Just Like The Number

Weekend in Columbus

I never cared for hockey one bit before I met Mike.  Mike never cared for hockey one bit before he enrolled at Miami University.  He set foot on the ice for the first time as a freshman, when some guys in our dorm cobbled together an intramural hockey team.  He was hooked, and spent the next four years playing hockey and working as a referee at Goggin Ice Arena.  When you date a guy that loves hockey, you go along and pretend that hockey is your favorite sport, too.  Lo and behold you end up marrying that guy, and the next thing you know you actually like hockey.  

I can count on one hand how many football or basketball games I attended as a student at Miami, but hockey games?  I was so there. The team's always been pretty decent, but as of late they've been awesome.  Last year they made it to the finals of the Frozen Four, and this year they're headed into the playoffs as the number one ranked team in the CCHA.  Now that we're less than two hours away from our alma mater, Mike's hinted on many occasions that he'd like to go to a Miami hockey game.  For one reason or another, we've just never made the trip.  This past Christmas I decided I would take matters into my own hands and get him tickets to a game.  Only problem is, you can't get a ticket to a home game in Oxford.  Seems those loyal fans buy up all the tickets.  After a bit of searching on the internets, I found tickets to see our boys play in Columbus, against Ohio State. 

We made a weekend out of the trip, ditching the kids with my parents.  As we were planning the trip, it occurred to me that we haven't gone away, just the two of us, since Eli was born.  So maybe a weekend getaway to Columbus, Ohio isn't the most exciting, or romantic, thing you can imagine.  But 36 hours of kid-free bliss and a king-size hotel bed?  I'll take it.

If you find yourself in Columbus and need some sustenance, may I recommend a burger?  I book-marked a post over at Serious Eats months ago about a burger joint near German Village, The Thurman Cafe.  I'm not a big burger connoisseur, but man, oh man, those were some good burgers.  The place is tiny, so be prepared for a hefty wait during peak times.  Wait patiently and you'll be rewarded with this beefy beauty:

If you need something sweet after all that beefy goodness, get yourself to Jeni's Ice Cream.  I loved the interior of this adorable ice cream shop, but I was head-over-heels for the ice cream.  I'm still dreaming about that Salty Caramel cone.

The highlight of the weekend, other than the aforementioned king-size bed, was the game.  Our seats were fabulous, and it was a fight to the end.  The game went into overtime, and then into a shoot-out.  I wish it had a better ending for us - Ohio State won the shoot-out - but it was thrilling hockey all the same.

We finished the weekend with a detour through Oxford, soaking up those last few hours by ourselves, where our story began.  Fifteen years ago (gasp!) we were a couple, going to hockey games together and sharing a cramped table at Bagel & Deli.  Fifteen years later, we're still a couple, going to hockey games together and sharing a cramped table at the same old Bagel & Deli.  Thank goodness some things never change.

You can see the rest of my photos from the weekend on my flickr page.

LeBron James and Company

    * I have to fess up and let you know that Mike took this picture. I guess he could've left me at home, but I'm so glad he didn't.

You might think I only have eyes for Peyton.  I do love him, but that doesn't mean I don't have a roving eye for greatness.  This is where I have to give props to my husband.  The Cleveland Cavaliers were in town last Friday to face off against the Pacers, and Mike had two tickets.  He could've taken any number of his buddies and had a memorable Guys Night, but he took me.  I think it must be my smashing hot body and irresistible charm.

Or maybe it was because I'm the only one who knows how to work the fancy camera.

Either way, I earned myself a ticket to see greatness.

Before I get into the LeBron love fest, can I just talk about the mass of flesh that is Shaquille O'Neal?  I really didn't know they made people that big.  I mean, just look at him - it's not like 6'6" Brandon Rush is a small guy:

And his feet! My babies weren't this big at their one-month appointments.  

LeBron is the real show, though: blocked shots out of no where, double around-the-back passes, just short of a triple double, and the sweet dunks.  His athleticism is amazing, but the best part for me is his demeanor on the court.  

He's a competitor for sure - no one wants to win more than him.  Still, I love a guy that doesn't take himself too seriously.  He's having a good time out there with his teammates.  

Even when he's getting fouled.

Thanks for letting me come along, Mike, even if you were just using me for my camera.  I think we both came out winners.  I got to see LeBron and Co.  You ended your Guys Night with a kiss - which could have been confusing.  But since you picked me? Totally not.

That's Settled: I'm Over It!

So here we are, AFC Champions once again.  The last time this happened, Mike and I were there.  It was the most amazing sporting experience of my life.  That probably doesn't seem like a grand statement, but considering I've seen Mark McGuire in his record-setting season, an Olympic gold-medal soccer match, and been on the court for a Sampras-Becker tennis match?  Let's just say I've had some choices.  

I just don't think anything compares to seeing your team, the one you've followed in good times and in excruciatingly humiliating times, pull off a great win.

This year we weren't able to be there in person, but we did manage to get together with the same group we watched the last AFC Championship game with.  Not that we're a superstitious lot or anything, but who wants to live with themselves for an entire football season with the thought that you might have played some role in your team's defeat? Not I, said the Colts fan.

We did our part, Peyton and Co. did theirs and here we are, Super Bowl-bound again.

I'm going to enjoy each and every minute of these next two weeks.  If it's anything like last time, this city buzzes with pride and anticipation.  If something stays still long enough, it'll get plastered with a horseshoe.  It's been an amazing season, even with my disappointment in the end.  Who knows how many great seasons we have left?  If you're not the fanatic that I am, bear with me just a little while longer.  It's not time to retire my #18 jersey quite yet.  Hopefully, when it's all said and done, I can add a 2009 Super Bowl t-shirt to my collection.  And then I promise I'll talk about something else for a change, like what I ate for dinner, or my underwear.  

Until then: Go Colts!  Believe in Blue!

Getting Over It, One Game At A Time

I haven't really talked about my beloved Colts as much this year on the blog as I have in years past.  There was training camp, the pre-season game, and my personal favorite: Tom Brady-In-A-Casket.  But other than that I've been pretty quiet.  I realize that not all of my readers are quite as enamored with the Colts as I am, so I've tried my best not to overwhelm you with my obsession.

Up until December 27th, this had been the most magical season for me yet.  As my boys in blue marched through the regular season racking up wins, each game brought with it more excitement, screaming, and nail-biting on my part.  I think I may have worn a new traffic pattern in our family room rug from my incessant pacing in many a fourth quarter. 

The rumors swirled around Indy that the Colts would do nothing differently on the December 27th game versus the Jets than they did any other season when the playoff spot and home field advantage had been secured.  They would rest their starters.  Still, the city was buzzing that they would continue on - for the franchise, for the players, for the fans and the city that love their Colts.  Two more games, potentially easy wins, and we'd seal our place in history with the Dolphins and Patriots as the only teams to go undefeated in the regular season.

Even if you didn't see the game, you know what happened.  The starters were benched, and the Jets left with a win.  I've felt a lot of things when it comes to my Colts.  I've been a fan long enough to have suffered some pretty humiliating losses, to have been disappointed, frustrated, and sad.  That game, and the one against Buffalo that followed, left me with an unfamiliar feeling: anger.  Let me clarify: I wasn't angry with the players.  They did what they were told to do, and they did it (thankfully without any Brett Favre-like drama).  No, I was angry at the ownership and management, for not giving a flip about anything but their asses.  For calling an undefeated season "inconsequential."

We had the chance to do something unforgettable, something that would place us in a whole new category.  Was it risky? Absolutely.  Could we have ruined a chance at another Super Bowl with a season-ending injury to an essential player?  Of course.  But teams with balls go for it.  We just came across looking like the wusses that rest of the country believes us to be.  I'm sick and tired of being a "finesse" team.  I want to be the team that everyone is scared of, the team that will do anything to win.  Had we attained the perfect season and not made it to Super Bowl, I'm certain this city and its fans would have been proud of our Colts.  Disappointed, for sure, but the pride would have been a salve for that wound.  I can't say the same if we don't bring home the trophy now.  It's gonna get ugly.

So in the last two weeks, when I've normally been basking in the glow of a glorious season, talking smack right and left, I've been quiet. Stewing, if you will.  Not once have I worn my new horseshoe bling, my Peyton Manning earrings, or my jersey.  Like a jilted lover, I've been pouting, waiting for my beloved team to take me back, to offer a heartfelt apology.

Needless to say, neither Coach Caldwell nor Mr. Polian have me on speed dial.  Lord knows I wish Peyton did.  I took to heart his words in a recent press conference, though, pleading with the fans to put this all past us, to focus on the playoffs and to support the team.  

It starts all over this Saturday.  I'm putting the anger and the bitterness away, and hoping for the  sweet taste of victory instead.  One game at a time, boys.  Make us proud again.

Friday on Every Other Thursday

I'm over at Every Other Thursday today.  The fellas over there were kind enough to let a little estrogen onto their blog.  Of course, I blogged about football - it's not a craft blog, after all.  Pay them (and me!) a visit and hang around awhile.  Those guys write some really good stuff.

Tailgate

I watch every Colts game, and every game is important to me.  But there's one match-up that stands out from all the others, that makes me feel excited and nauseous at the same time.

Colts vs. Patriots.

Beating the Patriots is more than just a W.  It's bragging rights, it's pitchers of margaritas and home field advantage on the line, it's good vs. evil.

Okay, maybe that's taking it a bit far, but we feel pretty strongly about the Patriots around these parts:

Mike and I have been lucky enough to say we were at the Colts-Patriots game that really mattered a couple of years ago.  We didn't have tickets to last Sunday's match-up, but we did score a sweet invite to tailgate before the big game with our friends Jessica, Joe, Lindsay and Jeff.  I've never been to a bona fide NFL tailgate.  These people do not mess around.

Cornhole was played (I suck, by the way).  Food was eaten. Fantasy games were lost.  Good times were had by all, especially by Jessica and me.

As Mike and I got ready to leave to watch the game from the comfort of our own couch, I had a pretty good feeling about the Colts chances.  I mean if Tom Brady is dead, that's a good sign we could win, right?

Turns out, Brady returned from the dead to have himself a pretty decent game.  Him and that Randy Moss character.  I love to see players from the MAC do well and all, but by the end of the 3rd quarter I was ready to see some fireworks from a certain SEC player.  I learned my lesson after the Tampa Bay game way back in 2003, when I wrote the Colts off and went to bed.  So with 4 minutes to go in the 4th quarter, dejected as I was, I hung in there.  We all know what happened from there.  (What's that? You don't? WE WON, PEOPLE!)

Believe in blue.  Believe in Number . . .

FANtasy Football

It's no secret that I'm a huge fan of the Indianapolis Colts.  That one guy (number 18 I think?), might have something to do with it.  Unfortunately, the depth of my devotion to the boys in blue does not correspond to the depth of our bank account, which means season tickets?  Out of the question.  To add insult to injury, I had yet to go to a game in the new stadium.  And I call myself a fan . . .

Our friends Jessica and Joe took pity on us and let us have their tickets for Thursday night's preseason game against the Philadelphia Eagles.  My parents took pity on us and kept our kids overnight.  Score and double score. 

It was a beautiful evening, which meant the stadium roof and windows were open.  I love the new stadium.  I love the Colts.  I love my city.

I love my husband.  The first time we went to a Colts game together, they were playing the Tennessee Titans. Much to my dismay, he wore a Titans jersey to the game.  Now, had they been playing the Patriots and had Mike worn a Patriots jersey?  He might not have made it out alive.  Then again, that's a moot point.  As if I would have even entertained the thought of marriage had he been a Patriots fan!  Still, the Titans jersey didn't get him any love from the Colts fans.  I recall getting a lot of offers to enjoy the company of real men, only they were worded in ways that really aren't fit for a family blog.  Mike chose his outfit a little more carefully this time.

 

Much to my surprise, they let me bring my zoom lens into the stadium.  For some reason, it seems to only want to zoom in on Mr. Manning.  I loved capturing some of his classic stances from the line of scrimmage:

 

 

Did somebody say fantasy football?

 

I'm sorry.  I really can't help myself.  Just thank your lucky stars that we don't go to more games. 

Colts Training Camp

There's plenty to love about August around here.  The State Fair, for one.  The first day of school is just around the corner.  A certain boy has a birthday.  And while those are all fine things, they just can't compare to the first morning I fetch the Indianapolis Star and see that Bob Kravitz is writing about the Colts again.  It means one thing, and one thing only: football season is just around the corner. 

The beginning of football season kicks off the same way for every team: training camp.  The Colts hold their training camp at Rose Hulman Institute of Technology in Terre Haute every year.  After living here for three (three!) years, I decided this was the year we'd make the trek over to training camp and see our boys in action.

One of the first faces we saw this morning was that of Dallas Clark.  I love this guy.  I like my players to be good guys on and off the field, and Mr. Clark never disappoints.  I bet he smiles like this when he gets one past the Patriots defense. 

A little further down the field we have Mr. Reggie Wayne and Mr. Joseph Addai.  

Joseph: Peyton's salary is only this big.

Reggie: And Eli's salary is THIS big!

Random Guy Who Probably Still Got A Super Bowl Ring: Word.

But, seriously people, what do you think I really drove nearly two hours with two small children for?

Er, I mean who. Although his what is pretty nice, if I do say so myself. Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Peyton Manning . . .

This part of him ain't so bad either . . .

I know, I know.  It's hard to take me seriously as a football fan when all I do is comment on a player's body, or how nice he looks when he bends over.  I am a serious football fan, really I am.  Just to prove it, here's a nice photo of my boys at work on the line of scrimmage. 

We watched as many plays as we could, in between taking turns entertaining Eli and trying to keep him from running on to the field with his little football.  The boys were looking good, and practice was humming right along, until Peyton caught wind that I was on the sidelines.

Angie's here? The actual Angie from Just Like The Number? And she's wearing her "Got Peyton" shirt?

And just like that, practice was over.  Peyton autographed our jerseys and football, then he whisked me away to wine me and dine me while I interviewed him for this very blog.

Okay, so maybe that's not how it really went down.  Practice went on.  The kids started their own game of football on the sidelines.

 

If you look closely, you'll see Elena's very crooked front tooth.  It had been hanging on by a thread (and quite frankly, grossing us all out) for nearly the whole summer.  A few tosses of the old pigskin later, she took one to the face.  And with that, the tradition of losing a tooth on a Friday continued. 

We tried to get some autographs, but had no luck.  In spite of that, I would say a good time was had by all.  Especially by a certain girl with a zoom lens on her camera.

Taking One For the (Swim) Team

For the first time in the three years that we've lived here, we've shunned the monstrosity that has become the YMCA swimming pool and joined a swim club right around the corner from our house.  I'm not sure what we were thinking all those other summers.  The Summer Break Swim Club is da bomb.  For one, we can ride our bikes there versus packing the car up and driving to the Y.  I can take both kids there by myself and not panic about losing Elena in a crowd of swimmers.  Also, they sell push pops.  You'd think that would be more than enough reasons to sing the praises of the pool, but there's more. 

They have an actual swim team.  Of course we signed Elena up.  We have a couple of meets under our belt now, and we still get the biggest kick out of watching Elena swim.

The first rule of order is writing stuff in sharpie all over your body.  Of course there's the important stuff, like your name, your events, and what lane you're in.  No meet would be complete without using scare tactics on your opponent, hence the phrase "Eat My Bubbles" on Elena's back.  War paint is optional.  Doesn't she looked focused?  Two minutes later she was in line at the snack shack, trying to score a ring pop before the big race.  We'll have to work on that focus thing.

Also, she might want to work on her form.  Pretty sure I didn't see this move last summer at Beijing.

Then again, none of the swimmers in Beijing needed assistants to get them from one end of the pool to the other.  Maybe we have some time before we need to worry about those nit-picky details.

I think she came in 3rd or 4th here.  The team we were competing against had some hardcore 6-year-olds.  They can have their first place ribbons, though.  My girl got a ring pop.

My Mini, My Way

I decided last November that it was high time I attempt the Indianapolis 500 Mini Marathon again.  I've done it once before, way back in 1999.  I'd run the Walt Disney World Marathon earlier in the year, and my friend Julie suggested I run the Mini with her.  No problemo, I thought.  Ahhh, those were the days . . . young and stupid enough to think you can run 13.1 miles without properly training, just because you'd done a marathon four months before.  

It was a disaster.  It wasn't just that I did a half-ass of job of training, though that didn't help matters.  Julie and I had never actually run together.  Once we started running the race, I realized that not only was she a faster runner, but she also doesn't stop.  You see, I am a run/walker, thanks to Jeff Galloway.  I take one minute walk breaks periodically, and I always walk through my water breaks.  I desperately wanted to keep up with Julie, so I threw my previous training regimen out to the wind and ran. And ran.  And ran.  Until we got to the mid-way point, which is where you run around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.  That was when I got a cramp in my calf that nearly earned me a free ride to the finish line.  Instead I waved good-bye to my friend and shuffled my way through the next 6 miles.  Walkers passed me, but by God I was going to finish.  I did finish, but it was Ugly. 

I've never forgotten that race. 

Last November I decided it was time to redeem myself.  I wanted to run the Mini again, but this time do it my way.  If it meant doing it all by myself, then so be it.  There was also the motivation to lose weight, remember? And so I signed up.  In the last 5 months I haven't missed a single training run.  Weekend after weekend I've run long runs by myself.  I ran in the snow and ice.  I ran in the rain and sun.  I ran at the beach.  Once I was nearly attacked by a pair of Canadian geese.  But I ran and I ran and I ran some more.

On Saturday it was time to give the Mini another shot.  Mike and Elena showed up to cheer me on.  Here I am at mile 4:

Elena wanted to run with me a bit.  If you look closely, you can see that her feet aren't even touching the ground.  Here's my training advice, should you ever decide to try a half marathon: Don't let a 6-year-old set the pace. 

Mile 4 also happened to be the spot where our friend Garry Sumski and his band, The Gas Station Bandits were set up to play.  Thanks for putting an extra hitch in my giddy up, guys.

Here I am again, at around mile 9.5.  No, Elena didn't run with me from mile 4 until here, but I don't doubt that she could have.

I was all smiles by this point because I was feeling great and I knew I was going to finish strong.  By the time I got to the last mile I was giddy.  I usually keep around an 11 minute/mile pace.  At one point during that last mile I looked down at my iPod and it showed me running a 9.39 mile! Was I fast?  No.  Did I care?  No.  My goal was simply this: to run this Mini and run it well.  I wanted to be able to say that I ran 13.1 miles better and stronger in my 30s, after having two kids, than I did in my skinny, youthful, kid-free 20s.

I did it!

Yay, me!

And now, excuse me if I don't run 13. 1 miles for a very, very, very long time.  Like until my 40s.