Alumni Basketball - Lone Redskin

While my mission playing in the alumni basketball game today at MHS was to not land in the hospital (mission accomplished), I didn't realize I would be the lone Redskin of the bunch. A little background is needed for that statement. Playing time at the alumni game is assigned based on graduate year; oldest goes first. Kind of like the Masters golf tournament when Arnold Palmer and Sam Snead would trot out there first and the youngsters would say, "who is that?" Well, today I was the one trotting out first as nobody was older than the class of '85. Heck, most of my teammates today weren't even born when I was getting chewed out by Coach Palmer back in the day.

Then it hit me. Milford changed their name from Redskins to Mavericks in the early 2000's. I was a lone Redskin in a sea of Mavericks. Bummer for them.

A fun time it was though. The alumni side even threw down a few dunks. I didn't score but thankfully my shots hit iron at least.  

Trail Head

 

that is me in the red ready to foul someone

 

Church of Tim - Festivus Miracle!

A festivus miracle it was today as my nephew Jackson and I pedaled Island Lake. I would call it about 3/4 ride-able trail and about 1/4 slop but its December so no complaints. A gold star to Jackson and his fat ass tires for respecting his elders and waiting for Uncle Tim to eventually catch up on the loops.

Trail Head

 

Jackson

 

Chippewa Tribal Celebration

The former tenants of Merrill, Carey, Wheeler, University, Main, Western Islands, Chippewa Village, Huntington, The Blue House (address unknown), and various other locations and closets throughout Mt. Pleasant converged upon the Crouse chalet last night to celebrate another year of life and all the wackiness that accompanies it. A shout out to Slick for capturing the group photo below...on one take! Nobody has their eyes closed or are scratching a booger; amazing. I'm glad ESPN could also photo bomb in on the action.

Happy Holidays to all!

Trail Head  

 

Way Back Machine - 1967 - Birth

The way back machine today takes us way back to 1967 as on this day 47 years ago at Mt. Carmel Hospital in the D, a big headed baby squeezed his large melon out of his mom's womb and said hello to the world; then started crying like nobody has ever cried before. Yes, I cried with the best of them. One of my first memories of said crying was when I walked in front of my brother practicing his batting swing in the back yard. Little Timmy's eye made direct contact with one of the swings, blood gushed similar to a Monty Python skit and 47 years later, the stitch scar still remains (noted below).

What a year it was to be born as out west people were getting frisky with whomever was near them in the summer of love while my birth town was rioting. My favorite riot story (yes, the riots sucked) involves my dad. And no, he wasn't looting on Clairmount Street. He was doing some painting at our home in Farmington. What does every man need when doing a home project? A cold beer to enjoy. Well, with the riots, all of the metropolitan Detroit liquor stores were not selling. In the car my dad went and an hour later, he arrived in Toledo, got his beer, drove back home and completed his project. Nice perseverance there.   

Happy 47th birthday also to Pedro Borbon (looked it up).  

Trail Head 

birth home



baseball bat scar from youth still visible today

Moon Over White Lake

Yep, the moon was out in White Lake as I did a double take the first time driving by this creation yesterday. If there was a contest for best pumpkin, this one would have to take it.

Trail Head

Way Back Machine - The Mullet Year - What the *@#$! was I thinking?

The year was 1988 and young Tim was, well, young Tim thought he knew everything there was to know about the world. Young Tim didn't know shit. Long hair in the back? Yeah, it will look great and the ladies will love it! That was the mindset in my pea size brain that still wasn't fully developed (still waiting for that). The only thing missing was an extra large comb in my back pocket with an Ozzy logo on it. Thankfully I didn't take it that far. When I transferred to State that fall, they put me on a floor in the dorms with mostly freshmen; I was a junior. With the hair, the youngsters one night were calling me the Antichrist. Shame on them for following the Antichrist as the only thing I led them to was community college once their parents saw their report cards over winter break. Needless to say, the mullet didn't last long as my friends will attest that my hair can produce oil faster than any human being out there. Combine that with the excess hair and by three in the afternoon, I could have replaced the oil in my car. Add in some neck pains from constantly flipping the hair back and by late spring of 1989, the mullet said goodbye for good. Looking back on some things in our lives, some we can say, "yeah, that was worth it."

It wasn't worth it. A royal pain in the ass trying to maintain it. I don't know how (or why) others do it.

Trail Head

 



Doe, A Deer, A Mountain Bike Deer...



 The "on your left" call out wasn't needed as I pedaled on the Milford Trail yesterday; the four-legged furry riders crossing my path had me on the speed factor and there was no way I was catching them. I turn the corner on the trail and bam, there they were. A pack of four deer having a hang out party, probably discussing survival techniques and safe areas as bow season is on and they know it. All was well with their gathering until my mug made an appearance and off they went.

Ride on Bambi.
Trail Head