Check the Stats

Statistics involve numbers and information that I somehow find to be simultaneously incredibly interesting and tremendously boring. For example, if I were watching a football game between the Chicago Bears and Seattle Seahawks and Chicago goes into halftime up by a score of 7-6 and some blurb appears at the bottom of the screen that says "This is the first time in NFL history that two teams within the same conference that are named after animals have gone into halftime with a combined score that adds up to a prime number" part of me would think "Wow! That's fascinating!" While the less intellectually inclined side of me would be subconsciously screaming "Who the heck is digging this sort of information up?!"

This got me thinking on a more personal level. Although my competitive playing days in sports are well behind me since puberty seemed to hit all of the other guys in my school like a truck while heading at me with the ferocity of a tricycle with training wheels, I would be very interested to know if there were any stalkerish statistician who put to paper the final stats I compiled while participating in baseball, soccer and hockey in my younger years.

The first sport I remember playing as a youngster was baseball, or to be more specific, tee-ball. Chronologically, I was screwed from the start because by the time I signed up for tee-ball I had already experienced my first birthday party with a pinata. This set a precedent that if I was going to have to go through the effort of hitting something with a bat and run like a wild-man immediately afterwards, at least there would be candy involved. In the case of tee-ball, the only reward I got for reaching first base before the other teams' collection of kindergartners lack of communication and cooperation got the ball in that direction with the speed of a geriatric GPS, was being greeted by a five year old first baseman who looked and smelled like he had just pooped his pants in anticipation of absolutely anything happening in his general vicinity. On the defensive side of the ball, I was placed in the outfield and given the underdevelopment in the physical fitness of five year olds, I saw about as much action as was necessary to keep me conscious and in an upright position

"Is that ball coming over here? No? Oh, OK."  

I know that baseball is America's past time, but the only way you'll get a pasty, white child to stand around outside for a few hours with minimal movement is waiting in lines at an amusement park, because that way I am at least guaranteed some sense of excitement. Once the ball left the tee and I was being pitched to by opponents at my age level who still found it funny to call me "Four Eyes", I felt that it was time to call off the quest for Cooperstown and hang up the hat and gloves. Still, it would be interesting to know my batting average, on base percentage and number of RBIs, although I'm sure if I ever did find out these numbers I would be very dissapointed  

Next up in my efforts on the Spike TV series "Joes vs This Kid Blows" was soccer. My decision to play soccer was solely based on the economics principle of supply and demand. Soccer is the most popular sport in the world, therefore, they will be in need of the most players so that was my best bet as far as the probability of going pro was concerned. Unfortunately for me, as I would learn during the gym class draft for elementary school kickball, I fell on the wrong side of the line between demand and desperation. I may not have picked off any passes, but I picked so much grass I should've gotten a cut of the pay for grounds-keeping at Muldoon Park. Everyone else seemed to be able to kick the ball as if it were a spring-loaded from in a canon, but for whatever reason, when the ball got to me it magically transformed into a metal-plated medicine ball that traveled about as far as a stubborn child in a grocery store.

I started out playing goalie. This was a strategic move made by my first coach who was that dad who was determined that passing and kicking a ball were much more important life lessons to teach his son in lieu of unimportant aspects of life such as social skills, teamwork or even a pinch of politeness. I was placed in goalie so that, if we won, I had little or nothing to do with it. However, if we lost, the onus of the onslaught could be place on my seven year old inability to effectively cover the entirety of a net the size of a military aircraft hangar. I soon realized that an eight year olds shot has two settings, atrociously off-target and excruciatingly accurate because they were either kicking the ball no where near where they wanted it to go or right into the one understandably small area I didn't want it to go, that I would later learn had a relatively similar name. After enduring several years of the emotional and physical pain of losing faith in any future in FIFA or fatherhood, the coach decided I had graduated to play defense or Beater or whatever the heck it is called. I was the last obstacle between an opponent and a clean shot at the goalie and proved to be as much of an obstruction as a pylon or a person handing out water to runners in a marathon. Someone would get by me and I'd think "Wow! He's really good."

One particular year in elementary, my team featured a roster that would make up 2/3 of the names that ended up on the varsity football team that went undefeated for two years winning back to back state championships. We destroyed everyone and by "we" I played the role of that one kid in the group project for school who never did anything, but I watched as my team obliterated the opponents by double digit scores. We did everything we could to even the playing field, our team used less guys, I would say mean and hurtful things to my own teammates to try to get them off of their game (this did not go over well coming from a house where I was grounded for using forbidden four letter foul words such as "heck" and "dumb"). In an odd twist of events, I even scored two goals one game. I was so excited to actually have contributed to the clobbering that I hugged the guy who passed it to me. Teammates may shed blood, sweat and tears together, but they should never hug........EVER! I can tell you with relative certainty that the two goals I scored in that game were the only times that Telemudo  would've erupted as a result of something I had done, but there's just no way of knowing how many saves, assists, steals or hugs I provided over the years that helped lead my team to victory.

I have saved the sport in which I performed my best for last, hockey. That's right, I, Mark Woonton performed best in a sport that said "Let's take a physically and chemically imbalanced kid, slap a pair of razor-having high heels on his feet and place him on a sheet of ice." In contrast to my career on the pitch, I was disbanded from any defensive duties on the ice following the discovery that I could not (or maybe just would not) skate backwards very well. The trick I was always taught for skating backwards was to make a "c" with my skates. Given the lack of strength on my left side, that foot tended to just go along for the ride and slide back causing my skate marks to make a "Cl" in the ice, which, not for nothing, is the symbol for chlorine on the periodic table of elements. This may very well be the reason that my coach's eyes got all red and teary any time he saw me attempt to skate backwards.

As a Left Winger, I got to play in the offensive zone a lot and shoot the puck and I ended up scoring quite a few goals. My greatest asset was one that I inherited from my father. That is the fact that I am a "Morning Person" and my mental and vocal aptitude to annoy and perform are at their peak the moment my feet hit the floor as I get out of bed. This did not sit or skate well with the hibernating bunch of hormonal hockey players I took to the ice with at 6 a.m. on Saturday mornings.

There were two goals I scored that stick out in my mind. The first one I remember I was skating towards the goalie with the puck and gave my wrist the little "snap" that ensured the puck would see some airtime. While I openly admit the I had not planned on this next part, the puck headed right for the goalie's fully protected but somehow still fear-stricken face. Whether it be out of instinct or fear of injury, the goalie ducked his head and the puck met with the mesh directly behind him.

The story behind my second most memorable goal involves a beginning with a phrase that notably agitated comedian, George Carlin and  that I feel I reside a little to "up north" to start a story with. That is the phrase "My dad always told me." Nonetheless, among the many wise words I've heard from the man responsible for giving me life was "Play until the whistle." I can't tell you how many times on Sportscenter I've watched defenders in basketball and football seem to give up on chasing someone down.

Among my least favorite places to be on the ice rink was fighting for a loose puck in front of the other teams net. There's just a lot of swinging, slashing and suplexing going on that the ref can not see because of all of the commotion in the crease. On one particular play, the goalie had trapped a piece of the puck sticking out from under his pad so I blocked out all the noise and gnarly slashes to my knees, put my Athletic ADHD on hold and focused on hammering the puck home. I want to be clear, everything I did was completely legal. I was a hockey player, not Jason Vorhees and I understood the difference. I could still see the puck so, in the words of Happy Gilmore, I just tapped it in. His bags were packed all I did was send him home. Just gave him a little tappy. A tap tap tapperoo. The coach on the other team was furious and he shouted "Hey ref! Get that kid to stop digging on my goalie!"

He sounded pretty serious so I wanted to know the call and consensus on whether I would be skating over to my teammates to celebrate a goal or if I would be sent to the "sin bin" to think about what I had done. My gaze shifted from Old Yeller to the Zamboni Zebra just in time to see the official shoot the crotchety coach a look that said "Really? You want me to penalize him for what, excessive effort? Are you on crack?" I know refs are number two on the list of reasons why your team lost the big game, ranking slightly behind sheer, dumb luck and they are hated by the vast majority of the general public, but I have never wanted to high-five a ref so bad in my life and that is why that goal will forever be one of my favorites.

That just about wraps up my playing career, not counting all the time at summer camp I spent playing Ping Pong, Four Square and Knockout. Unfortunately, the stats for those and the sports mentioned above will forever be clouded in unathletic obscurity.  

Unlucky Charms

Luck: According to sore losers, It's the second leading cause of a heavily favored team losing a championship game right behind bad calls made by the officials. Or in other words, had these things not at all related to athletic awareness or physical performance gone our way, we definitely would've won. I'll tell you what, just score points and don't allow the other team to score and then you're guaranteed a win, mmmkay?

19th century poet and essayist, Ralph Waldo Emerson is quoted as saying "Shallow men believe in luck or in circumstance. Strong men believe in cause and effect." So ladies, if a man ever looks at you and says "I am the luckiest man alive"........RUN! The sad excuse of a homo sapien you have slouching before you is not worthy of your time with his false sense of flattery. So, by this logic, the most assuring thing a man can say to a young lady is "Man, I sure am glad that I decided to come over here and talk to you because it seems to have worked out quite well for the both of us" (We may want to give this one some time because I foresee it taking a while to get used to given the initial sense of arrogance it seems to imply). Here are a list of occurrences that are commonly believed to cause or foreshadow bad luck and their optimistic alternate meanings:  

Walking under a ladder is typically seen as bad luck. However, this actually means someone will experience a tremendous growth spurt within the next year.

Seeing a healthy black cat in one of the Carolinas means that Carolina Panthers quarterback, Cam Newton. will stay healthy for the entirety of the current or upcoming NFL season. This means he will be making smarter decisions when he scrambles and avoiding big hits and cheap shots.

Stepping on a crack may have given family chiropractors a scare in the past. Today, it just means that over the next year, someone will either experience healing in a severed relationship or take an exotic vacation to another continent.

Ending the life of a lady bug used to be seen as an atrocious act against insects and a milestone to misfortune. Contrarily, if a man kills a lady bug, it is a sign that in the near future, women will find his jokes much funnier and essentially be much less creeped out by his presence. In short, he will "kill it." When a woman kills a ladybug, it is a sign that the female coworker they haven't quite seen eye to eye with on things in the past will become more receptive and open-minded in the upcoming year.

At one time, Swallowing gum was viewed as a hazard to a persons' health and happiness. I am happy to report that the accidental ingestion of Orbit leads to seven years of a substantial rise in discernment and self-control with regards to when people should and should not say certain things. Almost as if something were causing their lips to stick together.

If breaking a mirror is bad luck, then my CR-V is on the highway to hell. Am I partly to blame for that? Yes. but let's not point fingers here. In some surreal circles, breaking a mirror foreshadows a year of tremendous leaps and bounds made it ones physical health that result in that person becoming almost unrecognizable to those closest to them.

Spilling salt may bring about some bad news in someone's life. My response is that if something may be the result of "first date jitters" at a restaurant, it's probably not a good idea to attach some satanic sentiment to it. If you should choose to believe it, this condiment conundrum may mean that the near future will bring the "offender" a clean bill of health from their doctor with regards to their cholesterol and also, if the culprit is an individual who tends to swear a lot, this occurrence is an indication that "salty" language will flee from their lips.  

Given the myth that the moon is made out of cheese and the fact that certain people believe that pointing at the moon is bad luck, it is my personal opinion that pointing at the moon will lead to one year of on-time pizza deliveries, 100% accuracy in the orders people place and even a few miscellaneous discounts.  

Opening an umbrella indoors is oftentimes seen as bad luck. Contrarily, thanks to foul-mouthed philosopher, Fat Joe, opening an umbrella indoors is a sign of financial prosperity to come on the home or establishment. An increase in money will "make it rain" on the persons with ownership of the building.

Failing to respond to a chain letter is believed to be bad luck. However, as you continue to read, you will be informed that not responding to a chain letter is actually a predictive precursor for someone to start their own successful business and thus not have to answer to anyone.

So there you go! For those of you who want positive news and don't believe random sightings or circumstances dictate what the future has in store for them, there are a few alternate meanings to bad omens. Those are your "unlucky charms."

House Half Full

The toughest part about living on my own is dividing responsibilities up between Me, Myself  and I because Me doesn't want to do anything, Myself is never around I just complains about everything. The best part, however, is bringing home leftovers after going out for dinner, putting the food in the fridge without having to write MINE MY OWN MY PRECIOUS in 1,000,000 point font all over the box, put a retina scanner on it, have a guard dog by the fridge and various highly trained snipers strategically scattered in trees in the backyard with a clear view of the kitchen.

Defending the Title

Music is an art of expression covering virtually every human emotion and experience from Pharrell Williams' "Happy" to Maroon 5's "Sad." From Simple Plan's "Shut Up" to Katy Perry's "Roar." Music can bring people together. whether it be for a giant concert or some idiot who thinks he can play that vacant piano out in public just because he knows half of "Heart and Soul." Possibly the most exciting way music brings people together is when two artists collaborate on a project together. These two may come from completely different backgrounds and tell two very different stories on how they got to this similar situation and yet, when they join together, they both understand the notes on the page and can create something together and possibly rule the galaxy together as father and son..........Sorry, I got a little carried away there. Sometimes artists will use their platform and skill set to bash other artists in what is known as a "diss track" (Except in Jamaica where "diss track" refers to a specific track someone has picked out among a group of them).

Being an art of expressing oneself, music has asked us a lot of tough questions like "Why Can't This Be Love" and "Who is Mike Jones?" but music has also sought to help us make sense of it all. In the spirit of collaboration, here are pairings of artists who have asked poignant questions and received prompt answers from their fellow musicians. As a precursor to this list, it should be noted that comedic expression has been chosen in favor of correct chronology. So, like some sort of a Capella omnipotence, some of these questions were answered before they were even asked:

The Heavy - "How You Like Me Now?"
Three Day Grace - "I Hate Everything About You"

Bonnie Tyler - "I Need A Hero"
Enrique Iglesias - "Hero"

T.I. - "What You Know?"
Pitbull - "I Know You Want Me"

Elton John - "Can You Feel The Love Tonight?"
The Weeknd - "Can't Feel My Face"

Haddaway - "What Is Love?"
Pat Benatar - "Love Is A Battlefield"  

Liz Phair - "Why Can't I?"
Fatboy Slim - "Because We Can"

Blink 182 - "What's My Age Again?"
Taylor Swift - "Fifteen"

The Who - "Who Are You?"
Black Sabbath - "Iron Man"

Hinder - "How Long?"
CCR - "Long As I Can See The Light"

Styx - "Show Me The Way"
Rihanna - "Shut Up And Drive"

U2 - "Where The Streets Have No Name"
Augustana - "Boston"

DMX - "Where The Hood At?"
Jermaine Dupri - "Welcome to Atlanta"

Journey - "Any Way You Want It"
Backstreet Boys - "I Want It That Way"

Baha Men - "Who Let The Dogs Out?"
Akon - "Sorry, Blame It On Me"

Flo Rida - "Who Dat Girl?"
Carl Carlton - "She's A Bad Mama Jama"

Jet - "Are You Gonna Be My Girl?"
Megan Trainor - "NO"

Mario - "How Do I Breathe?"
Faith Hill - "Breathe"

Black Eyed Peas - "Where Is The Love?"
Phil Collins - "You Can't Hurry Love"

Huey Lewis & The News - "Do You Believe In Love?"
Usher - "Yeah!"

Fort Minor - "Where'd You Go?"
The Beach Boys - "I Went To Sleep"

Van Halen - "Why Can't This Be Love?"
The Beatles - "Let It Be"

Willie Nelson - "Do You Mind Too Much If I Don't Understand?"
Bowling For Soup - "No Hablo Ingles"

Scales of Justice

I remember the first time I ever burned myself on the stove. I was only just tall enough to lay eyes on the brightly colored burners. We had some family friends over to the house and after dinner was over we made caramel apples. I remember being absolutely transfixed by the spiraling scorchers, they looked beautiful and the smells from the oven that night had played a promising precursor to a mouthwatering meal. I had to know if this alluring illumination felt as good as it looked. It did not. Like a moth drawn to a flame, my toddler self was mesmerized only to be mutilated. I wailed and cried and took away all of the attention and genuinely ruined everyone's evening, but you know what I never did again? I never laid my phalanges on the fantastically lit and ferociously fiery stove top. I had learned a valuable lesson. That is also why apples terrify me to this day.

I was in the grocery store and I saw this woman carting along while looking down at her phone, probably checking in on what's going on at the house while she's not there to keep order or possibly receiving a 3rd request from her children for some cereal with massive amounts of this white powder dumped on top of it which causes her children to run around the house like wild animals. leading me to believe it's not just sugar in there.

Anyway, she's looking down at her phone and doesn't see that she is approaching one of those baskets used for weighing fruits and veggies and crap. For an instant I thought "Oh no! Look out!" but unfortunately, this conflicted with my general sense of evil inquisitiveness which thought "Huh? I've never seen what happens when someone plows into one of those baskets before."

I'll tell you what happens. She looked up with this absolutely terrified expression on her face and then once she realized she hadn't run into a human being with feelings and objections she just batted the thing away like she was playing Tetherball.

I was happy that I got to be there for a moment of personal growth in this woman's life, because just as Ra's al Ghul taught billionaire Bruce Wayne in Batman Begins, I'll bet that woman will be more mindful of her surroundings from this point forward. I also had my own personal epiphany, Fruits and vegetables are dangerous people! My box of Pop Tarts has the weight written right on it and I knew exactly how much soda was in the two liter bottle of Diet Coke I bought. Stay safe and stick to purchasing these things.  

Mrs. Officer

I've heard it said that 90% of communication is nonverbal (although maybe I saw it in writing because for someone to say that would be kinda backwards). So with that in mind, I'd like to think that my kindergarten characteristics for courting a cootie-infested young lady were quite reasonable. It was something like "Maybe if I awkwardly glare at her from across the cafeteria and never EVER speak to her she will get the message."
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I have since learned that women are not half-bad and can be quite enjoyable to talk to. However, this freezing fear and perplexing paranoia had to manifest itself somewhere and sadly, it seems to me that whenever I spot a cop parked on the side of the road my mind goes "OK, are you sitting up so straight that you're about to flip over the top of the seat? Good! Are your knuckles practically transparent from gripping the steering wheel? Excellent! Now, make awkward eye contact that says "I'm a law-abiding citizen doing absolutely nothing wrong and I figured I'd best communicate that by looking at you instead of watching where I'm going."