A Week in DC and Another Close One

Joe returned home Saturday evening from a week away.  He had been on a Wilson Grant trip, with 14 classmates, to Washington D.C.  It was a great experience for him - one that JP had in seventh grade, too - and one that we're grateful MBA provides through the Wilson Grant Program.  Joe got to spend time and become friends with some of his classmates that he didn't really know well, before the trip, which is kind of what it's all about.  

It was a trip packed with sightseeing with a historical emphasis.  One of the chaperones on the trip was Mr. McMurray, Joe's history teacher last year in a class that he thoroughly enjoyed.  It all worked out very well, actually.  Joe's favorite things to do were going to the Washington Nationals' game, where the boys took off their shirts in between innings and were shown on the Jumbotron, much to their delight.  He also was really taken with the Spy Museum, which I had never heard of.  An intern who is a graduate of MBA and working for Senator Hagerty gave them a tour of the Senate Chamber, which Joe enjoyed.

JP tried one final time to qualify for New Balance Nationals in Philadelphia by running the mile in a Toad track event at Green Hill High School in Mt. Juliet.  He ran hard, set a new PR at 4:20:12, but came up a little more than two seconds short of the 4:18 time he needed to qualify.  He was disappointed, of course, but seemed a little more philosophical about it than he was after the mile race at Lee University a couple of weeks ago.  

JP was in the second heat when, in reality, he should have been in the first and fastest heat.  Two of the other competitive runners in his heat didn't show up, so he led wire to wire and won his heat easily.  The problem, though, was that after the pacer left the track after two laps, it was harder to maintain the pace he needed to run a 4:18.  If he would have run in the first heat, chasing faster, collegiate runner, might have helped him run just a bit faster.  That's track, though, so we'll never know.

He ran the 800 a little more than an hour after the mile race, and clocked a respectable 1:57 +.  It was slower than the PR he ran in the 800 at Lee University (1:55:02) but still impressive, as he raced the 800 after having just raced the mile a little earlier.  My guess is he would have been close to sub-1:55 had he run only the 800.  

In the big picture, JP finished the track season strong, I think, setting PR's race after race.  Yes, it's tough to wonder what might have been had he not been hurt early and missed more than one month of training time.  But, again, that's track.  I'm proud of how hard he worked to get back and how he's performed since he got back.

Sunday afternoon, Joe played in a couple of tournament games in Donelson with his Bucket Squad basketball team.  Nash was in California, but Thomas McDaniel picked up three boys from the Stars' Gold team.  The boys won two games on Saturday to gain the top seed in their pool.  Through the grapevine, I heard that Pike had broken out of his Stars' shooting slump and was raining 3's during both games on Saturday.

Sunday, it was the same thing.  Pike looked like a different player, and not just because he was sporting a summer crew cut.  In game one, he hit 3 after 3 to the point that the other team's parents were talking about what a pure shooter he is.  Joe hit a 3 early then, later, hit a step back 3, which I didn't know he had in his bag.  A little James Harden.  He made some nifty passes, as well, and ran the offense with confidence.

I left partway through the final game, which the Bucket Squad won by 5.  Joe played okay, although not as well as the first game.  He thought he was fouled on a 3-pointer early in the second half and complained to the referee in a way that I am not comfortable with.  Private school basketball, I call it, when a young player doesn't get a call, turns his hands over and palms up, whines and complains to the referee.  

A play or two later, a kid came over Joe's back to get a rebound and, again, Joe didn't get the call.  Why?  Because he complained so much about not getting the previous call.  That's how it works.  We talked about it afterwards and, hopefully, Joe will clean that up in the future.

It was a good tournament title for the Bucket Squad.  It reminded me of how much more free and loose the boys play when the coach is relaxed and not uptight.  I was proud of Joe and all his teammates.  

Bucket Squad.  Joe, Thomas McDaniel, Pike, Rex, Cole, Elliott, Aaron, and Chandler.

One Damn Second

Cross country and track are strange sports.  I love them both, although at a certain level they're designed to break your heart. 

At Lee University yesterday evening, JP ran in the fist of two heats of the mile.  It's not a distance he has raced often because, in high school meets, the 1,600 is a much more common race.  As far as races go, the mile is 9.334 meters longer than the 1,600.  Actually, that's something I didn't know until this weekend.

JP's goal was 4:19, which he felt was fast but doable.  His thought was that running a 4:19 would qualify him for New Balance Nationals in Philadelphia in late June.  

JP left the starting line running a fast pace and settle in behind the leaders, in third and, later, fourth place.  I was standing not he far side of the track, so I could encourage him at roughly the 200 meter mark of each lap.  He looked good and, by lap three, was doing a good job of staying connected with the lead pack of three runners.  

The same was true on the final lap, although JP appeared to tire ever so slightly in the last 100 meters.  A runner nipped him at the finish by less than .30 and took fourth place.  He finished in 4:20:52, so very close to running a sub-4:20, which was hi goal.

Afterwards, when he realized he had just missed a sub-4:20, JP was disconsolate.  I was on the infield with him and tried my best to console him.  He knew he had missed by a second, probably less, and there wasn't anything I could say that really mattered.  Not in the moment, anyway.  I hurt for him, terribly, because he was so disappointed.  

He's worked so hard to get back to where he was - and where he expected to be - before he was injured.  And he's made it, almost.  JP ran a PR in the mile yesterday, just as he did in the 800 the day before. That's something, for sure.  He continues to improve, to run faster.  Still, it wasn't quite good enough, at least not in his mind.   

Less than one damn second off.  So close.  

Before JP ran his cool down, he was talking to one of the McCallie runners, a senior.  The McCallie runner was talking about how tough the conditions were for the race.  Hotter and more humid than expected, with an annoying headwind on second 200 meters of each lap.  

"No one ran their best today," he said, somewhat philosophically.  "But, that's track."  

Truer words have never been spoken.

That's track.  Indeed.

JP and I talked about it later.  I reminded him of the importance of keeping things in perspective, in track and in life.  I also reminded him that God has a plan for him and for all of us.  This is just part of it.  I hope our conversation helped.  

Later, I picked up takeout burgers and we ate dinner together while we watched Game 7 of the Spurs - Thunder in the Western Conference Finals.  Honestly, those are the moments I will treasure when JP leaves for college in a little more than a year.  Holed up in an unfamiliar town after a baseball game or race, eating dinner together, and just hanging out.  The two of us.  

Sometimes, like now, it seems to me that JP's entire childhood has passed me by in a few seconds.  

Some Can Whistle (Again)

As I write this, I'm sitting on the front porch of a quaint house in downtown Cleveland, Tennessee, a city that strangely enough, I've never visited in my 50 + years of living in Tennessee.  

Why I am here?  That's a difficult question to answer, existentially. 

JP is running in a track meet at Lee University this weekend.  I was able to find an Airbnb a few short blocks away from campus and a five minute drive from the track.  It's a quite a nice, older neighborhood, tucked away away between downtown, historic Cleveland on one side and a series of strip malls on the other.  A bit of an oasis, it seems to me.  Some smaller, modest houses and a few larger, almost antebellum houses on Ocoee Street.  

It's strange to me that I've never been to Cleveland, particularly since I have several fraternity brothers from here, a few of whom I was quite close to during college.  Speaking of which, on a lark I decided to try to track down Greg Mooney, my little brother in the fraternity, as I drove into town late yesterday afternoon.  I was successful and on the eve of his older daughter's wedding, we had a nice chat on the phone.  

JP ran the second heat of the 800 last night.  He finished 5th, I think, in a fast race, clocking a 1:55:02.  That's another PR for JP by more than a second almost a sub-1:55.  JP was pleased, I think, as he's beginning to feel like himself on the track again, which is nice.  H runs the mile tonight, in about an hour and a half.  I hope he has another good race.

To close out May and "Larry McMurtry Month" - self-designated - I just finished "Some Can Whistle" (1989), a sequel to "All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers" (1972).  Both of the novels are semi-autobiographical, particularly "Some Can Whistle," as the protagonist is a novelist and, later, a television producer, Danny Deck.  Neither are particularly uplifting - actually, they're kind of bleak - but Larry McMurtry is one of my favorite writers and, as always, these two novels are well written a resonate with me.

What's really strange, though, is I had a fairly vivid recollection of reading "All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers," and Danny Deck as a young man is a character who always stayed with me.  The scene at the end, when he drowned the manuscript of his second novel in the Rio Grand, was a memorable one, and something I had never forgotten.

When I picked out "Some Can Whistle" from the bookcase in my office upstairs at home, I assumed it was a book I had purchased sone ago but never read.  It wasn't until I opened it and turned a few pages that I saw I had finished reading it - the first time - on February 4, 1993, more than 33 years ago.  I would have been in my last year of all school in Knoxville when I originally read it.

What's really strange and, honestly, a little troubling, is that I had absolutely no independent recollection reading "Some Can Whistle" the first time.  When I re-read it, nothing at all was familiar to me.  Not the story, the characters, the plot, or the ending.  Nothing.  Still, I wouldn't have dated it and put my name in it in February of 1993 if I hadn't read it.  Weird.

Maybe it hit me differently now because I am older and Danny Deck in "Some Can Whistle" is closer to my age.  Danny Deck in "All My Friends Are Going to Be Strangers" was closer to my age, then, when I read it for the first time.  

It reminded me, too, that I read fiction not necessarily to remember what I have read, because often times that fades.  I can't recall the details of "Cold Mountain" (Charles Frazier) or "American Pastoral" (Phillip Roth), although I loved both of those books.  I read fiction because I enjoy it - in the moment - and simply for the love of reading.  That's the takeaway for me, I think.  

Now, it's off to the track to watch JP run.

Going to State!

I've not written about too much but track season has not been what I hoped it would be for J.P.  The injury that kept him from running for six weeks derailed his season before it got started.  Although he cross-trained his ass off while he couldn't run - elliptical, stationary bike, weight lifting, swimming - it turns out that you can't get in prime running shape without . . . running.  

Since he's been released to return to running, he's been running on alternate days for the most part.  He's not doing too much distance, weekly or on any given run.  He's still cross-training, too.  

When I saw JP run in the Scott Hartman Invitational, I knew it would be a longer road back than I had hoped.  He didn't have the sustained, top level speed and stamina that he normally would have.  Late in the race, runners passed him, which is not something that ever happened before.  To me, it was like watching a sports car drive that didn't have a fifth gear or a bird try to fly with a damaged wing.  

It was incredibly painful for me to watch runners pass JP at the end of races - at MBA and Harpeth Hall for the Metro Championships - when he ran out of gas.  I was emotional and my heart hurt for him as I watched him struggle.  Runners, from his school and other schools, passed him late in the 3,200, 1,600, and 800.  JP's was still posting respectable times in these races, particularly compared to an average high school runner.  What is hard for him, though, is that he's never been an average high school runner.  He's always been outstanding.

When he ran in the 3,200 last Monday in the Region Track Meet, the hope was that he would qualify for State.  He ran with his teammate, Gabe, the entire race.  On the last of eight laps, however, Gabe outkicked him and won the race, as JP finished in second place.  Again, the fifth gear was missing.  The next night, after West and East Tennessee ran their Region Track Meets, we learned that JP had finished in 9th place in his division, one spot short of qualifying for State in the 3,200.  Still, JP's 9:29:38 was a PR for him in the 3,200.  

He was very, very disappointed.  Again, my heart hurt for him.  It was small consolation, really, that the runner who grabbed the eighth and final spot beat him by seven or eight seconds.  That's an eternity, really, in a race like the 3,200.  On Friday, he still had the 1,600, followed by the 800.  I was hoping for a miracle of sorts.  And that just what I got.

JP and Gabe quickly moved to the front of the pack in the 1,600, with their friend, Clark S. close behind.  The three of them ran together for the first couple of laps before it became clear that the race was between JP and Gabe.  JP actually took the lead, briefly, in the third lap.  When the boys hit the first turn on the final lap, though, Gabe surged ahead and stayed ahead.  JP just didn't have the last lap speed to stay with Gabe, who crossed the finish line more than five yards ahead of JP.  

What was encouraging, though, is that JP's 4:19:17 was  PR for him in the 1,600.  Not the 4:18 he was hoping for but still damn fast and still a PR.  The question, though, was would it be fast enough to qualify him for State?

A few minutes later, JP walked up to me on the infield at MBA with a huge smile on his face.  "I'm in," he said.  "Qualified eighth."  

"Are you sure?" I asked.  "Yes, Coach Russ said I'm in," he replied.  My heart soared as I hugged him.  My heart soared higher, if that was even possible, as I watched teammates walk up and congratulate him.  Coach Perry walked up to me and gave me a hug, too, then told me how proud he was of JP.  "He's such a great kid," he said, which meant a lot.  He knows how hard JP has worked to get back to some semblance of his running self. 

How did I feel?  Relieved for JP, of course.  Proud.  Mostly just incredibly happy for him.  His hard work had paid off.  At last.

An hour and a half later, JP ran the 800.  Surprisingly, he stayed right with the leader, Ryder O., for the first lap, which they ran in a blistering 55 seconds.  As they started the second lap, Ryder hit the gas an pulled away, finishing just over 1:51, which is a smoking fast 800.  JP ran through the tap, which we had talked about leading up to the race, and finished second in 1:56:78, just slightly off his PR of 1:56:52 from last year.

For the night, JP ran two PR's and almost had a third.  He's not there but he's getting there, I think.  It looked like he raced with joy again, with a little more confidence.  He  ran free, especially in the 800.  No pressure.  He just . . . ran.  I hope that continues next week at State.  I think it will.

  

 

Old Friends in the Bluegrass State

As I sit her in a coffee shop in Shelbyville, Kentucky (Sixth & Main Coffee House) on Sunday morning, I am struck by how deep old friendships can be.  

After we lost one of our own, David Easterling, a little over a year and a half ago, our group committed to trying to be more intentional about getting together and seeing each other, as a group or two or three at a time.  To tighten the circle, if you will.  In some ways, it has worked and in some ways, it has not worked, at least in my view.  

JP and I had a delightful visit with Neil Lynch and his wife, Cindy, in Columbus a year ago December, when we visited Ohio State and watched Tennessee get trounced in the college football playoff.  I went to a Braves' game last fall with Doug Brown and stayed overnight with T.B., which was great.  My family and I just missed Greg Westfall when we stayed at his  house in the mountains outside Brevard, North Carolina, when were on spring break a couple of months ago.

Doug, ever the organizer, put together a trip to Louisville, Kentucky, and surrounding areas, in part because Louisville is relatively easy for all of us to get to.  Plus, Mary Easterling, David's wife, lives here and it gave him a chance to visit with her.  In attendance from Thursday - Sunday were Chris Reber (Fort Wayne, Indiana), Jay Miller (San Francisco), Neil Lynch (Columbus, Ohio), Mike Matteson (Nashville), Steve Buzzell (Nashville), Mike Corley (Sarasota, Florida), and Greg Westfall (Hilton Head, South Carolina).  Those are some of my oldest friends dating back to junior high school at Northside.

It would have been easy, very easy, for me not to make the effort to drive up to Louisville, because I was not going to miss JP running the 1,600 and the 800 in the Region track meet on Friday, especially after he just missed qualifying for the State meet in the 3,200 on Monday night.  Since the 800 was not scheduled until 8:20 p.m., my choices were to drive up after he ran, which would put me arriving well after midnight due to the time change or leave at 4:30 or 5 a.m. Saturday morning, so I could arrive in time for the 9:30 a.m. departure for the bourbon trail tour.  

I chose the latter, as I did not want to miss a chance to see my guys, even if it was only for 24 hours.  You know what?  I am really glad I did, because it was so good to see everyone and it was great fun.

Doug rented an Airbnb - nine or 10 bedrooms - on the outskirts of Shelbyville, Kentucky.  It has a swimming pool, unused by us, a gaming barn (pool table, ping pong table, darts, golf simulator, etc.), and an entertainment room, complete with a karaoke machine.  

Aided by Chat GPT, Jay designed a round robin pool tournament over two days, which matched all of us up with different partners.  Chat GPT kept up a running commentary after each game, which was hilarious.  After winning my first two games - including one in which I unscrewed my cue stick and used to top half to make a difficult shot late in the game - I played poorly in the semi-finals and lost.  Neil won the tournament, quietly, because of course he did.

As I mentioned, I arrived in time to depart by shuttle - shout out to our driver, Holly Wells - for a guided tour of Bourbon Trace.  Now, my idea of fun is not to sample bourbon at 10:15 a.m., but the tours were relatively interesting.  The early highlight was Doug being cut off during the tasting at the second stop on the tour, Four Roses.  Somehow, he was already reasonably drunk but, mostly, just acted silly.  

Holly quickly figured out that our group, with the exception of Jay, was less interested in touring actual bourbon making facilities than have a drink or two.  Once that was established, we had a fantastic time sitting outside in Adirondack chairs at one stop whose name escapes me, talking and drinking mint juleps - my drink of choice for no apparent reason - beers, etc.  At our next stop, we sat outside on the covered patio, talked more, then ordered four giant pizzas to take home for an early dinner.  After we realized that Holly loved a lot our "our music" from the 80's in spite of our age difference, she played the Cars, exclusively, on the 30 minute drive home.  Tremendous!  

We ate an early dinner, finished the pool tournament, listened to music, and joked around with each other, like we've been doing for 45 years.  It was damn near a perfect late afternoon and early evening. 

As the sun set, and day turned to night, we settled in for the evening and, well, just sat and talked.  We reminisced about the way things were and shared memories - a lot of memories - of times gone by and friends we have lost, by death or because they had drifted out of our lives.  We gave each other a lot of grief in the comfortable, playful way old friends do, and we had serious talks about our families and lives, too.

A highlight of the evening was when I telephoned Tommy Campsey to confirm the details of a story Doug had told about Campsey, on patrol, catching him making out with Anita G. in a dead end in our subdivision in the early 80's.  Tommy also regaled us with stories about policing in Brentwood in the late 70's and 80's, including a blow-by-blow recounting of the time he arrested George Jones for drunken driving on I-65 after receiving an anonymous tip.  It was priceless!

Maybe the biggest highlight was when I was able to reach Rip Pewett, who is on a two-month trip to New Zealand.  For sure, he's had his ups and downs the last few years, so it was a special moment for all of us to talk with him. 

I ended the evening with a couple of bourbons (O.H. Ingram River Aged) on the back patio, sitting in front of a fire that Neil and Matteson built in the outdoor fireplace.  I convinced Doug to have a serious conversation for 30 minutes, much to everyone's delight.  I kept him on the clock and in spite of his heightened state of inebriation, he managed, for the most part, to talk seriously for a half hour before he began asking someone, anyone, to get on his shoulders.  

For me, it was a needed respite from my incredibly busy personal and professional life.  A chance to reconnect with the friends who have known me the longest.  In many way, none of us have changed that much - or so it seems to me - in terms of our personalities.  Everyone is pretty much the same, in the way, as they were 40 + years ago.  

In the river of life, as you travel downstream, floating comfortably or, sometimes, paddling like hell, it's nice to to stop at an island every now and then, and spend some time with old friends.  Time to reflect, to recharge, to remember, to laugh, to live.  

That's exactly what we did, in a large, somewhat secluded house in a dead end in a neighborhood outside Shelbyville, Kentucky.  

It was perfect.

Another One Bites the Dust

Late in the week, word leaked out on social media that 12South Taproom was closing the end May after a 20 year run.

I mean, damn.  One of the last OG's in 12South, soon to be gone in puff of smoke after some heartless developer razes the building and erects an ugly building housing 12 condominiums or apartments in its place.  The 12South I knew and fell in love with ceased a long time ago but at least there were remnants - Portland Brew and the Taproom - that were reminders of what the neighborhood was like before tourists and bridesmaids took it over.  No more.

When the Taproom originally opened on June 6, 2006, owner Will Stuff was married to Christy Shuff.  She owned and operated Rumor's Wine Bar, which was a couple of doors down the Taproom.  They later divorced, Rumor's relocated to the Gulch (due, of course, to the construction of an early residential/retail development), then quite closed a few years later.  

Originally, the Taproom was a gourmet market with a small bar that served craft beers and filled customers' growlers.  (Growlers!  That's actually was a thing back in the day.). There was a hand-painted, blue sign outside on the front of the building - 12South Taproom - and picnic tables on the front patio.  In later years, Will renovated and covered the front patio and hosted trivia and live music there every week.

The Taproom found its footing when it pivoted away from the gourmet market concept, expanded the kitchen, and began serving food.  The menu always was eclectic - burritos, sandwiches, and entrees - and craft beer selection was the best in town in the heyday of the craft beer renaissance.  

After JP was born in 2008, on weekend afternoons I often strolled him up from our old house on Elliott Avenue to the taproom.  While he slept contentedly in the City Elite stroller, I read the New Yorker, worked the crossword puzzle, or talked to the bartender, Sweeney.  He was the son of a lawyer and former judge I knew in passing, and once hit two or three home runs off me at East Park, playing for his dad's law firm softball team.

Things were so different then.  As I recall, the Taproom had followed the lead of many other restaurants and stopped allowing smoking, inside or out.  There was a mild backlash, I think, as the smokers stayed away.  Those Saturday and Sunday afternoons in the Taproom with JP were quiet, peaceful, and memorable, especially when he woke up and I gave him his milk and snack.  

For a while, I arranged for special guests to meet me there while JP napped.  Matteson drove up from Franklin one Saturday afternoon.  Another time, Rip Pewett drove over and had a beer or two with me while JP napped.  Those were the days, for sure.  I remember trying to convince Jude that JP and I had been to get ice cream after his nap, which worked until she saw a photo of him sitting on the bar with the beer taps behind him.

Side note:  Right on time, two women from a bachelorette party just strolled in for coffee at 8th and Roast.

The Taproom was a place where business meetings happened at lunch, couples on first dates when to dinner, parents took kids for a family dinner, and youth baseball or soccer teams had after game get togethers.  Just last year, I took my law league softball team there for beers after the end of season tournament.  

Over the years, our family got takeout from the Taproom a thousand teams.  The Salmon BLT, and early favorite of mine, became one of JP's go to meal, too.  We always ordered the hummus and pita, too.

The Taproom was (I am already speaking of it in the past tense) a neighborhood anchor for 12South, a reminder of what the neighborhood used to be like before it became crowded with weekend tourists shopping in high end boutique clothing stores.  No more.

Because I've not drank beer much at all the past several years, the Taproom hasn't been a regular stop for me, not like it was in the early years.  Still, it was comforting knowing it was there and we've always enjoyed the food.  

I'm going to get by the Taproom, maybe as soon as this weekend, and get a beer for old times sake.  

The Spring of My Discontent

Sometimes, when I don't write as often, I think it's because I'm unhappy or discontented.  Other times, it's because I'm busy.  Or, maybe, I'm taking the wonder of life for granted.  I guess it could be some combination of all three.

Although I've run at least three miles or walked at least 30 minutes or more almost every day this month, I've had a difficult time getting any traction with my running this year.  I had planned to run long more often or, at least, to run more mileage.  Rather, I've found myself running three miles on most days that I run with a longer run on fairly rare occasions at Shelby Bottoms.  Twice I've bonked while trying to run my 5-mile loop around Elmington Park and back.  My mile pace has been good during my runs but the distance hasn't been there.  Maybe I'm getting old.

As I've written before, it's been a bit of lost spring athletic season for the boys.  JP's injury has slowed him down, literally, on the track.  After missing the early track meets, he's been slower than he wanted or expected in the 800 and 1,600 at the meets in which he has run.  Fortunately, he's been running pain-free, which is what we want.  As his mileage has picked up, I think he's feeling more comfortable running.  Hopefully, his times will pick up a bit at the MBA Senior Day track meet this afternoon and at the Regional Meet next week.  I would love for him to qualify individually for an event or two at the State Meet but I think that's going to be a tall task for him.

Joe's school baseball season was, well, meh.  He wasn't able to get any significant playing time on the infield.  He began batting higher in the order late in the season, as he began hitting better.  Maybe he can carry that over to the travel baseball season.  Joe pitched a couple of games and did relatively well, although I'd like him to throw harder.  Still, no windup or curve ball.  I'm going to try to get him with a good hitting/pitching coach as school winds down.

Basketball has been a mixed bag, too.  Last Sunday, for example, the Stars Gold played at Lebanon High School.  Joe's squad rallied late, as they tend to do, but lost a close game to Chapel Hill.  The Bucket Squad closed the game, as Joe, Cole ("Zeebo"), and Pike played most of the last 10 minutes of the game.  Joe hit a big 3-pointer late but missed the front end of a 1-and-1, which hurt.  I was surprised, as was he, because he's been knocking down free throws as of late.  

Joe doesn't move particularly well laterally, so he's had a tough time staying in front of the man he guards, at times.  His ball handling limitations have been apparent, too, as his team has begun to play against quicker and more athletic players.  He can correct that somewhat, I think, if he works at it.  His 3-point shot is still inconsistent, although he can improve there, too.  He needs to become a knockdown 3-point shooter if he's going to continue to play in the coming years.  

Work is, well, work.  Draining.  Busy as hell with clients and office stuff.  On the one hand, my practice is thriving.  Happy clients for the most part.  Good reviews.  New clients coming in and I'm able to be selective, as I refer cases out I don't want to handle for one reason or another.  On the other hand, it's a lot.  That's just the nature of the beast.

Speaking of work, time to get going.