No Longer Peyton's Place

And so, on March 6th, 2012, the Indianapolis Colts have decided to hand the car keys to an undrafted rookie named Andrew Luck. This is gonna be painful, as the keys were held and the car driven masterfully for nearly 15 years by one of the greatest quarterbacks in the history of the game, Peyton Manning.

I remember washing my car in the driveway during the draft of 1998. It was a sunny, slightly chilly day, and I had the radio turned up in anticipation of the Colts drafting the man of my dreams (so to speak!). I listened, I tensed up with anticipation, and let out a sigh of disappointment when they didn't choose,......RYAN LEAF!!!!! Oh well, I thought, Manning will probably be okay as a substitute. THIS, by itself, is likely the single piece of damning evidence that would be used to seal the case against me if I ever applied for a General Manager's position in the NFL!!

To properly pay homage to Peyton is nearly impossible, but I want to at least tip my hat and offer my meaningless thanks for who he's been and what he's done. Among my memories of his time with our city:

-Ummmm,........WINNING THE SUPER BOWL!!!!!!

-Inventing a brand-new type of offense, where reading the defense at the line of scrimmage and calling audibles on practically every play has redefined what's possible offensively.

-Winning at least 11 games every year for 12 straight years.

-Becoming one of the funniest television commercial actors I've ever seen (the Mastercard series was "priceless")

-Setting over 20 all-time NFL passing records, with more to come in future years.

-Being so durable for 13 straight years, that most people couldn't identify out of a police line-up who the Colts back-up quarterback was! (And when we finally found out, we wretched!)

-Conducting the single biggest "Arms Race" with Tom Brady since the USA-Soviet Cold War.

-Making arrogant defensive backs look like diaper-wetting toddlers while picking them apart time after time after time.

-His astounding telepathy with Marvin Harrison and Reggie Wayne.

-The wonderful relationship he had with Tony Dungy.

But in addition, there's a personal side that I think speaks more highly of Peyton than his football accolades:

-Building a Children's Hospital that serves tons of underprivileged kids.

-Representing our city with class, dignity, a killer work ethic and integrity.

-Fighting through broken jaws, concussions, sprained ankles, dislocated fingers and herniated discs in his neck just to keep playing.

-NEVER making statements that embarassed our city. NEVER appearing in a police mugshot after beating his wife or kids. NEVER throwing teammates under the bus. NEVER "taking it easy" on opponents. NEVER taking all the credit himself. NEVER failing to thrust that credit upon his receivers, offensive line, coaches or defense. NEVER failing to come to the aid of those less fortunate, as was the case with Hurricane Katrina, tons of hospital visits (most of which were never reported), charity bowling tournaments, charity golf fundraisers, and charity events with his dad Archie and brother Eli.

So it's a bittersweet farewell to our knight on a stallion. Unless his new team (which I predict to be Washington) plays the Colts, I'll be cheering like crazy for Peyton to set every record in the book. Releasing him truly is the right decision from a financial and "down-the-road" perspective, but it hurts nonetheless.

Andrew Luck appears to be the real deal, much as Peyton was 15 years ago. If he stays healthy and out of trouble, his career might even approach Peyton's success one day. But for now, I'm in favor of lowering Lucas Oil's flags to half staff, observing a moment of silence, and just smiling while we remember the brilliant gift that this man was to our city.

Thanks, Peyton,.....and keep throwing darts for years to come.

Proud Of My City

Giants 21, Patriots 17. That, in itself is a great thing. A Manning won and a Brady lost, so Jupiter is still dutifully aligned with Mars. Wish it would've been Peyton and not Eli, but whatcha gonna do?

Indianapolis just hosted one of the best Super Bowl weeks ever held, with wonderful events, gorgeous pageantry, splendid organization, and shockingly great weather. It was a wonderful way to highlight my home of the past 25 years, and made me proud to be a Hoosier (where, as Steve Poe says, the state bird is, "Larry").

Tina and I traveled downtown on Saturday to see the Super Bowl Village and do the NFL Experience. We parked about a mile away and paid $20, but it was at a church, so I guess God will be pleased. High aspirations for star spotting were on our minds, as I fully intended to do a personal interview of Johnny Depp while posing for photos with Joe Montana, LMFAO, Deion Sanders and Cher (though she wasn't even in town!)

The town was totally abuzz with music, lights and decorations that screamed "SUPER BOWL COMMERCIAL" from the highest rooftops. We walked through tens of thousands of folks to pose in front of the Monument Circle giant Roman numerals, then did the sardine squish through a myriad of folks to get to Miyagi's, for sushi and warm sake'. (Did I mention we passed an awesome rock band dressed as MUMMIES along the way?)

After dinner, it was off to the NFL EXPERIENCE, which welcomed us with a 10-story tall zipline over the throng of humanity. The exhibition was an absolute ZOO!! Excited kids, along with their testosterone-overdosed fathers ran hither and tither, bulldozing their way from 40-yard dash to sled-blocking course to the final point kick. Tina and I signed the waivers and decided we would do one challenge, mainly because each and every line was one hour long. The time had come for this man to kick his first 30-yard field goal!!

Armed with the determination and tenacity of,......well,.....ummm,........a 46-year old choreographer with a slight groin pull to begin with, we set our countenance on crushing the field goal. Who knows, there could've been scouts in the area. Scouts with clout, scouts with a keen eye for weathered talent, scouts with big contracts in their back pocket waiting for me to sign.

The time came after 70 minutes. I lined in up with the laser-precision of Morten Anderson, approached with the steely grit of Adam Vinateri, and swung my leg through the ball with the high-kicking prowess of a Radio City Rockette!! The ball took off and sailed a good,.....fifteen or sixteen,......maybe thirteen,........OK, twelve yards,.....before dribbling toward the goal post and coming to rest in front of a volunteer who looked at it and sent in flying back for the next wannabe to fail.

I have to say though, that all in all, it was a great weekend!! Madonna performed better than I've seen her in quite some time. Tasteful, adroit, calculated and technically flawless. Her show with LMFAO, CeeLo Green, Nikki Minaj and something called MIA (obviously stands for flick middle finger at audience in feeble attempt to resurrect dying rap career) was theatrical, beautifully choreographed, brilliantly lighted and had some of the best choreography and dancers I've ever seen in one of these shows!! Kelly Clarkson and the Indianapolis Children's Choir (directed by Henry Leck, whose daughter Gretchen is a former student!!) performed the national anthem with solemnity and honor that befitted our country's proudest song.

And it was simply a pleasure to watch the Patriots fail again, on our home turf!! The party we went to at the McKay's was a great setting to see it all unfold. The naked M&M commercial, the chili cook-off between Doug Johnson and myself, the making of new friends, and 7 guys all analyzing and breaking down plays as if we were suddenly experts on a game that none of us ever played worth a darn. THIS is what Super Bowl weekend is about!!

Great job Indy! Proud of the way you held the event and made the city shine,......but I'm still moving to Colorado in a year.

Time With Woo.

Although it was far too brief, I got to spend some wonderful time with Morgan the last couple days. Scurrying through HEAVY L.A. traffic and barely creeping in halfway through their first song, I drove to Loma Linda on Saturday night to watch UCO perform their new set at Campus Hills Seventh-Day Adventist Church.

The place was PACKED, and I spent the entire 90 minute concert standing to the side of the pews so I could be close enough to actually see what was going on. Some new songs, including "Untitled Hymm" and "Give It All Away" are some of my very favorites the group has ever done. The crowd was probably in the 800-900 area (in a church that probably seats about 800 normally!), and the reaction to Dr. Bonner and UCO was nothing short of amazing.

That night, I got the treat of going out to dinner with some of Morgan's best friends form school to a little place called Mimi's Cafe in San Bernardino. Morgan, Tiffany, Glenn, Aubree, and Aubree's boyfriend Jed laughed, ate muffins, and talked about the service and school for awhile before everybody headed back to campus.

Sunday morning, I drove 100 miles to Hemet to see Morgan's small group "Hope" perform at a tiny, poor church that I would've never noticed were it not the destination of my GPS. About 45-50 folks watched in awe, as this group of 7 singers and a pianist took over the service and shared testimony (some of which made me tear up) that brought each and every one of their songs to life. The highlights were Morgan's feature number "Not Guilty" and a beautiful piece called "The Promise", led by one of the group's other ladies. Papa Brown got choked up a number of times, and basked in every precious second of seeing his daughter serving Christ and bringing others closer to Him.

Lunch at La Fogata was surprisingly good (except for the need of queso dip on the menu!), and then it was time to find something interesting and unusual to,.....do,......in,.....Hemet,.......zzzzzzzz. Watch the local pool be drained?,.....nah. Walk around Wal-Mart trying to spot shoplifters?,......huh-uh. Go to the local beach?,.....isn't one. Get a tattoo?,......Doc doesn't allow them. Watch paint dry?,......couldn't find any. Well, at least we could always,......ummmm,.......the museu-,.....Indian artifa-,.......roadside produce sta-,.....ahem.

We did the greatest, most enticing activity available in Hemet since the advent of yelling "Run Forrest Run" at passing joggers. WE WENT BOWLING!!!! Actually, we had a blast playing as our new alter-egos "Skeeter and Flo". I bowled a 149 and a 144, while Woo kept it on the down-low with a 99 and a 76. We then stocked up on "college girl stuff" at Target, got Iced Caramel Macchiatos at Starbucks and drove off to Morgan's night concert in Hemet.

Another brilliant concert celebrating God's glory, a big hug and kiss good-bye, a 100-mile drive back to the Hilton Glendale, and my visit was over. Sad, but fulfilled. Proud, but missing her already. Already excited about the next chance to see her, hug her, laugh with her, and hold onto as many precious moments as I can with my princess.

Running

There's a new book out called "Born To Run". It's one man's take on our bodies, the complexity of feet, lung-capacity, endurance, and all things running. He traveled to South America while researching, and visited with a very private and primitive culture that's been known to run up to 100 miles without stopping (evidently they just pee on the go!) He claims our feet and bodies are tougher than we ever thought they were, and that our timidity in pushing our bodies has more to do with fear and "wussy-ness" than it does with actual science.

Let me just say I think I just might love this man!

To me, running represents a myriad of things, all important and crucial to my life. First, it's the exercise that keeps me in good cardio-vascular shape. My 46-year-old body just had a full physical, and the doctor remarked on my good blood-pressure and 58 bpm heart rate (she also got on me for being about 10 pounds overweight!) Jogging keeps me healthy, strong and fit.

Next, it's the mental de-stressing time of my day. It takes a middle-aged guy who's ragged with worry and transports him to a place where the noise of a distant dog barking, his feet on the pavement, his steady breath, and a rustling wind are the only noises around. It "decompresses" me and refreshes my mind to do what life tells me has to be done.

Most of my best artistic ideas come while I'm pounding the pavement. Original song ideas and lyrics often take root on a shady trail. Shows get designed, formations blocked, and dance breaks take wing. A pair of shorts, a baseball cap, sunglasses and an Under Armor top often serve as the palette on which I paint whatever art I'm responsible for.

Youth. Silly, maybe, but true. Running reminds me my body can still respond when called upon to get busy and work hard. I can't run as fast as I used to, dance like I used to,jump as high or lift as much,......but I can start running and not stop for 10 miles. It might be a tortoise shuffling along in a field of hares, but the tortoise still pocesses the ability to just keep going.

Appreciation of God's gifts. In the past month, I've run in Dublin's Phoenix Park, along the shores of Lough Corrib, on the banks of the River Liffey, in Utah's Wasatch Mountains, on the beach of the Pacific Ocean, and on a trail that winds along the Rio Grande River in Albuquerque. I've also run on a nature trail in Cedar Rapids, a nature preserve in Chicago's suburbs and by soccer fields near my home. What do all these places have in common? God created them for me and countless others to enjoy. Running reminds me of this undeniable reality, and makes me ever grateful.

So as I lace up my shoes and straighten my ever-stiffening body for another foray into New Mexico's August summer, I give thanks for running. For the 14,000+ miles I've run since the year 2000 (yes, I track every single mile), I give thanks. For the thousands of miles yet to come, I give thanks. For my wife, who can barely run because of a bad back, but still manages to get out with me a few times a year, I give thanks. For my dogs, that accompany me on many winter runs, I give thanks. For the health that allows me to just keep plugging along, I give thanks.

For the pure, endorphin-boosting pleasure of it all, I give thanks.

Teaching With "The Woo"

Intern. Apprentice. Trainee. Whatever you call them and whichever occupation you're speaking of, I'd never really given them much thought. Not that I didn't like them or felt myself above them in stature, I'd just literally never really sizzled any brain cells stewing over them. They could live their little lives, train their little novice buns off and muddle through the world with their special little "trainee" name badges pinned to their little trainee shirts, while I'd do more important things.

I've thought about trainees a lot more recently, as my daughter Morgan has become one. Let me restate that, she's not only become ONE, she's become MY TRAINEE! I'm not showing her how the root beer dispenser works or the proper way to uncrate Happy Meal toys, though,....I'm showing her how to teach. NOT the proper etiquette for wiping down a dirty table with baby spittle. NOT the best "tassel-snapping off the corn stalk" technique. NOT how to properly badger and pressure people to buy mink oil, oxblood polish or a matching set of footies with their shoe purchase. I'm trying to help her become an effective and confident teacher.

About a year ago the idea dawned on me as she looked for summer jobs. She'd decided to double-major in vocal performance and music education, had a dad who was a choreographer and had been a student in one of the nation's top ten high school choral programs. We started very small, sending her to a very weak program in northern Indiana loaded with instructions, simple choreography and modest expectations. WOW, was I in for a surprise!! About an hour after her arrival, I received a text that read "OMG, she's fantastic!!" I almost cried. With VERY little help and only a modicum of instruction on pacing, delivery, modeling and other "how-to's", she was jumping into the pool and swimming on the very first try! The teaching gene from her Grandma Dixie, her biological grandpa in New York (a vain, self-centered, self-righteouss jerk of a man but a great teacher), and from her own daddy had been passed down!!

Last winter, she continued her development, as she conducted cleaning clinics and taught choreography at several Indianapolis-area schools with incredible results. Each time she taught, I held my breath with the added responsibility and expectation, but she just kept right on coming through big-time. She has much to learn, but her skills of organization, analysis of situations, relating well to high school kids, coming prepared to rehearsals, and confidence are already serving her well.

She and I traveled to Altoona, Wisconsin last week for our first-ever "dual" camp, and it was a very proud and wonderful time for me. We stayed at the beautiful Otter Creek Inn, with fireplaces and hot tubs in each room, four-poster beds, and breakfast brought to your door on VERY fancy china every morning! I taught their varsity group while she worked with both the prep group and middle-schoolers for 4 grueling days. I watched, advised, coached and cajoled; but mainly I stood back with pride and love and watched her natural abilities take over. The kids loved her, the director loved her,....I ALREADY loved her! She was immediately asked back for next season and given major thumbs-up by everyone involved!

Now, she's got 6-7 schools to work with at various times this summer and on breaks from Cal Baptist. While other students make $10 an hour refilling your coffee, stacking boxes, or sitting idly at a pool making sure nobody poops in it, Morgan is practicing her possible career and getting paid very well to do it. Understand, I'm NOT IN ANY WAY dissing those other jobs, as I personally delivered newspapers, sold shoes and dipped ice cream for YEARS!!! I'm just grateful that I can provide this crack in the door for Morgan, (whom we've called "Wooda" for years, and still can't remember why we started!!)

She's not only working, she's teaching.

She's not only teaching, but she's teaching music.

She's not only teaching music, she's teaching music with her daddy!

Daddy couldn't be any more proud and feel any more blessed.

7606

Okay, everybody, multiple choice. The number 7606 represents what to Damon?

a) The number of calories he consumed yesterday.

b) The number of people who've looked at our house without buying it.

c) The quantity of songs Damon's choreographed this year.

d) How many years old Damon feels after a road trip

e) The dollar amount of our basement flood repair (close!)

Clock is ticking,......beeeeeeeep!,......oh, sorry. Your time is up! Actually, out of 35,000 runner/walkers, 7,606th place was Damon's finish at yesterday's Indianapolis 500 Mini-Marathon! As I love to say every year, I got beaten by a town, but I defeated a city!!

This was either my 20th or 21st time on this adventure, and I never stop loving it. I've become ritualistic over the years, making sure I eat pancakes with loads of maple syrup, plus a big bowl of pasta the night before to load up on carbs. I scan the 500 Expo after picking up my race packet for as many free samples as possible (this year's unexpected treasure was free grape-flavored 5-hour Energy!) I pin my number to my shirt the night before and try to find something that will make me stick out in the television shots, like weird-colored shorts or a bright green baseball cap turned sideways.

I always park at Methodist Hospital, a full 1.7 miles from the start line. That way, I'm encouraged to do a good warm-up run to get stretched out. Always get there at 6:45, always drink Gatorade and eat bananas, always stop by the port-o-lets, always smack the beach balls, always say a couple prayers, always, always, always.

Perfect weather greeted us this year, after the biting cold wind of a year ago. 55 degrees and cloudy, or as runner's would say, PERFECTION! The national anthem was especially poignant this year, having seen the face blown off of Osama Bin Laden less than a week ago. I think everybody except the rude 20-year old girl next to me felt a surge of American pride and a lump in their throat,....she just wanted to blather on about how much she needed to pee.

My pacing was good this year, perhaps as good as its ever been. NOT my speed, mind you, but my consistency. After a congested first mile, I held in between 8:52-9:15 for the entire race, finishing with an unexpectedly solid 1:59:14. I'd been recovering from a nasty respiratory infection, so I truly had expected nothing better than a 2:05.

A couple random memories:

-Love those old ladies that clog to Beyonce and Eminem songs!

-Seeing some Hamilton Southeastern folks I know.

-Watching a lady taken away on a golf cart BEFORE the race started.

-The drunk guys trying to be funny and yell at the runners,.....completely in undecipherable gibberish! ("heyth, ya wan me getchasixthpakopabstbluribbon?") Uh,....sure!

-The 70-year-old lady SCREAMING like an army drill sergeant at mile 10, and the guy beside me who said "if we all kill her together we won't get in trouble!"

Over all a great day. My achilles cooperated, my stamina was good and God and mother nature smiled on Indianapolis for another running. Hope I'm right back next year!

Osama Is Dead!

This will be a short entry, but I want to briefly mark the occasion so I never forget it. Osama Bin Laden is dead, killed by USA forces who marched into Pakistan without permission (good for us!) and took down the world's number one wanted terrorist.

On September 1st, 2001, I was driving to Lapel High School for a choreography rehearsal when Dan Rather of CBS News came on my car radio to shock the world with the news of planes crashing into the Pentagon and Twin Towers. I listened live, as first one, then the other tower fell. Stopping to watch the happenings on a truck stop television off I-69 I stood with a bunch of folks I didn't know. The one things I think we all knew, though, was that our lives had just changed forever. The next month may well have been the worst of my life, filled with endless tears, feelings of loss, dreams of violence and fear, and overwhelming feelings of despair and sadness for those victimized in the 9/11 attacks.

Bin Laden was a monster of the worst kind. Religion wasn't about love, forgiveness, reaching out, caring for widows and orphans, spreading goodwill, seeking the earnest will of a savior who died to save us from our sins. No, for him is was about murder, destruction, vengeance, domination, chaos, and fear. It was a religious fanaticism marked by suicide bombs, violent plots, death of innocents, and hatred,....plain, pure, vitriolic hatred.

Because of him, I spent 6 hours in a blood bank on 9/11 waiting with hundreds of others to donate. Because of him, a decade long war and the loss of thousands of American and allied lives has been the result. Because of him, the phrase "thine alabaster cities gleam, undimmed by human tears" no longer stands true. Because of him, mothers can't hold their husbands, children can't have their parents tuck them in, and somebody will forever be missing at the dinner table. Osama Bin Laden, I can't begin to tell you how glad I am that you're dead!

This won't end the war on terrorism by a long shot. In fact it will probably even ramp it up in the short term with more suicide bombs and pointless tragedies. But this deals a symbolic and terrifying blow to Al Queda and the Taliban. Their "Queen" is dead. Their champion of the rally cry has been lost to a hail of USA bullets, each tipped with a red, white and blue reminder of "we said we'd get you". Although I can't stand President Obama, I take this occasion to be fair and tip my hat to him. President Obama, I hope you lose next November because you're ruining our country's economy, but today I offer you a hearty congratulations and heartfelt thank you.

To the USA military and the courageous heroes who killed him and those around him without ANY collateral damage, I say praise God for each and every one of you. You've done the unthinkable, and tracked down an animal that had evaded us for years by crawling through caves and misrepresenting the true heart of his own religion. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

And now Osama, there's somebody I'd like you to meet:

"Osama, this is Satan."

"Satan, this is Osama."

Enjoy those virgins.