Visit TerryFostersblog.com

All good things must come to an end. This blog is one of them. I did not want it to end this quickly but my hands were forced by the wonderful deed of a guy named Jason Kelley.
He built me a website called TerryFostersblog.com. I like it. And I hope you will like it. It is more professional than this and it is something I would never be able to do on my own. But I will post my views and thoughts over there and I hope you enjoy.
Feedback is welcome. I will keep this up and running a few more days before we completely move everything over there.

This cyber fighting must stop

                                                                        

My son and daughter Brandon and Celine got into a fight this morning and I put an immediate stop to it.
Celine was in her bedroom and Brandon was in the kitchen and they were fighting via Skype. I told them that is unacceptable that if they were going to fight they had to do it the old fashion way.
They had to punch each other and scream in each others' face until I rush to put an end to it.
This whole electronic age has jumped the shark. How in the world do you get into an argument with somebody in the same house and not say a word? That is what it came to when I caught Brandon feverishly typing something into my I-phone. Meanwhile Celine was telling him off upstairs.
Do you remember your first fight with your brother or sister? It probably began with fists and ended with somebody crying to momma. Momma would mediate and administer initial punishment and then daddy came home and finished it.
I can't even begin thinking how you punish kids who argue via Skype. There is no noise. Nobody cries and it is over before you even knew it began. This is silly stuff and part of the new age I do not understand.
But it happens all over the place. We text but do not talk. If you thought about the evolution of electronics you would think texting would come first followed by talking on the phone. But it is the other way around.
I've seen people text one another in a noisy restaurant rather than talk. Come on, there is nothing wrong with a little screaming.
Meanwhile my kids are upstairs talking and having a good time. If it gets quiet then I know they are skyping again and I must step in and stop the argument before somebody gets hurt.

A tense weekend for soccer parents

My daughter Celine wore number 266, a purple T-shirt and a white pair of shorts.

And she was killing it during the Bloomfield Hills Force soccer try outs Saturday morning. There was no doubt she was making the team “A” although she often questions me where she will play if she does not make the team.

If you are a soccer parent you know that this weekend is one of the biggest of the year.  It is sort of like mating season. A number of travel soccer teams both big and small, with big reputations and no reputations, dangle out try out schedules hoping to lure girls and boys from ages 8-18.

We are lucky. Five teams invited Celine to tryout and all guaranteed she would land a spot on the coveted “A” team. Celine has played four seasons with the Force and her asset is her speed burning down the sidelines or up the middle challenging the defense.

She lacks a blistering shot, but she became a goal scorer this season by finding openings in the defense and guiding the ball past the goalie.  She’s been a guest player with the Livonia City Soccer Club and the Hawks during winter tournaments.

We are lucky. We know she will always have a team.

For other parents it is not the case.  We sat next to parents who were nervous as all get out.

“I can’t even watch my daughter I am so nervous,” one woman told me.

Her daughter has played the last two seasons on the “B” team and wanted so badly to move up. She has had extra training, worked on her speed and endurance but never made the top club.

Often parents with “B” invitations move onto the second day of tryouts looking for a team that will bump them to the big club. If they can’t find that team then they either stay with their original team or move on.

Some kids don’t make any team after two days.  Those are the ones I feel badly for. They want to play but their dreams of playing for one of the top teams are dashed. So they move to a lesser travel team, a house team or play recreation soccer. Some flat out quit.

There is a lot of pressure on these kids. The parents have expectations. The kids have expectations and often their hopes and dreams are dashed. It is sad.

You see tears. You see people toss their equipment after learning they did not make the big club. Often they’ve put in a year of effort and only have 90 minutes to show they belong.

On Friday told Celine she could try out for one other team besides the Force on Saturday. She said she didn’t want to do it.

On Saturday morning she changed her mind and said she wanted to try out for the Hawks or Livonia. I panicked trying to find their practice times so we could dash from Force tryouts to the next.

After her tryouts Celine walked off the field with a big smile. She officially made the team. Teammates scheduled lunch and swimming to celebrate.

Celine wanted to participate.

“Are you sure,” I asked.

“Yes dad,” she said.

Friendship won out. One of her best friends on the bubble made the team and Celine wanted to celebrate with her and others.  Sometimes it is wonderful to be courted and wanted by others. But in Celine’s case there is no place like home.

I hope all these girls and boys who remain on the bubble find a home soon.

Oh no he didn't

I avoid confrontation. I do not like to fight. I do not like to argue.

However, sometimes you are forced to defend yourself because some people believe they can walk up to you and say whatever they want. I was in Royal Oak one night with friends enjoying food and drink at that Mexican restaurant with the red peppers on it. I can never remember the name.

Everything seemed to be going great. Then out of the blue my evening changed.

Some guy walked up to me with his woman and said: "You are a chicken shit writer and a coward."

He walked away. The first thing that went through my mind is that "sticks and stones may break my bones but words shall never hurt me."

But I could not let this guy get away with it. He walked up to me and insulted me in front of his woman. He probably figured I would not confront him but I was in a spicy mood. So I followed him to the entrance of the restaurant and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I don't know who you are," I said. "But you are the coward. Who are you to walk up to me like that and then walk away?"

He looked at me as if he were crazy. I could tell the young lad was scared. So I turned to his woman.

"Is this your boyfriend," I asked.

She nodded her head no. They were on a first or second date.

"My advice to you is to get rid of this loser. He shows no respect and he is a coward. He walks up to me and insults me and then when I confront him he becomes all respectful and quiet. Ditch this dude."

He never said another word and left.

I always wonder what happened to that couple. Did she take my advice and deep six this guy? Or did they become a couple? I do not think she hung with him for long.

I understand you are not going to like everything I write and everything I say. You are not going to like some of my show topics on the Valenti and Foster Show. We can debate. But let's do it in a respectful way.

What I do is not that serious. It is sports. It is talk. It is shooting the breeze. Sometimes you want to vent. I understand that.

I get phone calls on my Detroit News voice mail calling me all kinds of derogatory and racist names. I've had guys call disagreeing with a sports topic call and say they want to rape my wife and daughter.

Really?

They often do not leave phone numbers. But I've had people call me the N word and a coward and they leave their number. I often call them back and they become the nicest people in the world.

They just had a bad moment, they said.

Really?

A night with the Tigers and Killer B's

The Tigers lost Wednesday night to the Cleveland Indians 6-4 at Comerica Park. However, that didn't matter to the Killer B's.
It was a bit on the cool side and tiny rain drops pelted us for about four innings. But none of that mattered to the Killer B's. They were all smiles and took in every moment of the Tigers-Indians.
The killer B's are my son Brandon and his backyard buddies Barton and Bryce. School is out for summer and I took the Killer B's to a Tigers game. It is so wonderful to see the innocent love for the game of young boys. I enjoyed the banter in the car on the way to the game as they talked about pitcher Magglio Ordonez coming back and Justin Verlander's pitching.
It was great seeing them turn into adults as they stoically held their tickets out to be scanned at the gate. And I loved their smiles as we settled into our seats in section 330 to enjoy the game.
This was the only Father's Day gift I needed. It was the smile on Brandon's face along with his buddies. I don't need cologne, a tie or breakfast in bed. Being a dad is putting smiles on your kid's face and soothing them during their pain.
A few weeks ago Brandon had a terrible stomach ache and I sat up with him and gave him my famous hot towel treatment that magically makes the pain go away. He felt better but he wanted me in the room until he fell asleep. I grabbed two pillows and a blanket and lay by his bed. When I woke he was in peaceful sleep.
I never had that moment with my dad.
I never attended a Tigers game with him. Ronald Foster served in the Korean War and later in Germany as a soldier in the United States Army. A couple years after he came home for good my dad was shot and killed on Detroit's west side.
We used to go to Belle Isle and go to fairs and parades, but we never attended a game together. That wasn't unusual for my neighborhood. Black people did not feel comfortable at Tigers Stadium and I was the only kid in my entire neighborhood that regularly attended Tigers games. I was lucky that my mother worked at the Lindell A.C. and the Butsicaris brothers, Jimmy and Johnny, made sure I attended games with them.
My aunt Margo was a huge New York Yankees fan and she took me to several other games.
It was fun and I enjoyed every moment. But it is not the same as going with dad.
It is hard to explain but I know there is something special for Brandon when we order a hotdog together or share a box of popcorn at Comerica Park. He is enjoying something I never experienced. Brandon just doesn't know how special it is for me also.

Another special Verlander viewing

The Cleveland Indians probably saw those Justin Verlander dips in his curve ball all night in their sleep. I sure got a good look at it even hundreds of feet away in suite 236 in the second deck of Comerica Park.
When Verlander is on it is must watch television. When you see it in person, it is even more of a marvel to watch. I took in the game with the gang from 971 The Ticket. It was boy’s night out and all the radio talk show host were there to witness Verlander's near gem.
Verlander believes he shouldn't give up a hit every time he walks out to the mound. It sure looked that way from the stands. I thought I was going to witness history again. Verlander didn't give up a hit until the eighth inning when Orlando Cabrera lined a sharp single to center field. Verlander gave up two hits and already this season he has tossed a no-hitter and two other times took no hitters deep into the game.
After every weak swing by the Indians I looked up at the monitor to see if my eyes were seeing correctly. They were.
We've debated over the years whether Verlander is an ace? Is he a top 10 pitcher? Is he one of the best in the game? When he's on only a handful of pitchers can compete with him. He has a fast ball that he can churn anywhere from 94 to 101 miles per hour.
His changeup is wicked and that curve ball appears impossible to hit. He stands on the mound with a cocky attitude, almost as if he owns the world. Currently with an 8-3 record he owns the American League and we are certain to see him in the All Star game next month.
When you talk about the best pitchers you usually talk about speed, as in the speed of their fast ball. But Verlander is better because he is slower. He's slowed down the game by taking a little bit more time between pitches. He's fast but he doesn’t look like he’s rushing trying to catch the red eye.
He's toned down his fast ball. When Verlander's entire mission statement is to strike people out, he gets in trouble and runs up his pitch count with bad balls. When Verlander focuses on getting people out, the strike outs just sort of happen.
And when he needs that special fire ball, he can reach into his back pocket and smoke it.
The most interesting thing is the reaction of teammates. When he first threw a no-hitter they were like giddy kids. Now they expect magic from Verlander every time he steps on the mound.
"We expect him to give us a chance to win every time he is out," said catcher Alex Avila. "And our job is to give him the (offensive) support to win."
I know what I am doing every fifth day. I am sitting down and watch Verlander go to work. It might not be from suite 236, but every time he steps to the mound something special can happen. And I don't want to miss it.

Playing catch with Ben Wallace

I played catch with Ben Wallace.

And guess what? I am better at throwing a softball. It is not much of an accomplishment in the grand scheme of things but you always wonder if you could do something better than a professional athlete on any court or any diamond.

The Pistons center kind of soft tosses the ball and floats it. He threw a few over my head and apologized and he threw some in the dirt and apologized. This was during warm ups of a celebrity softball game that benefitted Meals on Wheelz between Team NBA and Team NFL.

Pistons forward Charlie Villanueva headed the NBA team while Lions receiver Derrick Williams was in charge of Team NFL. I coached the NFL team but Wallace and I warmed up before the game.

You could tell he had not thrown a softball in a long time. My ball had zip on it. His had zap.

His tosses floated like a butter fly and mine stung like a bee.

It should come as no surprise. Professional athletes train their bodies to do one thing. It is block and tackle, dunk and shoot or hit a baseball 400 feet. They usually have little time for anything else in order to be the best in their field.

Villanueva also cannot throw a softball. He is Dominican which is like a brother from Harlem not being able to dribble a basketball.

After seeing some of the swings by Lion and Pistons players I am convinced there are probably a couple hundred softball teams in Metro Detroit who could destroy them. Could you imagine NFL players trying to skate? Or NHL players trying to shoot hoop?

It would be a disaster. Even we common folks could compete with them.

I will give Big Ben some credit. He can hit a softball. He whiffed on some but he also hit one some over the fence during a home run derby competition. 

Here is one piece of advice however. Do not challenge hockey players to a game of golf. Chances are that won't end well for you.

The emotional parent

On Sunday my son Brandon started his final game with the Force and was the team captain. I began to choke up. It was his final game forever with the team and it was a sad day for me.

I am pulling my son from a team he was proud to be on. I liked the coach. I liked the players and I liked the parents. It was a perfect situation for us except for one thing. My son is not going to kill himself on a soccer field. My guy is just one of the gang. He has skills but Little B won't win the hustle award. It is not in him and a lot of things built up inside of me to the point where I cried for the first time since my aunt died three years ago.

The main reason is I never want to say good bye. I am not good with closing a good chapter of my life. The past year has been good for Little B. But at the same time the boy is not crazy about soccer. He will continue to play but he will play recreation soccer.

I thought back to those days when I drove Brandon and his two teammates Danny and Alex back home. They talked girls and music and rubber bands. I loved hearing them talk about kid stuff. It was fun.

I thanked the parents for being supportive and let them know Coach Chris was a great coach and confidence booster for B. I loved the way he handled him. My good byes at the end were very brief because I felt the tears about to roll out of my eyes and I did not want to look like a goof in front of the boys and the parents. Besides, it would have been embarrassing for B to see his father blabber like a fool.

His coach said Brandon made tremendous strides and that he was a good practice player. He put him in at defense during some important spots. But I knew Brandon was not as much as he could.

I knew this day was coming. Like I said, the end is tough for me.

There were a few things rolling inside of me. B is really a good little boy. He has a big heart but his heart is not in the sport. I knew that before the season began. But we had an agreement. If he made the A team he could play travel soccer. If he made the B team it was rec for him.

The boy really worked hard and he made the A team. But my fears were soon realized. B is not a real aggressive kid. He floats, makes a play and then floats again. My daughter Celine caught him looking at a girl he likes on another soccer field once and yelled at him.

He perked up for a few minutes and then returned to la-la land.

I really wanted him to succeed at this because I knew he wanted to be on this team. He would be if he had the fire that burns inside my daughter Celine. She will run through a brick wall to win. Brandon might run through one if there were a chocolate chip cookie on the other side.

I cried because he will miss this team.

I cried because I really wanted him to be successful on a really good team.

But I cried mostly because I know the decision to pull him was the right one. And it hurt.

                                                                         

Lafayette over American Coney Island

I usually go to Lafayette Coney Island over American during a late night snack downtown.
It has nothing to do with the taste or the quality of the hotdogs. They are both good and the snap of the dogs when you take that first bite is like a slice of heaven.
It has nothing to do with the chili sauce or mustard. I love them both and love to scoop up the extra sauce with my fork.
It is all because of the drunks. Drunk people entertain me. They make me smile and they make me laugh just as long as they are not behind the wheel of a car. I like how drunk people are piled up on one another in Lafayette and are forced to share tables.
They are more spread out at American, although the extra room can lead to some interesting shows of "Dancing with the Stars."
Piling people up on top of one another at Lafayette leads to hilarity.
For instance I was in Lafayette about two years ago when a woman with obvious bleached blonde hair sat across from her husband. A drunk eyes her up for about 30 seconds and blurts out. "You look terrible with that fake ass hair."
The 20 minute argument that followed made my two coneys go down so easy.
I love when drunks do that little side head cock trying to put a Coney in their mouths. I like when drunks miss their mouths and get mustard and chili sauce all over their chins.
I like when drunks talk real loud and slow and think they sound intelligent.
I like when drunks see their first hooker and stare as if they've seen aliens.
National Coney Island in Royal Oak is another great spot for The Drunk Show. Those are younger drunks and they act like they own the place. Those are entitled drunks so they show off by ordering four coneys and then try to eat them. They usually don't finish but watching them try to eat is wonderful.
It is all about my entertainment. Drunks in the Coney?
It is some of the best entertainment in town.

Does sparing the rod work with today's child?

Whenever I did something wrong as a child I was forced to pick out a switch from a tree that my grandmother or aunt used to beat me across the legs. And if I returned with one too small they'd pick one out that was more tree branch than switch.
 I was spanked and smacked. There was corporal punishment in my household and I learned from it.
Today is different. I told my son Brandon about what my folks used to do to me and he said he'd call a lawyer and sue me. You got to love the modern child. Today, hitting and spanking is frowned upon. If you do it in public people stare.
And I wonder if we are losing our children because of it. If there are no major repercussions then why should they behave?
We had an incident at the house where my daughter Celine was very disrespectful towards her grandmother. It angered me and Celine could give me no explanation why she did it. It is the second incident between grand mom and Celine and that is two too many. I know if I did the same thing as a child I'd be in the backyard hunting for that switch. Or I might get the belt across the backside.
We don't do that in today's society. So I am threatening to make her skip her soccer party this weekend. There will be no sleep over’s for a couple weeks and all electronics out of the room except for home work.
But does that really reach children and teach children? Does this force them to wake up and say "I've got to behave now?" I'm not convinced of it. I've taken things away from Celine and she is back doing the same thing days later. Was I that way when the threat of a beating hung over me?
I was scared of my family. I thought they were nuts, but I was a pretty good kid. I did not want that butt whipping because it hurt.
How do you handle things at home? I am angry at Celine now but I want to cool down and not overreact. I threatened to take her off her soccer team next season and I was serious. But I need to breathe now and get myself together.
Do you go through the same things?

Is that a child at the bar?

In my line of work I often find myself in a sports bar after 9 at night.
You find your usual Class C softball players in full uniform, drunks, sports fans, women waiting for the music to get bumping. And kids.
Yes I said children. And I am talking about young kids 10 and under.
I've seen tables of parents drinking beer while their kids roam the bar playing video games and begging for coins to put in a juke box. I've seen children sit at the bar playing video games which I thought was against the rules.
It just does not seem right.
I know I would not do that with my kids. Little B and I have had dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings, Harry's downtown and at Rosie O'Grady's. But it is usually in the day and we clear out by 8 or 9 to go home. I cannot imagine going to a bar, getting plastered while my kid is at the table or horsing around, and then driving home at 11 to sleep it off.
There are certain places kids do not belong. I was shocked about six months ago to not only see a five year old walking around a bar but she went behind the bar to see what was going on. The parents did not move. They were too busy getting hammered.
Now am I being out of line? Am I being too old fashioned? Or does what I say make sense?

I want to be a millionaire so frickn bad

Hello. My name is Terry Foster and I make between $1.3 million and $1.7 million a year.

I wish.

That’s not true but word is spreading that is how much I make. Two of my conversations about it were interesting to say the least. One guy was happy for me. He said I worked hard, was entertaining with Mike Valenti on the radio and that Mike and I deserved the money.

I explained to him that my salary is nowhere close to seven figures and he was disappointed. We’ve been the top rated afternoon radio show in Detroit for about three years now. Back in the golden days of radio we might be making seven figures. Heck, we might even be recognized in the Detroit media as a radio power.  

However, the economy in Detroit is in the tank and radio salaries have come way down. I still earn a nice living but I am no Donald Trump.

The second conversation was more unfortunate and it reflected something white people do not have to deal with. A black guy confronted me and said he’d heard about my massive salary. And he wanted to press me on why I am a sell out and do not provide for the black community.

I told him he does not know what I do for the community and that my salary isn’t what he thinks it is.

He called me a liar and said I did not want to share my responsibility. I told him I like how people know more about you than you know about yourself. There was no getting through to this guy.

The dude was really pissed.

All I could do was wish him a nice day and walk away. Sometimes you cannot reach people. They hear something and it becomes gospel.

I do have a dream if I hit the Lotto and become rich. I want to hire five young talented artists and let their creative juices go. I would open up a T-shirt and Detroit art business in the inner city and sell clothing and art work in the community that reflects our area.

I could hire people to create the T-shirts and others to distribute them. They would be the most colorful and funky T-shirts on the planet.

I’d be helping Detroit and the economy and some young people who need a break.

And maybe then I’d get that one guy off my back.

Under attack from mosquitoes

My feet itch. My arms itch and I even have a stinger on the side of my head.
The mosquitoes this season are out of control. They are bigger, stronger and faster. I swear they've been hanging with Barry Bonds. These rascals are on the juice.
Are you seeing the same thing I am seeing? We are enduring a record number of mosquitoes and they just don't give a damn.
Off doesn't even work. I spray my body and it doesn't even faze them. They bite me any way. I saw this huge mosquito dab some Off behind his ears. Heck I didn't even know mosquitoes had ears. I didn't know they had biceps either.
I bought this new clip on Off the other day. A pack of mosquitoes grabbed it off my belt and flew away with it.
Three straight weeks of rain are to blame. There are puddles all over the place and they've acted as breeding grounds for mosquitoes. If these pests could collect welfare the country would buckle under the economic weight in about four days.
I hate mosquitoes. I hate that annoying buzzing around your ears. I hate when they get in the house and wait to attack you when the lights go out. I hate that itching feeling all over your body.
Is there a solution?
Can somebody help me? Please.
I just got bit again. Now my ass is itching.

Happy and Gay at the same time

I hung with five lesbians Sunday. They were drunk and sweaty and loving and just having a great time. We sat at the corner bar at Rosie O'Grady's in Ferndale. I was there watching the NBA Finals. They were celebrating Gay Pride Day, a journey that took them from downtown Detroit to a few bars around Ferndale.
"We Gay people love everybody," Heather said while kissing one of her friends all over the face.
I sat next to Sarah, someone I met a few years ago when she was married to a man. She wasn't happy the first time we met. The marriage thing did not work. She did not know she was Gay at the time. She simply knew she did not like living with this man.
They divorced.
Three years ago she went to a Kid Rock concert and met Heather. They hit it off quickly and enjoyed each other's company. It was not planned but they started dating. Now they are inseparable.
Heather is outgoing and funny and spontaneous. She has spiked hair and tattoos. Sarah is sort of quiet and introspective. She is pretty and the type woman a guy prowling the bar might make eye contact with. And she is happy, very happy.
"I just feel so wonderful around her," Sarah said. "She makes me so happy."
The irony of our meeting is my daughter Celine is reading a book about racial and sexual prejudice. That day she asked me about racism and wanted to know when people would love all blacks and whites and Mexicans and Gay people?
I told Celine I doubt that day would come any time soon. There are a number of people who do not like people who are different than them. They will always hate because that is what they do. The world is better for minorities and Gays. But we still have a long way to go.
What did Kobe Bryant Joakim Noah scream in the heat of the battle?
"Faggot."
Sarah and Heather know about intolerance. I asked Sarah how her family dealt with her lifestyle. She shrugged her shoulders.
"You know," she said.
I've made this promise. If my children grow up to be straight or Gay, I will love them. If they marry somebody Asian, Russian or Martian, I will love them. Parents should always be there for their children, both good and bad.
I hope Sarah's parents turn around and support her. I know she is happy now with Heather but if mom and dad come around, that 1000 watt smile I saw Sunday will grow even brighter.

The domino theory

Is your family like mine where one mistake leads to a series of errors that ultimately end in disaster?
That's the way the Foster family rolls and it played out Saturday afternoon while putting down mulch in the backyard.
It was a hot and muggy day and I needed relief. I asked Celine to bring me ice water to cool me down while working. Little B helped out and got himself a mug of water. But here is mistake one. He put his water next to my cell phone on a canvas chair.
There is mistake number one. I said "dude you know that is going to spill on my phone and ruin it." My wife's car was in the garage so I placed it on the back of the car.
There is mistake number two. I was lazy. I should have put it in the house.
I went back to work.
My wife wanted to run errands so she backed up the car to leave. I moved my car so she could get out of the drive way, forgetting that the cell phone lay on the back of her car. Now let's go back a month. Little B left his I-touch on the back of the car, it fell off and she ran over the game system and crushed it.
Abs backed the car out again and I watched her take off, not thinking anything is wrong.
Fifteen minutes later I realized what I did with the phone. Oh no.
I told the kids and we looked in the drive way. No phone.
We looked in the street. No phone.
So now I'm thinking this damn thing hung on for a while and is probably being trampled on Woodward or Grand River Avenue.
I immediately thought of the series of mistakes that led to my phone becoming shrapnel. This was not good.
Suddenly Celine came running with my phone. It was not damaged and it was still working. Somehow it rolled off the car and landed softly in a big pile of mulch.
How many times do things like this happen in your life? At least this one had a happy ending.

Buddy night

Kung Fu Panda II is one of the worse movies I've seen. I saw it Friday night with my son Little B which made it one of the best movies I've seen.
It was man's night out and we made the most of it with dinner at Red Robin, a movie and a scoop of ice cream from Cold Stone Creamery. It was great hanging out with my guy because it doesn't happen enough.
Often on Friday I go to games for the newspaper or an appearance for radio. That means no buddy night for me and my buddy. Less than five minutes after my show B called to make sure I was coming home. There was hesitation in his voice. I could tell he'd prepared himself for the worse. His mood lightened when I told him I'd be home in 15 minutes.
"OK dad. I will see you soon," he said.
Buddy night was just a few minutes away.
I love having two jobs. It helps the bank account and it provides nicely for my family. The downside is when you are a sports writer you work weekends. In the fall I am usually at a college game on Saturday and a pro game on Sunday. Friday is filled with games year round and quite often I need to be there.
It is tough telling little man you won't be home until after 11. Sometimes after games I sneak into the house and try to close the door softly. Buddy hears the click and comes running down the stairs. We sit and talk about the day for a few moments or catch a late game and then he goes to bed.
People tell me to cherish these moments. Trust me, I am. He is nine years old and growing like a weed. The time is coming when he won't want to hang with me. He will have friends, girl friends and parties to go to.

That is why every movie we check out together will be the best in the world, no matter how bad it is.

Welcome to my new blog

Sometimes weird thoughts cross my mind and I am often angry that I never put them down on paper or on computer.
My thoughts are outside of sports and outside of radio and they do not belong on my Detroit News blog or on the 971 The Ticket blog. So here is my spot and I hope you enjoy it and you get to know me better. And during my crazy thoughts I hope to hit topics that you can identify with and at some point we can help each other.
If you want a sports blog then go away. I will touch on sports topics at times but I want to hit real life. It kills me that people will tell me that I cannot talk politics even though I vote. They say I cannot talk about travel although I take a vacation every year.
They view me as a single celled animal that can only talk Lions, Pistons and Red Wings.
I am much more complicated than that.
I will let you inside my brain and I will be as open and honest as I can be. I will tell you about my triumphs, my family, my failures, the people I run into in every day life. If you want to come along for the ride that is fine. If you don't I understand.
If you want to visit then please give me feed back, both good and bad. I can handle it. I love to know what people are thinking.
Welcome aboard. I hope you enjoy.