Why We Can't Get No Satisfaction

I like to rethink issues that are unwanted yet persist.  I believe that the best solutions come from looking newly at old problems that won’t go away. Most intractable issues remain stuck due to the notions of scarcity, no solutions and inevitability.

So think about this for a moment.  Imagine that at this very moment, there is an angry man, probably white….he could be younger or he could be older.  But almost certainly he is angry.  And he is almost surely white.

He owns guns. He spends time hiding out. His family, neighbors and friends would say he’s a nice guy. Quiet. Keeps to himself a lot.  He spends time online, in deep web chat rooms and on social media, sharing his anger and the only solution he can think of….murder fantasies…with his anonymous, like-minded virtual friends.  They tend to be racists, bigots, anti-semites, “incels”…..basically people that “can’t get no…no no…no…they can’t get no…no…no…no…they can’t get no…SATISFACTION.  And there is someone they blame for this. 

Others may get sucked into watching their stock portfolio online, or shopping on Amazon or eBay, or watching porn.  Not him.  His serotonin releases come from fantasizing about acting on his murderous impulses.  

He stews over how unfair it is that he can’t get laid, or how he was wronged by co-workers or how fun it would be to walk into a class of 6 years olds and blow them away.  He’s not happy that people who are different than he is exist.  Oh yeah. He’s gonna show them.  And just imagine what a hero he will be in the eyes of his fellow angry, white co-conspirators.

He may or may not be mentally ill.  He may or may not play violent video games. But for sure he is angry and probably white.

One only need turn on the tv.  Or wait a few days and then turn on the tv.  And you will witness the coverage of another in a seemingly endless string of mass shootings. 

Today, we didn’t need to wait. Today it is the murder of 11 innocent city workers in Virginia Beach.  Yesterday it was a school or a movie theater, or a concert or a church or synagogue.

We, the people, ask why nothing is being done.  Those who run things, say we can’t violate our 2nd amendment rights.  An organization, the NRA, buys off politicians to silence them. The gun industry profits.

The left and the right are at a stalemate over doing anything about this problem.  All of the focus is on why or why we can’t have sensible gun laws.  After all, other countries have these laws and they don’t experience this problem the way that we in the United States do.

We regulate other things, such as driving a car or owning a boat and that seems to make us safer.  But nope, sensible gun laws would be a slippery slope right into an authoritarian government. I mean what would we do without this well-regulated militia? 

But let’s get back to our angry, friend who is, as we speak at his computer celebrating, yet another mass killing as he inches ever closer to the moment when it’s his time to shine….as he takes out as many innocent victims has he can before he ends his own life or is killed by the swat team.

So, let’s try to re-think this issue.  Let’s go back to square one and look at the problem with fresh eyes.  What can we do?

How can we intervene? How can we interrupt this deranged thought process? How can we disrupt this person’s impulses?  

This issue, this strain of like-minded people is a disease of society.  How do you cure a disease? You vaccinate, you inoculate, you operate, you treat it in the best way you can.  

It starts with acknowledging there is a problem, studying the problem and then being open minded to dealing with it as best you can.  You test possible solutions until you discover the treatment or treatments that are effective.  But we must start with acknowledging the problem and committing to the possibility of a solution. Something our leaders, with their own vested interest of political donations and getting reelected don’t seem to be able to do.

How can we interrupt the thinking and ultimate action of mostly angry white men? I think there may just be something to the idea of a vaccination.  Not as an injection of a serum into the bloodstream.  But rather as a way to fight fire with fire.  What is it that is at the source of this anger where their only solution is acting on a violent fantasy that destroys the lives of innocent victims?

I have no answers? Just questions that I think might lead us to answers.  I suspect there are a million and one possible solutions to the problem.  But we must first generate the will, both at a personal level and at the political level to discover solutions.

What say you?

It’ll Be Fun, They Said

“Let’ Do a 10k” they said.  “It’ll be fun they said.

A friend of ours runs in the Run Catalina Marathon.  Our group of friends likes take the ferry over to Catalina to support her, drink a lot of beer and then run and/or walk in the 10k run.  It is a lot of fun.

I’ve run all my life.  I ran to condition for hockey through college.  I ran a marathon soon after graduating. I’ve run a few 5k and 10k’s over the years. I run a few times a week for a mile or two when I can. I like hills. 

But I haven’t been feeling great the past few months and I’m not in very good condition. In addition, my back has been bothering me, as well.  I waited up until last night, the night before the run to make a late decision of whether to spend the $50 bucks to register myself in the run.  I figured, I could start the run and if I’m not feeling it, i could walk.  My wife and most of the rest of our group had opted to walk it.

Race day.  We got up early, took our golf cart down the hill to Avalon and lined up at the starting line.  When I run, it normally takes me about 5 minutes of running and breathing to get my breath and into a comfortable stride.  Those 5 minutes are usually not very fun.  I would quit if I didn’t know that after those first few minutes things would get much easier.

So the run started at 8:20 am.  I started my run.  When I say “run”, think…shuffle, amble or struggle.  I’m slow.  And it’s ugly.  This time, I got going and before I could get my full stride going, we ran into a steep mile long hill up the side of Catalina. I was not feeling it.  At all.  Then, as I was “running” up this hill, my wife and our friends...walking, mind you...passed me by.  They were kind, but I felt the knife in the heart of my pride. They did their best to spare me. They looked down, said nothing and kept going. 

Before long, my “run” turned into a walk.

So I walked, and continued to be passed.  Passed by old people, by kids, mom’s with strollers.  I was feeling ok. I was seriously not taking it personally or comparing myself.  I was just being in the moment intending to have a positive experience.

The hill crested and I returned to running.  I was doing ok. I listened to Lynne Twist’s “The Soul of Money” through my earbuds.  I got reminders every five minutes from My RunKeeper app”.  As I headed back down the hill to the town of Avalon, I was approaching the three mile, one hour mark.  I told you I’m slow.

I’m doing the math in my head…I was about half way through the 10k and I thought to myself, “you know what…there’s no need to kill myself.  I’ve done enough.  I have nothing to prove.  I need to take care of my self”.  I completely talked my self into quitting half way through.  

As I got into town, one of the volunteers waived me “that way”, back up a hill to follow the race course.  I went up to him and I asked where the finish line was….he pointed straight ahead.  I headed for the finish line.  I was just about done.

I came in from the wrong direction, passed the finish line, but on the sidewalk, off to the side and I decided I would run up the block. I could here the announcer and see the other finishers as I headed up to the end of the block where I planned to turn around and join the finishers. Good plan. What could be the problem?

I got to the stop sign, did some quick calculations in my head. I wanted to cross the finish line. They announce your name. They take your picture. Everyone cheers you on. What could go wrong? 

I did the calculations because I didn’t want to do “too well”. I figured it out and I assumed that the real runners would have done much better than 10 minute miles. I was working on 20 minute miles by this time. But I was cutting my distance in half. 

So I waited a few minutes then started my jog down the street toward the finish line. They announced my name, they took my picture and then I hung around watching the rest of the finishers. It would be another hour and a half before Kyle and our friends would come in. 

They finished, we went to lunch. One of our friends, Cheri, finished 2nd among women for the 10k. We went to the awards ceremony to cheer her on while they gave Cheri her medal. 

They then announced the men’s results by age classification. As the announcer called out the first 3 finishers of the 55-59 year old men, a sense of dread swept over me. I put my head on my friends shoulder as they announced the next age group. Mine. 60-64. I started to panic. I feared my time was too good. 

He then announces the 1st place finisher in my age group and he calls my name. O. M. G. 

My friends were doubled over in laughter. I gathered myself. I marched straight up to the podium, shook the announcer’s hand and said “there’s been a mistake”. I told him I only ran 1/2 the race and that my time was not accurate and that the next best time was the actual winner. He was very kind. He thanked me and said I was a “rare breed”. 

We all had a good laugh. “Let’s do a 10k” they said. It’ll be fun they said. 

Cubs Win! Cubs Win! Next Year Finally Arrives For Long Suffering Cubs Fans

Cubs Win! Cubs Win!  Next Year Finally Arrives

I grew up the son of a Chicago born, life long Cubs fan.  But I grew up in the Florida panhandle in the 50s and 60s.  My first team was the NY Yankees.  My first professional baseball game was a Yankees game at Yankee Stadium. I have fuzzy black and white photos taken from behind the Yankees dugout of Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris and Elston Howard.  

But dad was a Cubs fan.  He died 12/30/13 and is buried in his favorite Cubs jacket.  He lived a tortured life, as most Cubs fans do.  When we moved from Florida to Connecticut in the summer of 1967 my dad went a few months ahead of us while we finished out the school year.  I will never forget the call we got from him one night, probably in May of that year, telling us he got a job playing first base for the New York Mets.  Actually, it was first bass., as in tuba.  You see, he was a Dixieland jazz musician and he’d been hired as a part of Joel Schiavone’s “Your Father’s Mustache”, a chain of Dixieland jazz night clubs throughout the Northeast.  Besides playing in the night club in Pt. Pleasant New Jersey and Greenwich Village, he played with the band at Shea Stadium behind home plate at every Met’s home game that summer of ’67.

We joined dad in Milford, CT in June and I went to a lot of Mets games that summer.  We hung out with the band behind home plate.  We sat with Nancy Seaver and the rest of the player’s wives. There were always lots of empty seats.  Before each game we got waited with the band in the Jet’s locker room, which was right next to the Met’s club house. We had access to talk to the players, get autographs and just hang out before the games.  I was 12.  It was a blast and a memory I will cherish forever.

Dad continued to study baseball stats and suffer with each passing Cubs season.  Next year.  It was always “we’ll get ‘em next year”.

When I moved to San Diego in the late 70s, I found myself driving around the county in a sales job and I had a lot of time to listen games on the radio with Tony Gwynn and the Padres and I became a Padres fan.  I was a devoted fan and attended many games including the 1984 playoffs vs. the Cubs, (the most exciting playoff moment in my life was Steve Garvey poking a homer over the right field wall to win the series.) and both Padres World Series appearances; in 1984 vs. the Detroit Tigers and 1998 against the Yankees.

I got tickets for game 4 of the 1998 World Series
with the Padres being eliminated 4 games to none at Jack Murphy aka Qualcomm Stadium.  We laugh in my family because I scored the tickets at work on game day and came home, and of course took my son to the game.  This was much to the dismay of my daughter who was 7 at the time.  As we drove off, she had a bit of a tantrum claiming; “I never get to go to the World Series”.  As sad and sorry as I was about slighting her, we had to laugh at her reaction, joking that my dad was about 70 years old at the time, and he too had never gotten to go to a World Series game.  We still laugh about it and I’m still paying for it.

Since then, the Padres have been a terrible disappointment with their ownership not having the money or commitment to field a competitive team.  They have a cycle.  They are awful, but every few years their homegrown talent matures to the point where they start to be competitive, only to be traded away to wealthier, larger market teams as soon as they show promise.  My dad hated the economic structure of MLB.  He detested the way that large market teams had the money and could buy their way to championships.  He especially hated George Steinbrenner.

Game 6 of The National League Championship series of 2003 was the straw that broke the camel’s back for my dad.  For the first time since 1945, the Cubs were on the verge of winning the National League Championship.  In the bottom of the 8th inning with the Cubs leading 3 games to 2 and one out, a life long Cubs fan named Steve Bartman reached out with a number of other fans for a foul ball, but it was Bartman who interfered with Moises Alou’s ability to catch the ball for what would have been the 2nd out.  The Cubs were leading the game 3-0 and would have been 4 outs away from clinching the series and heading to the World Series.   Instead, the Marlins went on to score 8 runs in the inning, winning the game 8-3.  The Cubs were eliminated the next day.  My father was despondent and switched his allegiance for the remainder of his days to the Boston Red Sox, after which he was immediately rewarded with the first of three world series championships in 2004.  

As I watched the series and the game last night, I had a bit of a conflict.  I was torn.  As a past Yankees fan, a disillusioned Padres fan, the son of a life long Cubs fan, who’s father is dead and buried in his Cubs jacket, but defected to the also long suffering Boston Red Sox….. I had a soft spot in my heart and I was rooting for the Cubbies.  But then my real life friend, David Corbin, had placed a 25-1 $100 bet back in May on the Indians.  I’m sorry Dave.

Just Call On Me Brother....When You Need a Hand

A couple of years back one of my son's youth hockey teammates and his family were going through a rough time.  Brandon, or Brando as we called him was a sophomore at San Diego State University.  This was his second year playing for the Aztecs ACHA club team.









His dad, Robert Nevarez, was a genuine sweetheart of a man.   He and his wife, Barb were parents to Brando and his younger twin brothers,  Bryan and Brindan.  Yes Brandon's younger brother was named Brindan. The only way I could tell the twins apart was by how they parted their hair.  I used to purposefully mix them up to mess with them.  They called me Steeb.

The recession hit the Nevarezes hard.  Robert was a building contractor.  Sadly, around this time he was in the hospital for a hernia surgery and while in the operating room he suffered a stroke.

#18 Brando

Things went from bad to worse and Robert ended up in a coma.  The doctors said he was basically brain dead, would probably never wake up and if he did he would be a vegetable.  The family was within days of moving him to a facility where the plug was to be pulled.

And then a miracle happened.  He woke up. His recovery was nothing short of stupendous.  Robert never fully recovered, but he functioned. He got around. He was able to be with his family and live his life.  He got to watch Brandon play hockey for the next few years at State and watch the twins grow up into wonderful young men.

Brindan or Bryan? I have no idea

By the way, at this time I did a crowdfunding effort to raise money for Brando to be able to pay the team dues and continue with his hockey career.  Many readers of this blog chipped in and helped.

Well, fast forward to today.  I have sad news to report and a plea for some help for the family.  Robert had a heart attack within the past month and has been in the hospital. He fell back into a coma and this time he did not make it.  Sadly, he passed away last week.

I am including a link to the funding website should you want to help the family with their expenses.  It would be greatly appreciated.  The funeral is this Friday.

Thank you for reading this.  Thank you for any support you can provide.

Pain Pain, Go Away

SEE UPDATE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE:

They say, no pain...no gain!  I prefer: No pain, no pain!

If you know me you know I've had back pain since I was a kid. I took a bad hit playing bantam hockey at a game in Hamden when I was 13. I pummeled my head and neck playing football until that rainy Thanksgiving morning when we played Hillhouse in 1971 as the starting tight end when I happened to rupture my spleen on the opening kick off. 

All that self inflicted abuse resulted in 6 surgeries on my spine between 1978 and 2010. 

I've been on a personal quest all the while to find some relief from the constant, chronic and occasionally acute pressure and pain up and down my back and neck. If you go back to my very first entry in this blog you will see how it was this issue that got me writing to begin with.

You may have followed my journey to Mexico City where I hoped to be healed by the shaman who happened to croak before I had the chance to be see him. That was unfortunate.  For all involved.

I've been to every type of therapy, healer and specialist out there. I've tried every gimmick and device I could get my hands on. 

I took four years off from working and realized I was a happier, more fulfilled soul being productive, helping people and being engaged in making a difference. So I returned to work, got a good job, took all the difficult exams to get re-licensed and re-certified. And now I take my pain with me to work every day. It is there but I don't need to let it stop me or define me. 

I've received numerous cortisone injections at various levels of my lumbar vertebrae. Sometimes they help but usually only for a few days, a week or two at the most. 

Recently, my Pain Management doc suggested a new procedure. New to me anyway. I suspect it's been around for a while and I'm miffed no one mentioned it sooner. 

The procedure is called a Radio Frequency (RFA) Ablation. I think another word might be "cauterization". 

Simply put, I was mildly sedated at an out-patient surgical facility this past Monday morning at 8am. Still conscious, the doc made four injections on each side of my lower spine, eight in all. Each injection involved placing the tip of the needle right on the “foraminal" nerve at each each level. Those are the nerves that exit out the side of your vertebrae from the cord. A little burst of heat destroyed the nerve.  Bzzzztttt.  The entire procedure took ten minutes max.  I dozed off and was wheeled off to recovery. 

When I awoke I felt good. No low back pressure. No pain. I waited. It could have been the medication still having an effect. So I waited for it to wear off and for the pressure to return. Four days later and so far, so good. I'm walking taller. I feel great. Pain, my constant companion, is nowhere to be found. I'm optimistic that this is the real deal. The procedure is suppose to last for a year, maybe even two, before the nerves grow back and I would need to repeat the procedure. I can live with that. 

I have visions of playing golf, maybe reffing some hockey. Who knows. 

For now, as my our friend Flo, from Progressive says, I feel goooooood….real goooood.

UPDATE- 11/30/2015:  Well, that was a much ado about nothing.  No relief whatsoever.....it was all from the pain meds/anesthesia.

I've been through many appointments and find myself preparing for what will be my 7th back surgery coming up next week.  An L5-S1 MAS TLIF(Minimally invasive Surgery-Transforamenal Lumbar Interbody Fusion)  Looking forward to some relief.  I will update here as I go through the process.

Wish me luck! 

Lost In Space

Well, I started this blog couple of years ago at a time when I thought my son's hockey career might be nearing an end.

Fortunately, it did not.  At least not at that time. But it got me thinking which spurred me to write and I've had great time documenting the arc of this tale.

Without going into details, things came to a crashing halt last spring after the end of the season.  Family crisis, personal issues.  Nothing I felt comfortable publicly writing about.  And I still don't.

There were difficult days, lessons learned and a reassessment of what is important in life. As of this time it appears as though things have resolved themselves and everyone is on a very positive path.  Just without hockey.  Hopefully, there will be more hockey to come.  I suspect there will be.

One of the most shocking revelations for me was to realize the extent to which I was writing to tell this story, from my perspective...which by the way I stated was my intention in my very first chapter.  But what I failed to recognize was how much I was unaware of what was going on with my kid all this while.  It was startling to discover the extent to which I had missed the big picture.

So, yeah, my stories were fun to write and hopefully fun for you to read, but it wasn't the whole story.  I suppose it never is.  I liked my story. What was really happening though was invisible to me and when things came to light/hit the fan...it was damn sobering.

I've missed writing.  I love sharing my life and my story.  I haven't quite figured out how to do so given these recent circumstances.

Streaking at Bowdoin or Colby circa 1974-5 with Gene Cufone

So, a big part of my life is missing.  Hockey has been such an important part of who I am since I was 12 years old.  For the first time in many years, there are no tryouts.  There is no worrying about coaches, and competition, ice-time and injuries.  I will not be traveling to watch my son play.  I am not doing anything with The San Diego Gulls junior program as far as video or play by play goes.

I did throw my hat in the ring to coach the San Diego State University ACHA club team but was beat out by a BC alum who played some AHL and actually attended Tilton Prep school where my son went.  I was not sad when I didn't get the job.  5:30am practices, games every weekend and travel.  It would have been fun but a lot of work. I've had the chance to jump in as an assistant but my heart isn't in it.

The only hockey in my life these days is watching my L.A. Kings start another season.

Check out Roo surfing

You may or may not know, that I have undergone 6(as of 2025 it's now 9) spinal surgeries in my life...the last being in early 2010 and I ended up going on disability.  This gave me a lot of time to spend doing things like traveling to watch my kid skate, writing, hanging out at coffee shops and walking my dog.
Here is our doggie in a surfing contest this summer.

Earlier this year I returned to the world of work, finance, financial planning. Having taken the time off gave me valuable insight and perspective and I am a far better planner than I ever was.

Back at it.... #CFP

Max's first time on ice...1991ish

I am busy. I have focus and a purpose.   My wife of 27 years and I have fallen in love all over again.  We realized that we had not taken a vacation without it being hockey or soccer/softball or family related in years and years..  We are taking a trip to Belize right after the New Year.  It was going to be a romantic getaway, a second honeymoon.  Some how it's evolved and now both of my kids and some other friends are coming as well. We have two houses on the beach in Placencia, Belize that sleep about 10.  We have room for another few guests if you are interested! :-) We will sun, snorkel, drink and have a blast.

So...things are much different.  I hope to find my footing and get back on track with something worth writing about.  I really miss it.

Feel free to be in touch though the comment section or by emailing me at cosmo46@earthlink.net  if you like.  I'd love to hear from any of you.

The Secret of Life?

The Secret of Life

[This was initially written over 10 - 12 years ago. Please excuse the out dated scores and other references that are now long gone ] 1/29/24

Also…bear with me, the article uses poker as the context for establishing that the outcome of such things is not personal and has nothing to do with what I want. 

(I wrote this a over a year ago, but watching the Kings tie the Ducks to go to OT with 7 seconds left on the clock reminded me of this, so I thought I would post it.)

(update: Kings up 2-0 over Rangers in finals-  see end of blog)

I have a secret.  It's a way to relate to, possibly even trick the universe into giving me what I want.  It won me(my L.A. Kings) a Stanley Cup.  It's won me numerous hands and virtual money playing online poker.  It's helped my son break out of a scoring slump.  I'm still working on winning the lottery.  That hasn't happened yet.  Probably never will.

I realize that in reality, I have nothing to do with the outcome of many, if any,  of these examples.  But I would like to make the case that the less emotionally invested I can make myself in the outcome, the more likely the result I prefer occurs.

Here's the deal...it seems the more I want something the less likely I am to see it come to fruition.  I'll use the simple example of online poker.  Let's say there are a total of five people at the table.  The two pocket cards are dealt to me that only I am privy to.  It could be as good as pair of aces or as dismal as an unsuited 3 and an 8.  I either check, raise or fold based on whether or not I think my odds of winning the hand are favorable.  

I've played enough to realize that what appears to be a good hand turns out not to be and what looks unlikely can end up being a winner.  Worse yet, I've seen that often when I stay with a hand hoping to draw a needed card, it rarely comes.   Only to fold with what looks like a poor hand and then end up with 4 of a kind had I stayed with it.

The conclusion is:  I can't win!

The more I play the more I realize that the cards don't care, the results aren't personal, there is no such thing as luck.  

Here is what I mean and how I implement these observations into a winning strategy.  The cards don't care.  So, I place my bet, raise or fold depending on the actual odds, understanding that what ever cards are revealed are pure chance.  I expect to lose.  So my bets are commensurate with not expecting to draw the card or cards I would need for a straight, a flush or 3 of a kind, etc.  I expect that if I fold, the cards that are revealed during the flop, the turn or the river will be the exact cards I needed.

I rarely bet based on hoping or needing to draw a card.  I'm willing to fold and miss a great hand.  It's better to live to play another hand than to go all in or make a large bet praying for the poker gods to save my ass.

The underlying theme is to let go of any expectations for any needed result.  Again, the results aren't personal.  The result of the hand have nothing to do with how lucky or unlucky I am.  The cards are what the cards are.  They don't care how I feel about the outcome...in fact, the more invested my emotions are in the outcome, my experience is that it usually goes against me.

I noticed last year during the hockey season that sitting in front of the tv watching, hoping, needing the Kings to score that they rarely did.  Then  I started to notice that as soon as I took my attention off of the game, they would score.  Of course I realize their scoring or not scoring has nothing to do with me sitting there on my couch.  The puck goes in or it doesn't.  It doesn't matter what I think, feel or do.    However, as I continued watching the Kings over the rest of the season and into the playoffs, I practiced this mindful letting go of the result while watching the game.  

When the number eight seed Kings faced the top seeded Vancouver Canucks, things didn't look good for L.A.  I sat on my couch and expected the worse.  Then a funny thing began to happen.  The Kings who have rarely had playoff success marched through every round of the playoffs and ended up winning the Stanley Cup.  Did I have anything to do with that?  Of course not.  But in my own little internal reality, good things happen when I let go.  When I hold on to hope and have an emotional stake in the outcome things tend to be frustrating and fruitless.

A couple of years ago when my son was playing junior hockey, he was in the midst of a several game scoring slump.  I was watching his games live online.  The games were frustrating to watch.  I was not enjoying the thing that I enjoy most in the world.   There was a lot at stake.  My son was in the midst of his final year of junior hockey and the college recruiting process was in full swing.  He needed to produce to get recruited.  I watched every shot he would take with intensity, hoping and praying it would go in.  But the shots were blocked, would go wide or would hit the post.  Nothing was going in.  He would set up a nice goal for a line mate and then the ref would not credit him with the assist.  

I stopped and realized how miserable this was for me, not to mention for my son.  It occurred to me that I was missing the enjoyment and satisfaction of watching my kid skate.  He's a beautiful skater.  A magician of a playmaker.  Sometimes he scores and sometimes he doesn't.  I decided to put my theory to the test and take my attention off of the result and focus on enjoying watching him skate.    The next game I was a mindfully detached observer.  He scored, then again and then two more times.  He scored four goals that day.  His best game ever.  He went on to finish in the top four or five in scoring for the league.

This past year, his freshman college season, he was having a rough go.  He wasn't getting much ice time and when he did he wasn't being productive.  He got a chance to play in a game in January vs. Middlebury College...a team that had beaten his team earlier in the season, 3-2.  I detached while I watched.  Two goals and an assist later and 7-1 victory and I had to laugh.  

I went to the Kings game two in the Western Conference semi-finals vs. San Jose.(this was last year-2013)   With 1:43 left in the game and trailing 3-2, I jokingly said, "Ok, time to stop caring".   :22 seconds later the Kings scored the go ahead goal to make it a 4-3 win.

Did I have anything to do with it?  No.  I am fully aware of this.  But, the results are there and I have more internal peace than had I stressed out everytime a hand was dealt, the Kings played or my son shot the puck.

It's Tuesday, I'm off to buy a lottery ticket.  Will I win?  I don't expect to.

(update: Tonight is Monday.  Game 3 of the Kings vs. Rangers Stanley Cup Finals.  Saturday night I was home watching game two with my wife and son.  The score was all knotted at 4-4 in the second overtime period.  My daughter, who happens to be driving cross country texted me.  She said: Was that the final?  I responded: What final?

I thought about it for a second and it occurred to me she may be either listening to the game or someone had texted her that the game was over.  But the game wasn't over.  I was still watching and it was tied at 4-4.  Then I realized that maybe our TV was lagging a bit behind. Maybe I'd paused it at one point.  Who knows...but it occurred to me that we weren't watching in real time and my daughter had gotten the score ahead of us.

So I boldly proclaimed, as the Kings were entering the zone that they were about to score to win the game.  I called it right on the nose.  Just like that the puck came around to the point, Dustin Brown tipped it in and the Kings won.  I couldn't have made it up any better.

For a few minutes I let my wife and son think I'd actually called the goal.  Then I fessed up and told them about the heads up text I got from my daughter.

A bit later, I called my daughter and she had no idea what I was talking about.  She wasn't listening to the game.  No one had updated her.  The goal had not yet happened.  We were actually watching in real time.

As accidental and coincidental as it was I pulled that one out of thin air and called that goal.  Of course, I realize this was all just circumstance and timing, but it was pretty funny how it played out.

Game three is in four hours...I'm not calling anything.)