Ocular Fusion

There are many who are weighing in on the passing of Don Knotts, American funnyman whose iconic character of small-town deputy Barney Fife memorialized the earnest efforts of all downtrodden, skinny, bug-eyed low men on the totem pole everywhere who have ever longed to make a difference and be taken seriously.

And of course, many are waxing eloquently, much better than I ever could. Some good tributes can be found here and here. I thought my humble contribution to the cause would be to list some of my favorite "Barneyisms." I just hope I can get through these without having to take a hit off my asthma inhaler:

• "Now here at the Rock we have two rules. Memorize them until you can say them in your sleep. Rule number one: obey all rules. Rule number two: no writing on the walls."
• "Gun-drawing practice, ten minutes every day. If I ever have to use this baby, I want to teach it to come to papa in a hurry."
• "Well, I guess to sum it up, you could say there's three reasons why there's so little crime in Mayberry. There's Andy, and there's me, and (patting his gun) baby makes three."
• "Nip it in the bud. You go read any book you want on child discipline and you'll find every one of them is in favor of bud-nipping."
• Andy: "Hey Barn, what if they was to ask you if you could sing a cappella, what would you do? Barney: "Why, I'd do it! (snapping fingers in rhythm) "A cappella, a cappella...well, I don't remember all the words."
• "If there's anything that upsets me it's having people say I'm sensitive."
• (in the context of not making others jealous with his intelligence) "Listen, an IQ can be a mixed blessing sometimes. Some people want it and can't get it. I got it and have to get rid of it. Life's funny that way, you know?"
• "I'm a man of the world, Andy. Why, I've been to Raleigh!

These are only scratching the surface. How about chiming in with a few favorite Barneyisms of your own to memorialize a man who has graced us all with the gift of laughter.

My guru, Computer Ed, is pretty handy with a camera too. He has a good post on the sea change that has taken place in the world of photography with the conversion from film to digital media. You camera buffs (and even those who aren't so buff) will find his thoughts worth reading and some of his suggestions worth emulating.

Other signs of the times:

• The Dell desktop computer that I recently purchased has a media card reader which can transfer photos, video, data and music from thirteen different types of media cards.
• I spend my day typing and reading entries in a completely paperless computerized medical record system. There is a special mode to view scanned images and digital ophthalmic photographs which my technician shoots and transfers to the digital patient record in a matter of seconds. Fifteen years ago I was fumbling around with paper records and slides of patients' eyes which kept getting lost or damaged. Also back then, I couldn't type worth a lick. Now, thanks to on-the-job training, I type about a gazillion words per minute and I've got the carpel tunnel syndrome to prove it.
• They use to say that "the eye is the window to the soul." Nowadays, it's the key to the front door as well. I plan to weigh in on the implications and ramifications of iris scanning and other biometric technologies in a future post.

In the meantime, enjoy Ed's post and "purty pictures" and then grab your digital point and shoot this weekend and make a few of your own.

Faith, purity and prayer. According to Catholic theology, these are the ingredients needed in order to perform a miracle. Unfortunately, Ralph Walker, a 14-year-old hormone-driven parochial school student, has, just in the previous week alone, taken the Lord's name in vain 211 times, had 22 impure thoughts (along with 22 sins of the flesh), and contemplated murder. For him, faith, purity and prayer are about as rare as rosary beeds and Hail Marys at a fundamentalist tent revival.

Hamilton, Ontario is the setting for the warm and quirky running movie, "Saint Ralph," recently released on DVD. The year is 1953 in a time when the pre-Vatican II Catholic Church loomed large in the lives of many North Americans, defining and controlling nearly every aspect of their existence. Ralph's father was a war hero killed in World War II and his mother is extremely ill and hospitalized, presumably from cancer.

Things are nearly as bad at school where Ralph's awkward adolescent looks and nerdish antics coupled with his brash belief that he is "destined for greatness" make him a prime target for the bullying pranks of older students. Father Fitzpatrick, the stern Headmaster of St. Magnus Parochial School, is concerned about Ralph and his growing appetite for a full course menu of venial and mortal sins.

An embarrassing incident at a local swimming pool (note to parents of adolescent boys: if you're watching the movie with your sons you might want to fast foward through this scene--no use in making matters worse than they already are!) convinces Father Fitzpatrick that desperate measures are needed in order to save Ralph from an eternity in purgatory. His final solution is to order Ralph to join the school cross country team in the hopes that burning off a few million megawatts of his copius sexual energy will render him incapable of sins of the flesh. Ralph is less than thrilled, especially when he discovers that his coach is Father Hibbert, a Nietzsche-reading priest with a somewhat dark and mysterious running history of his own.

After Ralph's mother lapses into a coma, he is told that "only a miracle can save her." When he later learns from his coach that a ninth-grader from St. Magnus would need "a miracle that rivals the loaves and fishes" to win the Boston Marathon, Ralph knows what he must do to save his mother and avoid his worse fear of becoming an orphan. Spurred on by a vision of God in a Santa suit, Ralph sets out to train for and win the Boston Marathon, totally oblivious to the fact that no 14 year-old should be running in that storied race much less dreaming of victory. Father Fitzpatrick is determined to shelter Ralph and "keep him in his place," while Father Hibbert, who is initially skeptical--like a good existentialist--of Ralph and his commitment, eventually is won over by Ralph's earnestness and agrees to coach him in his effort.

Ralph eventually makes it to Boston, but prior to the race he is still having doubts about whether he has enough faith, purity, prayer and speed to pull off the improbable upset and produce his miracle. After a humorous moment when Father Hibbert and Ralph resolve the purity problem, the priest goes on to reassure Ralph that prayer will not be a problem since every marathoner finds himself praying around mile twenty. As someone who has trained for and completed a marathon after smacking against "The Wall" like a bug against a windshield, I concur.

The race is a stirring and beautiful reenactment of the world's most prestigious marathon set against a haunting version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" sung by Canadian Gord Downie. I'm still sorting through the lyrics and how they pertain to the themes of this movie (as if they even have to in this postmodern world, right?), but I was particularly struck by the idea expressed in the song of doing one's best, falling short, yet still standing before the "Lord of Song with nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah." Ralph, Father Hibbert and Father Fitzpatrick all learn, in one way or another, the meaning of these words in their lives by movie's end.

I'm a sucker for coming-of-age movies, especially those involving athletic themes (see "Breaking Away," 1979), and I found "Saint Ralph" to be a satisfying and authentic portrayal of both adolescent angst and the tension between Reason and Passion which is present in all our lives. So if you're browsing in the movie store this weekend and in the mood for something more thoughtful, charming and eccentric than your average cookie-cutter "Latest Release," then check out "Saint Ralph." You may find yourself nodding in affirmation at the notion, which has been on my mind quite frequently lately, that the Holy Spirit runs freely throughout creation, often producing the most delightful miracles when unfettered by the chains of organized religion and the walls of churches.

It was a strange scene, one that forced me to stop and do a double-take. There in my living room sat/slouched three red meat and potatoes, football loving, video game playing, Southern white-bread boys with table manners that would make a medieval baron blush, watching, of all things, Olympic ice dancing.

It didn't take me long to figure out why. "Wait till you see the Americans in second place, Dad. They're really good," they said. I think what they meant to say was, "Wait till you see Tanith Belbin skating with ol' what's-his-name. She's HOT!"

My sons, along with millions of other adolescent boys across the globe, had been smitten with the captivating good looks (and yes, she can skate well too) of Canadian-born, recently naturalized U.S. citizen Tanith Belbin as she teamed with Ben Agosto to win a silver medal in ice dancing, the first medal by an American couple in that sport in 30 years. Even the commentators were falling all over themselves at times, remarking that the couple's scores might be even higher if the judges could take their eyes off of Belbin for a moment to notice Agosto's own fine skating.

I chuckled at the sight and considered it harmless fun. In fact, it brought back a few memories of my own...

Rewind to the 1976 Winter Olympics in Innsbruck Austria. A 14-year-old slightly overweight, acne-riddled teenage boy sits riveted to his TV watching another US skater named Dorothy Hamill grab the gold and Olympic glory in the women's figure skating competition. Like many of my time, I was enthralled by her acrobatic "Hamel Camel" spins and her oh-so-cute bobbed haircut which became a much imitated do for years to come.

I was postively smitten and decided then and there I was going to marry that woman. Oh sure, she was 6 years older and famous, but that didn't deter my daydreams that someday she would tire of her shallow world of celebrity and long to settle down with an Average Joe like me and put through me through school and that one day after she retired from the Ice Capades I would return the favor by lavishing on her my love, attention and money for the rest of our happy days. All this in the time it took for the Star Spangled Banner to be played.

Of course, it didn't turn out that way and I have to say I'm relieved. I was recently channel surfing and stumbled upon Hamill working as a judge on an American Idol spin-off called Skating with Celebrities. It occurred to me again (as I've had this epiphany quite a few times over the years), how blessed I am that I ended up with EyeGal, who can skate pretty good in a straight line but gets a little dizzy and falls down on her cute little behind when she tries to do a sit-spin.

I'm hoping, and praying, that my sons will be as blessed as I am someday, and that they'll look back and chuckle at the memory of their own little fantasies on ice.

It was no surprise that J.J. Redick scored 30 points in yesterday's 92-71 victory over Miami and became Duke's new all-time leader scorer. It was also no surprise how he did it--once again losing a defender off a screen by teammate Lee Melchioni and popping one of his patented treys just a few feet in front of assistant coach Johnny Dawkins whose record he broke.

But it may come as a surprise, given J.J.'s reputation for on-court intensity and bravado and the general culture of "in-your-face" celebrations in today's sporting world, what occurred after the game was over. In a post-game interview at center court following a short ceremony honoring J.J.'s acccomplishment, Redick thanked assistant coach Dawkins who was the mainstay of the great 1985-86 team and is often credited for helping turn around an ailing Duke program and setting it on the path to 3 national titles over the next 15 years.

"Without him I probably wouldn't be here," Redick remarked, and went on to add that Johnny Dawkins is "still the greatest player in Duke history." For his part, Dawkins handled with great aplomb the inevitable question of whether he would still be the points leader had the three point arc been around "back in the day." Dawkins smiled and said that "nothing should detract from the accomplishments of this young man, who is the greatest shooter I've ever seen."

And with those remarks, Duke Haters around the country once again pounded the floor and let loose a collective wail of grief. Faced with such excellence both on and off the court by a pair of classy Devils, they were as powerless as a trio of slackjawed defenders looking on in horrified fascination as J.J. dials up yet another long-distance trey.

Since my entry into the blogosphere a few months ago, I've noticed quite a few Christians, especially seminary students, who seem to struggle with the idea of "dual citizenship"--i.e., balancing their identity as both Americans and Christians. As they react to what they see as a too close alliance between the cross and the flag among those on the Christian Right, their tendency is to resort to Platonic dualism and "either/or" solutions. In other words, choose whom you will serve, cross or flag, but never both.

As with most things,"there is nothing new under the sun." Anxiety over the relationship and responsibilities of God's people to state is an old concern, predating the church itself. Not only are there clues to this ancient dilemma available from scripture, but from tradition and church history as well. Richard John Neuhaus, editor of First Things, has plumbed the depths of the nature of church and state in his article, Our American Babylon, and turned out a very balanced treatment of the issue:

"We Christians are a pilgrim people, a people on the way, exiles from our true home, aliens in a strange land. There is in all the Christian tradition no more compelling depiction of our circumstance than St. Augustine's City of God. Short of the final coming of the Kingdom, the City of God and the earthly city are intermingled. We are to make use of, pray for, and do our share for the earthly city. Here Augustine cites the words of Jeremiah urging the people not to fear exile in Babylon: 'Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its peace you will find your peace.'"

"The argument, in short, is that God is not indifferent to the American experiment, and therefore we who are called to think about God and His ways through time dare not be indifferent to the American experiment. America is not uniquely Babylon, but it is our time and place in Babylon. We seek its peace in which we find our peace as we yearn for and eucharistically anticipate the New Jerusalem which is our pilgrim goal. It is time to think again--to think deeply, to think theologically--about the story of America and its place in the story of the world. Again, the words of St. Augustine: 'It is beyond anything incredible that God should have willed the kingdoms of men, their dominations and their servitudes, to be outside the range of the laws of his providence.'"

I highly recommend this article for all, especially those who are currently struggling with these weighty matters.

On a different note, why is it that for the past 25 years, the writings which have nourished me the most and been the most critical in my ongoing spiritual formation have been almost exclusively the product of those hailing from the Roman Catholic, Orthodox and Anglican traditions?

I guess figuring out the answer to that question will be one of many things which will occupy my thought as I continue to hang out in American Babylon.

Most people would pick the Alabama Crimson Tide over the Harvard Crimson in a football game without giving it a second thought. But how many would ever think that the Tide would top Harvard in a battle of brains?

Well, surprise, the USA TODAY'S 2006 All-USA College Academic Team was announced this week and the final score was Alabama 6, Harvard 2. Alabama has placed more students on the team than any other school in the nation three out of the past four years and over that period of time has produced a total of 20 honorees, a figure which also leads all schools. This year Alabama even had a first teamer, Cody Locke a senior biology major from Boaz, who also has the distinction of having made the team three years in a row. In 2006, Yale, Northwestern and Duke each placed three students on the team with Harvard trailing the pack with only two.

One of the reasons Alabama is picking up such a head of academic steam is they are doing an excellent job of identifying and then recruiting home-grown talent with enticing scholarships and the creation of an Honors College and other unique academic opportunities. Number One Son has taken note, and Alabama is on his short list of schools to apply to later this year.

Heh, we're looking pretty durn smart down here in Bama! If we keep this up, maybe someday folks will think of more than Forrest Gump and Bear Bryant when they hear the cry, Roll Tide Roll!

I thought this was supposed to be the Torino Olympic Games? If so, then where the heck are Starsky and Hutch and that hot, heavily-muscled car of theirs? Can you imagine what would happen if you let those two compete in the two-man bobsled event? Well, those prissy Europeans wouldn't be taking up so much room on the medal stands, I can tell you that much!

If you're like me and you're a little confused on whether Torino is a car, a golfer or a Canadian city then help can be found at sportswriter Frank Deford's NPR commentary and this story from NPR's Alex Chadwick.

So far I've seen Bodie, Michelle (for a moment anyway) and Apolo, but Starsky and Hutch, where are ye when we need thee?

The "J.J. Meter" has been humming as of late. In last night's 93-70 win over Wake Forest, Duke's J.J. Redick scored 33 points (his fourth 30 plus game in a row, a Duke record) and went 4 for 7 from beyond the arc to pass former UVa player Curtis Staples' 413 career treys and become the new NCAA career 3 point marksman. Redick is currently second on the Duke career points list behind his assistant coach Johnny Dawkins and fourth on the ACC list. He now trails all-time leading ACC career scorer Dickie Hemric by 60 points with 5 games remaining in the regular season. Barring anything unusual, he should pass both Dawkins and Hemric to further seal his legacy as one of the greatest to ever grace the hardwood at Cameron Indoor Stadium.

Redick has done a remarkable job of handling the expectations and pressures of his senior year and seems to thrive on the animosity which he generates among the "Duke Haters" across the country. If you're still trying to decide whether to like him or hate him, then I direct you to The Sporting News' Mike DeCourcy's article "Whatta Devil" which makes the case that, contrary to popular opinion, J.J. is not the Antichrist.
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I'm not much of a Winter Olympics fan, but I will be watching with great interest the women's bobsled event later this week. We may not get much snow in Alabama, but did you know that along with Forrest Gump, controversial governors and great football players that we've also turned out a gold medalist bobsledder?

Vonetta Flowers is a graduate of another one of my alma maters, The University of Alabama at Birmingham, and already has an Olympic gold medal in two-person bobsled which she picked up at the 2002 Salt Lake City Games, becoming the first African-American to win a winter event. A former track athlete for the UAB Blazers, Flowers will bring her All-American speed to the narrow, twisting ice of Torino in the hopes of once again striking gold. She's one of the "Yellowhammer State's" classier exports, and we all wish her well.

Go Devils! Go Blazers!
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Update: Here is another nice piece from USA Today detailing how Vonetta Flowers balances the roles of world class athlete, wife and mother to twin boys, one of whom is deaf. Hint: She leans hard on her Christian faith.

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day.
When it's cold outside I've got the month of May.
I guess you'll say,
What can make me feel this way?
Eyegal (Eyegal, Eyegal)
Talkin' 'bout Eyegal (Eyegal!)
Ooooh Hoooo.

With apologies to The Temptations, I'd like to do a little talkin' 'bout my Eyegal in honor of St. Valentine's Day.

I first spotted Eyegal sitting in the row in front of me in developmental psychology at Harding University in the Fall of 1982. Little did we know then what would develop from that little chance encounter. Although I didn't ask her out right away, we competed for who would get the highest scores on tests and quizzes (she almost beat me on a couple of occasions) and had lunch a few times at Heritage Cafeteria before she went off to spend a semester in Europe. Pretty romantic stuff, eh? Cupid would be proud.

But I had her in my mind's eye while she was gone and upon her return I beat off a few persistent but unsuitable suitors and finally worked up the nerve to ask her out for Homecoming. As I recall, she had a prior commitment (something about washing her hair) and turned me down cold. But I did receive a consolation prize--an invitation to the grandest social event of the season, the Sigma Phi Mu Fall Hayride scheduled for the very next week.

Although I never envisioned a romp in the hay on our first date, I figured that since it was a school-sanctioned event that it was probably ok. Lucky me, the temperature was in the 30s that night, so even though we didn't know each other that well yet, we were forced to snuggle a lot in order to avoid hypothermia and survive the evening (ok, stop the gagging out there). We went on to bigger and more extravagant dates, like dinner and a movie in Little Rock, and somewhere along the line I began to think that I might like to hang out with this eyegal for the rest of my life.

Guys in general can be pretty stupid, though, and this eyeguy was no exception. At some point during our early relationship I got the notion that I should probably look around a little more just to make sure that Eyegal was "the one." When I told her about my plan, she shot me one of those eye of the tiger looks of hers (they still work) and thankfully I started to see the light.

The Harding marriage hothouse worked its usual magic and Eyegal and I were fused on June 15th, 1985. Actually, I wasn't an official eyeguy at that point. First came eyeball school, so off we went to the University of Alabama at Birmingham School of Optometry where Eyegal patiently endured so many practice eye exams that she started chanting "which is better, one or two" in her sleep and quickly memorized the eyechart. After that, no matter how badly I messed up her refractions, she always read a perfect 20/20. Now that's amore!

She also picked up a good working knowledge of ocular anatomy and disease. To this day, whenever she picks up the phone and a friend with an eye problem is on the other end, she usually goes ahead and diagnoses the condition and suggests the appropriate therapy without even consulting me. It would be easy for me to be insulted by this, especially when I pick up the phone and they ask for Eyegal. But as much as I hate to admit it, most of the time she's right.

We've been married over 20 years now and looking back I must say the view is pretty good. I know Eyegal pretty well, but there's still a lot of mystery behind those blue eyes, enough to probably keep me busy trying to figure things out for at least twenty more. But hey, that's half the fun.

Eyegal, you probably know this, but just in case, let me tell you again--you're too good to be true and I can't take my eyes off of you. My eyes adored you then and adore you still, and I'll be watching you for as long as these old eyes of mine have light to see.

My computer guru Ed is at it again. Run, don't walk, to "Practicing Safe Surfing--Part 3" and take heed of his suggestions on antiviral software before it's too late. The computer you save may be your own.

DISCLAIMER: This is not a picture of the real Ed. The real Ed looks like Ernest Hemingway and does not wear a lioncloth. At least let's hope not.

I'm always amused by the search strings that lead some to land on Ocular Fusion. There have been some post-worthy ones in the past, but this one takes the cake. Both yesterday and this morning, several visitors Googled "school closings for the blizzard of 06," and when they followed the link of the #1 hit, lo and behold, they landed here!

In what can only be described as a cruel and ironic twist of fate, apparently there have been several of my fellow citizens who are seeking critical survival information in the blizzard-bound Northeast and have landed on my site only to get some Alabama hayseed prattling on about bread and milk runs at the local grocery store.

My apologies to my Blue State friends who have been so misled and misdirected--it was my intent to entertain with tongue planted firmly in tobacco-filled cheek, not to deceive. Fortunately Google, being the omniscient and omnipotent search engine that it is, has apparently recognized its error and I have since disappeared from the internet snow survival guide radar.

But please do stop by again soon and next time "pull up a cheer and sit a spell." Although you may have barked up the wrong tree on this occasion, you may actually discover some useful, perhaps even critical, information here in the future--such as how to get all gussied up and drive like Dale, Jr. to church three times a week or how to cast your vote in the next presidential election.

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Update: As of 9:30PM CST, Google is once again picking up my site in response to the query above. In fact, I'm back at #8 on the list. Obviously Google has deemed the information on milk and bread important enough to pass on to the snow-bound masses.

Although you wouldn't know it from the amount of time I've spent recently blogging about my beloved Duke Blue Devils, I actually love soccer as much, if not more, than college hoops. I'm sure you'll be reading some of my thoughts and observations about real football as I follow my sons' soccer teams this spring and also as the FIFA World Cup approaches this summer.

I'm also an unabashed, card-carrying "eyeguy." So imagine my delight when I recently discovered that I could combine two of the great passions in my life and enjoy them simultaneously--sort of like a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup or an Oreo cookie . If the eye is, like the old saying goes, the "window to the soul," then the person in the picture above is truly mad to the bone about what soccer's most famous player called, "The Beautiful Game." Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole!

Although Hollywood actors and actresses have used special effect contact lenses for years, many are now available to the general public as well. Wildeyes (Ciba Vision), Evileyes and Crazy Lenses (CooperVision) all offer up a colorful palette of alternative ocular personas for every occasion. Up until recently, if you were into NFL football there were even some Crazy Lenses for you (but alas, like Peyton Manning's ability to win the Big Game, they are now nowhere to be found).

Of course, please keep in mind that, although special effect contact lenses are "fun," they are also medical devices and should be properly prescribed and monitored by an eye care professional.

WARNING: FAILURE TO DO SO MAY RESULT IN NASTY, PUS-FILLED CORNEAL ULCERS THE SIZE OF A MOON CRATER, WHICH, NEEDLESS TO SAY (BUT I HAVE TO SAY ANYWAY, OTHERWISE YOU COULD SUE ME), MAY LEAD TO BLINDNESS. EVEN WORSE, YOUR EYES MIGHT MELT AND POP OUT OF THEIR SOCKETS LIKE THAT GESTAPO DUDE'S IN "RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK" WHEN GOD GOT A LITTLE MIFFED OVER THE ARK OF THE COVENANT BEING STOLEN AND OPENED UP BY A BUNCH OF NAZIS.

There, now that we have that out of the way, let me ask you a question. If you could pick a lens which would bare your true inner soul, what would it be? Feel free to browse and choose from any of the above collections, or be creative and come up with your own special "dream lens."

In other words--what's on your window?

I have to admit, for a while there I thought Number 2 Son had enough mojo left to pull it off last night. I figured that surely he must have expended himself earlier in the evening in Tennessee's 75-61 win over Kentucky in Rupp Arena, the Vols first win there since 1999. But after the Carolina Tarheels came charging back in the second half to take the lead against Duke last night, I was afraid some of that ol' black magic was going to be the Devils' undoing.

Not to worry. As bile and fury poured forth from the cerulean blue cloud gathered in the Dean Dome, the Blue Devils held fast and emerged with an 87-83 road win over the young, but plucky Tar Heels. As usual, Duke senior co-captains Shelden Williams and J.J. Redick turned in performances worthy of the All American moniker which they share. Although Williams only had a "quiet" 13 points, he barely missed yet another "double-double" with 9 rebounds, 4 blocks (including a huge swat in the closing minutes), 4 steals and 3 assists.

For much of the first half, Redick seemed out of synch, with Carolina doing a good job of rotating defenders and rarely giving him a chance to square up to the basket and do his usual damage. But when it counted the most, J.J. created the necessary space with behind the back dribbles and ball fakes, and once again the treys rained down, soaking the spirited Tar Heels bid for an season-making upset. Redick finished with 35 points, the most ever by a Duke player at Carolina, 22 of them coming in the second half when the chips were down. Redick is now only a bucket away from passing Christian Laettner on the Duke points list, and, it would appear, only a few games away from passing Duke assistant coach Johnny Dawkins to become Duke's all-time leading scorer.

Senior Sean Dockery also turned in a solid performance with 14 points and some timely treys, while Duke's Josh McRoberts won the "Battle of the Fabulous Frosh" against Carolina's Tyler Hansbrough with 17 points on 6 of 8 shooting from the field (including one 3-pointer). With a unique "dart-throwing" free throw motion which looks like it belongs in a pub rather than on a basketball court, he went a perfect 4-4 from the line, with a huge pair coming in the closing minutes. Also, he added some playground spice to the night with a nice reverse jam off a feed from Dockery.

Perhaps the most interesting moment of the evening came when Carolina coach Roy Williams benched all 5 starters after they turned the ball over on 4 straight possessions at the beginning of the second half, allowing Duke to go on a 12-0 run. The tongue lashing that followed could be heard as far away as Kill Devil Hill on the Outer Banks, and the unknown subs who entered the game began scratching away at the Duke lead. When the chastised starters returned a few minutes later, they were ready to "kill a little Devil" themselves. It was a brilliant move by a classy, champion of a coach which kept them in the game just when it looked like they would roll over for good.

Sorry, Number 2, it's going to take more than a few incantations and hexes to derail the Blue Devil Express this season. The only way that's going to happen is if someone finds a way to solve "The J.J. Problem." That's going to take brilliant defense--not chants and vodoo dolls.

Now that we have that little football game out of the way we can move on to more important matters--like Duke v. UNC-Chapel Hill.

Tonight those two teams will clash for the first time this season and you can bet that Number Three and I will be breaking out the face paint and donning the Blue Devil Blue as we head up the Huntsville Extension Chapter of the Cameron Crazies. Number One has been pulling for the Dookies lately and earning some major brownie points with dear old Dad (probably just wants to borrow the keys to my car again). Number Two (the Vols fan) will be lurking in the shadows as usual, chanting the same tired old mantra, "Duke's gonna lose, I can just feel it."

I pointed out to Number Two following the heart-stopping 97-96 overtime win over Florida State (who deserve a heap of credit for bringing their A+ game to Cameron Indoor) that so far he has been right once out of 22 times and at that rate he might actually be able to get a job as a weather forecaster with one of the local TV stations.

Despite losing the heart of their national championship team to the NBA, the Tar Heels are dangerous as always and you can expect both teams to show up at the Dean Dome prepared for war. I grew up reading the columns of Duke grad and sportswriter Bill Brill in the Roanoke Times, and if you're interested in reading more about this fine rivalry and getting the scoop on tonight's upcoming game, he has written a fine piece that is worth the read.

The Research Triangle will be rocking tonight as these two great teams, located a mere 10 miles apart, once again tangle for bragging rights to "best in state"--at least for a few weeks until they meet again. Our house will be shaking as well, and our coonskin-capped prophet in orange will once again be crying forth in the wilderness, hoping to put the hex on my Boys in Blue. I'll check in again tomorrow to let you know if he succeeded.

Like many of you, I was a little disappointed with yesterday's Super Bowl. Not with the outcome, mind you, since I really don't have an NFL favorite these days and really didn't care who won. I do enjoy a good athletic contest, however, but unfortunately what was supposed to be pro football's ultimate gridiron tussle turned into an anemic affair which neither team seemed to really want to win. The real news was Pittsburgh's three road wins over the top three American Conference teams en route to the "big game." Everything else seemed like anticlimax.

The commercials, with a couple of notable exceptions, were a bust as well. Budweiser always does a good job with the Clydesdales (the "streaker" was funny and the "passing of the bridle" warm and moving). But the ones featuring contemporary twentysomethings portrayed as eternal, Peter Panish frat boys whose lives revolve around how much beer is on hand and whose idea of a higher diety is a "magic refrigerator" filled with Bud give me pause. A note to my Gen X and Y friends: do you find these at least mildly insulting?

For me, the redeeming moments of last evening were our time spent with the small group of family and friends who came over (that Lawler's Barbecue was great, eh?) and the fact that at the moment the Steelers were finally starting to assert themselves, I was standing in a house whose previous owner had been none other than Steeler Hall of Fame receiver John Stallworth (who still lives in Huntsville) picking up Number Three Son from a Super Bowl party. I did enjoy that little irony.

But if you want to hear the "Super Bowl Blues" sung by a more accomplished artist than me, then you should travel on over to Contratimes where the Granite State's poet laureate and bard Bill Gnade unpacks yesterday's failures and offers up some interesting and promising solutions in his posts, "Rejoice and Weep: A Mixed World in a Super Bowl" and "Left Cold in America: The Super Bowl."

But Bill, I just have one question: If there's no snow in New Hampshire and no snow in Huntsville, then where, pray tell, did all the snow go?

As you can see from the picture of my street taken just a few minutes ago, things are pretty rough in Huntsville this morning. The Great Blizzard of '06 which we all feared is upon us. Things are shut down pretty tight--good thing I was able to beat off that little 80-year-old lady for that last loaf of bread at Target yesterday. As for the 5-year-old boy whom I tackled for that gallon of milk, well, life is tough and hardly fair and he might as well learn it sooner rather than later.

Since I am considered "necessary personnel," I will attempt the treacherous drive to work through this blinding blizzard--just hope I don't suffer from "white-out." Oh, well, if I do, I'll put on my snowshoes and try to trek the rest of the way--just hope I don't run into any wolves like ol' Buck did in Jack London's "Call of the Wild."

What's that you say? What snow? Oh, yes, there is that minor detail, but it's coming, you see, and here in Huntsville that's all that matters. The mere threat of snow, the fact that local doppler radar has picked up the scatter of a few flurries falling in Tupelo, Mississippi is news. Real News. Not that kind of news from the Middle East which is mere distraction, but the kind upon which life hangs in the balance, the kind that keeps our eyes glued to the sky for signs of that first flake which will portend the deluge to come.

Oh, ye Yankees, go ahead and grab your jollies at our expense, but when it comes, we will be prepared. And what will you be doing? Starving for want of milk and bread is what you'll be doing. But, if you stop laughing long enough, we might show you some of our magnanimous Southern Bible Belt manners and share some of our stash with you.

Number One Son recently made the varsity soccer team at Grissom High School. With 10 state championships since 1988 and an overall record of 317-35-15, playing for the Tigers is the Alabama high school soccer equivalent of playing college hoops for the Duke Blue Devils. Number One has put in countless hours over the years improving his game, waiting and hoping for the chance to don Grissom Orange--well done, son.

Of course, such opportunities have their price. We've spent a fair number of dollars over the years playing for club teams and shuttling to various matches and tournaments around the Southeast. In his case, making the team cost him his hair.

Like the military and countless other sports teams and organizations, "making the team" also means undergoing the ritual head shaving which is designed to remind newcomers that yes, you made the cut, but guess what, you are still lower than dirt. At Grissom, clipper-happy seniors show off their creative styling with old favorites such as the "Mohawk," "Friar Tuck," "Horse's Mane," "Patches" and "Halo."

Now this initiation is purely "voluntary," mind you, since the city school system has a strict "no hazing" policy. But over the years, most new players have consented, and Number One figured that in the best interest of tradition and esprit de corp he would go ahead and lose the locks. He ended up with a classic "Combover" consisting of shaved sides and back but with enough left on top to flip over to one side. We thought he looked a little like a 1980s punk rock star when we first saw him--the only thing missing was the body piercings (note to Number One: don't go getting any ideas).

The new inductees are then required to wear their "new do" to school for one day after which they are allowed to clean things up with a standard military buzz. I had given our family hair stylist a heads up, so to speak, that this was coming and to be prepared for a major repair job. She didn't seem too concerned and said that it would grow back quickly and not to worry. But when she first saw Number One walk into her shop, her eyes bulged like Roger Rabbit and she lapsed into her native Korean, ripping off a string of unintelligible exclamations. It took some work, but she managed to get him to the point where he looks like your average Marine rather than Sid Vicious reincarnated.

There are some advantages to having a 17-year-old with a bald knob. For one thing, it's fun to rub (it feels sooo soft!). Also, early morning grooming time has now been reduced considerably. In fact, we may actually make it to church on time for the first time in years. Now if I can just get Number Two and Number Three sons to speed up a little...hmmm...

If I keep up my present rate of hair loss, I may soon end up with a "combover" of my own (actually more of a "combforward") and join Number One in the ranks of the bald but proud. So, ladies, if you think you're having a bad hair day, just remind yourself of this picture and count your blessings (and the hairs on your head). At least you're still fretting over your hair and not just combing it over.

"To this day, the eye gives me a cold shudder."

--Charles Darwin

The eye, the very thing that gave ol' Chuck a case of the chills, never fails to give me a case of the warm fuzzies. I'm up to my eyeballs in eyeballs, and frankly, most days, I'm happier than a pig in slop. I believe I have an office with the best view in town and sometimes I get so enraptured by the beauty and complexity of this organ of sight that I get a little behind in my daily schedule because I just can't stop staring.

I guess you could say that I'm an "eyeguy," and in fact, many folks in these parts say just that. That's a necessary qualifier when there are 4 "Dr. Michael Xs" living and practicing in the same town (and that's not even counting the veterinarian down in Guntersville). The other three Huntsville-based "Dr. Michael Xs" practice gastroenterology, urology and pediatric dentistry. The dentist's son plays on the same soccer team as my Number Two son. The gastroenterologist even goes to the same church I do, leading to even more confusion. Someone at church came up with the idea a while back of using "GI guy" and "Eyeguy" to help in communicating which one was supposed to be serving communion that month, lead the closing prayer, etc. That works fairly well, but that doesn't stop his mail from coming to my office (our offices are only a block apart) or keep our many patients that we have in common from becoming confused.

I've lost count of the number of times I've received calls at home from patients belonging to the urologist and GI guy--I guess they start at the top of the "Michael X" listings in the phone book and just keep going till they find one who's a doctor of some sort. One time I called one of my patients who also was being treated by the urologist. He became confused and began telling me about, as we say in the South, his "prostrate" problem. I quickly reminded him that prostates were not my turf. We then went on to talk about his "cadillac" which needed removing. So far, I've not received any calls from the veterinarian's patients.

So, I thought I would change my blogging nom de plume to "Mike the Eyeguy" and see what happens. I guess in hindsight (which we all know is 20/20) I probably should have gone with just "Eyeguy" from the start since that would have retained more of my anonymity and helped make me more mysterious. But now that the cat's out of the bag and you already know my first name, I'll go with "Mike the Eyeguy."

I'm hoping that in the sometimes Mike-saturated blogosphere that the "Eyeguy" part will stick out a little, especially in crowded comment sections, and keep folks from getting me confused with all the other "Mikes" out there. There are, after all, a lot of us, including the "mother of all Mikes."

So if you're trolling the blogosphere and run into something written by "Mike the Eyeguy" that will most likely be me. And I hope you don't get a cold shudder whenever that happens. I do hope that whatever it is you read makes you smile and say, "Oh, yeah, that's the guy who is 'just looking around and trying to put it all together.'"

But don't worry, I'm not getting all formal on you or anything like that. Just remember, "you can call me 'Michael,' or you can call me 'Mike,' or you can call me 'Eyeguy,' but you doesn't hafta' to call me 'Mike the Eyeguy.'"