Neo

With the important caveat acknowledged ... Early organizational missteps are, I believe, trending in the right direction. I am a process guy in that I believe if you get culture right, players and systems matter less. Players and systems change. I don’t snark at “Trust the Process”. It’s a slogan, yes. It will mean something if and when it bears fruit. I’m glad it’s recognized. Until then, it doesn’t turn me off. I graded the Bills a little higher because I think the new management made some decisive player and cap decisions that weren’t obvious very quickly. The Bills also made the playoffs. You can call it fluky, but it happened. I’ll take fluky when it comes my way. I’ve suffered through a homerun throwback and a dirty shin pad. Fluky is part of the business model, for and against.

Where does Paxton Lynch fall in the name game?

Great QB names ... Great names QB ... Johhny Unitas Otto Graham Joe Montana Bart Starr Jake Plummer ..

Hoss, thank you for exposing this outrage! I’m a neophyte to the ways of the tribunal. After you help me find the anger you’re referring to, will you help me find the place it’s coming from? I find the manufactured realities of others vexing. I’ll learn. As best I can see, we now need to be two steps from reality. First, we manufactured the event and then we manufacture the obscene motive. Am I following? ”He said nothing for me to get upset about so I’ll pretend he did and then I’ll make an accusation.” Track record and unimpeachable character be damned, of course. Together we will expose the perpetrators! Of course, it is simple to label someone unflatteringly when they don’t share your opinion. That’s the genius. The method may be small, despicable and lazy, but it’s simple. Sure beats assembling evidence and making an argument.

Synthesis and commonality between great works of art, excellence and passion .... Blutarsky and Dorfman ... Nicknames and Swedish Fish ... Flounder!

Is Chess a sport or a game? What’s the difference? I played a lot as a boy and was a good, not best, chess club player in high school. I watched Fisher v. Spassky on television, following the analysis on a board in my house. Consistent with who I am, I bought books and learned openings. So many historical names, flairs, styles and cultures came together. I was in the goulash. There was Capablanca, Tal, Alekhine, Petrosian and Morphy. Imposing black and white beards and scowls were juxtaposed with neatly combed hair and bow ties. I saw sorcerers and bookkeepers, menace and mind. A few weeks ago, I picked up my board, again. I should say, I picked up my iPad. I’m playing again, but oh, so, differently. I finished a game with a woman from Turkey moments ago. In my youth, that would’ve involved seven days, a passport, and airline tickets. I’ve lost no appreciation and joy regarding the pleasures of days gone by. I have developed same for the opportunities of today. Turkey! I won with the King’s Pawn Opening. While I played in a totally modern way, I’m still old school in my bones.

No Cliff Pu in Carolina ... did I miss something, or did they?

I’ve met you in person. I’d say you’re capable, but be careful. I’ve met you online. I’d give the same advice to the folding table.

Oh, what a night that was! A guilty pleasure, I’m afraid, that costs too much ... now that I see both sides of the ledger.

I grew up and found hockey with The Big Bad Bruins and The Broad Street Bullies. I chanted “We want Ray” wearing a suit in a suite. The combination of athleticism and menace made hockey overwhelmingly my favorite sport before I found the same combination in lacrosse. I viewed each game as a contest, but also as a passion play of good and evil, justice and just desserts. As fighting diminished, I attributed it to marketing wizards looking to broaden the game’s appeal. I lamented and mumbled things like “shooting themselves in the foot, not understanding the essence”, etc. No one called me a dinosaur, but I recognized myself in others being so labeled. No matter, it was the label that was incorrect in my mind. There was no profit in arguing with someone who’d not watched Keith Magnuson and Wayne Cashman go at it. “They just don’t understand.” I wondered if I’d survive the tedium of 80 game seasons, in a low scoring era, without the menace and edge of your seat moments fighting provided. I remembered the BACK TO BACK nights with the Bruins. Anticipation and time to send a message. “We’ve got Hartman and Shoebottom exchanging glances!” I educated my kids and referenced The Code, the Order of Chivalry and Jung’s Collective Unconscious. “It’s all on display, in two and a half hours, if you look.” I have four kids; two boys and two girls. My GIRLS’ first jerseys were Ray and Kaleta! Life provides perspective. I watched my heroes deteriorate. I am no longer a kid watching adults. Instead, I am an adult watching kids. That lens change is significant. I wanted Playfair to fight my battles against rivals. I wanted to BE Maguire. After becoming an adult, loving kids, and learning, I’ve come to a new place. I can’t abide watching today’s kids take risks for my entertainment.

Oh, my ..... Google, and you are in for a treat. A sad treat, but a treat nonetheless. Brian "Spinner" Spencer and his dad.

I am happy to read that you are not disavowing a method of analysis that's imperfect. I have no view on Allen that's worth publishing and mentioned him not in my post. I think you read a view on Allen into what I wrote. My comment was inspired by categorizing one method of analysis as imperfect, defending it as a tool, and simultaneously categorizing another method as imperfect, and dismissing it as a tool ... all the while arguing that imperfection isn't eliminating. The topic interested me generally. The reasoning interested me greatly.

Why disavow a method of analysis that’s imperfect?

Memory alert .... I remember worrying about Jim Kelly arriving from Houston of the USFL. He’d been sacked so much that accumulated injury was a press topic. Now, he’d not missed time. It was a wear and tear conversation. I Googled the inter webs. Two sites have him at 110 sacks in two years, including a remarkable 75 in one. Can that be right?

I’d like to buy a vowel .... or a lifeline ... or something. Edit ... ok, I Googled the interwebs ... and it’s funny.

YOU ... will dig it.

For middle aged Buffalonians, those interested in the culture of days gone by, newspaper historians or those who just like to read ... When I was a boy, I’d wake up and go directly to the front door for the Courrier Express. On school days, I often beat the paperboy and had to wait long, long, minutes. The paper arrived, and I got my news and my views. Later in life, I’d find Jim Kelley or Larry Felser. What joys. But as a boy, I found Phil Ranallo. Fast forward and I find my news and my views everywhere. I’m inundated. I cannot hide. But, then, I was insatiable. Google and Amazon, Fox and CNN. Well, today’s ubiquity of information brought me yesterday’s master. I bought What’s New, Harry? by Paul Ranallo, Phil’s son. It’s a collection of his Op-Ed pieces from the sixties, seventies and eighties. Ranallo is the oldest of schools and both a craftsman and an artist. Aaron, Mays, Munson, Rose, Archibald, DeGregorio, Lanier, McAdoo, Smith (Randy and Elmore), Blanda, Kemp, Rutkowski, Imlach, Perreault, Martin, Horton, Ali, Frazier, Secretariat. The list is much longer. Honest Harry, Ruby, Sam the Immigrant, Julie Potatoes, Loose Lip Louis, they’re all there. Buy it ...

Yes to Carlin, generally, and your recommendations, specifically. I’d studies Rome, and still found Carlin magnificent. The Khans, well, I had no idea. Most interesting: the view of West through the eyes of East.

Thank you, all. I had more than one chuckle. Of course, I’m intellectually sound, emotionally whole, and honest. Imagine if I weren’t. Oh, the identities I could assume and the grievances I could manufacture. Joke: You are all misogynist, racist, human centric, rape culture promoting, discriminators against the otherly-abled! And the Poles! Punchline: That last sentence is bizarre and untrue. It almost always is, regardless of how loudly it’s screamed or how often it’s repeated. Musings around language and the elements of humor in our through the looking glass society ...

Well, not perfect. Had I spelled “stared” correctly, I’d have been closer. Still a miss, but closer!

I was at a Lightening game about ten years ago. I found myself turning and staring at a man, sitting alone, about ten rows behind me. My brain loses names at the most unpredictable times. The game ended and I started up the aisle. It came to me. “Mikita!”, I realized. I stopped at his row and asked, “Mr. Mikita?”. “Yes, sir” he said, with glee in his eyes. I thanked him for the memories and apologized for the intrusion. He said something along the lines of “That’s ok, no one recognizes me anymore”. What a gracious response. The smile was broad and the eyes intent. His hair was still Mikita perfect. Mikita looked like one of those wiry older men who could still turn you into a pretzel. God just makes some people differently. Many retired Canadians live on Florida’s Gulf Coast. I see former NHLers from time to time. I’ve stared at Scotty Bowman so often that I believe HE recognizes ME.

What a cool way to start a Sunday. I “found” hockey in the fall of 1970. It was the Sabres’ first season. The young, up and coming, Bruins in the video were by then “Big, Bad”. I pledged my allegiance to the Sabres, but adopted the Bruins as a second team. Boston had an AM radio station powerful enough for me to listen in Buffalo on my oh, so, modern 4 inch by 2 inch transistor radio. I was ten, and learned about radio waves, transmission power, and atmospheric bounces! We Love You Bruins Boston’s Gashouse Gang from Eddie Shore to Bobby Orr was on my bookshelf, next to a tape recorder, a souvenir rabbit pelt, and plastic dinosaur models from the Buffalo Museum of Science. Robert Gordon Orr of Parry Sound, Ontario. To read, I had to buy the book. To listen, I had to dial the tuner at time certain. To see, I had to rotate the television aerial, also at time certain. Hockey trading cards accumulated. Oh, did they accumulate. When I watch a video like this, I remember a time, a vibe, and a way of life as much as I remember a game. Decades later, I would spend some time with Orr, Bucyk, Hodge and Esposito in various circumstances. I believe they sensed that while I was being introduced that day, my relationship with them went back decades. Of course, there’s been so much progress since then and our lives are ... better and ... happier.

Ken O’Brien AIN’T coming to visit you anytime time soon. Edit to add: I got to thinking of Ken and the poster. It would be inside Ken’s Room 101 which was, coincidently enough, administered by Orwell’s O’Brien.

You know, if the Sabres are clinging to a three point lead in the Wildcard race, I don’t think the decision will be difficult. Can you imagine the potential pitchforks and torches if we sent him away in that scenario? Headline: Sabres miss playoffs by two points; excited by extra 2020 first rounder and Swedish LHD prospect. Oh, the blood, yellow bile, black bile and phlegm!

Awesome ...