The Toughest Post Ever

My friend Jil noted via e-mail the other day that I have been quite lax in keeping the blog up to date.

"Is everything okay?" she wondered.

Such a loaded question.

If I write about what's been troubling me, I might get in trouble, so let's just say I apologize for not keeping up with the blog.

That said, I hope to do a better job of keeping up from now on.

I write this from New Smyrna Beach, Florida, where I am on vacation for the week. As a native of central Florida -- Winter Park, specifically -- I have a very deep, emotional attachment to this place. When I was in high school at Trinity Prep, my buddy Frank and I would drive over here on the weekends with friends and basically troll for a condo -- we had so many classmates whose parents owned second homes here, we could pretty much knock on doors until we found a place to stay overnight.

At least, I remember it that way. Knowing my mother, she may well have called everyone we knew to make sure somebody took me in. Still, I remember it as I choose to, and every time I come here as an adult, especially with my own children, I feel good. Pleasant memories.

My son, it should be mentioned, is a water rat. Whether he inherited that from me, or just comes to it naturally, is irrelevant. When I take him to the beach, he is as happy as an 8-year-old can be. He will literally ride his bodyboard until I drag his soaking ass out of the ocean. Pretty special that I can bring my own child back to a place that meant so much to me, and see him embrace it as I did. It makes me happy to see him happy, which makes me a parent.

So anyway, I haven't been updating this blog very often, for a variety of reasons. In all honesty, there has been some stuff going on at work that has demanded my attention, the results of which I'm sure I'll be answering e-mails about by this fall.

But there's this other thing, too, that has kept me off the computer for a while. I haven't written about it because it embarrasses me immensely. As I sit here, on the third floor of a wonderful home in New Smyrna Beach, I honestly have no clue as to why I feel compelled to write about this, seeing as how I haven't discussed it with anyone beyond my wife and my parents.

Two months ago, I stopped dipping.

My smokeless tobacco habit went back to Little League Baseball, slowed during high school, but was reinforced with a vengeance in college and continued unabated until two days after my 37th birthday, which was in April. On that night, I woke up with a start and decided that I didn't want to be a dipper anymore. It was as random and as unplanned as you can possibly imagine.

I dipped every day. My co-workers knew about it, my wife knew a little bit about it, my parents knew very little of it. I planned my days around dip. I always made sure I had a tin handy. From the age of 25 through the age of 37, I never played a single round of golf without a tin of Skoal in my bag -- and if you knew how much I play golf, that would shock the hell out of you.

Yet, for whatever reason, I sat bolt upright in bed one night two months ago and said, enough. The next day, I made a great ceremony of tossing out my tins, even as I gritted my teeth and hollered. Again, no clue as to why I made that decision on that night. I only know that it was immediate and it was final.

I found a website to assist me with my quit, one that was not attached to the Tobacco Free Florida campaign recently highlighted on "Under The Lights." In fact, the timing of that show was a coincidence. I would love to tell you that this experience has left me happier and feeling 'better off,' but I cannot. It's been bloody miserable. Honestly, it's the hardest thing I have ever done, and it has nothing to do with anyone, and it sucks. Sucks.

But here I am. Two months quit. My friends on my website, who, like me, are completely anonymous, are psyched about how well our group is doing. I know that I will make it, but for the moment, it sucks.

When we were shooting that "Under The Lights" episode on Tobacco Free Florida, I considered making a public announcement of my quit as part of the show's narrative. I decided against it, because I thought it might seem self-serving, and because I'm not typically one to discuss such things in public.

"So why write about it in the blog?"

Hell, I don't know. Really. I don't know. I figure, the audience for this blog is far smaller than the potential audience for "Under The Lights," and those who take the time to read this might actually care, as opposed to those who stumble across the show on Sun Sports. And, I suppose, there's the chance that someone might read this and make a decision of his or her own. Understand, however, that I don't care.

What I mean is, I will never use this forum to preach for or against anything, and therefore, you won't see any links to any sites that outline the dangers of tobacco. While I respect the efforts of any organization that tries to wean people off addictive substances, I believe it is a personal decision, and therefore there's not a damn thing anyone else can say.

So, anyway, Jil (and anyone else who cares enough to be reading down to this point), I've been lax about the blog for a while because it's been years since I could sit in front of the computer without a dip. I'm trying.

It sucks. A lot. But I'm trying.

Catching Up

Work and other circumstances have conspired to keep me away from the blog for a couple of weeks. As always, it's not my fault.

However, I am several weeks behind on more than one topic. Like, for example:

Erik Spoelstra, Miami Heat head coach

I'm sure that many fans in our fair state were a little taken aback by this announcement on April 28th, but I wasn't. For one thing, Pat Riley favors loyalty and 'buy-in' above all else, and Spoelstra has been nothing if not a loyal soldier in the Riley system. More than that, however, Spoelstra had the enthusiastic support of Dwyane Wade, which is much of the battle in today's NBA -- if your star player is on board, you can pretty much fudge the rest.

I covered the Miami Heat during their playoff run in 2004, when Wade was a rookie and Spoelstra was the third assistant on the bench. I noticed Erik Spoelstra then, perhaps because he was so close to my own age, but also because it was obvious that players reacted to him.

Often times, when a third or fourth assistant goes out to the floor early to help a player work out, it's a desultory, bloodless affair: shoot, rebound, pass. Shoot, rebound, pass. With Spoelstra, however, it was different. The young coach -- not much older than most of the players themselves -- looked them in the eye, joked with them, but didn't patronize them or appear overly solicitous or deferential. He engaged them, and they responded. There's an incredibly high value placed on that skill in the NBA, and that's why I'm not surprised about Spoelstra's hire.

In his first season, at his age, there will be moments when he gets outcoached. He'll get overwhelmed at times, even for a short stint. It's going to happen. Happened to Byron Scott, happened to Mike Brown, happened to Doc Rivers back in the day -- like Spoelstra, they all started their NBA head coaching careers while in their late 30's.

And all three have subsequently taken a team to the NBA Finals. As long as the Heat supply Spoelstra with some players, he'll be fine.

Kobe Bryant

For the last few weeks, I've been telling anyone who listens that Kobe Bryant must be the best basketball player on the planet.

Not exactly groundbreaking, I know. But here's my evidence: the Lakers' roster.

Here's what I see: Pau Gasol is a really good player. Lamar Odom, who you all know I love, is a pretty good player. Ronny Turiaf is an intriguing project. Derek Fisher is an inspirational, level-headed veteran.

That's about it.

The rest of these guys are castoffs, injured, unproven, or average. Yet the Lakers beat the defending champion Spurs in five games in the Conference Finals to get to the championship round.

Conclusion? Kobe Bryant must be the best basketball player on the planet. Because beyond that, I have no idea how LA got this far.

The US Open

Even if you understand nothing about professional golf, and care even less, you have to believe me on this one: the USGA's opening-round grouping of Tiger Woods, Phil Mickelson, and Adam Scott at the 2008 US Open at Torrey Pines is a joke.

First of all, Tiger and Phil hate each other. If that's not common knowledge by now, I don't know what qualifies as "common knowledge." I thought that superstars were supposed to get star treatment -- meaning, pairings that make them happy. There's no way either of them are happy about Thursday and Friday.

But more to the point, the USGA has created a logistical nightmare. The largest gallery of the year to date will be following this one group for all of two days. Did anyone consider traffic flow on the golf course? You put Tiger Woods or Phil Mickelson out there with any old average Tour player, the gallery is massive. You put Tiger and Phil together -- nobody on the course will be following anyone else. How are they going to get around? And what did Adam Scott do to deserve this? Stupid.

Orlando Sentinel columnist Jerry Greene asked precisely the correct question on a conference call with NBC Sports -- "was this a gift to the fans or just cheap pandering to TV?"

The producer and the talent demurred, but ol' Johnny Miller laid it out there: "I talked to Phil and I can say he sounded like he was not to thrilled about it."

Of course he's not thrilled about it. Who wants to grind through the first two rounds of a US Open with every yokel in a five-state area breathing down your neck? Mickelson would trade Woods for a Tim Herron and a Bart Bryant To Be Named Later in a heartbeat.

And trust me -- there's no possible way that TV didn't have something to do with this. While NBC has only a two-hour window at the '08 Open on Thursday and Friday, mighty ESPN brings you a whopping seven hours of coverage each day.

Woods hasn't played since the Masters in April, meaning he's been absent from ESPN's highlight reels for a full two months. Fourteen hours of major championship coverage of Tiger's return from knee surgery is good TV -- fourteen hours of major championship coverage of Tiger's return from knee surgery while playing next to the 2nd-ranked player in the world, whom Tiger happens to despise?

Pure gold. Which is why I'm positive ESPN had something to do with it. I certainly can't blame them. You watch: the ratings for the first two rounds of this year's US Open will probably be the highest in history.

That is all.