Christmastime was here

So I've been getting complaints from a select few followers of my blog (who shall remain nameless: Tricia). These anonymous fans have made clear their disconent of the impersonal nature of the content contained herein. So... here's me... personalizing.


This is (in order of appearance) cuz Alisa, Uncle Dave, ME and Aunt Steph in a yearly ritual of 'One-on-One Hoops'. It's a card game that is played like the real game of basketball. (It is also known as 'Church Ball'.) My Uncle Dave (the one in the red shirt) invented it. Yeah we still can't believe he actually thought of something. Anyways... notice the smiles on my and Alisa's face.


Well... unfair Uncle Dave put in a sub in the second half. They made a furious come-back... and he nailed a three at the buzzer to win the game. Needless to say (and honestly, I'd really rather not say it...) we were stunned.



My widdle Bubsy and I got matching Santa tatoos. (They're not gay.)


And I'm not sure why we're laughing. But this is what happens during the traditional White Elephant gift exchange.

I then arm wrestled my Aunt Peggy. There is no need to inform my readers of the identity of the winner.

I soon thereafter cut my hair (and my bangs... haha Janet).

This week we had a 'The Office' party. I am Jim.

This is the rest of the crew.

So I've made an executive decision (because I do that when I blog) and I will update this post until I no longer feel the need. EnJoY!

BYU's 'Heads-up' Coaching

The following post is rated PG-13. It is not suitable for readers under the age of "I-think-BYU-sports-are-the-best-in-the-Nation". If you believe such non-sense... stop reading. Reader discression is advised. ... Seriously. You might cry.

Now that all that political correctness is out of the way... I've been waiting some time to write this. But as the new year is upon us... I shall wait no longer. (It's kind of a new years resolution. Oh and the title of this post almost symbolic. Or maybe I just confused the word 'symbolic' with the word 'graphic'.)

Let's start with the BYU Men's Basketball team. Dave Rose has done a good job with this club. They love to run in transition and can shoot three's like it's nobody's business. But you know what they say... live by the three... die by the three. They aren't going to be able to rely on the trey-ball all year, and they don't really have anyone to go to inside. Their big guys play okay defense, but are not a factor in the offense. This is going to be a problem come tournament time. Oh and by the way, good job convincing Trent Plaisted to stay for his senior year instead of declaring NBA draft eligibility. Smart move. (That last little bit was completely sarcastic. Plaisted, who averaged almost 16 pts 8 reb, is in Europe somewhere, lost in basketball detention.)

So I've been to a few games and overall the team is exciting to watch. A lot of energy, steals, and three pointers. But Coach Rose is anything but classy. Usually when you're up 20 points with a couple minutes left in the game, you put in your scrubs, your reserves, your benchwarmers. Not Coach Rose. Okay, so maybe 20 isn't as 'safe' as it used to be. But 30+, yeah, now you can put in the freshmen to finish out the game. Not Coach Rose. Well, how about 40+... you're as safe as you can get, right? Up 40 with 5 minutes to go? Not Coach Rose.

Against Rice, Weber State, and Boise State, Coach Rose left his starters in almost the whole game. These guys were still running and gunning, bombing threes and throwing alley-oops. The average margin of victory: 34 points. That's right. The opposition will remember the day they played the Cougars. Stay classy Coach Rose.

Now, lets change gears here. I think the BYU Football team's motto for next year should be 'Quest to fire Bronco Mendenhall'. Only 3 big games this year and they lost every one of them. All the blame goes to him for the shelacking TCU gave them... and after a byeweek... seriously Bronco? What are you concentrating on for those two weeks prior? Firesides?

The Utah game wasn't all Mendenhall's fault. Max Hall had the worst game of his career with 5 INTs and a fumble. But after the third interception you'd think Bronco would realize Max wasn't up to the task. As a coach, you want to show your team you trust your guy... but Bronco should have shown some sort of fire, some sort of indication that that game was important. Chew him out. Throw your headset. Do something for crying out loud! Football players feed off each other. They're like a pack of rabid velosa raptors. But if Mama raptor is indifferent on whether they have chicken fried stegasaurus or beer battered triceratops, then the baby raptors won't care either! In other words, passion is an admirable quality in a leader.

Now the AZ game. Yay for the Las Vegas Bowl, again. ... Awesome. We just lost to a 7-5 football team... oh wait 8-5, my bad. BYU was complaining all year that they weren't getting enough love from ESPN and the BCS. We would have been DESTROYED by any other ranked team. How do I know this? Because we just got owned by Arizona.

Give AZ credit. They're a good team. Us getting pounded by them means we're less than good. It probably didn't help BYU any that Max Hall, Austin Collie, and Dennis Pitta were playing pick-up ball on campus during the few weeks before the 'Big Game'. (I played with Max and am convinced he made a smart move by choosing football over basketball.) But honestly, Bronco, that's a smart coaching move: "Yeah, guys... go play basketball on campus with all the washed-up married guys, 18 year old spazzes, and uncoordinated exchange students. Don't worry about the fact that our next game is nationally sponsored and that if we win we all get Nintendo Wii's for the 3rd year in a row. Just don't get hurt." (Did anyone notice Dennis Pitta's knee injury? Wonder how that happened?) Enjoy your Nintendo Wii's Wildcats!

And seriously... he named his kids Breaker, Raider, and Cutter. Some might call that cute, I'd call it child abuse.

It Snowed.

Bailey: We made a balloon that was supposed to be you today... just fyi.

Bart: That's awesome... did I have my book and nametag too?

Bailey: Nope... well, I guess technically you did have your name tag. We put a peice of paper on the balloon that said 'Bart'.

Bart: So, you're saying I got partial attendance points?

B: I'm gonna guess that, no, not only did you not get partial points, but that you probably got negative.

B: So... I did get points?

B: Sure. Negative ones, but sure.

B: Awesome! Hey points are points no matter how you look at 'em.

B: Well, not really. Negative points would actually count against you and... oh nevermind. But you seem like you'd be into negative things so thats right up your alley.

B: Oh yeah... well... Watch out! I might be up your alley tonight... wearing all black while swinging a billy club in my hand.

Bailey: Is that a sexual inuendo? I hope so.

Bart: A six-paned window? wha..?

Bailey: No. An in-u-end-o. Oh, forget it. I'm off to meet with a group for school...you remember school right? Where you study to get grades to pass college and get a degree? Yep, I'm off to do that. See you later... in my alley.

Oh. One more thing. I'm always worried you'll post more of our conversations in your blog. So if you do, please mention that I am extremely attractive. For the hell of it.

Bart: You're extremely attractive.

Bailey: No, not now. When you write your blog. Ugh... I give up.

A Ninja in Embryo

My know-it-all-roommate Dan and I have funny conversations. (To find out more about Dan, please click the 'Dan' label at the bottom of this post.) Sometimes they're really funny. But mostly they're a complete waste of time, kind of like this blog. Sometimes when I'm upstairs and he's downstairs we'll chat screen-to-screen rather than face-to-face.

Dan: Holy cow, I want a ninja sword. You should come watch this Time Warp. Hurry. They are going to chop pig flesh.

Bart: What in the world makes you think I want to watch pig flesh chopping?

Dan: 'Cause it is awesome! Holy cow! It cut clean through the bone!

Bart: Don't you mean holy sow?

Dan: Wow. He chopped a raw egg without cutting the yoke. I am so getting a sword. I have often needed to chop a raw egg without damaging the yoke and have never had the proper tool...

Bart: ...or skills.

D: Whatever. I am obviously a ninja.

B: Just because you have a ninja sword doesn't mean you have ninja skills. And vice versa.

D: Ping pong skills translate directly to sword swinging... and ninja skills.

B: Which translate directly to killing skills?

D: Well... yes, but I wouldn't need to do any killing with my sword. That's what handguns are for.

B: But what about embryonic chicken feti?

(feti is the plural for fetus. Other examples of this type of pluralization include but are not limited to the following: focus-foci, radius-radii, cactus-cacti, octupus-octupi, alumnus-alumni, platypus-platupi, fungus-fungi, hippopotamus-hippopotami, preying mantis-preying manti, mattress-mattri, Barticus-Barticai, etc.)

D: They are already dead from the cryonics.

B: They are already crying from the death.

D: Well... stuff happens. I'm done bugging you now.

B: Good. Because I'm done letting you bug me.

Frienemies

Yeah, that's right. Frienemies. You know, the kid who says he's gonna pick you first because you picked him first yesterday (he gets to be a captain because he brought his football), but you don't even end up in the top five. The ones that promise they'll trade their Jason Kidd rookie card for your Penny Hardaway rookie, but don't. Your pal who says you'll be best buds forever, and then moves away after 8th grade never to be heard of again. And yes, the people who act like your friends when you're right in front of them, but talk about you behind your back.

We all know people like this. My roommate Garlan has had recent experience with one: the Seattle Supersonics. (His once beloved Sonics recently moved to Oklahoma City and are now the Thunder.) The sad thing for Garlan is that now the Sonics don't exist. Future NBA fans will never experience the joy of watching their favorite team destroy the likes of Gary Payton, Shawn Kemp, or Detlef Schrempf again.

Of course Garlan is upset. But how would you feel if your favorite team moved halfway accross the country and changed their team name only slightly (Supersonics to Thunder, both really loud nosies, Thunder is obviously the lesser of the two sounds), making sure you know that they used to be your team. (It would be like the Suns moving to Nashville and becoming the Moons. Or the Jazz moving to St. Louis and becoming the Oldies. Yeah. Like that.) But that will never happen, because our teams are actually GOOD.

The Seattle Mariners were the second worst team in baseball this year going 61-101. (The only other team to lose 100 games was the Washington Nationals, no surprise, but that's how bad the Mariners were.) The Seattle Seahawks are currently 2-9. So... if they win the last 5 games this season... they still won't make the playoffs. His beloved University of Washington Huskies are 0-11. They had a chance to beat Washington State (a team that is 2-10 and actually worse than U double-U) in OT... but couldn't do it. Now, HIS Seatt... er, uh, Oklahoma City Thunder are 1-13. The worst record in the NBA. At this rate, by the end of the season they will have won 6 games.

But Garlan won't let that keep him down. He has other activities to occupy his time: grilling Polish sausages and burgers, admiring all films featuring Jason Statham, arguing Ray Allen's case as the best shooter in NBA history and this years MVP, and growing/cutting his hair. I've neglected to state that Garlan is kind of white trash. Some might say a redneck. Actually, he's more than a white trash redneck. He's a red trash whiteneck.

But Garlan really is a nice guy. He likes going on blind dates. He volunteers a lot of his time at church. And his favorite TV show is Paris Hilton's My New BFF. Can you blame him? Anyone who can show you how to go 'from Frienemies to Bikini Besties' is worth watching. 'We love you Paris!'

At the end of each show one of the girls gets eliminated from the running to become Paris' new 'best friend forever'. Nothing beats elimination time. On the most recent episode, Paris decides to put all the girls up for elimination. The scene: the jacuzzi. (If you're a guy and you weren't watching the show, you are now.)

I think I may have commented something along the lines of: That Brittany is a hottie but I'm pretty sure she's a psycho-hose-beast-wench. And Shelley is a doll, but she's way too quiet for a girl like Paris."

Garlan replied (with a wry smile), "It's not about the body. It's about the girl inside the body."

And that's exactly why all of those girls are on the show. 'We love you Paris!'

Freudian Slip

The other day I baked some stinkin’ cookies. They were stinkin’ good. In fact, they were so good they lasted about 13 minutes. Well, my friend Adriana had the audacity to tell me that her cookies are better than mine. I disagreed. Snicker doodles vs Peanut Butter Chocolate Chunk. Seriously? There’s no competition.

Adriana said, “Bart, my love for baking is equal to the love you feel for your own mother… or Steve Nash. It's my favorite pastime."

I chuckled slightly.

Adriana: Telling me that you can make better cookies than me is like telling Tiger Woods you could beat him in a round of golf.

(The mere fact that she was using Tiger Woods as a comparison of herself was very impressive. But it would take a lot more than a sports reference to deter me from winning yet another pointless argument. And this would be a pointless argument because I consider opening a package of pre-mixed dough, slapping it on a cookie sheet, and sliding it into the oven as 'baking'.)

Bart: Oh, so now you're the Tiger Woods of baking?

Adriana: I'm better than the Tiger Woods of baking… but I cant think of a better person to liken it to without being offensive.

(Had she likened herself to, lets say, Giada De Laurentiis then, yes, I would have been offended. But if she compared her talent of baking to Rosanne’s talent of eating… well, I can’t imagine anyone being offended by that.)

Bart: You’re obviously very confident in your so-called ‘skills’... but can you make cinnamon rolls?

Adriana: (With a deliberate laugh) Ha Ha Ha. Is that a serious question?!?
I can bake a variety of cinnamon rolls.

Bart: Well my mom’s cinnamon rolls are the best... no one even comes close. When we visit long-time friends or relatives, usually the first words out of their mouths are: ‘Did you bring cinnamon rolls?’

A: We will just have to agree to disagree on that one.

B: Well I disagree that we have to agree to disagree. You see… you can say you are the best all you want... but until it is proven with hard evidence, all you're saying is words. Words that carry no meaning.

A: Ask my roommates. I bake for them all the time and they LOVE me for it.

B: As far as I know, your roommates come from non-baking homes and their opinion of you could be extremely biased because they've never had baked goods before.

A: Well Bart, you could have been the benefactor of some amazing cookies… but you chose the game. Big mistake. Especially because your team lost.

(Suns vs Jazz… and OF COURSE I chose the game. And don’t get me started on how those idiotic refs called 5 fouls on Steve Nash midway through the 3rd quarter. Honestly?)

A: Okay. that was below the belt. I feel bad. Sorry for the last comment. I like the Suns.

B: I see what you’re doing. You crossed the line and now you're trying to get back in my good graces.

A: I’m not trying to get back in your grace. But, nobody should kid about the Suns or basketball. Its a matter of morals.

(She had a valid point. No one should kid about the Suns or basketball. But I refuse to let her think I recognize that she made a point.)

B: And you are obviously without morals.

A: Listen Wyoming, I know you can’t admit it, because of your ego, but you and I both know that I bake better than you do.

B: Like I said... you're just saying words until you can prove it.

A: Well, there are naked goods over here all the time! I'm not going to deliver them to you like your little servant! If you want to see what everybody else sees and comes over here for, you'll just have to come yourself!

(Ha ha! I was literally on the ground from laughter. She hadn’t caught what she had said… and maybe you as a reader didn’t either. But I did. And I couldn’t help myself… )

B: You wish I’d let you deliver your ‘goods’.

A: I wish you’d let me?!? Ha! As if! My goods are in high demand! I don’t have time for your demands too!

B: I won't argue that... but do you have time to realize your mistake?

(She then realized what she had said and tried to cover it as a “Freudian Slip”. This reminded me of a joke I once heard. It is my all time favorite. It always makes me smile. But beware, I’m a guy.)

Two men are talking in the bar sharing their sob stories.

One man says, "I had the worst Freudian Slip the other day."

The other man responds, "What is a Freudian Slip?"

"You know, it's when you mean to say one thing, but you say something else that reveals what you are really thinking about. Like the other day, I was at the airport and this really beautiful lady was helping me. Instead of asking her for 'two tickets to Pittsburgh', I asked her for 'two Pickets to Tittsburgh."

The second replies, "Oh, now I know what you are talking about. It's like the other day when I was having breakfast with my wife. I wanted her to pass me the Orange Juice, and instead I said, "YOU STUPID WENCH YOU RUINED MY LIFE!"

I'm a Try Athlete

My flag football team lost in the playoffs… again. Now, normally I would care a whole lot because I’m a competitive person and I HATE losing. But this time, I didn’t really have any expectations for the team, and so I shrug my shoulders and continue on. The only problem is that when I actually shrug my shoulders, I have a sharp pain in my chest. I think I may have dislocated a rib… from my sternum. (The last time I checked, that’s not normal.)

Anyone that knows me knows that I like sports. I like the thrill of competition. I like the excitement that comes with success. I like the anticipation that I just might see something that has never been done before.

Anyone that knows me also knows that my affinity for sports endows me with a magnetism for injury. Sprained wrists, pulled hamstrings, twisted ankles… bumps, bruises, scars… jammed fingers, dislocated ribs, strained ligaments… concussions, fat lips, and a broken nose. You name it, I probably hurt it.

But I, like many others, keep coming back for more. Are we athletes? We think we are. Are we idiots? Maybe. Are we quitters? Most definitely not. (Should we quit? We shouldn’t have even started.) As a tribute to all of you who almost won the State Title in high school, to all of you who played JV ball as seniors, and to all of you who ever tripped before crossing the finish line, I offer a way to erase all the disappointing yesterdays and once again hope for a promising tomorrow. Three words: Full-contact triathlons.

For those of you who don’t know what a triathlon is, (stop reading this, get into your Toy Story sheets, and tell your mom via text message that you’re ready to be tucked in. If she brings you cookies and milk, it will be the greatest achievement of your life.) it is an endurance sports event that includes swimming, cycling and running various distances. The standard "Olympic Distance" is 1.5 km swim, 40 km bike, and 10 km run. (For those of you uneducated in the metric system, that is the equivalent of 0.93 mile swim, 24.8 mile bike, and 6.2 mile run.)

My friend recently completed one last month. He said, “It is super lame. No one even got tackled. And when you try to tackle someone you get DQ'd.” (That’s ‘disqualified’ not ‘Dairy Queened’.) So all of us here at Barttimesnow (which is basically… me, myself, and I) have decided to help evolve the often boring triathlon world by creating the very first full-contact triathlon.

Although the total distance may vary between the “Olympic Distance” and the “Sprint Distance” (which is half of the “Olympic Distance”), the race will be just like any other triathlon… except now every competitor will be armed with a bucket of tennis balls. This will incorporate the ‘dodging’ element. Every competitor hit with a tennis ball will get 5 seconds added to their total time.

Some members of the Barttimesnow Alliance of Revamping Triathlons, aka the B.A.R.T., had reservations about allowing full-contact in the swimming portion of the race. (Okay, even I’m still laughing at that acronym.) Here is a sneak peak of their Alliance meeting:

I said, “How much contact is allowed? We definitely don’t want anyone drowning.”

Me responded with, “There is no room for sissies when forging ahead with a new sport.”

Myself scratched his head.

And after several minutes of silence, Me caved in. “Okay, fine. Water contact will be limited to leg pulling, kidney punches and dunking.”

I: Good... now on to the cycling. I think tire slashing should be allowed… but only if the slashing is done by organic/natural items found within the racing boundaries.

Me: Oh! I know you are itchin’ to wedge some sticks in some spokes!

I: Oh you know it... I also think we should make it mandatory that all cyclists have 'baseball card motorcycle noise makers' attached to the rear of the bike. If the noise makers fall off, they have to let Nitro, from American Gladiators, put them in an Ultimate Death Scorpion Headlock for 1 minute and 23 seconds.

Myself stopped scratching his head.

Me: Absolutely. The competitors have to keep track of their baseball card noise making devices or pay the price. Also I want that Michael Buffer guy who announces the wrestling matches to MC. And I want fireworks.

The B.A.R.T. has also decided that if this is going to be the sport of the future it must be the ultimate challenge. It will also test the mental abilities as well as the emotional stability of each contestant. To enter you must have family and friends compile a list of your most embarrassing moments and then as you race you will be taunted by an old man who will be given the list (and by ‘old man’ I mean Major Payne). You must also recite the Bill of Rights and do some basic mathematics after you complete the swim, but before you cross the finish line. (Upon further review we have decided to rotate from the Bill of Rights, the Declaration of Independence, and the Emancipation Proclamation... so every race you will have to recite something different.)

Now all we need is funding and some on call medics... (aka a plethora of paramedics).

If anyone has connections to the following companies/sponsors, please notify the B.A.R.T. as soon as possible: Nike for Women, Budweiser, and Oprah… Fisher-Price, Kellogs, and Miley Cyrus. Implementation will begin as soon as funding is received.

Dick and Rick Hoyt