Maybe it's just me, Football Announcers Are Annoying

Maybe it's just me, and it usually is, but I find announcers on football games annoying. 

I like to watch football. Note, I wrote "watch." There are times I turn off the sound and just watch. That solves the problem, but not totally. You see, the announcers do possess vital information that the viewer does not have. And that information does enhance the viewing experience. 

There are so many things that annoy me about announcers that I don't want to rob the reader of taking them all away from them. I will likely cover them as this year's football season progresses. 

I don't like it when the announcers favor the team with the momentum at Adnasium--not even when it's my team. 

I don't like the camera shots of the quarterback's mom--Adnasium. We know she loves her boy. We know she acts like a madwoman when he scores. And the hotter she is, the more camera shots she gets. And the more animated she gets, the more camera shots she gets. What pressure!

The announcers are aware of who has the larger and more financially affluent fanbase. They will tailor their remarks to that fanbase to keep them happy. Sometimes, but for the score, you'd think the losing team was ahead. 

I hate it when they draw on the screen. "Keep an eye on this guy," they'll say and circle a player. Guess what? That's not the guy, and if it is, we hear about it well past the five-minute commercial break. The announcer will still be talking about it on his way to the airport. I pity his wife. "Did you see, did you see, Honey? I drew a squiggly yellow circle on the TV, and that guy got the touchdown. Wait until contract time comes around. I'm not just another silver-tongued talking head."

And could we please stop it with the Sideline Suzies who stick a mic in the face of some crochety old coach. 

"What does your team need to do to get back in this ball game?"

"We've got to make some good plays and cut down on mistakes."

"What did you tell your team at halftime to get back in the game?" 

I don't think we want to hear what he told them.

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 22, The Members of The Cosmos

This is episode twenty-two of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

The Members of The Cosmos

Two days passed. The Tramp Islander sailed effortlessly with the wind. Although there was no proof, everyone thought they moved faster and smoother with the blue sails. 

Trace lifted the mic from its hook. He called everybody to assemble in the mess. He waited a couple of minutes, strapped the wheel, and climbed down the companionway. He entered the mess. Everyone sat at the table with curious faces. He sat at the table’s head.

Trace removed his hat and tossed it on the bench in the salon. Curiosity continued.

Trace looked at everyone. “How many of you have studied some of the contents of the box?”

Everyone raised their hands.

“How many are familiar with the island?” Trace asked.

Everyone raised their hands.

“How many of you are familiar with the compound, the building, where Franks’ kid and the girl are, the airstrip, and so forth?” Trace asked.

Everyone raised their hands.

“That’s good,” Trace said. “Remember, Cally said, to know it like the back of your hand, like you have been born there.”

“How many of you have read Haywood Demeter’s books and the articles about him?” Trace asked.

Only Cally and Adam raised their hands.

“I was afraid of being converted,” Coyote quipped. 

Everyone chuckled.

Trace grinned, shook his head, and continued. “I think Adam, Cally, and I will agree that everyone doesn’t need to know Demeter’s philosophies, his strategies, the way he thinks, his background, or how he organizes. We certainly want no converts among us.” Trace grinned. “However, it is important I have some understanding, as well as Dad and Cally. So I’m going to fill everyone in together on a few things about Demeter and his religion. And Cally, Dad, jump in wherever you want to.”

“First of all, Demeter is well educated. He has doctorates in psychology and theology. And they’re from prestigious universities, not mail-order paper.”

“He accepted a position with an Episcopal Church and soon had a revelation. He claimed to have come into contact with the true custodian of the universe. He was careful not to call him God. The Creator had died or become disinterested and turned things over to a custodian. His name is Omni.”

“Omni trained Demeter, so he says. He trained him during his dreams and thoughts, plus long sessions of meditation. Eventually, Omni dictated a book to him. The book is called The Law of the Cosmos.”

“That book was meant as a guide for mere mortals. Or, the people who follow Demeter.”

“Omni bestowed the title of Me’Ahed on Demeter. That’s what he is known as and what he is called. It means ‘unifier or uniter’ in Hebrew.”

Sage raised his hand. “Just curious, why Omni, which is Greek, and Me’Ahed, which is Hebrew?”

Trace grinned. “Maybe that’s one you can ask Me’Ahed yourself.”

Trace continued. “He has complete authority on all matters. If a man and woman want to marry, he decides. If a member wishes to leave the island, it is an arduous process which ends in large sums of money being paid by families to free the member.”

“There is a period of indoctrination—brainwashing. A new member is deprived of sleep and driven to reveal all secrets about the family they came from, rich families. In turn, those families are blackmailed. Demeter knows just how much to bilk them for without them going to the law or to seek private action. He doesn’t break them, they just with they to be broken.”

“Until Franks,” Pete said.

“Right,” Trace said, “Franks had nothing to lose and the girl’s father has nothing to begin with. Demeter likely knew nothing about Franks. Franks’ entire life is built on shame. You could never shame him or subject him to blackmail. What are they going to blackmail him with? Your ole man is a cheating, lowlife, criminal. And Franks only has to say, ‘Is that all you got?’   

“Demeter teaches that this life is only temporary. And if you lead a life of devotion, to Me’Ached, Omni, and The Law of the Cosmos, you pass on to the next life.”

“And what that?” Makani asked.

“You will be transported to a planet matching the Earth. It will be your planet to inhabit, manage, procreate. If you are a man and not married, you will prepare a home and wait for a wife. And the same with a woman. If married, the couple will go together.”

“Much of their study is how to start new civilizations. That starts with purifying their spirit; elevated thoughts, and new-age mumbo jumbo and gobble-dee-goo. The words all sound like they should mean something, but they don’t. Everyone seems to understand him, but they don’t.  They are afraid that if they don’t, they have not reached the degree of spiritual enlightenment expected of them. Which reminds me, there are 49 degrees of spiritual enlightenment. Demeter, of course, has received all 49. The closest to him is 22. You must achieve seven to be invited to the island.”

“What happens?” Sage said. “Does a little bell ring when you’ve achieved a degree?”

“Anyone who achieves the seven degrees can bestow up to six on any other member. It’s a rigorous process. Of course, a lot of money changes hands first. All degrees of spiritual enlightenment after six are only conferred by Demeter. He has three or four conclaves a year with those who can come up with the money or something of equal value. He tests them by asking questions about the Cosmos.”

“Is it possible to reason with them to deprogram them?” Sage asked.

“What’s the old joke?” Trace said. “How many psychologists does it take to change a lightbulb? One, but that’s only if it wants to change. I suppose a bold demonstration of reason beyond doubt might help someone, but generally, the person has to have the seed of doubt already planted.”

“Let’s remember, if I got this right,” Cally said. “We’re not there to convert anybody, just to rescue two souls who have already gone astray.”

“That’s right,” Trace said. “There will not be time for interaction. Remember, these people, sorry to say, are useful idiots. And you can’t reason with an idiot.” 

Trace spoke for almost another half an hour. He surveyed the room. He felt the general mood might be that The Members of Cosmos were a subset of humanity and mentally ill.

 “Hold on for just a minute,” Trace continued. “I don’t want to leave you with the impression they are walking zombies. They are intelligent and engaging people. However, behind that facade is a person who listens only to Demeter. What they believe is no stranger than Catholicism or Hinduism.”

Cally lifted his hand off the table.

“Go ahead, Cally, you have something to say?”

“I’ve been watching Adam,” Cally said. “He’s had his nose in Demeter’s books quite a bit; what do you think?”

Everyone looked at Adam.

Adam appeared reluctant to speak.

“Go ahead, Dad,” Trace urged.

“I’ll sound like a broken record,” Adam said. “My son and I think alike. At least that’s what he leads me to believe. Anyway, the only thing I have to add is that I think they’ll put up a brave front, maybe even fierce. They’ll back down. True, there may be a few true believers, but I think in the end, we might even see Demeter melt into a pool of tears. He’s a coward with power.” 

Everybody’s eyes glanced back and forth from Trace to Adam.

“Hope I didn’t overstep,” Adam said.

“Thanks, Dad,” Trace said. “That’s what I was going to end with.”

That sent a signal to everyone that the meeting was over. Coyote and Pete heaved sighs of relief. 

“As bad as church,” Coyote said. 

“If we done, I get beer for everybody,” Makani said, “and Trace, you get back to wheel.”

“Aye, aye,” Trace grinned.

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 21, Invisible Mystery

This is episode twenty-one of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

Invisible Mystery

The mystery surrounding the contents of the crates continued. At 8:00 on the second day at sea, Trace watched Cally emerge from the forward companionway. He held two crowbars and two hammers. He placed them on top of the largest crate.

Trace picked up the mic and said., “Do you want me to call the crew?”

Cally replied with a thumbs up.

Trace depressed the microphone button. He called out, “The drawing for the one-hundred-dollar Cally giveaway is about to happen on the forward deck. You must be present to win.”

Everyone gathered around the largest crate. Trace strapped the wheel and came forward.

“I wouldn’t miss this for all the tea in China,” Trace said, gathering with the crew.

“I’m sorry,” Cally said, “you can’t guess tea, you’ve already had two guesses. 

“I’d like to give a long, drawn-out speech to tighten everybody’s anticipation,” Cally announced like a master of ceremonies. “There has been sufficient speculation, renumeration, consternation, and dare I say constipation on the contents of these crates. May I say, this will not only dazzle, frazzle, and razzle the intellects, the intelligence, and the excrements…”

Coyote interrupted, “If you don’t shut up and get on with it, I’m gonna use one of those crowbars to bedazzle you.”

“Hear, hear,” everyone agreed.

“But I have so much more to say,” Cally feigned pleadingly. “Not really, I was making it all up on the fly.”

“Now,” Cally proclaimed, with his master of ceremonies manner.

 Everybody rolled their eyes. 

Cally cleared his throat. “My beautiful assistant, Pete…”

“Hold on,” Pete said, “only one person ever called me beautiful. It did not end well for him.”

“Okay,” Cally said, “My worthy assistant, Pete, will help me pry open the crates.” Cally handed Pete a crowbar. “Your weapon, sir.”

“It almost was,” Coyote said.

Cally comedically rolled his eyes, and said out of the side of his mouth, “Makani, remember to season his tray with saltpeter.”

Cally and Pete pryed the lid from the largest crate. Everyone stared inside.

“Blue canvas?” Sage said, wondering.

“I just saved myself one hundred dollars,” Cally said. “But let’s be a little more specific. Blue sails and blue canvas.”

“For what?” Coyote said.

“While everyone was frolicking back in Suva,” Cally said, “I had a man measure the sails and The Tramp Islander. We are going to remove the present sails and install the blue ones. When we arrive at our destination, we will drape the ship in blue canvas. From a distance, we will be effectively invisible.”

Everyone stared into the open crate.

“Brilliant,” Trace said. “Let’s change sails.”

Everyone looked at each other, and Coyote said, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my son about sailing, it’s that sails don’t take down by themselves or hoist on their own. Let’s get the job done.”

By the end of the day, the blue sails were hoisted and the white sails were stowed away. The crew stayed on deck and gazed at the sails, enjoying the task they had finished. 

Trace returned to the pilothouse and adjusted The Tramp Islander’s course. He gazed up at the sails. He smiled and clicked his cheek. “I like it.”

Cally walked into the pilothouse using the aft door. He stood next to Trace. “What do you think?”

“I just remarked to myself, ‘I like it,’” Trace said.

“There are two towers on the island,” Cally said. “The closer we can get, the better. Those towers are only about forty feet high. At that height, you can see thirteen or fourteen miles. And with binoculars, a ship can easily be spotted. With the blue sails and canvas draped over the sides, not even a trained observer could spot us. We might be able to get within three or four miles. If the plan is to use the rubber boats, that will cut our time from the island to the shore as much as two hours each way. That means returning to the ship in as little as fifteen minutes. That greatly diminishes our vulnerability.” 

“Clever,” Trace said. 

“I thought so too,” Cally winked. 

Trace shook his head and grinned. 

Maybe It's Just Me, Corny 50s TV

  Maybe it's just me, and it usually is, but I like old 1950s television shows. I find them on YouTube. 

Captain Midnight; from left to right, Ikky Mud
(Sid Milton), Captain Midnight (Richard Webb), 
Dr. Aristotle "Tut" Jones (Olan Soule)

  It takes me back to a time when life appeared simple. Those shows and plots that I watched were not complicated or riddled with preachy messages. If they were, it was about honesty, courage, obeying authority, respect, diligence, and many other positive traits. 

  We saw how to act around adults and figures of authority. Indeed, some of those things were a bit overplayed. The message was, This is proper conduct. 

  The TV of yesteryear is scoffed at as being unrealistic and a portrayal of an idealistic world that did not exist. To be clear, TV programs are fiction.

  The last week or so, I've watched several episodes of Sergeant Preston of the Yukon and Captain Midnight. Unbelievable plots, structured dialogue, stiff acting, cheap sets, rudimentary special effects. Like many have said, radio with pictures.

  Sure, it had its faults. We saw no African Americans. That was not society's fault. It was the writers, producers, and programming
executives. Mexicans were portrayed in extremes, humble and gracious or violent and cruel. There was a lot of stereotyping, not just among ethnic groups and races, but also among whites. The short guy was always the sidekick and comedic relief. The fat guy was always dimwitted. 

  Do I wish now that more time was taken to provide fair and believable representations of all people? Of course, but they didn't. And now is not the time to whine about it or overcompensate.

  Looking back at the influence these programs had on my interaction with people outside my racial and ethic group, they did not have any effect on me. I knew it was a show.

A Cult in Paradise; Episode 20, Goodbye to Pago Pago

This is episode twenty of the fifth book in the Trace Troy Adventures in  Paradise series. The Title is A Cult in Paradise. It will be featured in episodes over the next few months. It will eventually be published in full on Amazon. All of the Trace Troy books, as well as my other novels, can be purchased on Amazon by clicking the Bookstore tab above. I hope you enjoy. And thanks for stopping by. 

Goodbye to Pago Pago

Everyone shared two-hour shifts each in the pilothouse. Trace, though not knowing what was in the crates, thought it was best to at least have somebody watch the deck.

Adam returned at a quarter past ten. He rapped lightly on Trace’s cabin door. 

“Come in,” Trace said, lying on the bed, reading. 

Adam came in, and Trace sat up on the edge of the bed. “Have a seat.”

Adam sat on the bed. “What’s in the crates?”

“We don’t know,” Trace said. “Cally said we’ll find out as soon as we’re out to sea. We had a contest. Your pick was a nuclear weapon.”

“Hmm,” Adam said, “that’s the first thing that popped into my head.”

“How was your day with Talei?” Trace asked.

“It was a good day,” Adam said. “We both found it easy to speak openly. At this moment, we have feelings for one another. We think it’s premature to call it love, but we don’t know what else to call it. And before you go wandering too far, I’m still in on this thing. I didn’t tell her anything about it, other than it is important. She respected my privacy on the matter, and we moved on.”

“We will be coming back to Pago Pago,” Trace said. “A fella showed up today who has a daughter on the island. It’s Franks’ son’s girlfriend. The girl’s parents will be waiting here.”

“Rich folks?” Adam said.

“No,” Trace said, “the guy is a mailman.”

“A mailman?” Adam questioned.

“I thought at first that was strange,” Trace said. “Demeter targets rich kids, and solicits rich parents for money. However, the girl is attractive in a cute way. We have a picture of her. She might have been used to recruit Franks’ kid. He’s some sort of mathematical computer whiz. I don’t know anything about the girl. She may have talents beyond cute.”

“How has Cally been?” Adam asked.

“He’s been good,” Trace said. “He has everybody guessing about what’s in the crates. He told me that what’s in the crates will give us a huge advantage.”

“Changing the subject back,” Adam said, “someday you’ll return to the ranch, right?”

“That’s my plan,” Trace said.

“What if Talei is there?” Adam said.

“That would be great,” Trace said. “Did you ask her how she felt about me coming back?”

“I did,” Adam said. 

“And?” Trace asked.

“What do you think?” Adam said.

“Well,” Trace said, “if you are happy, I’d sleep in the barn.”

“Yeah,” Adam said, “that’s where she said you should sleep. But just to be sure, nothing is certain. We’ve had only a little more than two days together. There’s a lot before that and a lot after that.”

Adam took a deep breath and blew it out. “There, that’s done.”

Trace smiled and patted Adam on the back and pretended to be fatherly. “There, son, you have my blessing.”

Adam stood, and grasped the door knob. He turned to Trace. “What time are we leaving tomorrow?”

“Immediately after breakfast,” Trace said. 

“Good night,” Adam nodded.

“Sweet dreams,” Trace grinned. 

Adam went to his cabin, and Trace turned off the light above his bunk and went to sleep. 

He woke a little before six and relieved Sage, who stood deck watch from 4:00 to 6:00 AM. Makani served breakfast at 7:00 AM, and at 8:00 AM, Trace started the engine. Sage and Coyote untied the lines, and The Tramp Islander slowly pulled away from the dock and into the bay. Soon, they were beyond the grip of the island at full sail and slithering effortlessly through the waves.

Trace sat at the wheel. He saw Adam on the port side of the foredeck. He leaned against the shroud of the aft mast, looking back at Samoa. He turned toward the pilothouse. He removed his hat and ran his hand over his hair. He gave Trace a half smile and placed the hat snugly on his head. He walked to the port bow and gazed at the shimmering blue open seas.

Trace saw something he never thought he would ever see; his dad was in love.

The Porcelain Perambulator

  Alex held a small porcelain perambulator between his forefinger and thumb. He twisted it slowly, examining the intricacies. His eyes slowly rose and looked around the shop of porcelain figurines of all varieties. The shop had not changed in thirty years. It was full of memories. Only one figurine was of interest to him. 

  The hardwood floor creaked as before and in the identical places. The smell was as he remembered - the faint odor of lilac and cinnamon from a potpourri on a small table next to the door. His attention returned to the perambulator. For a moment, he returned to a forgotten time - an innocent and carefree time, a time long ago. A tear of longing formed in his eye. A deep sadness hovered over him like a cloak.

The shopkeeper asked politely, "Can I help you with something today, sir?"

"Yes," Alex said, quickly shaking his melancholy and replying adroitly. "I wish to purchase this. No need to wrap it."

The shopkeeper chuckled and leaned forward, propping himself with his hands against the counter. Looking over the tops of his spectacles, he said, "Oh, I'm afraid, sir, that one is not for sale. It is special, but if you're determined to purchase something, we have many others, and I think you will find something to your liking."

Alex smiled politely as he instantly took an estimate of the middle-aged shopkeeper with a broom mustache and a worn brown button sweater. "I was quite surprised that I would find this one still here. It has been thirty years, and I will pay ten times its value."

"Others have inquired of that one over the years, but it is not for sale at a thousand times its value, sir."

Alex pulled on his French cuffs from beneath the sleeves of his custom-tailored Italian suit. "Is this not a shop, and do you not earn a livelihood from selling porcelain?"

"Yes, but everything else you may purchase, except that one," the shopkeeper said, reaching over and tapping the perambulator with his finger. He picked it up. He smiled and looked at it fondly.

Alex pulled it from the shopkeeper. "If you knew how special it is to me, you would fix a price and sell it to me. You see, thirty years ago, my young wife and I bicycled to this town every Saturday. We were poor then. We came to this shop, and each time she picked up this very perambulator and admired it. We had no money for it at the time. It would mean so much to me if you would fix a price and send me on my way."

"Oh yes, I remember you two well. She was pretty, lovely, and kind. One does not easily forget beauty, loveliness, and kindness. Yes, I remember. Every Saturday at nearly two, you strolled into and out of the shop, and down the street you continued. You had tea down the way. She was very much in love with you. I could tell. I was a young lad then dusting the shop for my father, who dusted for his father, who dusted for his father."

"I remember your father, a kind man who wore a monocle. I believe the right eye." "Yes, that was him."

"Is he still with us?"

"He tends the shop on Mondays only."

"If he were here, what price would he fix upon it?"

"You should have inquired from him thirty years ago."

"Are you being flippant, sir?"

"Why should I do that, sir? I stated my case, and that is the much of it."

"Confound it, man! Sell me the perambulator."

"Sir, it is not for sale."

"It is important to me," Alex pleaded.

"When it was important to her, you would not even consider buying it. You did not even inquire about its price then. My father told me he would have given it to the young lady if only you had asked, but you had no intention or interest in it, but she did."

"Do you know who I am? I am Alexander Crowley. I have crushed corporations and banks. I've met half the Prime Ministers and heads of state in the civilized world. I could buy this shop. I could buy this town. I could buy you."

"But you can't buy that perambulator. I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. I read the papers and watch TV. Your wife is dead now, isn't she, Mr. Crowley? I truly mourn your loss."

"Thank you, sir. Then you know how important this is to me."

"You see, sir, I won't sell it to you because it is important to you. Thirty years ago, you had no intentions of buying it, and she knew it. Did the years continue to be selfish ones, Mr. Crowley? You are buying this for yourself, Mr. Crowley, not for her. It will now only bring you pleasure. It will only make you feel good. Your opportunity to please her has long passed."

"I gave her everything she wanted," Alex exclaimed angrily.

The shopkeeper retorted, "Except the perambulator, sir. If you had asked, Mr. Crowley, what do you think Mrs. Crowley would have held most dear?"

Alex held the perambulator tightly in his grip. "Sell it to me, you stubborn fool." He slammed his fist to the counter, and the perambulator snapped into several pieces. Alex frightfully looked at it as it fell and crumbled from his hand. He was horrified to see blood pool like beads of sweat in his palm. He murmured slowly, "What have I done?"

The shopkeeper looked at him pathetically and handed him a tissue. "I was about to say again, Mr. Crowley, it is not for sale, but it is yours for the taking."