Thanksgiving, 1993

November 26, 2009

It had been snowing for hours.

I listened with rapt attention to the radio in my mother’s car. I was on my way to my father’s house; after spending most of the afternoon with my step-grandparents, I had finished with the dining portion of Thanksgiving and ready to settle into the “lazy, doing nothing” portion.

Though I’ve never considered football to be my favorite sport, on this day – at this time, three and a half quarters into the evening’s game – it was the only thing on my mind.

The game: Miami vs. Dallas, November 25, 1993.

A snow covered field. Drifting in through the stadium roof’s iconic rectangle hole, the snow added a new dimension to the game. Mistakes were made, they might say, and it was evident by the abysmal 14-13 score.

The Dolphins – an improbable 8-2, despite the loss of Dan Marino in the fifth game of the season – trailed, but this was no surprise. They were on the road, against the Cowboys (who, unknown to everyone, would go on to win the Super Bowl). The Cowboys, at 7-3, were considered a far superior team, despite the record.

And at this point, the game was nearly wrapped up. Pete Stoyanovich’s kick had just been blocked, the ball landing close to the end zone. Dead ball. Three seconds to go. Cowboys ready to celebrate.

Enter Leon Lett.

I was returning home to an empty house, my father still at Thanksgiving festivities across town. On the radio, I had heard the set-up, the snap, the kick, the block. And, as I got out of my mom’s car, I heard a hold up. The Cowboys had fucked up. And the Dolphins may have another chance.

I ran to the front door, hastily waving goodbye to my mother. I ran in the house, switched the television on, and watched, mouth agape, as they replayed Leon Lett’s disastrous error, his snow-driven slide into the football allowing the Dolphins to get the ball back for a second chance, Stoyanovich wisely using the confusion to clear off a path to the football, a stunned Dallas crowd awaiting what could only be bad news.

Finally, a second set-up. A second snap. A second kick.

But this time, no block. Dolphins win, 16-14.

I broke free from the house. Running down the street, kicking up snow, ignoring the cold against my bare arms, I ran down the street. Cheering. Shouting. SHOUTING AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS to no one in particular. My friend Steve, who happened to be walking down the block for a pre-planned sleepover, looked on as I went ballistic with joy.

The Dolphins would proceed to lose every game from there on out, while the Cowboys did the opposite, winning every game through the Super Bowl.

Later that night, after my father came home, Steve and I attempted to quell my football buzz by walking to Kmart in the middle of a mild snowstorm. That it was open was a surprise, but I barely noticed. My mind still ran wild with the possibilities.

It was my first taste of a meaningful comeback, and it came equipped with an elation that no amount of snow could cool off.

Naming number two

January 27, 2009

When it came to naming Sierra, the choice was easy. I had an affinity for the name for a while, thanks to a song by the same name by one of my favorite bands, Cursive. I thought “Sierra” was beautiful. Original enough to be creative, but not so out-there to be weird. I mentioned it as a name to Kerrie, and she agreed, without any doubt. We knew that “Sierra” would be our girl’s name.

Sure, it’s not as original as I had thought – it was in the to 100 for baby names in the mid 2000’s, though it’s been dropping in recent years – and there’s always that damned GMC behemoth, but all in all I still think it’s perfect. I can’t imagine her being called anything else but Sierra.

Nothing else would fit.

Thankfully, we had a girl.

I say thankfully because, well, we never really managed to nail down a suitable boy name. They were all just “okay.” We had several chosen, ready to anoint upon birth, not knowing what the final answer would be until seeing Baby Boy Vilhauer for the first time. And, again, thankfully, we didn’t need to make that decision.

Which brings us to today.

For us, it seems as though girl names are infinitely easier to choose. We’ve already got a girl name picked out – a beautiful name that harmonizes with Sierra and sounds nearly classical with Vilhauer. First and middle name. Chosen. Done and done.

But for a boy? Nothing.

I think of this because we have an appointment today for an ultrasound. The ultrasound where we can discover the gender of the baby. The ultrasound where we could, if so moved, determine what our future will hold – a couple of beaming girls or a pair better suited for mixed doubles.

We’re not quite sure if we want to find out. Why spoil the surprise, right?

One reason is the name. What if it’s a boy? What if this perfect girl name is trashed in the name of an extra Y chromosome? And, what then?

Boy names are by nature more difficult. Clever names seem too cutesy, and the typical seem so generic. I wasn’t a typical boy growing up – as in, I wasn’t tied to cars and sports and the other things boys are expected to discover and latch onto – so I’m not sure what a name is supposed to represent. I was named after my father’s dog, after all. True story.

It’s been mentioned hundreds of times before, of course – a name is more than a word. It’s an identity that sticks with a child for his or her entire life, from birth until adulthood, along for the ride, written and mispronounced and branded onto every item that he or she encounters throughout every single stage of growing up.

And I think that makes the decision so important. I wonder what goes though the minds of those that use child names as some kind of personal fantasy, as some kind of joke or reaffirmation of ideals. I wonder why a Miami Dolphins fan would name their kid “Phin,” or why someone who was enamored with marijuana would name their little girl “Sweet Leaf.”

We hope that Sierra finds the beauty in her name as she grows up. We hope she understands every aspect of the word – the naturalness and creativity, and the historical aspect of her middle name: Dawn, a female version of my grandfather’s name, Don.

And we hope that, no matter what happens, Baby #2 finds joy in his or her name. Because it’s important. We realize that.

That’s what makes the decision so difficult.

A meaningful game, for once

December 28, 2008

The Miami Dolphins haven’t had a winning season since 2005. They haven’t been to the playoffs since 2001.

Last season, I rooted for them to lose. I stayed mum about their only win. I watched Minnesota Vikings games because they wouldn’t show Dolphins games. Which is okay, because I’d probably have watched Minnesota Vikings games anyway. The Dolphins were that bad.

I came into this season without a peep, uncharacteristically, figuring they were already sunk. After all, they entered the season with someone else’s discarded quarterback, with the same team that won only one game the year before only without the Pro Bowl players they had depended on for so long.

I felt no need to write about them. Despite my blind loyalty to the team, I had nothing to say. Nothing to say that hadn’t been said before, that is.

They began the season 2-4. The NBA season was ready to strike up the band. And so my attention waned.

But they won against a hot (at the time) Buffalo team.

And they won again.

And again.

Going 8-1 over the next nine games, they found themselves back in the playoff race. Not just the playoff race, but the division race, holding tiebreakers over the hated Patriots and needing just a win against the hated Jets – the team that handed the Dolphins their first loss in the first game of the season, at home, in Miami.

It was Brett Favre’s first game in Jets Green. It was Chad Pennington’s first game against his former team. And now, the two quarterbacks meet again, their fortunes reversed, the Dolphins riding a wave of success while the Jets have watched their division lead boil away to nothing.

To this game. To this win.

It’s on television, which means this is the first Dolphins game I get to watch. It’s the first meaningful game since 2001, which means there’s something to play for.

It’s a chance for the playoffs, which means it’s the first time I’ve been able to sit down, shield my eyes, and hope for the best since Dan Marino was throwing the ball.

It’s kickoff. And I’ve got a game to watch.

Really? Eli?

February 3, 2008

Holy shit.

Really? ELI Manning?

I didn’t see that one coming. Not at all. But it was pretty great.

I thought I was ready to welcome the Patriots to the “Perfect Season” table with the 1972 Dolphins. I figured that we were cursed, that perfection had to be shared before the Dolphins had a chance. I was tired of Mercury Morris, of Don Shula, of Jim Kiick and Larry Czonka and the rest of the team, popping their champagne, rubbing their long past achievement in the nation’s collective face as if the team was somehow relevant again.

But when it came down to it, I ended up rooting for the Giants.

Let’s just say old habits die hard. Congrats, New York. You guys earned this one.

Miami Sharks

January 7, 2008

Just catching up on a full week of missed blog entries (I was far too busy last week to open my aggrigator at work, and now I’m paying for it.)

I love this post from Where’s My Jetpack? regarding the woeful Miami Dolphins. They need more than a new General Manager and Coach - they need an entire re-branding campaign.

From the post:

We’re talking about dolphins. Gentle, playful, cute, always-smiling dolphins. This is not a good football animal mascot like a bear, lion, bronco, jaguar, bengal, colt, eagle, ram, charger, seahawk, panther or falcon. The only animal mascot in the NFL with a weaker image than a dolphin is a cardinal. And the Cardinals have sucked forever. One of the original names floated for the franchise was Sharks. That says football.

Well said. There’s more fun where that came from - check it out.

Lucky number fourteen

December 17, 2007

Well, so much for that.

I’ve been rooting for a hated rival to go undefeated. At the same time, I’ve been rooting for my team - the team I grew up following and still claim as my own - to lose every single one of their games. There is a curse, I’m convinced, that makes the Dolphins worse and worse every season. The Perfect Season Curse.

The only way to break it? A completely defeated season by the Dolphins, and an undefeated season by someone else.

Unfortunately, one part of that dream died today. The Dolphins beat the equally horrible (yet, in terms of wins, statistically better) Baltimore Ravens in overtime.

I’m sort of crushed. Now I really have nothing to root for.

Yet, at the same time, I feel bad for Ravens fans. How shitty must they feel?

On a more positive note - the Dolphins are only 13 games behind the Patriots for first in the AFC East!

Fantasy bullet points

November 26, 2007

I usually hate the Pittsburgh Steelers.

I always have. I remember at a young age ranking all of the teams in the NFL. I loved lists, and I was just beginning to understand football. I placed the Dolphins at the top, naturally, because that’s the team my father rooted for (and still does) and I placed the Buffalo Bills - the Dolphins’ natural enemy, obviously - at the bottom. Dallas was second to last. Pittsburgh was third to last.

Tonight, though, I’m rooting for them - both because I desperately want the Perfect Season Curse broken and because Ben Roethlisberger is on my fantasy team.

This is what professional football has broken into - both for good and bad. Sure, we root for our team. But we also root for everyone else, depending on the day - or more specifically, depending on who’s starting, or what the point spread is, etc. etc. Loyalties and rivalries are thrown to the wayside, with individual stats taking hold and Monday Night Football gaining even more momentum as the ultimate “make the lost bets back” game.

And as a football fan, I’m all for it. I’m rooting for Pittsburgh tonight. All because I have a drafted the rights to use the statistics of a handful of professional football names. All because I need 48 fantasy points from their starting quarterback. All because I am pretending - like a couple of kids playing house - that I’m a real life NFL general manager.

What a weird concept.

To think I usually hate the Steelers.

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About

Black Marks on Wood Pulp has been commenting on life and everything associated with it since February 2005. He's also photoblogging at Much More Sure and writing about advertising and marketing at Post Haste. Everything you've ever wanted to know about Black Marks on Wood Pulp and Corey Vilhauer is located here, on the About Page.

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OH: Colorectal? More like COLORIFFIC!

Posts

• On solving creative block
• The Beatles, “Dig a Pony” - 1.30.69
• What I’ve Been Reading - Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs/Master of Reality
• On the empathy of a toddler
• Who needs comfort food when you’ve got comfort books?
• Atelier: a method of craft
• On trying not to let a second child’s accomplishments go without fanfare
• Who got the funk?
• Metagames
• A Payphone as Journalistic Art

Comments

• Corey Vilhauer on The Beatles, “Dig a Pony” - 1.30.69: "Don’t get me started."
• bg on The Beatles, “Dig a Pony” - 1.30.69: "That U2 rooftop shoot for “Streets” woulda worked too. ;-p"
• Corey Vilhauer on On the empathy of a toddler: "Thanks, Dar. Also - no problems on the name. It happens all the time."
• Dar on On the empathy of a toddler: "sorry about misspelling your name, Corey"
• Dar on On the empathy of a toddler: "“Not unless you, too, were so filled with innocence; your heart still sporting an unbroken seal, the cotton still lodged firmly in the top, clogging the..."

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