NFL: Buffalo Bills — Football was the first sport in which I formed an affection for a team, and I loved the Dallas Cowboys. Roger Staubach was great, and Danny White was his capable assistant. I saw them as the best players in the history of sport; I mean, at my age, they were the best pairing I had seen. For years, I kept a box of Corn Flakes that featured Danny White’s mug on the front. Above all of them, though, was Tom Landry. Even at my young age, I knew enough to revere Tom Landry, just like pretty much everyone else on the planet revered him — except Jerry Jones, that is. When Jones fired Landry the way he fired Landry, I vowed I would never again cheer for the Cowboys as long as Jones owned the team.

So, I needed a new team. I settled on the working-class folks in Buffalo, who were posting great scores and playing great football. I settled on Jim Kelly and Thurman Thomas, of Cornelius Bennett and Darryl Talley … yes, of Scott Norwood. I cheered for them through four Super Bowl losses. I cheered for them through losing season after losing season. I cheer for them now.

NBA: Boston Celtics — Being an Indiana native, it was easy to settle on Boston as my team. Larry Bird was truly, truly great at the time, and so were the Celtics. I learned to hate the Lakers. I learned to hate the Knicks, the Bulls, and the Pistons. I’ve gotten over the hatred of the Pistons.

Unrelated rant: Boston are the four seed in the Eastern Conference in this year’s playoffs, presumably because they won their division. Despite that, they’re the road team in their series against the Atlanta Hawks, who had a better record. If the NBA wants to reward teams for winning their division, that’s great — give them higher seeding and the privileges that accompany it. If the league wants to reward teams for winning more games than their opponents, that’s also great — seed the teams based on their record. Making Boston the fourth-seeded team and then sending them on the road is just stupid.

MLB: Los Angeles Dodgers — I almost ended up a fan of the New York Yankees for the same reason that I ended up a Celtics fan. Don Mattingly is an Evansville, Indiana, product. Despite my living in Alabama, I definitely had — and still have — a lot of love for the state of my birth. Nonetheless, the Yankees are the Yankees, and I managed to avoid falling in love with the Evil Empire. Who couldn’t love Tommy Lasorda, though? He was colorful and fun, and I settled on them as my team. When Orel Hershiser came into prominence, I knew I had made the right choice. He looked like a bookworm, so I could identify with him, as I was very much that. He was also a good pitcher, which left me with hope that I, too, might end up being vaguely athletic.

One out of two isn’t bad, right?

NHL: Buffalo Sabres — We didn’t really have hockey in the South when I started watching hockey. Well, Florida and Tampa Bay had been around for a couple of years, but there wasn’t a lot of history there. So, I watched hockey … lots of hockey. I found Pat LaFontaine. You could make an argument that LaFontaine was the best US-born offensive player in the NHL at the time. He was great, and it’s a shame that his career ended prematurely … but I digress. The Sabres also had the spiffy logos with the buffalo and the crossed sabres. I’m thrilled that they’re back into those uniforms after a long period of clothing atrocities.

Eredivisie (Netherlands): AFC Ajax — My dad was working temporarily in Holland when Ajax won the 1995 UEFA Champions League. He came home with Ajax swag for me (a cap), and a bond was formed. That bond influenced my decision in England, too.

Premier League (England): Arsenal FC — The Ajax side eventually broke up, with wealthier teams buying many of the players. It seemed that Arsenal picked up the best Dutch players. My love of Dutch football followed them across the channel to England, and I adopted Arsenal as my side in England — even if Dennis Bergkamp wouldn’t just man up and fly to European matches.

MLS: DC United — When MLS set up shop, I felt compelled to adopt a team. United made it very easy; they were the only side who weren’t running around calling themselves the “[insert city] [insert mascot]s.” I appreciated the nod to European style, and that was enough for me. A personalized United shirt hangs in my closet now.

That’s how I picked my teams. Now you know the story.

Co-worker #1: “Why are you here, [Co-worker #2]?”

Co-worker #2: “I’m here for RTOT.”

Me: “I love RTOTs, especially when they’re preceded by t-a-t-e.”

Co-worker #2: *doubles over laughing*

Enjoy your morning, folks.

KV took the time to tell me a couple of stories, highlighting a couple of his experiences, his faith, and his comfort with having lived a good life. While it’s generally not my style to hang out in the locker room to chat with folks, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. For sure, I hope that, if I make it to 90 years old, I’m as happy with what I’ve accomplished in my life as is KV.

I’m not sure I have met another World War II veteran. I’m glad I did. For sure, a 90-year-old Air Force veteran deserved 30 minutes of my time.

And a little help with his shirt.

I'm pretty sure I've never posted anything about endometriosis.

I am even more surprised to learn that Wembley and Gobo are sources of wisdom.

Seriously, who knew the cats were so smart?

If the attorney has to resort to spammy blog comments to get clients, I’m probably just going to hold out for better.

If I'm going to get up really early to run, I might as well stop and enjoy the neon along the way.

Sometimes, I see things as I travel around this world, and I think to myself, "How did this actually get by the censors?" I snapped this photograph at one of those moments.

I couldn't help myself. He was so ... Shat-tastic.

Cheese! ... and all that other food stuff, too, but ... cheese!

So, this summer, I was in Lansing waiting for Jess to get back to her place. I had parked in front of Jess’s notebook computer, and Wembley thought it would be a good idea to hop up in my lap. Granted, I think he was hoping to snag any remnants of my lunch, but that’s irrelevant. I had missed the new episode of Beavis and Butt-head that aired that week, so I thought I would try to catch up on the show online. The new episode was online, so I proceeded to watch it. Shortly into the episode, Wembley craned his neck around and started staring at the computer.

As if I would make up this story.

Shortly after the photo was taken, Wembley proceeded to turn around in my lap, and watched the rest of the episode. Sure, some might say that I was corrupting his little mind, but I think I was just helping him find a little culture.

This is a lovely old plastic sign.

Your mother was a hamster, too.

I wonder what the chicken plans to eat?

Oh, that's probably it.

You have to respect the attention to detail. Most folks would probably have put "150 Feet," or maybe even "Over There."

The warm glow of a neon sign is a great way to end this post.

Note: Banfield had a Saturday afternoon appointment at 3:00 p.m.; however, I was uncertain what my legs would feel like after a 15-mile run that morning, and wasn’t sure I would be able to make it from Kalamazoo to Lansing in time for the appointment.

So, Sunday morning rolled around, and I got out the cat carrier. Before I tell you more, I think it’s worth providing you some details about the carrier itself. Trust me, you’ll appreciate some of these details later.

Gobo insisted on getting inside the carrier for this photo, too. He wanted you to have perspective, I guess.

One would think the cats would have realized by now that the cat carrier’s appearance generally means someone is going to the vet. Instead, they’re preoccupied by a struggle for the right to claim it as sovereign territory. When it’s time to take one of the cats to the vet, we get out the carrier, open the door, and wait for the right cat to manage to win the right to be inside it. Then, we zip the door closed and head off to our destination. As usual, it worked like a charm. Gobo won the carrier, Jess closed it while I was putting on my shoes, and Gobo and I headed off to Banfield, located inside PetSmart.

Aside from trying to get in the front door, our arrival at the vet was pleasant.

Dear People with Social Dogs,

Immediately inside the front door of the pet store is not the place to let your dogs gather for greetings. Other folks want to enter and exit the building, too.

Sincerely,

Darrell

Gobo was a little skiddish about getting out of the carrier to be weighed, but he relaxed a bit once we were in the examination room. It helped that Jen, who greeted Gobo at check-in, was loving him up big-time. Jen gave me paperwork to fill out and left. Gobo decided it was time to be really, really nice to me, abandoning his exploration of the exam room to get as much petting and attention as he could. In true multitasking pet-owner fashion, I managed to both complete the paperwork and keep him purring.

The vet tech — whose name I can’t remember, but it started with a B — came in next, and did a little checking on Gobo. She also gave him the routine deworming treatment. Gobo appreciated that about as much as he appreciates Wembley’s efforts to pilfer his food, and he got off the table and proceeded back inside the carrier. B. left, and I coaxed Gobo out of the carrier with the corner of a dog treat.

My cat isn’t finicky. If it’s edible and not tied down, he’ll make a run at it.

Dr. Case then came in to join us and complete Gobo’s exam. Her exam was completely painless — just touch, feel, and look. Okay, so maybe there was a little groping around to make sure all his internal stuff felt good, but there were no needles or other painful things. He got really fed up by all this, though, and once again exited the exam table as soon as he was permitted to do so. Once again, he returned to the carrier. This time, though, he felt the need to really make it clear that he was done. Once he had situated himself inside the carrier, he reached out, grabbed the mesh part of the door with his front left paw, and pulled it shut. By “shut,” I don’t mean that he lifted it up a little bit, only to let it go and watch it fall. That wouldn’t have been noteworthy. Gobo pulled the door all the way shut, tugging the top of it inside the carrier so that it would stay closed. Only then did he let go. Dr. Case had never seen a cat do that, either in her veterinary career or in all the time she has been around cats. I’m pretty sure Gobo’s message to us was, “Screw you guys; I’m going home!”

Of course, that served as the reminder that he needed his claws trimmed. As you might expect, he really didn’t appreciate that, either. Having his claws trimmed was the worst he had to endure, though, and we packed up right after that and headed home, but not before I snagged a bag of treats for him. Really, I’m pretty sure he had earned them.