So Long Houston Nutt

As a Razorback, I can't help but comment on what I suppose happened between the University and Houston Nutt, former football coach. After months of saying he was staying at Arkansas and enduring fan and media criticism, Nutt abruptly resigned as head coach then, less than four hours later, accepted a new job with rival Mississippi.

Not having been privy to any communications between the U of A and Nutt, and not knowing the man personally, I can only speculate what may have transpired. So here's my take on the whole thing.

Let's go back to last year, the epicenter of all the disruption. Nutt had recruited a top rated quarterback, Mitch Mustain, from a local high school. Along with Mustain came his high school coach, Gus Malzahn, who became the offensive coordinator. It looked like Arkansas was gearing up for a strong pass oriented offense.

Then along came Darren McFadden. This guy could run like nobody's business, was a passing threat himself when in the Wild Hog formation and became a pass receiver, too. In short, he could do it all. When Nutt decided to build the offense around McFadden instead of Mustain, egos were bruised. Mustain asked for a transfer and ended up at Southern Cal. Malzahn booked it for Tulsa. And both men left a wake of media frenzy behind.

But think about it. Didn't Coach Nutt do exactly what he was paid to do by the University? He saw a good thing and wanted to build an offensive scheme with that good thing, McFadden, at the center. That's what coaches are supposed to do. Find talent and go with it. Neither Mustain nor Malzahn were going to be left out, it's just that their roles were going to change.

So the M&M boys depart and the media whips up story after story, emails are scrutinized and cell phone records are publicized. The fans react to the controversy and two camps emerge - those that want Nutt to stay and those that demand he leave. Nutt and the rest of the team have to put up with constant attention to the developing mess off the field. Quite a distraction for a team poised to do well in 2007.

We knock off the number one team in the country - LSU - but we lose four games during the regular season, two of those by a total of only five points. Planes fly over Razorback Stadium with banners calling for Nutt's dismissal, bleachers are peppered with the same message. Everyone, it seems, has joined the second camp and want his head on a platter. And the team has to try to ignore all that controversy and play ball in one of the toughest divisions in the NCAA.

All that leads up to Nutt finally deciding he had had enough and it is time for him to go. No matter what you think about the man, you have to realize he is a shrewed businessman. He timed the resignation when his stock was higher than it had been for over a year - after beating arch rival LSU. Although it was officially a resignation, the University dropped the repayments Nutt would had to have made under his contract. And the coach took a job at Ole Miss hours later, which means he had to have been talking to that school for a while, which also means the U of A had to have given Mississippi permission to court their man.

I think Nutt knew for a long time that this would be his final season at Arkansas. So he talked with University officials and made his plans clear some time ago. After beating LSU, he goes out on top despite the controversy and he has enough leverage to work out a sweet deal with Arkansas while negotiating an even sweeter deal with Mississippi.

Plus, if Arkansas wins its bowl game this year, part of the glory goes to the departed coach because he recruited and taught this team. If they lose, he shoulders none of the blame as he is no longer coaching. Smart man.

Too bad so much of the Arkansas press and so many of the Arkansas fans were down on this guy. Looks to me like he is the smart one and came out on top of the entire heap. And good for Houston Nutt.

A lot will be said about Nutt's style not fitting at the U of A and his coaching will be criticized, maybe even vilified. But he still had one of the best winning records at Arkansas, led the team to numerous bowl games in the decade he coached there and raised some fine football players in the process.

The poor start of the 2007 team has to be borne in part by the team itself and by the coaching staff. But I think it is in larger part due to the maelstrom of rumors and busted egos that set the fans and press about the business of tearing apart a good coach that really ended up costing Arkansas the season.

Al Quixote

The world is getting warmer. Probably. It's difficult to verify that empirically since we are talking about fractions of a degree and measuring the very accurate information we can assimilate today against a set of data that was eyeballed and closely estimated in decades past. But the world probably is getting warmer.

And we as a race are trying to stop that from happening. With an Emmy and a Nobel Prize to his credit, Al Gore has become the personification of the world's efforts to educate everyone and push for changes aimed at stopping global warming.

But let's stop to consider something for a moment. This is not the first time in the history of the Earth that the globe has warmed. In the days before factories and pollution, in the days of the dinosaurs, the world was warm. Very warm. Then it cooled - severely - then warmed again. In fact, I can recall many scientists in the 70's predicting the world was headed for another Ice Age. And that prediction came from the same sets of data comparisons we use today that tell us the climate is becoming hotter, not colder.

The chart at right from www.scotese.com shows the cycle of heating and cooling the Earth has routinely followed throughout its history. It places us near the bottom of a cool trough that was preceded by a warm spell and shows our climate taking another upturn in temperatures as the cycle continues.

So the world does seem to be getting warmer and the climate does appear to be changing. Did pollution, carbon gasses and a hole in the ozone layer cause all this warming? For certain, none of that helped. Tons of gasses and particles spewed into the atmosphere just can't be a good thing. But the world was warming before all that happened and it will continue to warm even if we stop all pollution from now on.

It's just the way the Earth works.

Climate change, global warming, whatever moniker we want to put on it, I'm not sure we can stop it any more than we can stop the rain from falling. As humans, we tend to rush in and fix what we perceive is wrong without stopping to consider that there may be worse consequences to our actions and more terrible outcomes if we make the repair.

For example, a recent suggestion by some scientists was to fill the upper layers of the atmosphere with sulfur dioxide to simulate conditions caused by massive volcanic eruptions. At times in the past, major volcanic eruptions produced clouds of sulfur dioxide that acted as an insulator and cooled the Earth. But one can imagine all the things that could go wrong if we try to do the same thing, not to mention filling the air with toxic chemicals. Isn't that what we are trying to avoid?

Another example is a rush to build an automobile powered by hydrogen. Sounds like a good idea since we could avoid burning fossil fuels. Problem is, it takes so much energy to separate water molecules into hydrogen and oxygen that we actually burn more fossil fuels (coal fired generators to make the electricity to separate out hydrogen) than the gasoline engine we are trying to replace.

Should we cut back on carbon emissions and all the monoxides, dioxides, acid and junk we pour into the air we count on to survive? Absolutely. But we may just be jousting at windmills if we think we have the ability to stop the Earth from going about its business.

Would it not be more prudent for us to put our energies into discovering how we as a race will adapt to a warmer world than in how we can stop it from happening in the first place? That might be a better use of time, resources, and Mr. Gore's sizable clout than trying to stop the rain.

Web Design Replaced Wordsmithing ... Just for a While

Oh no! It's been over a month since my last post to Amblin Cafe. But if you think I've been loafing all this time, well, I guess you're mistaken. Once again, I've let my creative writing slip while pursuing writing of a different kind - web design.

It was time for a complete makeover of our flagship product and the task of doing that fell to me.

Slow and deliberate in my web site design skills, I try, tweak, try again and tweak once more before I get the page to look on the screen the way it appears in my mind. Sometimes I never get the two to meet, but the design process is fun anyway. And frustrating sometimes, too. But I think we ended up with a pretty good looking result. See if you agree: freshare.net.

That said, I am ready for my life to return to normal and go back to writing prose once more.

Happy

Even when his arthritis got so bad he could hardly walk, he still liked to pilot the jon boat we used to fish the White River for rainbow trout. Strength had left him, so he could not help much when putting the boat into the water or hauling it back out again. In recent years, my father-in-law also gave up driving his truck to the river since backing the trailer onto the landing proved too difficult. Still, Arlis did like to run the motor and put the boat where he wanted it.

My job in that old, faded green craft was to be the anchor man. When we found the right spot, I pitched the anchor overboard in hopes it would catch a rock or a snag and hold us in place while we caught our limit.

The middle seat belonged to Damion, my son-in-law, who spent a noticeable part of his fishing time starting the motor, taking fish off Arlis' line or stringing them up, or untangling lines that got twisted together in the current.

Now things will never be quite the same in that boat on the river. Arlis passed on a week ago tomorrow. He lived a good life, and made it to the remarkable age of ninety. Throughout most of that time, he was able to do the things he really enjoyed like fishing, or hunting, or just poking around outdoors.

During the thirty years that I knew him, he taught me the majority of what I know about trout fishing: where to find them, how the rise and fall of the river affects their feeding, where the river channel creates deep holes and makes it easier to navigate.

And I learned patience. I'm not nearly as good at it as Arlis was, but I try.

Probably the majority of what I know about deer and quail, squirrels and rabbits, wildlife in general, I learned from Arlis. Their movements, their habits, how to answer a bob-white's call, how to wait out a jumped rabbit who will most always make a big circle and return right to the same place again.

And I learned to appreciate the outdoors. Actually, more than appreciate, I learned to love the outdoors.

We didn't usually talk a lot. Mostly we discussed whether the river was up or down, which hunting season was approaching, what the weather was going to do next, what we might expect to have for dinner. He typically wore a smile that could twist into a sly grin when he was up to something. In his early years, his nickname was Happy. It fit him well.

He could be inconsiderate, like always positioning the boat so he got the best angle. He could be funny, like the time he amused himself (and me) trying to lure a wild duck toward the boat using the bait on his fishing pole. He could be concerned, like the time we saw a heavy rain shower coming and he uncharacteristically laid open the throttle to escape that pursuing wall of water. But he was always Arlis.

Nothing in this life is meant to last forever and changes are inevitable. The seasons, the depth of the river, how deaths and births alter our own lives. The next time I head out to the river to rainbow fish, I'll be in that old jon boat. But the seat assignments will change. I'll be running the motor and piloting, Damion gets my old seat as anchor man. In six months, my first grandbaby will arrive. And the middle seat of the boat will pass to him or her.

I'll do my best in the driver's seat, just as Arlis did his best. And someday, hopefully a long time from now, the seat assignments will change again.

Fore!

There is not much about playing golf that I dislike. Except, of course, for double-bogeys, water hazards and sand. I like sand on the beach, but not in my socks, shorts or as a landing area for my golf ball.

Other than those few curses, I like the game a lot. But for many more reasons than just for the sport itself.

I'll admit it does feel good when I strike the ball so well I can feel it in my swing. It's almost an effortless movement as I contact the ball, and I know exactly where it will be once my motion tilts my head so that I can finally look up. That doesn't happen very often for me, which is probably why I savor the moments so.

But there are also the sounds of the game that richen the sport. Like the swoosh of a well swung club or the soft purr of a ball landing safely on the green. My all time favorite golf sound is the ball as it finally reaches its destination, bouncing on the bottom of the cup.

Smell adds an extra dimension to the sport. As in baseball, there's the remarkably athletic scent of my left hand laced with the aroma of leather from my glove. And a field of aromatic wild sage that grows along the side of the fourteenth hole on my favorite course. Newly mowed grass, algae in the pond, mud along the riverbank and cattle in the adjacent field all contribute layers of olfactory sensations unique to the sport.

I would not consider myself a slow player despite my attraction to nature as well as the game of golf. But I feel sorry for those who only enjoy the sport for the game. The ones who race around the links, pedal to the metal, moving from shot to shot as quickly as the cart will allow. Sometimes faster than it will allow. They, sadly, miss an awful lot of good things.

Not that I never ride or play just to finish the game sometimes, but I prefer to carry my bag and walk the course rather than ride a cart. The exercise is only a side benefit. I get to think through my next shot before I grip the club again, and spend a little quality time enjoying the sounds, the scents, the beauty of the game, the simplicity of nature.

Orange Badge of Honor

A long time ago, when I was in grade school, the greatest honor that could be bestowed upon a fifth grade male was to become a patrol boy. I don't mean to sound sexist. There may have been a patrol girl, too, but this was before glass ceilings were broken and patrol duties were, rather unfortunately, a predominately male occupation at the time.

Patrol boys got to wear a one piece bright orange strap sort of thing that signified their status as a leader among all boys. The strap was worn around the waist like a belt and over one shoulder like a military insignia. And when it came to children crossing at street corners, we were the authority on the matter.

As a mere second or third grader, that belt held an allure that was insatiable, especially with the way it was rolled into a neat little ball when not in use. I lusted for the day when my time would come and I would be allowed late for class and was justified in leaving just a bit early so that I could serve, protect and direct the incessant flow of elementary students as they passed in and out of that school building. Only fifth and sixth graders could hold such a great honor.

At particularly busy intersections, we patrol boys deferred our omnipresent authority to crossing guards. But we still did most of the dirty work, keeping kids corralled within the prescribed lines while the crossing guard held up a stop sign and one hand to keep automobile traffic at bay.

There were two choice assignments that each patrol boy craved. The first was in front of a drug store at a busy interchange in town.

That was a great spot because of Margaret, a retired lady who was the crossing guard and who treated us like gold. On cold, rainy or snowy days, she would insist we go inside the drug store to warm up in between packs of wild kids on their way to or from school. She would also bring us treats on occasion, like candy bars or cookies. Plus, she was just the nicest person anyone would ever want to meet. She talked to us like we were equals, and she was always interested in what we had to say. I sure miss Margaret.

The other choice assignment was due east from Margaret's post, but on a less busy corner. There was no crossing guard there, but two boys were assigned to the location because it was a high traffic area (kid traffic more than car traffic).

What made this location so great was that it was right in front of a bakery. The smell of fresh donuts, hot bread and delicate pastries wafted through the air with enough potency to make our stomachs growl in eager anticipation. The owner of the place liked us boys a lot, too. He would always treat us to whatever we wanted from his showcase of wares. We always chose the cinnamon rolls, warm from the ovens with thick, white frosting covering the entire top of the delicious delight. I can still taste them now.

I don't suppose there are patrol boys anymore. I never see any around schools or at busy interchanges. Not too many crossing guards around, either. My guess is that liability issues hastened the demise of this once wonderful and revered occupation. Or maybe patrol boys just faded into obsolescence like fins on cars, clunky cell phones and 15 inch computer monitors. And that's too bad. A whole generation missing out on the finer things of the elementary life.

Stale Bread and Other Mysteries

There are some things I will probably never understand no matter how much information I have on the matter. Like which button is supposed to make what special feature work on my overly sophisticated alarm clock. Or why my dog hates to get a bath but loves to play in the sprinkler.

And some things are interesting to think about, but I am no closer to discovering the truth. Like why you never see a pair of shoes on the side of the road, only one. Or why I can’t fly but an airplane that weighs hundreds of times more than I do can.

But there are some things that simply do not make sense any way you look at them. Here’s a few examples of what I mean:

Why does something soft, like bread, get hard and crumbly when it goes stale, but something hard and crumbly, like crackers, gets soft and mushy?

Why do people often mean what they say, but seldom say what they mean?

Why do wasps seem to spend half their lives trying to get into something and the other half trying to get back out again?

Why do we spend good money to buy underwear that doesn’t ride up, then turn around and spend good money for thongs designed to do just that?

Why do we sometimes cry when we’re happy and laugh when we’re sad?

If someone tickles our funny bone, we laugh but if we strike our funny bone, we get the most unusual kind of pain.

If we have a cold, we often have a fever … which makes us hot.

We light the candles, sing happy birthday then let the honoree spray spittle all over the cake we’re about to eat.

A sub-par performance is only acceptable in the game of golf, which is where the concept of par originated in the first place.

Why do we call it “politics” from the root word “poly” meaning many and the word “tick” meaning blood-sucking insect?

Oh, OK, never mind. I think I just answered that last one.