Keep me away from the wisdom which does not cry, the philosophy which does not laugh, and the greatness which does not bow before children.
KAHLIL GIBRAN
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At five-ten and 114 pounds, our son, Dan, is the skinniest player on his high school football team. During one of his games, I remarked to a cousin, “I wonder why they gave him the uniform with the number 1 on it.”
“It’s probably the only one that fit,” she said.
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As a Catholic, I’m partial to Notre Dame football. As a former Michigan resident, though, I also keep tabs on Michigan college teams. One Saturday afternoon, a neighbor dropped in while I was watching Notre Dame vs. Michigan State. “Which team do you want to win?” he asked.
“Gee, I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m kind of torn between Church and State.”
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The night before she was to attend a celebrity golf tournament, my friend Irene went to a party in honor of the event. Several of the famous athletes who were playing in the tournament were at the door greeting guests. Among them was Joe Montana, the pro football Hall of Fame quarterback and Super Bowl winner. Shaking my friend’s hand, he said, “Hi! Joe Montana.”
She didn’t know Joe Montana from Joe Six-Pack, so in all sincerity she extended her hand and said, “Irene. Minnesota.”
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My neighbor, Terry, a former high-school halfback, came home from combat duty in Afghanistan. He was excited to tell me that his unit had played a makeshift game of football. “Just don’t tell my mom,” he begged. “If she knew I was playing football she’d worry that I might re-injure my knee.”
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In honor of our armed forces, the University of South Carolina football team used the backs of players’ jerseys to display a little patriotism. They placed words like Duty, Service, Courage, and Commitment where players’ names would normally go. During the game against the University of Florida, a fight broke out, prompting the television commentator to announce, "It looked like Integrity threw the first punch."
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A Republican and a Democrat were walking down the street when they came to a homeless person. The Republican gave him his business card and told him to stop by for a job. He then took $20 out of his pocket and handed it to him.
The Democrat was impressed, and when they came to another homeless person, he decided it was his turn to help. So he reached into the Republican’s pocket and gave the homeless man $50.
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The reason women don’t play football is that 11 of them would never wear the same outfit in public.
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When my 15-year-old son, Pat, stepped up to the plate during a Colt League baseball game, the young announcer declared, “Now batting, the right fielder, number 12, Pathogen!” After some confusion in the stands, the announcer came back on over the loudspeaker. “Oh, I get it — Pat Hogan!”
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During graduate school, I tutored a football player in Psychology 101. After the session, my supervising professor asked me if I was interested in the student, since he was a good-looking athlete.
“No, I’m not,” I assured him.
“Yeah, you probably prefer men who eat quiche,” he joked.
“Actually, I prefer men who can spell quiche.”
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The rules of football and the plot of The Godfather are the two most
complicated things that every guy understands no matter how dumb he is.
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I recently stumbled upon
my favorite new sports team. It’s
a woman’s bowling squad called
I Can’t Believe It’s Not Gutter.
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The topic of my student’s essay was the importance of trust, camaraderie, and toughness among football
players. “After all,” he wrote, “you don’t want a bunch of pre-Madonnas out there on the field.”
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I was in line at a restaurant. In front of me was a mother with her college-age son and his girlfriend. It was the middle of the dinner rush, and many customers were restless at the long wait, but the young couple, holding hands and kissing, were oblivious to everything around them. Although clearly not approving, the mother was silent, until one prolonged kiss when the young man had his face and hands buried in his girlfriend’s long, curly locks.
“Do you have to do that here?” the embarrassed mother asked.
“I’m not doing anything, Mom,” came her son’s muffled voice. “My earring’s caught in her hair.”
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My boyfriend and I were taking his 19-year-old niece to a weekend festival. When we arrived at her house to pick her up, she appeared in tasteful but very short shorts, and a tank top with spaghetti straps. A debate began immediately about appropriate dress. I took the girl’s side, recalling that when we began dating, I dressed the same way.
“Yes,” said my boyfriend sternly, “and I said something about it, didn’t I?”
Everyone looked at me. “Yeah,” I replied. “You said, ‘What’s your phone number?'”
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I was supposed to go out with this guy on Friday night. On Friday afternoon he called and said that he didn’t think it was a good idea, because he just wanted to be friends. So I hung up and called him back. He was like, "Hello?" I said, "Hey, friend, it’s me. Want to hear what this jerk just did?"
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During a conference, I was pleasantly surprised to be seated next to a very handsome man. We flirted casually through dinner, then grew restless as the dignitaries gave speeches. During one particularly long-winded lecture, my new friend drew a # sign on a cocktail napkin. Elated, I wrote down my phone number.
Looking startled for a moment, he drew another # sign, this time adding an X to the upper-left-hand corner.
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“Why doesn’t your mother like me?” a woman asks her boyfriend.
“Don’t take it personally,” he assures her. “She’s never liked anyone I’ve dated. I once dated someone exactly like her, and that didn’t work out at all.”
“What happened?”
“My father couldn’t stand her.”
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Good morning everyboomie.
Welcome to the first day of Fall.
Did I mention that I hate painting?
I don't really, but sometimes I wish I would exercise my right to take my about it. I mean I certainly have the time. I just also have this overriding need for instant gratification.
The laundry room is not that big, so at first glance it doesn't look like a 6 hour job.
I had to move everything off the shelves, then take the shelves down, move the washer and dryer out, clean the floor behind the washer and dryer,
start painting the walls, move everything around about a dozen times, tape off the area above and below the baseboards, paint the baseboards, go back and double coat everything, paint the shelves, tape the door off, paint the door, rehang the shelves........and do a bunch of other stuff, including cleaning all the paint brushes, rollers, and the paint pan.
Somewhere in there I stopped for lunch.
It's not much to look at, but the dark color you see on the door, and the baseboards is actually the color that the walls were to begin with.
# 1 # 2 # 3 # 4 Have a happy day everyone.
joe