he has been taking that class since September. He has enjoyed some remarkable success with it, including breaking his first board a couple of weeks back. (The board is on display at the house, if you want to bodily see it. So, Uncle Brian, just hop that plane from Guam so you can visually inspect an object whose picture I could just as easily post on my blog and let you see at your inconvenience.) He likes to diligently practice his form in the mornings (it’s a series of movements that he needs to exactly master in order to proudly earn his yellow belt), and he enjoys the workout of participating in class. Now that he is beyond the super-little-kids class, he goes twice a week. I can easily see now where the burnout of soccer moms can creep in; imagine having three or four kids who are actively involved in three or four different activities. (That’s right, Mark, and you too, teeny—imagine that very carefully.)
Don’t worry, though. He’s still our Mighty. Yesterday when his Lego Club magazine arrived he found the contest page and commenced immediately to creatively build a model of a garbage truck with an extremely long crane arm, though he tells us it’s for separating recyclables.
(I should invent a National Parallelism Day. We would spend it reading King Lear, Isaiah, and Nothing but the Truth.)
Charity and I, as I mentioned, have found ourselves tutoring a lot of teenagers in the neighborhood. (OK, “a lot” is deceptive. No more than seven have ever come, one of those is actually twenty, and two others have only come once. But I might also point out the number of teenagers currently in our posterity: 0.) Most of them come for math, though several come (or call in, readers of this letter) about chemistry, and two of them have Charity help them with history. Only rarely am I called upon to deftly employ my actual job-related skills and help students with essays. (If we expand the pool to our adult friends who are taking college classes, that frequency rises dramatically, from “once per dynasty” to “once per essay.”) Don’t get us wrong—we like helping these kids (and adults, for that matter). It gives Charity someone to shepherdessly feed after our kids’ friends all have to lamentably go home for the afternoon. It gives me a fresh sarcasm vent. (I understand summers are very hard on my family, because I have to inadvertently let out all that snark on the ones I love. Maybe I should just write more family letters in the summer to skillfully solve that.)
So, as you see, life at the Handy house continues to moss-ungatheringly roll along.
Mike, Charity, Mighty, and Pretty
P. S. Did I just work to CTRL-F-ly proofread this letter to ratifyingly certify that I had split each infinitive? You will have to continually wonder. Or, alternatively, to wonderingly count.
I decided to mainly write today so that I could share a glorious joke with you. (Those of you who follow me on Google +, or on Twitter, have probably already seen this. Margaret and Christine, I’m so sorry. (They follow me on both.))
March 4th, National Grammar Day, is also my grandmother’s birthday. There’s an excellent pun in there somewhere.
OK, so it wasn’t that great of a joke, but it made me giggle.
Several of you are now saying “I didn’t know there was a National Grammar day.” (The rest are saying, “You’re kidding. There’s a National Grammar Day? What next, a National Root Canal Day? National Scrape Your Fingernails On A Chalkboard Day?” (For the younger generation—a “Chalkboard” is an antique technology that we once used to didactically write, often to larger groups. When you scratch your fingernails on it there issues forth a torturous sound. I think it was a malfunctioning app.))
But yes, March Forth is National Grammar Day. Why did grammarians and other such language-loving nerds choose this particular day, out of all in the calendar?
Because it’s a sentence.
Aha! Now you all gasp with recognition as your brain forces you to quickly recognize the brilliance of the assignment of that day. (Also a pun.) You may also connect that many other nerd holidays fall in March: World Book Day (1), π day (14), the Ides of March (beware the 15), the spring equinox (dates vary—I think it depends on the Iowa Caucuses that year), and let’s not forget Theodor Geisel’s birthday (2). (Don’t recognize the name? His middle name was Seuss.)
So in honor of National Grammar Day, I have decided to cannily split all the infinitives in this letter. (Did I just go back to merrily put in more infinitives, only to mischievously split them? You will have to dazedly wonder.)
News of the actual family goes as follows: Pretty just registered for Kindergarten, Mighty moved up to the beginner class in Tae Kwon Do, and Charity and I tutor a lot of local teenagers.
Thursday of this week (World Book Day) we went to the elementary school to thoughtfully register Pretty for next year’s kindergarten class. She (and most of her friends—Angels and ministers of grace defend those two teachers) got to giddily try some activities with one kindergarten teacher while the parents sat to attentively listen to the other explain what their child should know before the first day. The list is fairly simple—write her name, recognize the letters in her name, and know the numbers 1-10. It was reminiscent of Mighty’s kindergarten roundup: I thought to myself then, too, “So, what if he was ready for that eight months ago?” She is ready, too, though I think she’ll be a different challenge for the teachers than her brother was. (She does, however, have one moment in her past reminiscent of the Hamlet-Point the Leaf controversy. Charity has one hairstyle that they call “Juliet hair” because it resembles the style worn by Amanda Seyfried in Letters to Juliet. The first time she did it in Pretty’s hair, she declared, “I’m the Princess of Shakespeare!” I need to carefully do less to literarily corrupt my children.) Anyway, this is an exciting time for her as she gets ready for school.
Don’t worry, though. She’s still our Pretty. Right now as she is sleeping (read “singing and pretending to quietly be asleep”) a line of riderless cavalry, largest to smallest, crosses her dresser.
Mighty has moved up in his Tae Kwon Do class, as I mentioned. I think I have mentioned before that he has been taking that class since September. He has enjoyed some remarkable success with it, including breaking his first board a couple of weeks back. (The board is on display at the house, if you want to bodily see it. So, Uncle Brian, just hop that plane from Guam so you can visually inspect an object whose picture I could just as easily post on my blog and let you see at your inconvenience.) He likes to diligently practice his form in the mornings (it’s a series of movements that he needs to exactly master in order to proudly earn his yellow belt), and he enjoys the workout of participating in class. Now that he is beyond the super-little-kids class, he goes twice a week. I can easily see now where the burnout of soccer moms can creep in; imagine having three or four kids who are actively involved in three or four different activities. (That’s right, Mark, and you too, teeny—imagine that very carefully.)
Don’t worry, though. He’s still our Mighty. Yesterday when his Lego Club magazine arrived he found the contest page and commenced immediately to creatively build a model of a garbage truck with an extremely long crane arm, though he tells us it’s for separating recyclables.
(I should invent a National Parallelism Day. We would spend it reading King Lear, Isaiah, and Nothing but the Truth.)
Charity and I, as I mentioned, have found ourselves tutoring a lot of teenagers in the neighborhood. (OK, “a lot” is deceptive. No more than seven have ever come, one of those is actually twenty, and two others have only come once. But I might also point out the number of teenagers currently in our posterity: 0.) Most of them come for math, though several come (or call in, readers of this letter) about chemistry, and two of them have Charity help them with history. Only rarely am I called upon to deftly employ my actual job-related skills and help students with essays. (If we expand the pool to our adult friends who are taking college classes, that frequency rises dramatically, from “once per dynasty” to “once per essay.”) Don’t get us wrong—we like helping these kids (and adults, for that matter). It gives Charity someone to shepherdessly feed after our kids’ friends all have to lamentably go home for the afternoon. It gives me a fresh sarcasm vent. (I understand summers are very hard on my family, because I have to inadvertently let out all that snark on the ones I love. Maybe I should just write more family letters in the summer to skillfully solve that.)
So, as you see, life at the Handy house continues to moss-ungatheringly roll along.
Mike, Charity, Mighty, and Pretty
P. S. Did I just work to CTRL-F-ly proofread this letter to ratifyingly certify that I had split each infinitive? You will have to continually wonder. Or, alternatively, to wonderingly count.
Super Tuesday
I was planning to write a post with my own musings about the upcoming primaries on Super Tuesday, but the fivethirtyeight post about it pretty much stole what thunder I don't have.
Summary: Mitt Romney is probably going to top 400 delegates after Tuesday. Not only does he survive the onslaught of the "anybody-but-Romney" candidates, but he gains on them further still.
Summary: Mitt Romney is probably going to top 400 delegates after Tuesday. Not only does he survive the onslaught of the "anybody-but-Romney" candidates, but he gains on them further still.
Sunday, December 4, 2011
How the BCS should unfold today
Six teams have auto-bids: LSU, Oklahoma State, Oregon, Clemson, Wisconsin, and "the highest ranked among West Virginia, Cincinnati, and Louisville," which is almost certain to be WV.
We all know Alabama and Stanford will get two other bids. That leaves two spots.
We all know Alabama and Stanford will get two other bids. That leaves two spots.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
City Elections today
Primary elections for city offices are being held throughout Utah today. There will probably be low voter turnout. Why? It's a city election. No one thinks to vote in a city election. The problem with that way of thinking is that city elections have much more effect on a citizen's day-to-day life than do presidential elections.
Everybody who votes votes in the presidential elections. That's kind of sad to me. Not that people are voting, but that they choose the least influential election to be the one where they cast their vote. Except in a few states, the individual citizen's vote has remarkably little effect on the outcome of a presidential election. Idaho will always go Republican; New Jersey will always go Democrat. The office of the President, further, has little to do with a citizen's everyday life. The city council and mayor, however, have everything to do with it--but nobody votes in those elections, which means they could be turned by three or four votes each way.
That is madness. I hope someday people use their common sense a little better. I hope they prove me wrong today.
Everybody who votes votes in the presidential elections. That's kind of sad to me. Not that people are voting, but that they choose the least influential election to be the one where they cast their vote. Except in a few states, the individual citizen's vote has remarkably little effect on the outcome of a presidential election. Idaho will always go Republican; New Jersey will always go Democrat. The office of the President, further, has little to do with a citizen's everyday life. The city council and mayor, however, have everything to do with it--but nobody votes in those elections, which means they could be turned by three or four votes each way.
That is madness. I hope someday people use their common sense a little better. I hope they prove me wrong today.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Pac-12: An Embarrassing Start
Sorry to say it, Pac-12, but you should be embarrassed at your first week.
Yes, you won more games than you lost. Yes, you scored a lot of points. But let’s take a look at how your week really went.
The Pac-12 teams finished 8-4. That’s not too bad, but when they are claiming to be among the BCS elite it’s pretty pathetic. Let’s examine some of the others. The Big 12 (now ten) went 10-0 for the first week, in the middle of talk that the conference could soon die as its best members were pillaged—by the Pac-12. The Big East (which we have all known for years does not deserve its automatic bid) went 8-0. The Big Ten (now twelve) went 10-2. Now, I’ll grant, one of those two losses was to Pac-12 heavyweight USC, but that almost imploded in the Pac-12’s collective face once again.
Shall we take a look at their week?
First, let’s examine Utah, my own neighborhood team. They celebrated their first game as a BCS AQ team in the fashion of most AQ teams: scheduling an unimpressive team from the FCS (formerly division I-AA) at home. A scheduled win. Utah got the win it scheduled, 27-10. I watched most of the game, but almost none of the scoring. Utah got a few scores off of defensive gains, but from what I saw of the game, Montana State actually won 10-3. It was pretty pathetic.
But perhaps that’s not the pattern of the conference. Let’s move instead to Washington, who hosted Eastern Washington. Hmm. They squeahttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifked a win out of that but they needed an interception to stay ahead 30-27.
OK, let’s move on. USC hosted a Big Ten team, a bold move to open the season. Of course, they chose last year’s last place team in the Big Ten. They led 19-3 at halftime then let Minnesota steadily come back until the Trojans had to just hold on for a 19-17 win.
So three of the conference’s eight wins could easily have been losses. The other wins were all at home against fairly weak teams. Those five all scored a lot of points, but each of them but Stanford allowed the weak visitor to score at least ten. But the real embarrassment for the Pac-12 should come from the four losses.
The least embarrassing loss is Oregon’s, of course. They played the marquee matchup of the week. They went to Dallas to play against LSU, a fight between two top five teams. LSU played like a champion (and deserve to be ranked # 1 when the rankings come out tomorrow). No shame in losing. Unless you came a field goal away from winning the national championship last year, and your main offensive producer from that season (LaMichael James) is still on the team. So Oregon should have done better.
Two other Pac-12 teams—Colorado and UCLA—went on the road against FBS (Division I) teams. Yet they chose teams from the WAC (Hawaii) and C-USA (Houston), conferences that perennially get the short end of the stick. Both Pac-12 teams lost. Neither game was ever close.
But we have left off one Pac-12 team that hosted an FCS team for its opener. Oregon State scheduled a win against Sacramento State. The game was not as close as the score says. The Beavers had to catch up with their lowly visitor to force overtime—15 points in the fourth quarter to tie the game. Then they lost the overtime battle anyway, 29-28.
The Pac-12 still thinks it’s among college football’s elite. If that is so, it needs to get a lot better.
Yes, you won more games than you lost. Yes, you scored a lot of points. But let’s take a look at how your week really went.
The Pac-12 teams finished 8-4. That’s not too bad, but when they are claiming to be among the BCS elite it’s pretty pathetic. Let’s examine some of the others. The Big 12 (now ten) went 10-0 for the first week, in the middle of talk that the conference could soon die as its best members were pillaged—by the Pac-12. The Big East (which we have all known for years does not deserve its automatic bid) went 8-0. The Big Ten (now twelve) went 10-2. Now, I’ll grant, one of those two losses was to Pac-12 heavyweight USC, but that almost imploded in the Pac-12’s collective face once again.
Shall we take a look at their week?
First, let’s examine Utah, my own neighborhood team. They celebrated their first game as a BCS AQ team in the fashion of most AQ teams: scheduling an unimpressive team from the FCS (formerly division I-AA) at home. A scheduled win. Utah got the win it scheduled, 27-10. I watched most of the game, but almost none of the scoring. Utah got a few scores off of defensive gains, but from what I saw of the game, Montana State actually won 10-3. It was pretty pathetic.
But perhaps that’s not the pattern of the conference. Let’s move instead to Washington, who hosted Eastern Washington. Hmm. They squeahttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifked a win out of that but they needed an interception to stay ahead 30-27.
OK, let’s move on. USC hosted a Big Ten team, a bold move to open the season. Of course, they chose last year’s last place team in the Big Ten. They led 19-3 at halftime then let Minnesota steadily come back until the Trojans had to just hold on for a 19-17 win.
So three of the conference’s eight wins could easily have been losses. The other wins were all at home against fairly weak teams. Those five all scored a lot of points, but each of them but Stanford allowed the weak visitor to score at least ten. But the real embarrassment for the Pac-12 should come from the four losses.
The least embarrassing loss is Oregon’s, of course. They played the marquee matchup of the week. They went to Dallas to play against LSU, a fight between two top five teams. LSU played like a champion (and deserve to be ranked # 1 when the rankings come out tomorrow). No shame in losing. Unless you came a field goal away from winning the national championship last year, and your main offensive producer from that season (LaMichael James) is still on the team. So Oregon should have done better.
Two other Pac-12 teams—Colorado and UCLA—went on the road against FBS (Division I) teams. Yet they chose teams from the WAC (Hawaii) and C-USA (Houston), conferences that perennially get the short end of the stick. Both Pac-12 teams lost. Neither game was ever close.
But we have left off one Pac-12 team that hosted an FCS team for its opener. Oregon State scheduled a win against Sacramento State. The game was not as close as the score says. The Beavers had to catch up with their lowly visitor to force overtime—15 points in the fourth quarter to tie the game. Then they lost the overtime battle anyway, 29-28.
The Pac-12 still thinks it’s among college football’s elite. If that is so, it needs to get a lot better.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Utah vs. Montana State
One team brought its "A" game. The other brought its red jerseys.
I was heartily disappointed in the Utes last night. Granted, I didn't see the first quarter, which must be where they scored all their points, but for the part of the game I saw--well over two-and-a-half quarters--the Bobcats outscored the Utes 10-3. Granted, Utah won anyway. But that kind of performance won't be enough next week at USC, and certainly not the week after at BYU.
I guess as a Cougar fan that should make me very happy.
I was heartily disappointed in the Utes last night. Granted, I didn't see the first quarter, which must be where they scored all their points, but for the part of the game I saw--well over two-and-a-half quarters--the Bobcats outscored the Utes 10-3. Granted, Utah won anyway. But that kind of performance won't be enough next week at USC, and certainly not the week after at BYU.
I guess as a Cougar fan that should make me very happy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)