A Pain Unparalleled - A History of Packer Heartbreaks

You remember.

Oh, you remember alright. 

You remember the Miracle at the Meadowlands on November 19, 1978, which ultimately led to an Eagle record of 9-7, inching out the Packers’ 8-7-1 record and keeping them out of their first playoff since 1972.

You remember the games against the Bears in the 80s.  Take your pick, except from 1989.  William Perry.  Sweetness.  Only we never called him that.  Not back then.

You remember our playoff hopes dying in 1995 as the Vikings whooped the Pack 27-7 on December 27.

You remember Jim McMahon completing a 45-yard pass to Eric Guliford with 6 seconds to play on September 26, 1993, leading to yet another Viking victory over the Packers.

You remember the no-call fumble against the 49ers, followed immediately by the game-ending touchdown pass to Terrell Owens on January 4, 1999.

You remember the loss to Atlanta on January 4, 2003 followed by the loss to the Vikings on January 9, 2005.

And of course you remember the interceptions:

The fourth quarter interception against the Cowboys on January 14, 1996.

Six against the Rams on January 20, 2002.

The overtime interception against the Giants on January 20, 2008, Favre’s last pass as a Packer.

And let’s not even bother to dwell on the fourth and 26 against the Eagles on January 11, 2004.

But as we prepare for the Game of the Century, the matchup we all wanted, let us not forget that a loss to the Bears this weekend will lead not to a wound that merely surpasses those prior heartbreaks, their scars still shiny, a gnawing reminder of what might have been.  No, a loss this weekend will likely lead to an open bloody gash, inoperable, life-threatening, an injury so painful, you’ll be begging for death or for a scalpel to amputate that part of your brain that makes you feel.

On the other hand, the upside is so damn appealing...

I can't wait.  Packers 24.  Bears 13.

What's Changed in Twenty Years? The PC

When my grandparents were still alive, I felt a strong connection to the reflections they shared of years gone by.  One theme that struck me again and again was the incredible number changes they witnessed during their seventy-plus years.  No other generation, it seemed to me, had undergone a more significant transition than they had.  Automobile to airplanes.   Handguns to nuclear weapons.  Terror of deadly and debilitating diseases to reliable vaccines.  Radio to TV.  Recorded sound, starting with LPs and evolving to CDs, to recorded video, first in a theater, then on TV and then on home video.  The discovery of DNA.  Electronic appliances.  Satellites.  Space travel.  Moon landings.  It’s mindboggling to me how so many of this generation managed to ride the wave of technology with grace.

As a college student in 1990, I once lamented to a friend that my generation (I believe we’re still called Generation X) had witnessed technological advances that paled in comparison to my grandparents’ generation, that there was not much left to discover.  Sure, you could make a car safer or more efficient, or you might allow for personalized space travel, but these achievements would merely be variations on a theme.  What was on the horizon that would truly change our world?

My friend thought about this for a minute, and then answered, “The personal computer!”

Nicely done, Mark.

At that time it was hard to me to recognize how personal computers would change the world, mostly because I didn’t have one.  None of us did.  We’d hoof it over to the computer lab on cold and snowy evenings and attempt to get Pascal to sort our data sets properly, and then we’d wrestle with the dot-matrix printer, rip off the perforated margins of our assignments and trudge back home.

In other words, personal computers weren’t so personal.  My friend Eric had had one as far back as 1985, and in high school he’d allowed me to compose my term paper on Alfred Hitchcock on his Mac.  That was definitely helpful and cool.  But life changing?  And where was MY computer?  Here we were five years later, and nothing much had changed.

My lack of vision when it comes to computers and their eventual counterparts – cell phones, navigation systems, ebooks, and the like – is probably why I’m not an entrepreneur or an innovator.  But did ANYone really see the next twenty years coming?  The first time I heard of the Internet was in 1993.  Could anyone at that time have predicted that in fifteen years there would be Youtube?  Amazon?  Facebook?  Wikipedia?  Googlemaps? 

Obviously, some did.  They’re billionaires now. 

I think it’s fair to say that what we’ve encountered during the past twenty years is as monumental as anything prior generations witnessed in the same span of time.  Maybe even more so.  The rate of change had been staggering, not just in terms of inventions, but it terms of real life changes.  Our ability to access information and communicate with other people is beyond anything most could have ever envisioned (excluding Ray Bradbury, who predicted it all by 1951).

In ten years time, will my children lament to a friend that there’s nothing more to discover?  If they do, I’ve no doubt that they’ll be blown away by the decades to come.  The capacity for human ingenuity is boundless.

A Quick Quote

While I'd like to write something vast and epic and heartfelt and meaningfull as 2011 approaches, I find that sledding, movies, parties and card games are devouring the 16-day break that just two weeks ago seemed infinitely long. 

Instead, I'd like to finish 2010 with a quote from Keith Richards, whose biography, "Life," squeeked into a few top ten non-fiction book lists this year (I'll refrain from giving a full review of the book, but I think I can summarize it in a few words: guitar, drugs, drugs, drugs, drugs, fight with Mick, drugs, love, drugs, composing, off drugs). 

This quote is, to me, among the best ever put down on paper:

"Mick's album was called 'She's The Boss,' which said it all.  I've never listened to the entire thing all the way through.  Who has?  It's like 'Mein Kampf.'  Everybody had a copy, but nobody listened to it."

It brings tears to the eyes.

So there you go.  A very happy New Year to everyone, and I look forward to an exciting and healthy 2011.

PKH

Ringo's Signature Drum Fill

I recently heard a radio interview with Ringo Starr, who was promoting his latest solo album, “Y Not.”  And as much fun as it was to hear one of the Fab Four reminisce in a relaxed and affable manner, I winced upon hearing a recording of Ringo and Joss Stone singing the new track, “Who’s Your Daddy.”  Good gracious me - embarrassingly bad. 

But regardless of what you can say about Ringo’s singing and songwriting prowess, you can’t knock his drumming. 

Or can you?  Certainly, as snot-nosed children, my friends and I did, as if somehow playing drums for the world’s most successful rock band deserved admonishment.   True, the movie “The Caveman” had just been released and warranted some condemnation, but it wasn’t really Ringo’s acting that was the target of our reproach – it was his drumming. 

And what was wrong with it?  Well, it wasn’t over-the-top, flashy and intricate.  In short, we criticized Ringo for not being Neil Peart, John Bonham, Keith Moon or Bill Bruford.

In hindsight, this seems rather silly.  After all, one didn’t need ten toms, seven cymbals and a double kick drum to lay down a solid rhythm track on “I Saw Her Standing There.”  And while Ringo’s virtuosity might pale in comparison to some other drummers, today I appreciate his minimalist playing.   Listen to tracks like “She Said, She Said,” “Strawberry Fields Forever,” “Come Together” and “A Day In A Life,” and I think it can be agreed that Ringo was an innovate drummer and an important contributor to The Beatles’ sound.

But what really sticks with me when I consider Ringo’s drumming is his signature drum fill: two sixteenth notes on the one beat, followed by a sixteenth rest, followed by four or five more sixteenth notes.  Here's how it sounds:

The earliest example of this drum fill that I can find is on “Hey Jude.”  Then, during the recording of the White Album, the man either fell in love with this lick, or he was in a creative rut, for he played it on no fewer than five songs (and multiple times on some of them – check out “Helter Skelter”).  He continued to use the fill for the remaining Beatle albums, especially on Abbey Road.

But it’s a great fill: simple and memorable.  Without further ado, here’s a compilation of Ringo’s Signature Drum Fill.

Of Overcoming Memories

The most interesting part of a medical procedure I had last week wasn’t the procedure itself or the results (I’m fine) – it was the loss of memory, not only of the event itself, but of the hour or so afterward when I was drinking juice and conversing amiably (I presume) with nurses and my wife.  That I was fully clothed as I became aware of my surroundings was perplexing, but also very cool.  Did I dress myself?  I suspect so, but I have no recollection.  Did I speak to my wife on the way home from the hospital?  I know I did, but again, I can’t actually recall – it’s more of a hunch I have, the same way I used to have a hunch about speaking to a particular person during a drinking binge, but without that nagging sensation of having uttered something monstrously stupid.

Since then, I’ve wondered about amnesia and how wonderful it would be to target memory loss at other episodes in my life:  my three strike-out performance at a baseball game.  Several drunken stupors that should have led to total memory loss, but regrettably didn’t.  Or my high school graduation, during which technical difficulties reduced my slide show that had been set to music, to a silent movie screen and the sound of jeering students.

The movie “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” my vote for the best movie of the last decade, addresses this desire, as heartbroken characters choose to wipe away all memory of a hurtful relationship.  But the ability to selectively forget a particular event or a particular person would come in mighty handy for others:  consider the aspiring author, songwriter, performer, inventor, entrepreneur, or anyone else whose desires bump up against incredible odds (these days, almost anyone looking for a job).  Imagine how much harder one might endeavor if the memory of past rejections or crushing comments could be erased.

During college, I always admired those who could bounce back so easily after a woman’s rejection.  I remember a friend of mine saying, “She doesn’t want to go out with me.  So what?  The next girl might.”  This is, of course, what separates the most successful people from the rest of us – the ability to either forget one’s failings, or the drive to overcome them.  You may be unmoved by J.K. Rowling’s prose, but she earned her success, for she persevered in the midst of rejection.  Others far more talented than she are still waiting tables because they gave up perhaps one submission too soon while Rowling was sending out yet another manuscript to a prospective agent.

Consider others whose memories are short: the baseball player who erases his last at-bat, the actor who bounces back from a poor review, the doctor who strives even harder after losing a patient, or the philanthropist who overcomes the enormity of a crisis.

Even though I’d still love to forget parts of my high school graduation, I suppose that in my own modest way I’ve used this episode to my advantage.  Ever since that technical breakdown, I’ve been obsessed with preparation when it comes to performing or public speaking engagements. 

But what about the rejections that are sure to accompany the aspiring writer?  There are only two options.  Give up, or get going.  Or, as the Stephen King character narrates in “Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption”:

Get busy living or get busy dying.