Metrodome Memories

The Vikings just played their final game in the Metrodome, and in only a couple weeks the Dome will be deflated for good. A variety of news sources have been posting their top “Metrodome Moments.” I was fortunate enough to spend a fair amount of time in the Dome, so I figured I would create my own list of top 13 Metrodome Moments (in no particular order).

Number 1 – In my senior year of college, my friend Jeremy caught 5 touchdown passes in the first 17 minutes of our final regular season football game. We had a 42-7 lead at the time, and the coaches pulled the offensive starters for the remainder of the game. Some of my extended family in attendance grumbled that paying 10 bucks to watch me play for 17 minutes was kind of a rip-off.

Number 2 – My friend Joe and I watched Adrian Peterson have a decent game in his rookie year against the San Diego Chargers. We left early to beat traffic and turned on the radio in our car to learn that after we left, AP broke the NFL record for my rushing yards in a game. Fool me once…

Number 3 – …but you can’t fool me twice. My brother and I were watching Brett Favre and the Vikings battle the 49ers. Favre was having a pretty brutal game and when the Vikings gave the ball back to the 49ers with just a couple minutes left to go, my brother and thousands of others stood up and said, “We are out of here.” I talked him into staying and sure enough, Favre found Greg Lewis for a last second touchdown. Older brothers are always wiser - well at least this time.

Number 4 – In 1998, George Strait brought Tim McGraw, Faith Hill, and John Michael Montgomery with him for a big ole boot stomping stadium show. I sweet talked the security guard into letting my wife and me on the main floor, where we danced the night away. I got a bit carried away on one dip and my wife’s head slammed against the concrete floor. She left with a mild concussion, and Tim McGraw left with a new girlfriend (that would be Faith Hill, not my wife).

Number 5 – I played in the state championship football game as a junior in high school. The coaches moved me back to linebacker for one play. a position I had never played nor practiced in my life. I was scared to death and can’t remember much about the play. But the TV showed that I knocked Burnsville’s all state center onto his keister and made a good tackle on the running back. Glory days. I won’t mention that I spent the rest of the game getting trampled on by Burnsville’s dominant left tackle.

Number 6 – During a junior high field trip to watch a Twins game, a thunder storm developed. The Dome’s ceiling started rippling, and the huge lights above our hands started swaying perilously. When the roof finally ripped open and drenched one section of people, panic ensued as folks raced for the corridors. That moment certainly did not help my claustrophobic tendencies.

Number 7 – In my sophomore year of college, we played against Carleton in a highly touted matchup which was billed as the conference championship. After a Friday practice where I am pretty sure the scout team offense never crossed the line of scrimmage, we destroyed Carleton 70-7. And we will pretend our season ended right then and there.

Number 8 – My brother and I were showing our German friend Julia around the cities and decided to stop by the dome on the day after a Vikings game. I pulled the “She is German” card and security let us go run around on the field all by ourselves for thirty minutes. My brother and I played catch with used Gatorade cups and were in hog heaven.

Number 9 – Playing in the state semifinals football game in my senior year of high school, our not so brilliant assistant coach was so hyped up that he worked us into the ground during pre-game warm-ups - right up until the time the game started. Supposedly a leader on the team, I couldn’t catch my breath until halftime and played the lousiest thirty minutes of football of my life. By that time, we were already well behind. I’m no longer bitter. Really, I’m not.

Number 10 – The Gophers asked me to come on a recruiting visit during my senior year of high school. I was with a couple dozen other recruits watching the pre-game warm-ups when an assistant coach walked over to me with his right hand extended. Quite giddy, I shook his hand. He then extended his left hand and asked for the game program I was holding in my left hand. He looked something up in the program, said thanks, and walked away. It is stunning that the Gophers haven’t had more success in football given that strong type of recruiting.

Number 11 – I was playing in a touch football league on a team of bean counters when I faked a block and lumbered out for a pass in the left corner of the end zone. I caught the perfectly thrown ball for a touchdown, then tripped over my own feet and landed abdomen-first on the ball. The ref told me to give him the ball and then roll off the field so the game could continue. I wheezed for several minutes and now wince in pain whenever I see a player get the wind knocked out of themselves.

Number 12 – I attended Game 7 of the 1991 World Series when the Twins played host to the Atlanta Braves – that was the last time a Minnesota pro sports team won one of the four major sporting championships. However, my parents had given me some football pencils in elementary school, and as I thought the Atlanta Falcons one looked the coolest, I cheered for everything Atlanta. So, when Gene Larkin hit the game winning fly ball to center field, I hugged my mom, waved my homer hanky, and cheered along with 60,000 others, but inside I was crying.

Number 13 – I learned of an opportunity to do some volunteer tax preparation as part of Twins Fest, which was taking place at the Metrodome. I was disappointed when I arrived and saw that we would be preparing the tax returns at tables in the corridors. A co-worked asked, “What, did you expect that we would be setup on the field and that people would be cheering for us as we prepared tax returns?” Well, yeah.

Metrodome – thanks for the memories, and may you rest in peace.

 

 

 

Twin Cities Marathon 2013

October 5th, 2008. The date when I ran my fifth (and perhaps final) marathon. Despite diligent training and a relatively clean diet which was dangerously light on chicken wings, I was hobbled by cramps at mile 16 – cramps in my calves, hamstrings, quads, and groin. This was the fourth marathon in a row that I had battled cramps, and nothing I tried could seem to prevent them. I staggered through the rest of the race and missed a personal best by 2 minutes.

Discouraged, I decided to keep my focus on shorter distance, so when I toed the starting line near the Metrodome the following fall, it was for the 10 mile race.

I still remember that day – it was gorgeous. Somewhere around the 5 mile mark, my buddy Trent noticed that the faceplate of his new fancy running watch had fallen off. We told his wife Tracy to soldier on without us and Trent and I backtracked in search of a 2 inch by 2 inch black object.  We never did find the missing faceplate, and after at least ½ mile of running backward, and more than a couple increasingly annoying “you are going the wrong way” comments, we turned around. Trent was ticked and I was feeling great, so we decided to drop the hammer. We flew past hundreds of runners, especially on the many inclines, and caught up to Tracy right before the finish.

As is the case with many runners, a frosty beverage sounded like a good reward for the weeks of training and a race well run. We drove back to an open spot just before Mile 24 of the upcoming marathon, and carried a smaller cooler and boombox full of Rocky music out to a nice grassy patch. We cheered on the marathon runners until the final one had passed us by. We were amazed at how many made a point to thank us for being out there. We were also amazed at the number of people who asked us for a sip of our beer – pressing the can to their lips before handing it back to us. And with that, a tradition was born.

Every year, a group of us meet up at Mile 23.9 to cheer on the marathon runners. Sometimes we run the 10 mile race beforehand; sometimes we don’t. Here is a report from the 2013 edition of the Twin Cities Marathon.

8:00am – My alarm clock sounds. It would be nice to sleep in some more but not this day. Today, I am needed.

8:02 – I find that my wife has a full pot of coffee waiting for me. She rocks. She is also pretty hot, but that is not relevant to this report.

9:30 – We leave home with a mini-van packed down with essentials... A full sound system, a couple coolers full of beer, and several dozen of my wife’s homemade monster cookies.

9:40 – We stop at Target for the remaining necessities…Jolly Ranchers and Tootsie Rolls, 5 ounce Dixie cups, a jumbo umbrella, and several gallons of water.

10:15 – Everything is unloaded at mile 23.9 and we are beginning to get setup. My folks are out for their first Mile 23.9 experience and seem unsure what to expect. The lead runners are beginning to fly by, but that is okay, we really aren’t here to support than anyway.

10:16 – Residents who live on the other side of the street come over to tell us they will call the cops if we play our music too loud as we are simply “noise polluters.” They shake their finger at us in a menacing fashion. We promise to keep the music to a reasonable level and go about our business of preparing to help 10,000 people reach the finish line. They go about their business of scowling at the evil that has taken over their street before quickly retreating into their mansion.

10:30 – The music is pumping, with the Black Eyed Peas “I’ve Got a Feeling” getting the nod as our opener.

10:45 – Other members of our cheering section arrive – a former student and his wife, sister, and best friend. Marathons bring families together, and they are much cheaper than counseling and more fun than family reunions.

11:00 – Another 15 friends and family members have arrived and are putting their hands together and cheering for the runners. Presumably the mansion dwellers are getting nervous by our growing numbers. In fact, they probably think that marathon day is kind of like the recent box office hit, “The Purge,” and are expecting us to attack at any moment.

11:15 – One of the younger folks decides the runners may be thirsty and volunteers to take over beer-pouring duties. His belief is correct and soon thereafter our station becomes very popular.

11:30 – It is drizzling on and off, and I am thankful for the newly acquired $19.99 jumbo umbrella which is now protecting my sound system. Great purchase, I tell myself with a bit of pride.

11:45 – A guy wearing a headband, midriff-exposing t-shirt, and cut-off jorts (that is jean shorts for you non-hip folks) runs into our station. After he grabs his third Dixie cup of Corona, I wonder if we will need to cut him off. But after pounding it in record fashion, he runs off - on pace to finish 30 minutes faster than I ever did while wearing proper running shorts and properly hydrating with water and Gatorade. I decide that if I ever run another marathon, I will wear jorts. And then I remember how badly I tend to chafe, and I decide that wearing jorts would be as silly as, perhaps, running in a Chewbacca costume.

11:50 – My brother is holding my almost three-year old nephew and they are giving high-fives to the runners. The smile on my nephew’s face is sure to shave 20 seconds off the finishing time of any runner who sees him.

12:05 – Our friend Sandra from church shows up. Sandra is running her first marathon and is one of perhaps 100 runners that are running for the organization World Vision. Sandra gives us a double thumbs up and runs off - looking so happy that I secretly want to beat her.

12:09 – I turn off the music and announce to the crowd that it was four hours and nine minutes into the Boston Marathon when the bombs went off. When I say that the act of cowards cannot stop us, everyone begins to cheer. And I crank up Toby Keith’s “Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue.”

12:15 – A runner hobbles into our station to grab some water, and I recognize his limp. It is the limp of someone cramping up. Without warning, he grabs at his calf and shrieks in pain, Dixie cup tumbling to the ground. My dad is first to embrace the sweat-soaked man, and former student Mike is soon to follow. The runner is in luck, as Mike is an elite athlete and is currently in chiropractic school. Mike goes to work on his calf, and after a couple more bouts of cramping and shrieking, his pain is gone. He leaves us for a minute to go heave in the bushes and when he returns, Mike gives him a thorough working-over – stretching, massaging, and pressure points. At that moment, I can’t help but wonder what the mansion dwellers are doing to help humanity.

12:20 – Drizzle has turned to rain, but thankfully my brother brought a canopy large enough to cover the West side of St. Paul, so we are set. And I have Luke Bryan’s hit “Rain is a Good Thing” queued up and ready to rock.

12:30 – I play a Pitbull song and notice that most of the runners are now dancing. I am unsure who this Pitbull person is – whether it is a guy, gal, band, or simply an actual pit bull dog with a good voice. I also don’t much care for Pitbull’s music, but today is not about me. I follow-up Pit-Bull with ChumbaWumba, and I feel like I am back in the late 90’s.”I get knocked down, but I get up again. Ain’t never gonna keep me down.”

12:35 – Our Rejuvenation Station is very popular right now. Many runners cut across the entire road, nearly knocking others over, just to see what we have to offer. Two female runners run by and one of them says to the other, “They have beer.” So I grab my microphone and say, “Yes. We do have beer.” And they turn around, extending their 26.2 mile race by an extra forty feet or so.

12:50 – A man I do not recognize is standing across the road, sometimes watching the runners but mostly just staring at us with his arms folded. We send my dad over to investigate.

12:55 – My dad returns to say that the man is another neighbor, but is very impressed by our spirit. He will no longer get an invitation to the mansion dwellers’ holiday party. I am actually guessing that the mansion dwellers do not have a holiday party as people having fun scares them.

1:10 – I notice that a few of my wife’s monster cookies are left, and as I haven’t eaten anything yet today, I am tempted. By they are not for me – at least not yet.

1:15 – No way! A runner in a full and very wet Chewbacca costume slowly trots by. I am sure he/she is miserable, but in 2.3 miles, his/her race will be over. And he/she will be able to say that he ran a marathon in a full Chewbacca costumer. Bragging rights forever.

1:20 – A runner juggling several balls comes into sight. He does this every year, and he never ceases to amaze me. I am tempted to ask him if he can one-up himself next year by juggling while wearing a Chewbacca costume with jorts underneath, but decide against it.

1:30 – The folks coming through now are on pace to finish the marathon in a time of about 6 hours. My slowest finish was a bit over 5 hours, and I can’t imagine being out there for another hour.

1:45 – The sweep bus, official race SUV’s, and a couple police cars slowly drive by. The marathon is over. A few runners have fallen behind them, but they are now moved off the road and must run on the sidewalk to make room for traffic.

2:00 – We have cleaned-up our area, including hundreds of used Dixie Cups and empty Jolly Rancher and Tootsie Roll wrappers. The mini-van is packed, and a bit lighter, for the drive home.

2:10 – We are driving home and there are about eight monster cookies left in the basket on my wife’s lap. She hands me one, then another, and then one more. I decide that the runners should be happy I didn’t get into these earlier.

3:00 – I am taking a nap, but you probably don’t care about that.

6:30 – My son and I take our dog for a walk. Not surprisingly, I have an extra spring in my step. As we near home, it begins to rain, and the three of us break into a slow jog…and it feels good.

And with that, another marathon and Mile 23.9 Rejuvenation Station are in the books. Congrats to all runners!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_ALFW22WU8&feature=youtu.be
 

The Beautiful Girl

It was a bit past five o’clock, and darkness was already beginning to fall over the Caribbean.  My wife was fiddling with her phone by the hotel’s reception desk, and our friends were at a restaurant watching the football game.  The hour before sunset is my favorite of the day, and I intended to enjoy it.  I picked up my John Grisham novel and a bottle of cold Mexican beer, and made the 100 foot walk from my cabana to a beach lounger.  There I sat - alone, but completely happy.

The occasional tourists would walk by, usually an olive-skinned couple speaking in a European dialect.  The men would have plenty of tattoos and facial hair, and the ladies would have skinny legs and sunglasses.

Eventually, a lone traveler began to walk down the beach toward me, and when she drew near, she began to approach me.  Figuring that she wanted me to take a picture of her or provide her with directions to the local cantina, I glanced up over my book.

“Could you watch my bag for a few minutes?” she asked.  The accent told me that she was French – no, Italian.  Definitely Italian.  She was probably in her late 20’s.  Not planning to leave my spot until the last ray of sunlight had disappeared, I agreed.

After setting down her bag, she slipped off her shoes, then her shorts, and then her shirt.  What was left was nothing but a black bikini covering a small portion of her slender body.  I guess she is going for a swim, I thought to myself.  With her back to me, she then untied her bikini top, let it drop behind her, and walked out into the ocean.

She bobbed about for ten minutes, and although I kept trying to focus on my book, I found myself reading the same paragraph over and over again.

About this time, I began to get nervous, because I knew what was coming.  She would eventually come back out of the water.

I turned to our cabana and looked for my wife, but she was nowhere in sight.  I then thought about what my pastor recommends to do in these situations – run!  But, I had agreed to watch her belongings.  So, I just sat there and waited for it to happen.  Eventually, she came out of the water and pushed her long brown hair back as she walked toward me.

I sensed that my anxiety would be more obvious if I pretended to ignore her, so I decided to quickly engage her in polite conversation.  Within a few seconds, her top was back on and she picked up her belongings. She smiled as she said “thank you” and turned to continue walking down the beach.

And then she walked out of sight, before my wife or friends came to find me.  So, there is no proof that it ever happened.    But it did.

Five minutes later, my wife sat down on the lounger next to me and asked how I was doing, likely expecting me to reply with a grunt.  I told her my tale, and she simply laughed in amusement.  And I watched her face light up as she laughed, and felt pleased to have the company of the most beautiful girl on the beach.