Author Archives: gordonglantz

Let’s Get Ready To Rumble

low-blow

By GORDON GLANTZ

Gordonglantz50@gmail.com

@Managing2Edit

GORDONVILLE — Political races are very much like boxing matches. You expect punches – from jabs to uppercuts to right-crosses – to be thrown.

Occasionally, and sometimes inadvertently, a blow might go below the belt.

And other times, well, the below-the-belt punch – or the kidney punch or the shot after the bell – is deliberate and not done in the spirit of the battle.

Although boxing — like politics — is a vicious sport, it has its rules and seemingly inherent respect between combatants.

Once that is violated, you may as well have a brawl in the alley.

And in the race for Montgomery County Sheriff, the violation has been made by those in support of Democrat Sean Kilkenny.

And now we have a brawl in the alley.

Sullying our mailboxes this week was an oversized postcard from the Pennsylvania Democratic Party in Harrisburg that cherry-picked a bunch of out-of-context items from articles written almost 10 years ago to make Republican Russell J. Bono, the current sheriff, appear guilty by extended association to a separate branch of a municipality accused of corruption in a FBI probe back in 2004.

There is also an insinuation that the NPD turned a blind eye to systematic corruption, even though the department’s primary function – as an undermanned unit – was to police the same unforgiving streets where Bono initially patrolled before working his way up the ladder, and likely dodged more bullets than Lt. Col. (eye roll) Kilkenny ever did shuffling papers as a JAG officer.

Bono, it should be noted, was in the Military Police but doesn’t feel the need gloat about it, as his law enforcement background of 45 years (45 more than Kilkenny) speaks for itself.

The reality is that the FBI found no wrongdoing in Bono’s department while he was Chief of Police in Norristown. In fact, his department not only cooperated, but assisted in the investigation. Funny, though, none of that is mentioned in this postcard from the edge of political sanity.

Bono remained on the job well beyond the probe that resulted in the former mayor, Ted LeBlanc, going to jail. Bono ended his long and distinguished, and unblemished, career in the department when he retired after 15 years as chief in 2013.

When Sheriff Eileen Behr resigned, Bono was cajoled out of a peaceful retirement by a bipartisan collective of politicians extending from the county and all the way to Harrisburg. If his reputation was so sullied, as the Kilkenny campaign is now insinuating, his nomination would have never sailed through – from both sides of the aisle – as it did.

When I signed on as the Chair of Democrats for Bono, I willingly risked alienation from many local Democrats. The reality is that I generally split my ticket in local elections anyway, and may actually pull the full GOP lever on Nov. 3 (maybe making me the only unabashed Bernie Sanders supporter in the county doing so).

There was part of me that wondered why anyone would vote for a lawyer in a job that requires law enforcement experience. (What’s next? An accountant running for coroner, maybe?)

But that wasn’t it.

Aside from being way past caring what anyone thinks, it just seemed like the right thing to do.

I did it because I knew Sheriff Bono for years – I still call him “Chief” because that was his title when I was the cop reporter at the Times Herald for 2 ½ years – and felt secure in the knowledge I was crossing enemy lines to hitch myself to the right wagon.

After getting this piece of bleep in the mail the other day, it affirms my decision.

It also affirms a bit about Kilkenny, who I would suppose knew this mailer in support of his bid was going out.

I don’t know the man. And, like I said, I willingly aligned myself with the “Chief” because I did know him. It was nothing personal about his opponent (other than that, as a lawyer, his bid seemed a bit ill-fitted).

But I will say this. There is almost no one I speak with, from either party, who has a kind word to say about Kilkenny from personal dealings.

Because I am not a believer in playing Whisper Down the Lane and forming opinions, I wasn’t going to go there.

But now the gloves are off. It’s no longer a boxing match. It’s a brawl in the alley.

I’m there.

Kilkenny’s only chance of winning, it would seem, would be to get the votes of people who don’t know him from personal dealings — or who see props for his propaganda as the truth, when they are anything but the truth.

And a blind following to the polls, based on a cache of lies and half-truths on a mail item, would be a shame for the residents of Montgomery County.

If Kilkenny’s supporters want to dish out a disingenuous attack, it had better be prepared to take the counter-attack.

Kilkenny’s name has surfaced in two more recent federal probes, in Allentown and Reading.

He is professing his innocence and cooperation in those probes. In doing so, one wonders if he is throwing the police chiefs of Allentown and Reading under the bus the way his supporters are trying to do, with some fragmented hindsight, with Bono.

He is not running against them for sheriff, so probably not.

Ironically, the man in the hot seat in the Allentown probe is the mayor, Ed Pawlowski, who was supported in his bid by Kilkenny .

In Reading, Kilkenny’s name surfaces again in connection with a former mayor, Vaughn D. Spencer.

And yet the mailer in question wants to link Bono to LeBlanc, but escape the same scrutiny and be taken seriously?

Really, dude?

I wonder how some people look at themselves in the mirror each morning (although if you look like a raccoon, it might be good for some levity).

Another bitter irony, that I know for a fact – since I was there, covering this on a daily basis – is that Kilkenny’s backers are culling crime statistics from a portion of Bono’s tenure and saying Norristown was “plagued by high crime.”

First, I need to again point out that Bono was sought out to be Behr’s replacement as sheriff for a reason, and that was because he ran an efficient department in a municipality that is plagued with socio-economic concerns out of the NPD’s control.

If anyone should understand that, it should be a card-carrying liberal like Kilkenny and the Pennsylvania Democrats behind this work of fantastical fiction.

I’m one, too, and I certainly understand.

Secondly, and more direct to the point, the crime rate went up because two Democratic members of Norristown council – including one that is now the head of the Norristown Democratic Committee – came to Bono and asked him to form what came to be known as the Bee Sting Unit.

The crime stats went up, naturally, because the Bee Sting Unit was geared toward thwarting quality of life crimes (disorderly conduct, vandalism, loitering, public drunkenness, etc.) that were believed to help feed the atmosphere that would lead to larger crimes.

Is the crime rate in Norristown down now? Yes. Why? Because the Bee Sting Unit gave way to the more chic mode of community policing, where most of those nabbed in quality of life crimes are sort of moved along and warned but not issued citations or arrested.

These are not random, disjointed attempts at gathering something that resembles a hodge-podge of facts. A prime example comes from the mailer in question. There is an accusation that drug money disappeared from the NPD evidence room in 1998. Guess what, folks? That was before Bono was made chief late in December of that year as a direct result of the drug-money scandal surrounding a Democratic-appointed chief, Tom Stone.

The bottom line is that the Kilkenny campaign is grasping at straws to find dirt on a clean opponent. In the process, those involved may end up sipping through a figurative straw as a result of a clean and Kosher knockout punch to the jaw.

 

 

 

 

 

The Curse of Old Dirty Knee

sonny-jurgensen

By GORDON GLANTZ

Gordonglantz50@gmail.com

@Managing2Edit

GORDONVILLE – I tried being Superman.

It didn’t work out too well.

It was that day in first grade when we got wear our Halloween costumes to school, and the Man of Steel was my superhero of choice.

There may be no comic book chronicling this adventure but Superman’s Kryptonite on this day was the double-knot on the back of the Woolworth’s get-up. While going to the little boys’ room, it didn’t come untied before a calamity occurred.

To raised eyebrows of classmates, I returned as Peter Pan – same as Kindergarten –that afternoon.

Although my grandmother’s first cousin created the Green Lantern, and pretty much got screwed out of royalties, my forever match to anyone sounding like a comic-book hero is, fittingly, out of the music world.

That would be Adam Ant, who scored a hit in 1982 – more than a decade after the Superman costume dried out — with the song “Goodytwoshoes.”

The otherwise forgettable new wave ditty featured the memorable line: “Don’t drink, don’t smoke – What do you do?”

That’s pretty much me these days.

I don’t drink. I don’t smoke.

For that matter, I don’t play golf or hunt or fish or hike or play poker with the boys.

What do I do?

I obsess over things I can’t control.

A lot of things I can’t control.

The list is so long that I can only go partial here:

-Snowstorms on days when you can’t stay home;

-Walking the dog in the rain (unless you don’t mind him pulling a “Superman”);

-People talking behind my back (probably about my dwelling on things I can’t control);

-People stabbing me in the back (probably because I act too much like Julius Caesar);

-A tick giving me Lyme Disease;

– iTunes changing the rules so that you need to give up your first born to shuffle songs;

– My real first-born, Sofia, having her feelings hurt at school and …

-The Philadelphia Eagles.

No matter what I want them to do, it seems that those Birds – with the brains to match — are going to do what they want anyway.

And the years pass, leaving me at 44th anniversary of Superman’s most embarrassing moment, without the one thing I want most from the wild world of sports – a Super Bowl title for my Birds.

Just one.

Not two in a row. Not three in four years.

Just one.

But it remains elusive.

I have been a fan for long, long time.

How long? My first game by my father’s side was at Franklin Field in 1970, making Lincoln Financial Field my third stadium.

In second grade, I traded in my Superman outfit for an Eagles uniform – the one with the white helmet and green wings – and went accident-free that Halloween of 1972.

I have been through too many owners and coaches to name, dreadful seasons and many where they were just good enough to not be quite good enough.

In the last 25 years, as I have grown into an alleged adult, the Eagles have had the best record in football — for teams who haven’t won the Super Bowl, that is.

My mantra has been to hope for the best but be prepared for the worst.

I protect myself in a veil of pessimism, trying to elude jinxes by exuding negativity.

This approach as kept me semi-sane.

But I went another way this year. I went public on www.phillyphanatics.com and predicted the Eagles would win it all this year.

And now, as it seems highly unlikely, I’m going for a ride on the crazy train.

I really had no basis for this out-of-character prognostication, other than that we were due.

And after Temple beat Penn State at the Linc, eliciting real post-game tears and leading to an item a notch below a Super Bowl win coming off my Sports Bucket List, I threw caution to the wind.

Hell had already frozen over, I surmised, so why not continue skating unfettered on the Pond of Dreams through the NFL the season?

Yeah, why not?

Well, because we have to consider the very real possibility that the Eagles are living under some sort of curse.

That’s why not.

It has become abundantly clear that the ice in hell was meant for only one bird, that being the Owl of my alma mater, and the wounded wings of the Eagles.

The 2015 Eagles now look more like Dream Team 2.0 (a reference to the 2011 Eagles that loaded up on free agents and failed to make the playoffs) than the one that will theoretically make my dreams come true.

While I don’t like to get my hands dirty – proven by the fact that I got a D-minus in Archaeology 101 while suffering from a bad case of Senioritis at Temple – I decided to go on my own dirt-free dig to get to the bottom of the source of the curse.

If all those annoying Bostonians can point to the selling of Babe Ruth to the Yankees – so that the team’s owner, Harry Frazee, could finance a musical called “No, No, Nanette” (no, no kidding … that was the title) – we can find something to that put a hex over our most beloved, and irksome, franchise, too.

The Eagles won titles in 1948 and 1949 and again in 1960, so the curse had to come shortly thereafter.

If JFK was assassinated here, we’d be set, but he wasn’t. He was shot dead in Dallas. How many Super Bowls the friggin’ Cowboys have won?

Five. That’s how many. Five.

See what I mean? Not that easy.

I came up with two finalists to match the since-broken “Curse of the Bambino” in Boston: “The Curse of the Dutchman” and “The Curse of Old Dirty Knee.”

It seems 1960 quarterback Norm Van Brocklin, aka The Dutchman, was promised the head coaching job here the following year but the promise was not kept.

Sounds plausible. A broken promise. A broken heart. Broken dreams for decades to follow.

But the numbers – like negative turnover ratio — don’t add up to a spiked ball in the end zone.

Van Brocklin did get his chance to coach in the NFL and the nine-time Pro Bowl quarterback will not be confused with Vince Lombardi. He coached the Minnesota Vikings from 1961 to 1966 and the Atlanta Falcons from 1968 to 1974 and got the playoffs just once. His career record: 66-100-7.

All due respect to the last guy to quarterback a team in this town to the Promised Land — not counting Chuck Fusina and Philadelphia Stars of the USFL or Willy Whoever and the Philadelphia Soul of the AFL — but we were probably better off.

That brings us to theory No. 2. Van Brocklin’s backup in 1960 was Sonny Jurgensen, whose primary role in 1960 was to hold for placekicker Bobby Walston (also the tight end, who kicked straight-ahead with more accuracy than Caleb Sturgis). That job earned him the short-lived moniker of Old Dirty Knee (only part of his uniform that got dirty was his knee from holding the ball).

Jurgensen got to take his place under center in 1961 and responded with 32 touchdown passes (still a franchise record that likely won’t be broken any time soon). For reasons that remain as mysterious as why Sam Bradford was seen as an upgrade over Nick Foles, Jurgensen was traded in 1964 to the Washington Redskins for a cornerback named Claude Crabb (I couldn’t make that up) and quarterback Norm Snead.

While Crabb was here for two seasons, ringing up a grand total of zero of his 10 career interceptions, Snead was an OK quarterback (think Mark Sanchez) on teams that ran the gamut from middling to hideous.

He actually scored the first touchdown of the game on a scramble when I made my aforementioned trip to Franklin Field in 1970 (a 35-20 loss to the St. Louis Cardinals). Snead made a Pro Bowl in 1972 (after moving on from the Eagles to the New York Giants, of course) but he was no Sonny Jurgensen, who was selected to the 1960s All-Decade Team and inducted into the Hall of Fame in 1983 after retiring in 1974.

And speaking of Lombardi, who made his household name in Green Bay (his only loss in a championship game was to the 1960 Eagles), he finished his career in Washington with Jurgensen as his quarterback. The legendary coach, for whom the elusive Super Bowl trophy is named, said Jurgensen was the best quarterback he had seen.

Note Jurgensen, not Norm Snead.

Ouch. It hurts my fingers just to type that.

Sure, opinions are like teeth, everybody has them until they fall out, at which point you are too old to really care anymore.

This is mine, the trade of an all-time great quarterback for a guy named Claude Crabb and a Tier II signal-caller named Norm Snead.

Forget the whiz and onions. Put that in your cheese steak and eat it.

We are now living under the Curse of Old Dirty Knee.

It sounds like a Spaghetti Western, but it is unfolding in the shadow of cash-only spaghetti restaurants in South Philly.

How do we break the curse?

Better call Superman.

A real one, not a first-grader who can’t untie the back of his costume.

 

 

Pope Brings Hope

PopeFrancis2

By GORDON GLANTZ

Gordonglantz50@gmail.com

@Managing2Edit

GORDONVILLE — The Trail of Tears. Slavery. The Civil War. Jim Crow. Women’s rights (or lack thereof).

Chapters of American history many would like to sweep under the rug.

Just like those pesky witch hunts, first in Salem, Massachusetts in the late 17th century and in post-World War II era when Sen. Joseph McCarthy tried to galvanize the country, and raise his political profile, with hearings – modern-day witch hunts – against Communism, real and perceived, on these shores.

McCarthy enjoyed some popularity at the outset. Warning about a “red under every bed,” he was seen as a bit of an American hero. The thinking: If he ruined a few innocent lives along the way, eh, so what?

By June of 1954, his star was beginning to fade a bit. Television was just taking its place in American culture and ABC — broadcasting to what was its largest audience — put itself on the map with a live broadcast on the 30th day of Army-McCarthy hearings (the senator was taking aim at some Army lawyers).

Under questioning about a lawyer at his firm named Fred Fisher, Army lawyer Joseph N. Welch had enough of McCarthy’s hateful act. When McCarthy brought up Fisher’s name, without warning, Welch lashed back.

After some banter, we are left with this sound bite that proved a turning point in the public consciousness.

“Let us not assassinate this lad further, Senator,” said Welch. “You’ve done enough. Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left no sense of decency?”

McCarthy persisted, but Welch stood firm on his moral high ground.

“Mr. McCarthy, I will not discuss this further with you,” he said. “You have sat within six feet of me and could have asked me about Fred Fisher. You have seen fit to bring it out. And if there is a God in Heaven it will do neither you nor your cause any good. I will not discuss it further.”

How and why is this relevant?

Depends how much you believe in learning the lessons of history, whether tragic or triumphant.

Because of Donald Trump, the guy with the bad hair who is sitting in the driver’s seat of the clown car that carries the hopefuls – and hopeless — from the Republican party.

After a three-hour debate, during which he was rightfully a marked man by those eating his dust in polls, Trump went on to New Hampshire. There, one his backers – wearing a Trump tee-shirt – engaged in the typical psychobabble about President Barrack Obama being a Muslim who was not born in the U.S.

Trump fostered this notion, of course, when he spearheaded — and financed — the sickening “birther” movement that wanted to know where Obama was born, refusing to take a valid birth certificate as an answer.

After taking some heat in the media for his lack of a coherent response, the other GOP challengers have turtled.

And only Jeb Bush — perhaps Trump’s only legitimate competition, when it is all said and done — came out and refuted those claims, instead saying it is about Obama’s progressive policies (as if progressive, instead of regressive, is a bad thing).

Trump kicked off his campaign with Neil Young’s “Keep on Rockin’ In The Free World” in the blasting in the background and then launched into a tirade about illegal immigrants.

Young, a Canadian anyway, yanked the song from Trump and willed it to my candidate of choice, Bernie Sanders, but the mantra about the illegal immigrants not only stuck, but gained traction – especially with those who attend tractor-pull competitions (and wear Trump tee-shirts to political rallies).

The use of hate speech to become a demagogue should not be taken lightly.

I really don’t want to call Trump another Adolf Hitler, but his attempt to cite one ethnic group to galvanize his base is eerily like ripping Page 1 out of the Nazi playbook.

And if he is running off-tackle with a swastika on his helmet, he is going to a play-action pass with Joseph McCarthy in his heart.

So who is going to put an end to it?

Who is going to play the part of Joseph N. Welch and expose and publicly pull down Trump’s pants and expose his wayward sense of decency?

It’s not going to be any of his fellow candidates, like the milquetoast Bush or comatose Dr. Ben Carson, because they all need to gather steam with some of Trump’s hot air about plans to “ship them all home” and rip families apart based on false claims of them all being rapists roaming the streets at night looking for your daughters.

The Democrats are so polar opposite in this hopelessly divided country that nothing they say, from their own well-worn playbooks, will have any sway.

But someone else just might.

This lapsed-beyond-repair Jew is putting all hope in the pope – Pope Francis.

And he just happens to be on his way to our shores — like a superhero, fresh from a phone booth — right now.

Instead of bemoaning the inconvenience posed by his visit, consider listening to his message.

He just made may save the soul of a country.

Pope Francis has spoken passionately about the plight of those who have come here, like the ancestors of many of us, in search of a better life.

America has never fully cured itself of xenophobia, as every group as faced the hate. But workers were needed during the industrial revolution, as were conscripts for the Union during the Civil War, so grudging exceptions were made.

These days, if you look different and speak different, there is no easy path – or even a doable path – to citizenship like in times of yore.

There are plenty of undocumented souls here – from all over the world – who overstay their work or student visas.

Many are seen with a blind eye because, well, they blend in with the scenery. Like comedian Chris Rock says, “If you’re white, it’s all right.”

Asians have been brought up by some candidates, including Trump, but that rhetoric doesn’t seem to feed to electorate beast the same way as the bull’s eye on Hispanics does.

And if you are from an Arab country, where they often burn American flags, you mystically seem to fly under the radar – at least in comparison to Hispanics, mostly from Mexico and Guatemala.

Pope Francis, born in Argentina, is seen as a beacon of hope for those being outright persecuted for political gain on the American landscape.

During a recent broadcast – ironically on ABC, the same network that made its name back in 1954 when Welch took McCarthy out to the woodshed – the pope fielded questions, via satellite, from many of the misunderstood (and miscast by Trump) and responded with tender and insightful answers.

All eyes – and cameras – will be on the pope during his time here. It will be a healthy shift away from Trump coverage, 25/8.

He will surely speak about his key issues, like climate change and income inequality – you know, the taboo subjects (along with gun control) at the GOP debates – but also on the Trump-inspired wrath on other human beings seeking to make the words on the Statue of Liberty come alive with coherent meaning once again.

And I suspect, he will target Trump — although maybe not by name — about his sense of decency.

That will be enough to take him to school — Bible School.

And I hope – we Secular Humanists don’t pray – it turns Donald Trump into another piece of American history that our children’s children will live to regret.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m A Believer

Temple Helmet

By GORDON GLANTZ

Gordonglantz50@gmail.com

@Managing2Edit

GORDONVILLE — I have a sports bucket list, which certainly varies from my overall bucket list of life and how I’d like to live it here on the back nine (rare golf reference, so call the papers that are actually still in business).

Anyone who knows me, even a little bit, is aware that the Eagles winning a Super Bowl sits atop this list and is looking way down on all others. I would venture to say it laps the field so much that it occupies the top three spots.

The thing is this – I’m not a greedy dude.

I don’t need a dynasty. I don’t need three titles in four years or anything of the sort. My blood pressure probably couldn’t take it anyway.

Just give me one and I’m good.

And unless they are living under a curse, like the annoying Red Sox fans used to think they were under for selling Babe Ruth to the Yankees, it’s really not outlandish.

It’s like a kid just listing one nice toy for Santa to bring on Christmas, as opposed to 171 stocking-stuffers.

The Eagles have been around since 1933 (rising from the Depression-created ashes of the Frankford Yellow Jackets, who won the NFL title in 1926). Before we had Super Bowls, they reached the title game in 1947 and came back to win it all in 1948 and 1949.

And they have the distinction of being the only franchise to beat a Vince Lombardi-coached team in a championship game when they captured the flag again in 1960.

That’s all well and good. I can do book reports on all those teams that would be so detailed that would make my naysaying schoolmarm teachers from grade school jump out of their orthopedic shoes – not to mention their graves.

But there is a problem.

I’m old, recently turning 50, but not that old.

I was born in 1965.

That’s five years after Glory’s Road underwent construction.

The odds are really in my favor, as long as my health holds out. The Eagles have been to the playoffs a lot of times, and to the Super Bowl twice – once with me watching live – but until it happens, it seems like a dream for someone in a rent-a-city like Tampa Bay to enjoy.

I often wonder what my reaction would be if the seemingly impossible happened. Would I spontaneously dance an Irish jig, jump so high that I’d land on the moon, scream until my larynx became dislodged or run down the street seeking out high fives from strangers until I found myself at the Lehigh Valley Airport (I guess I’d jump in a plane and – despite having no clue how to fly one – I’d pilot it back home)?

Well, I had a test run Saturday, as one of the other items on my sports bucket list came to pass.

Temple beat Penn State – 27 to freaking 10! — in football for the first time since 1941.

There were 39 meetings in there, with one tie.

This was personal, very personal.

My father had Temple season tickets, so I was at a lot of those as a tyke. At the time, I was also a Penn State fan, leaving a stench I still can’t wash away, but I put that allegiance off to the side in honor of a family tree where most of the leaves blossom as cherry and white.

There were some games that Temple — where I attended myself, choosing it over Penn State and Kent State, and met my future wife — stayed in the same zip code on the scoreboard but really had no shot to win. There were some where the Owls were completely smoked, and Joe Paterno – great humanitarian that he was – ran up the score.

But there were others – including very recently — where Temple not only could have won, but should have won.

Just like EagleQuest, it only seemed like a matter of time.

And like EagleQuest, there was no greed involved. Just one Temple win, creating sadness in Happy Valley, and I’d be set for life.

But time was ticking, and not in my favor.

With Temple in the ever evolving American Athletic Conference and Penn State plummeting to the middle of the pack in the Big 10, there was no guarantee that this semi-annual Pennsylvania waltz – that always ends with the same dance to the same sad dirge – was going to go on forever.

I worried that it may not be in Penn State’s best interests to tempt fate and schedule a non-league game with a cross-state rival that treats the tilt as its Super Bowl when it could play the likes of Akron and Toledo.

There was a sense of urgency this time around. I secretly felt the Owls had a shot. Despite “Temple football” always spoken like a punch line to a joke and with a roll of the eyes, the Owls were 6-6 a year ago and had a lot of returning players. Penn State was 7-6, the extra game by virtue of a bowl appearance that should not have been (but don’t get me started on that).

Plus, it was the first game of the year. Weird things happen in Week 1. There are always upsets, and near-upsets, at all levels (prior to Saturday, Division III Ursinus beat Division II Millersville and Division 1-A Villanova hung tough against Division I Connecticut).

Why not us?

I ventured into the literal den of the Lion to watch the game – my next-door neighbor’s house. He is not only a Penn State alum, but from “up there,” having been a high school teammate of Jay Paterno. His oldest daughter goes there, and the whole family was born and bred on Penn State. My other neighbor, also a Penn State guy, came over and pronounced that it was “just a preseason game.”

I was all Templed-up, in terms of dress, and had my enthusiasm dashed early, as Temple’s stout defense was gashed for a long touchdown run and the seemingly overmatched Owls fell into a quick 10-0 hole.

“Gordon, you didn’t really think Temple was going to win, did you?” one asked.

Actually, I did.

“No,” I answered, explaining that I thought Temple had to hold its own in the trenches, where it was at a size disadvantage, to prevail.

Something happened. Temple got its equilibrium and started to own the line of scrimmage on both sides of the ball.

A 10-0 deficit after one quarter didn’t feel so good, but 10-7 at halftime was a sign of life. Then it was 10-10. Then 17-10, Temple. Then, 24-10. Then, 27-10.

The minutes ticked down, but I still braced myself for the great collapse of 2015. Maybe Temple would turn it over. Maybe Penn State would score on special teams.

They all laughed when I said I been there before.

They had no idea how many times, or how painful.

Even though my neighbor was waving the white flag – and grudgingly giving Temple credit instead of pinning it all on Penn State failing to deploy a strategy to exploit Temple’s “inferior” talent – I needed to see Christian Hakenburg get sacked a few times and the clock hit zero.

Game Over!

I was told my wife was outside on the back deck, irritating the Penn State neighbors on all sides by banging celebratory pots.

My neighbor, who joked that he was going to call Homeland Security on me from running around his TV room yelling “Go Jahad, Go Jahad, Go Jahad” when Temple’s Jahad Thomas ran for a touchdown, followed me home and told my wife –jokingly, I think – that I wasn’t welcome to come back to watch any more games.

Go Jahad

“Fine with me,” I said. “I got what I came for.”

I got to scratch one off the bucket list.

And I got a real taste of what it would be like if the Eagles won the Super Bowl.

After I got back into my house, I sat down on the sofa and removed my Temple cap. I buried my head in my hands and sobbed tears of joy for about five minutes.

I could not help but think of my dad.

If it were the Eagles, it would be longer. A lot longer.

But now I know.

And now I believe the seemingly impossible can happen.

I woke up Sunday morning with as much of an epiphany that a secular humanist who was raised Jewish could have.

Reunite the Monkees. I’m a believer.

I sat down worked out my NFL predictions for www.phillyphanatics.com.

And I picked the Eagles to win it all.

Why not?

Gotta happen sooner or later, right?

 

 

This Joke Isn’t Funny Anymore

donald-trump1

By GORDON GLANTZ

Gordonglantz50@gmail.com

@Managing2Edit

GORDONVILLE — I only have one working windshield wiper, which is probably the result of trying to use them to swipe away layers of ice –usually without much success — this past winter.

Because the non-working wiper is on the passenger’s side, and because I won’t have time to get it addressed until after Sofia starts back to school in a few weeks, I’m just keeping an eye on the weather forecast and doing rain dances.

We could use my wife’s Honda Civic for long drives, but it’s so cramped in there that it leaves my back aching for days.

So, I was within my rights to have Sulu signal a yellow alert when a few sprinkles appeared on my already scratched windshield on the way to the American Music Theater in Lancaster Monday evening to see Loretta Lynn in concert.

Life is tough with only one windshield wiper, but nowhere near as tough as it is when you live in A country where too many around you have one working brain cell.

We were fortunate Monday. We sort of out-drove the rain and made it to our seats, front and center and in the fourth row (why can’t I get those for Springsteen or U2?).

As we looked upon the stage, with the rain coming down much harder outside, the stage was figuratively set for an ideal night.

All in all, Sofia would have rather been at home playing with her American Girl dolls and watching her reruns of reruns on the Disney Channel, but she will thank us one day for taking on the tour of legends.

It began last December, when we saw Bob Dylan from the nose-bleeds SEATS? at the Academy of Music and continued this summer with Gordon Lightfoot at the Keswick and Lynn on Monday.

Plus, unlike Lightfoot, we figured this would be a short concert. Lynn, after all, is 83 years old – making her the oldest performer I’ve seen (not counting my grandfather, Poppie, who played just about any string instrument that was ever made).

Much to our chagrin, a warm-up act, Walker County, was announced. I warmed up quick when I saw the  two sisters, Cutie and Pie, in the three-piece band. They were pretty talented, too, playing more of the Americana country that I enjoy. Pie, the singer with Maria McKee-type pipes, said they would be in the lobby during intermission selling their CD and signing autographs and was “hoping to meet all of y’all” out there.

Sofia professed an interest, and I gladly volunteered to take her to their table – at intermission.

But there was no intermission.

After Walker County exited stage left, Lynn’s “kids” — 51-year-old twin daughters, Peggy and Patsy, and 62-year-old son Ernie — did a few ditties. Then, Lynn came out onto the stage to a lot of the justifiable pomp and circumstance due an icon. There were a few pauses in the action, as other members of the group did some songs to give her a rest.

But, more or less, Lynn rolled through her hit songs to a crowd so long in the tooth – and as white-skinned, and haired, as the driven snow that damaged my windshield – that I felt as young as Sofia.

She did the two songs I knew and liked enough to download on iTunes – “You Ain’t Woman Enough (To Take My Man) and wrapped up “Coal Minter’s Daughter.”

All in all, a cool experience.

But it had to be tarnished.

Toward the end of the show, Lynn said Ernie , who already ruined a tender moment about the death of Conway Twitty with some sort of quip that earns a yahoo strips in a trailer park, wanted to make a political statement. He hollered out “Trump” and the crowd roared with approval through their dentures while stomping their canes.

Something didn’t connect, but everything fell into place.

We were in America – and relatively close to home – but on a distant planet. Cancel the yellow alert and beam me up, Scotty. No intelligent life down here.

We just listened to this woman, a great American rags-to-riches success story (read the book, see the movie … or at least Google her)  – roll through many of her self-penned songs that, for their time, gave voice to working class women before it was fashionable – and those who felt a connection with that music, whether they had also been wronged by their man or came from humble beginnings, roared their approval for a billionaire candidate who started his personal race about a foot from the finish line because he was born into wealth.

How and why could this be?

Won’t wasted too much time scratching the hair of my goatee.

The same reason that President Obama, despite the fact that it was him – and not Reagan, or anyone named Bush, that gave the Coal Miner’s Daughter with little formal education the Presidential Medal of Freedom — meets with derision.

Racism, plain and simple.

To me, something about Trumpmania is a bit Hitleresque. Not saying he is Hitler, but there are parallels – with the scape-goating of an ethnic to tap into people’s fears – that should not be ignored.

We didn’t defeat Nazi Germany in World War II to become Nazi Germany in an era where more than a 1,000 veterans of that war die per day.

I first thought about this uncomfortable parallel watching Trump babble – in a football stadium, no less – in front of a crowd with the combined wealth of his shoelaces in Mobile, Alabama a few days back.

It hit home in the American Music Theater in Lancaster Monday night when Ernie Lynn did his thang.

And from that moment on, the show was over in my mind.

Some of the other guys in the band did a passable cover of “Peaceful, Easy Feeling” but I was feeling anything but peaceful and easy, especially with my daughter being exposed to that nonsense.

When Lynn finished singing “Coal Miner’s Daughter,” there was a moment of indecision in the room.

Was it over, or was there an intermission?

The side doors opened, the house lights went up.

Right on cue.

At Sofia’s insistence – she is the alpha of the family – we went to the lobby to find the girls from Walker County.

Their real names are Sophie Dawn and Ivey Dene (their daddy, Billy Walker, plays guitar and helps write the tunes) and could not have been any nicer, posing for a picture with Sofia and signing an autograph.

When I wished Sophie Dawn good luck, and told her how good they sounded, she put down what she

was holding and shook my hand and thanked me.

All good, and we have a young band to root for, but it could not erase the sour taste.

We played the Walker County CD on the way home, and didn’t say much as we listened. When it ended – it’s an EP (only six songs) – Laurie and I discussed the scenario and how it related to the state of the country.

One of Sofia’s new pop idols, Becky G, came on the radio — Disney Channell, which now one of my presets (gulp) — and Laurie mentioned that the Mexican-American teen who went to work at age 9 to help parents who were struggling – likely as much as Loretta Lynn’s were — had recently written a song in response to Trump called “We Are Mexico.”

I’m sure it’s not my kind of music, but it’s the type of message we need to send.

Perhaps, while we are taking Sofia to see as many older musical icons while they are still standing, she has a role model with her finger on the pulse of a divided country.

When Trump entered the contest, I laughed. When he surged to the top of the polls, I chuckled.

I figured he would divide the GOP enough that the way would be paved for a Democrat – hopefully Bernie Sanders, but not likely (more to do with his ethnicity than being a “s-s-s-socialist”) – to win the election next November.

Now, I’m not so sure. Now, I really think this guy can win.

Before Obama even had a second foot through the door of the oval office, haters started hating, saying they wanted their country back.

To put a spin on Lynn’s aforementioned hit, I fear Trump may just be man enough to take my country.

I would say I don’t get it.

Sadly, I do.

And this joke isn’t funny anymore.

I may only have one working windshield wiper, but I can see clearly now.

It’s not a pretty picture.

Rosterology 101

Ajirotutu

By GORDON GLANTZ

@Managing2Edit

Gordonglantz50@gmail.com

GORDONVILLE — Welcome, class, to Rosterology 101. Put away your iPads and laptops. Our supplies are simple. All your need is a calculator and some common sense.

As a proactive strike, I would ask that you place your head above your heart. As training camp evolves into the NFL preseason, you will read about – and catch glimpses of – long shot players and get visions of Rudy Ruettiger- and Vince Papale-like success stories.

The harsh reality is that those were movies. The real Rudy played college football when the only requirement was to suit up X amount of players on game day. Infinite players could don the golden dome helmets during the week.

Papale? Contrary to the myth spun by the flick “Invisible,” he had already been a pro player with the Philadelphia Bell of the ill-fated World Football League and was invited to try out for the Eagles (the silly open tryout in the movie was more reminiscent of what he experienced trying out for the Bell as a semi-pro player). He was, for lack of a better term, a preferred walk-on for an Eagles’ team in transition at a time in the NFL where training camp rosters were not limited to 90.

Unlike the team Papale made, this is an Eagles squad coming off back-to-back 10-win seasons. A large part of the roster is locked down by established players, newcomers acquired via trade or free agency, younger players that a significant amount of development time has been invested in already and 2015 draft picks that will have to play themselves off the active roster or 10-man practice squad.

For every guy who makes a diving catch or interception in the fourth quarter of a preseason game, keep in mind that someone ahead of them in the minds of coach Chip Kelly and his coaches would have to be X-ed out of the final equation based on a play that could be chalked up as an aberration.

For this exercise, we will keep the math simple and go with 25 players on each side of the ball and save three spots – etched in stone – for the kicker (Cody Parkey), punter (Donnie Jones) and long snapper (Jon Dorenbos).

So, while the cops may have busted Madame Marie for telling fortunes better than they do, it is not too hard to read the tea leaves here.

Barring injury, let’s look at a projected 53-man roster:

OFFENSE (25)

Quarterback (3): Sam Bradford, Matt Sanchez, Tim Tebow

What about me? Matt Barkley

What about you? A fourth-round pick in 2013, Barkley is likely to be showcased early in the preseason with the intent of being peddled to a quarterback-desperate team closer to the start of the season. If that doesn’t happen, the decision becomes more difficult. If it came down to starting, Barkley might be a better option than Tebow. As a third quarterback, the sense is that the Eagles would rather have Tebow.

Running Back (3): DeMarco Murray, Ryan Mathews, Darren Sproles

What about me? Kenjon Barner

What about you? With the curious release of previous preseason workhorse Matthew Tucker due to non-football injury, it leaves the undersized Barner (5-9, 195) to carry the load and take the hits they don’t want or need the three primary backs absorbing. It could be opportunity knocking for Barner, who racked up big numbers for Kelly at Oregon, but he is in the Sproles mold as a third-down back and return man and a needless duplication. He could be auditioning as much for other teams as he is for the Eagles.

Wide Receiver (6): Jordan Matthews, Riley Cooper, Nelson Agholor, Josh Huff, Miles Austin, Seyi Ajiroututu

What about me? Jeff Maehl

What about you? A marginal NFL talent who has not distinguished himself on special teams – an area where Ajiroututu stood out with the San Diego Chargers to the extent that he could put some defensive players on the roster bubble. Maehl has milked this “Oregon thing” long enough. The CFL beckons.

Tight End (3): Zach Ertz, Brent Celek, Trey Burton

What about me? N/A

Offensive line (10): Jason Peters (T), Jason Kelce (C), Lane Johnson (T), Allen Barbre (G-T), Matt Tobin (G-T), Andrew Gardner (T-G), Dennis Kelly (G-T), Kevin Graf (T), Jared Wheeler (G-C), John Moffitt (G)

What about me? David Molk, Julian Vandervelde, Josh Andrews

What about you? Molk did an admirable job as a undersized pivot when last year when Kelce was injured. Vandervelde, a fifth-round choice by the old regime in 2011, has been in and out of Philadelphia so many times that he has accrued enough frequent flyer miles for a round-trip to Bora Bora. He became a pet project for offensive line coach Jeff Stoutland, but newcomer Wheeler has collegiate ties to Stoutland and is a bigger version of Vandervelde. He can play center, as can Andrews, who is likely ticketed for a return trip to the practice squad. Expect him to be joined by some combination of rookie free agents (i.e. Brett Boyko, Mike Coccia, Malcolm Bunche and Cole Manhart).

Summary: That takes us to 25, class. There is some flexibility if Kelly elects to go with nine offensive linemen and keep a fourth running back, all four quarterbacks or another tight end (three rookie free agents in camp), meaning guys like Graf and Kelly are very much on the bubble. A lot of that will be based on the versatility of offensive linemen to master multiple spots, as only seven or eight dress on game day anyway. You may now go to recess before we continue with the other side of the ball.

DEFENSE

Defensive Line (7): Fletcher Cox, Bennie Logan (NG), Cedric Thornton, Vinny Curry, Beau Allen (NG), Frank Mays, Taylor Hart

What about me? Brandon Bair, Brian Mihalik

What about you? Bair lived out of a suitcase, bouncing around between NFL practice squads, before walking onto a field for the first time – and performing admirably – last year at age 29. This will be a tough cut, but the head wins out over the heart. They will keep his agent’s cell phone number in the rolodex, but it is time to get younger and go with players – like the massive Mays (6-9, 291) and Hart, a 2014 fifth-round pick out of Oregon – that offer more down the road, while placing 2015 seventh-rounder Mihalik onto the practice squad.

Linebacker (9): Connor Barwin, Mychal Kendricks, Kiko Alonso, DeMeco Ryans, Brandon Graham, Jordan Hicks, Travis Long, Brad Jones, Najee Goode.

What about me? Marcus Smith II, Bryan Braman, Emmanuel Acho

What about you? None of these were easy cuts. More than likely, second-year man Brandon Hepburn will show enough for a return hitch on the practice squad.  It just comes down to numbers, and also the fact that the Eagles didn’t make the playoffs last year because of a defense that was tired at the end of games and at the end of the season. The idea here is to rotate successfully at more spots than just defensive line, which benefitted from its depth last year but had guys huffing and puffing behind them. Smith was drafted in the first round in 2014 based on size, raw athletic ability and one year of production at Louisville. They knew he lacked technique, which can be culled from a willing pupil, but have had to learn first-hand that he lacks coachability and the high-motor needed for the NFL. Better to cut ties now. Braman was brought in last year to help solidify the special teams units, and fulfilled that task. However, he can only continue that role by suiting up on game days and he simply offers nothing at linebacker, at least not compared to Jones (a resume in Green Bays that includes starts, inside and outside, and solid special teams work) and Long. Additionally, others – like Burton – have emerged as special-teams aces, making Braman expendable. Acho, like Casey Matthews, only made the team in 2014 because of season-ending injuries to Long and Goode.

Defensive Back (9): Byron Maxwell (CB), Nolan Carroll (CB), Eric Rowe (CB-S), Malcolm Jenkins (S), Walter Thurmond (S-CB), Chris Maragos (S), Jaylen Watkins (S-CB), Ed Reynolds (S), Jacorey Shepherd (CB).

What about me? Earl Wolff, Chris Prosinski, Randall Evans, Jerome Couplin III, EJ Biggers.

What about you? As you can see from the notable cuts, the Eagles have gone for more of a quantity over quality approach to upgrade their depth in the secondary. Wolff was the red herring thrown out by Kelly to the media wolves early in the offseason when asked about who will start alongside Jenkins at safety, but the 2013 fifth-round pick continues to take up permanent residence in the trainer’s room. As is the case at linebacker with the likes of Braman, a special-teams specialist like Prosinski was a luxury they couldn’t afford. He and Couplin, poached from Detroit’s practice last year, needed to beat out Maragos, and there was no way that was going to happen. Maragos is an elite special-teams guy, not just a “good” one, and can play some safety in an extreme pinch. Shepherd and Evans were drafted in the sixth round and could certainly unseat the likes of Watkins or Reynolds, but they have one less year in the system and would be better served with a year on the practice squad. Biggers should be familiar to Eagles’ fans because he was victimized as a slot corner during Jordan Matthews’ coming-out party early last season against the Redskins. Perhaps he was signed in the offseason as a thank you for that non-effort. With Brandon Boykin recently traded cross-state to Pittsburgh for a bag of deflated footballs, the hope is that Biggers doesn’t beat out Shepherd or Watkins as the new slot corner.

Summary: That’s 25 more. Really not as much flexibility in the breakdown, as it is risky going with less than seven defensive linemen or just to accommodate a 10th linebacker or defensive back. The out-of-the-box projections here are Mays on the defensive line instead of Bair, Long and Goode at linebacker over Braman and Smith II, and Reynolds and/or Watkins at safety over Wolff and Prosinski. Mays has too much untapped potential to be stashed on the practice squad and, as stated, Goode is – pardon the pun – a good enough special-teams player to ease the loss of Braman. His presence will also allow third-round pick, Hicks, to cross-train at outside linebacker. Long makes it on his versatility and for bringing all the intangibles that Smith II will likely never have.

And there it is: 25 plus 25 equals 50. Now, class, add in three for the aforementioned specialists – kicker, punter and snapper – and you have your 53-man roster for the 2015 (and hopefully a little into 2016) Philadelphia Eagles.

There will be a pop quiz, so be prepared.

Class dismissed.

This analysis also appeared at http://www.phillyphanatics.com

A Vow From The Chair

Dems For Bono

By GORDON GLANTZ

@Managing2Edit

Gordonglantz50@gmail.com

GORDONVILLE — It has been more than three decades of political awareness than stood before a mirror, with a picture of Bobby Kennedy behind me, and made the following vow:

I, Gordon Glantz, take you the Democratic party, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

And I have, more or less, stayed true to these ideals. When I send in a play from the sidelines, it was from the Liberal playbook.

My first presidential election was 1984, and I voted for Walter Mondale. I have never voted for a Republican for president.

Yes, that means I voted for Barack Obama twice. And, while I don’t agree with everything he has done, I would do it again.

Because I can’t, I’m “all in” for Bernie Sanders. If his long-shot bid fails, I have no choice but to go with Hillary Clinton over anyone currently in the GOP field.

Sorry if some of you find that as a turnoff, but I believe honesty is the best policy. When you are not in a vicious cycle of telling lies to get out of the lies you told before, your days are easy and your nights are not as sleepless.

While we are being honest. I will admit that I was as bloodthirsty for revenge as any red-blooded American after 9/11. I remember how unified we all were — at least for the blink of an eye — and even commented that it was a “good thing we have a Texan in the White House.”

Because he blew it, leaving the country more divided, I believe that “ersatz Texan” — George W. Bush — is the worst president of my lifetime.

Not even close.

Some told me I would get more conservative after the birth of my daughter, Sofia, in 2007. Turns out, the opposite was true.

Because my baby girl will be one day be a young woman and a lady, gender equity is is an important issue to me.

Because I want to leave her — and her children and children’s children — with a better planet, I have become increasingly aware of the environment.

And whether or not you believe climate change/global warming is a human-made or some strange natural phenomenon, it should not change the idea that we can work together to do something about it “in the now” by simply recycling and eating less meat and carpooling and using public transportation in lieu of driving.

And don’t get me started on holding the oil industry and other major polluters accountable.

While my liberal playbook — and a few viewings of “Bowling For Columbine” — always had me advocating for stricter gun control, it got more personal after the Sandy Hook tragedy. The young victims were around the same age as Sofia, and I have been passionate about strict gun control ever since.

While I would never own a gun, that doesn’t mean I want to go door to door and take guns away from sane and responsible gun owners. I merely want them taken away from those who have no right being in the same hemisphere with firearms, and I refuse believe it is impossible to work toward that goal — just like it always was, and remains, possible to make the roads safer with better-made vehicles and ongoing enhanced enforcement for evolving scourges likes distracted driving.

Like climate change/global warming, my mind is boggled about gun control being a political wedge issue.

However, I don’t believe in absolutes. That would make me closed-minded, and therefore not a true liberal (look up the definition).

On the local level, I have voted for nearly as many Republicans as Democrats,a nd I have done so with no regrets. That includes Sam Katz when he ran for mayor of my hometown of Philadelphia, which I believe would have been better off had he won in 1999.

It certainly would have been a safer place  to live and work, which my wife does.

This brings us to the subject of law enforcement. Since residing in Montgomery County, I have voted for the best person for the job — regardless of party affiliation — for the offices of district attorney and sheriff.

And, as it turns out, my choices have always been Republican.

I was proud to pull the lever for Eileen Whalon Behr, who I knew well from my hitch as the crime reporter for the Times Herald, and I was even more stoked to see Russell J. Bono come out of a short retirement from the Norristown Police Department to take her place.

I worked closely with Russell while I was covering the crime beat, as he was in the final phase of his career with the NPD, that being the chief during that time. We developed a mutual respect and a friendship that transcended our political differences (such as the Second Amendment).

When I was promoted to managing editor, he was one of the first people I called, and he gave me a vote of confidence.

When he retired, I gladly penned a column and a story about his career.

When my own journalism career came to an end, he was one of the first people I reached out to and he was again beyond supportive.

Those are times you don’t you don’t forget, because you find who your friends are.

When he decided to run to retain the office, I put aside party affiliation — as everyone should when it comes to enforcing the law — and asked what I could do to help.

I don’t know all that much about the opponent. Frankly, I don’t need to know much because Russell J. Bono — as a lawman and not a lawyer — is the right man for the job.

As a career lawman, he is an artisan of his craft. What always amazed about him, despite his years on the job, is that he was never jaded enough not feel sincere compassion for innocent victims

That is why I have gladly accepted the position of Chairman of the Democrats for Bono committee.

Whether you are a fellow Democrat, an independent or an on-the-fence Republican, I ask for your support.