On this particular Friday night, there seemed to be countless options for fun outings around St. Louis, especially for lovers of live music. Even though I’m almost adjusted to temporarily eliminating this part of my life, I have had that nagging sensation the past couple of hours … that I’m totally missing out on things.

Which is undeniably true, to some extent. Though my reasons for focusing on home and family are being emphasized now more than ever for numerous reasons, it is still very difficult. Especially given the fact that I am not aging with quite as much grace as I should. I’m scared, intimidated and exceptionally sorrowful about nearing the age of 40. I have some gray hairs! Man …

As I carry the burden of these tangential thoughts, it is the central topic of “home” that dominates the reason why I am not only living a currently muted social life but am essentially preoccupied at all times.

Now, we do love our super cool home. Been here for 9.5 years. But, as my family attempts to sell our house and move forward with our destiny, we have been dealing with incredible highs and lows. It is a perpetual pendulum that is beginning to swing too wildly for my sensitive preferences.

Example: I started my new job this past Tuesday. What was to be great day turned into a marathon of productivity, responsibility and controlled chaos. As I left for the office in the morning, I received a call from our Realtor that our house was to be shown at 4pm. Say what?!

About two hours later, I receive a call that our house is to be shown again at 630. Of course. Some might say this is an example of Murphy’s Law. Not sure about that, but I do know we have a huge, furry cat named Murphy that weights like 25 pounds and hides when she knows she has to be removed from our home. I guess that is her personal Law.

So, this is the kind of thing that happens when you are selling your home. Bottom line: you have to completely depersonalize your home, clean it to a state of realistic perfection and stage it so a potential buyer can imagine living there … and not picture the current owner in any form or fashion. And remove your pets. Even the super big furry ones names Murphy.

After several open houses/personal showings, I have figured out it takes about five hours to prepare our home for a showing. How did we pull this doubleheader off while I started my new job? Well, fortunately we had a showing just two days previous, and I was working a split shift (1030a-230 / 630p-1030). So, I busted my ass home and my wife did the same that afternoon once I was off work and my daughter’s day at school ended. Just needed two hours to get this show rolling …

We got the house ready (somehow), and she went back to work and I drove around with my 3-year-old daughter and cats … and a car full of crap that we had nowhere to store in time for this showing. I did have an hour at home between the two showings to restore some sanity, then drove around aimlessly until our home was all clear … then once my wife got back home, went back to work. So, we did pull it off.

One potential buyer was a couple. They narrowed their choices to our house, and another house. They chose the other one, even though our house has unlimited positive mojo. Well, crap.

We have another open house in two days, so I’m focused on that, among many other things going on right now. So, no going out yet again. I give up. For real this time. In fact, I may re-define going out. Rather than bars, concerts, house parties and actually seeing friends, I am going to begin defining going out as those occasions when I can slip out and drink beer and eat chicken wings alone and watch sports for an hour. With everything else so elusive, I’ll just settle for the excitement of being in a public place that is not a grocery store, gas station or Target.

One of my favorite characteristics of the U.S. Midwest is truly having four seasons, with each bringing its defining traits annually in full glory. At least usually. Unfortunately, this winter has been an epic letdown for weather enthusiasts like me. I have unlimited passion for snow, bitter cold and the entire aura surrounding the season of winter.

Now that my 3-year-old daughter shares this same passion for snow, the past couple of months have really been a major buzz kill.

When people react to this like I am irrational, I explain how weather is a tremendously emotional topic for me. Romanticizing weather is certainly not a unique trait as it part of our daily fabric and routine. It is just more excessive for me.

The powerfully sensual qualities of a snow storm, thunderstorm and even just a solid, steady rain are experiences I’m constantly seeking. I watch various RADARs like a freaky hawk, and find The Weather Channel’s Extreme Weather programming to be irresistible. (It has nothing to do with Crystal Egger or Nicole Mitchell or Heather Tesch.)

This is because there are very few sounds, sights, smells and feelings on our planet that can match the intensity of nature in full chaos. If someone has never went outside right before a wind-chilled Arctic cold front hits St. Louis, enjoyed the calm before a ripping thunderstorm rolls through or observed the atmosphere changes the hour leading up to the beginning of a major snowfall … then it’s hard to grasp, I suppose.

The whistle of the winds, the awe-inspiring boom of thunder and the cosmic light display from lightning are each genuine marvels.

But it is snow that really blows my mind. Watching the skies turn gray, feeling the air cool and experiencing liquid precipitation gradually turn into glorious white particles is just awesome.

St. Louis usually gets around 20 inches of snow, but in 2011 we received 30 inches. This winter, we have had about 5.5 inches. Boo. It is our least snowy winter since 2001. Last year was our “best” winter since 1987. Basically, the weather stats say this year is like 1955 … all over again.

The spring-like winter had its advantages, as I spent many afternoons at the park with my daughter. But even that is a problem, as now there will be no “spring-fever” when it warms up for real. It will just be … more of the same, but at least with thunderstorms.

I grew up on a farm in Iowa, and perhaps this enhanced my lifelong weather obsession. There is no setting like the rural Midwest that captures these splendid climate events. Obviously, there is a dark side to the severe weather in the Midwest as tornadoes can be devastating. But this also adds to the mystique of these weather events.

The idea of going on a real storm-chasing adventure is something I cannot shake, and hope to do later in life. For now, I’ll just experience what I can in St. Louis, and hopefully the winter of 2013 will be much more memorable.

Actually, meteorologists are saying the spring of 2012 may be legendary because of the extreme warmth. Hmmm.

While I think of BCD as a warm, inviting place where I can check out amazing musicians for free and drink hoppy beers for “keepin’-it-real” prices, it is really a combination of elements that sets this place apart from other establishments in our great city. St. Louis has a long, storied history of being a beacon that enables aspiring (or established) blues musicians to prove their mettle in front of passionate blues lovers. BCD perpetuates this decades-long tradition by offering live music every Thursday evening and Saturday afternoon.

I’ve been to BCD around 12 times in the past 18 months, and each visit was during a live music performance. Not that it wouldn’t be a wonderful place to hang out otherwise, but since I go out very infrequently I plan around these experiences. I’ve never been disappointed by the music being played there, and it is ALWAYS a different act playing. The music covers so many styles and eras … and it is always a far-out party! Though it is very crowded at times.

It genuinely feels like a special oasis as evidenced by any otherwise calm, uneventful Thursday evening being instantly transformed into an energetic, authentic live music experience in St. Louis city as soon as you hit the corner of McNair and Victor Streets. The entire Benton Park area seems to have undergone an infusion of business development and community support, which is awesome.

I really appreciate a business owner like BCD’s Vinny Valenza, who is constantly tending to his customers and is just a super friendly guy. He seems to love throwing out shirts and gifts to his patrons during shows and is hands-on with everything. Bumper stickers are easy to acquire as well!

Usually, I see many of the same faces when I hit this place, a likely result of tremendous neighborhood support by folks that just love good times. Besides live music and a dynamic setting, BCD obviously offers food … and it is remarkable. Huge sandwiches for $5-7, and the variety is enough that you could order differently for months. Like the food, the beer options are also varied. High-quality and inexpensive. On one recent Thursday, I enjoyed Double-IPAs for $2 each! That is crazy stuff.

I generally don’t see why places have beers priced so high. I’ll drink four $2 beers, but maybe 1-2 $4 beers when I go out. The more customers buy (and drink), the more tips for the staff, the happier the crowd … and the likelihood of food purchases rises exponentially.

BCD also often has local breweries on hand for tastings during live music performances, which is another cool move by Vinnie. I wish other local businesses would take notice at this dynamic business model and follow suit. You may lose a little profit margin, but the loyalty of your customers and employees will ensure longevity and prosperity for many years. Blues City Deli rocks, man!

Every time I see highlights of Freese’s improbable, clutch, two-out, two-strike ninth-inning triple and his game-winning home run at 11:39 CT in the bottom of the 11th inning in Game 6 of the 2011 World Series, I think of one thing: Texas outfielder Josh Hamilton.

Hamilton’s life story is mind-boggling, and his travails during the 2011 season alone are incredible. I’ve found his experiences to be unshakable for many reasons, and was reminded of all of this last week when it was publicized that he had endured a brief alcoholic relapse.

His story has much more depth than can be done sufficient justice in a simple blog post. But for those not familiar with Hamilton’s story, here is a basic summary: he was the best baseball player in America in the late 1990s. He was the very first pick (Tampa Bay) in the Major League Baseball Draft in 1999. Injuries, including those from an auto accident, followed by addictions to hard-core drugs (cocaine, heroin) short-circuited his MLB debut … by eight years.

Hamilton sobered up, trained hard and emerged, finally, as a major-league player for the Reds in 2007. He played well in limited action as a rookie, and was traded to the Rangers in 2008 and has shined in Texas since. Many sports observers feel his prodigious home-run derby performance in 2008 at Yankee Stadium to be one of the most amazing sports feats that they’ve ever witnessed. Hamilton hit an astonishing 28 home runs in the contest’s opening round. It was freakin’ unreal!

He won a batting title and league MVP in 2010. In 2011, Hamilton was involved in a fan’s fatal fall during a Texas home game, something unimaginably horrific. A father and son were attending the game, and the father fell to his death when trying to catch a ball that Hamilton had tossed to him in the stands. He fell over a railing. Of all people for this happen to, but Hamilton stayed in contact with the family and when the son and his mother returned to the Rangers’ ballpark in the 2011 postseason it was intensely emotional. And mildly redeeming, though I’m sure it is a perpetual pain for Hamilton.

These events are also why I thought it was only fitting and just when it appeared that Hamilton’s Roy Hobbs-like two-run home run in the top of the 10th inning was going to deliver Texas its first championship. He was playing through severe pain, just like Robert Redford in The Natural. But the Cards rallied again to tie the game, setting up Freese’s historic 11th-inning blast.

Hamilton is one of those substance abusers who cannot simply have a few drinks. He has to stay clean, or he falls apart. I don’t completely understand addiction, but I can easily wrap my head around it based on things I’ve done and seen. Hamilton’s faith, his primary driving force, is something I cannot relate to at all, but I do hope he can stay strong with whatever will work for him.

I want to see him play for many more years, and given that he has four daughters to care for, his story is better served as a heroic one … and not a tragic one.

I suppose that is one of many ways to attempt and shed light on an evening that was full of New Year’s Eve freedom and frivolity, yet ended with a wretched encounter with a mad stranger who threatened to kill me and my family.

It is one those sudden circumstances that leaves you shocked, angry and beyond perplexed. But, ultimately, I have chosen relief. This wayward meeting could have ended in a multitude of ways that would have carried an unbearably negative outcome.

We did not know for sure that we would be able to go out for New Year’s until the afternoon of 12.31.10. When you have a two-year-old, you cannot really plan to do anything that does not involve the child – especially anything outside of the home. Thankfully, my in-laws live in St. Louis, which allows at least the possibility of a night out together from time to time. But many things have to fall in place for this to work, and often the effort required is not worth the hassle. So, we rarely go out together and usually our outings are individual experiences.

Everything lined up well for New Year’s Eve though, and we headed out to West County to drop off our little girl at her grandparent’s house around 915 p.m. She fell asleep on the drive as planned. We put her to bed, gathered ourselves and waited for my in-laws to get home so we could go to a house party in Dogtown. We were on our way at 10 p.m.

So far, so good. We found an elusive parking spot, and headed to the party. We did have an early mishap as we entered the wrong house! We walked into another party two houses before our actual destination as they had the same state of Missouri flag adorning their porch, which threw us off. But, they were all very cool and knew our friends, so it was not as awkward as one might expect. In fact, they ended up at the other party by night’s late end!

We found our friend’s house, and were delighted to see many familiar faces and friends. They had kegs of New Belgium beers, adult punch, an entire kitchen full of food and snacks, a roaring toasty fire outside and everything else to make this a fantastic party.

We drank, ate, laughed, talked and enjoyed the type of merriment that is very elusive these days for us to experience together. The night was racing by, and around 230 a.m. my wife expressed that we needed to head out as she was growing fatigued. No problem; we headed out.

About three minutes into our drive home, a car pulled up next to us with the driver, some guy, rolling his window down motioning at us. My first thought was that it was somebody we knew since we were still so close to the party. We were cautious, yet are always looking to help others, and we lowered our windows and inquired about what was up. He was on my side of our vehicle.

This dude immediately went into a panicked, rambling story about how he had been treated poorly from wherever it was he came from. He had been left or abandoned. A female acquaintance evidently had either not paid him proper attention, or left him … or something. He said he had a child (not with him). He was distraught, and could not believe he had been treated with such insensitivity, expressing “what is wrong with people.” And why would no one help him. And how could he be in this situation … how could this be happening to him … “how can people just do these things.” And so on and so on.

This was clearly and incredibly uncomfortable for us, and at this point we were just plain scared. I told my wife that I was going to kindly say goodbye and to get ready to drive off. I told him that we were very sorry for him, and to just be careful and try to take it easy and get home safely.

My wife drove off. This did not work as we had hoped. He came racing at us from behind, zipping alongside our vehicle until he had caught up with us. It is amazing he made no contact with our car as this was on a typically narrow St. Louis street and he was so close to sideswiping our vehicle. I kept expecting and hoping for someone else to drive onto this scene, just something to interrupt this impossible-to-handle scenario. He edged his car at an angle as to cut off our path. We were trapped from forward progress, and the thought of going in reverse was terrifying.

He expressed outrage that we had stopped listening and attempted to leave. Our attempts at reasoning with him were failing. We tuned in again to his sob story. My wife kept telling me to say, “I hear you. I understand how you feel.”

She had watched an episode of Oprah one time that dealt with these kinds of encounters, and that memory automatically surfaced. Meanwhile, I was watching his hands extremely closely for any signs of weapons, or motions that would indicate his intention to exit his black car.

I also had my hand on 911 on my phone. Needless to say, interacting with him, listening and maintaining a dialogue while thinking about our options at 3 a.m. was difficult. Plus, it was New Year’s at 3 a.m. and there was a reason I was not driving as I had enjoyed numerous cocktails and beers.

Thus guy was not in a proper state of mind, but we did not think he was crazy. It seemed to be a drug- and alcohol-induced madness, maybe even a psychedelic episode gone very badly. His ranting went on peculiar tangents and eventually arrived to a point where he was not listening to us any longer.

He asked us why we tried to leave, and I said we were fearful for our lives and it was just a natural reaction to a frightening encounter with a stranger that we simply thought needed help. He turned a very dark, ominous corner at this point after vacillating between distraught behavior and a threatening tone. Now it was dark.

He began to say he might hurt us, expressed an interest in not letting us out of this circumstance because of how people have treated him … then said he was going to kill us and our family. I managed to suppress my rage and not to do anything foolish. Our intuition told us he was not evil, just in the midst of a serious meltdown, an induced madness, though we had no way to know.

Once it got to this point, we wanted help. As we whispered below our breath about how to call 911 without him noticing, we decided to just sit quietly and wait his next move. I was guessing that a prolonged quiet would allow him a moment to gather his thoughts and see this situation in a new light. To see how drastic his actions were. We just sat there.

Just as we needed to somehow react, he sped off.

We are thankful this did not end worse, but like any major fright, there are some lingering feelings about how one’s safety and livelihood can be compromised at any given moment in life. Now that we are a mother and a father, these feelings are even more complex to sort through.

Of course, those first few months of unemployment were the most difficult, and, to some extent, worthy of some degree of compassion. But only because I had an eight-month-old baby at home when I lost my job, and I actually had really loved my position with Emmis Communications as Digital Brand Manager.

The fact that I was/am still young and very capable of working at an assortment of jobs, combined with a generous severance package and a wife that is employed full-time, made me feel hopeful for the future and not at all sorry for myself. I was not really in a bad position when I lost my job because I’ve always saved my money, was put into a position to be able and stay home and care for my daughter (an irreplaceable life experience!), and generally was not thrust into any serious hardship. Especially when compared to the millions of Americans that have been put into destitution over the past couple of years as a result of the prolonged misdirection of our country based on corporate greed and the false economy created by the PRE-Obama administrations.

My job loss was extremely emotional, but not a problem with my family’s livelihood. I’ve always said that to everyone. Still, it was not easy to handle. After a full year passed and I had not landed a full-time job, it was even more difficult to envision exactly what my family’s future had in store. I began my own sports radio show (on Sports Radio 1380) as an outlet for my own creativity and uniquely specialized interest and expertise, but it was not a method to assuage what I actually needed: a stable job and income.

In the 20 months since losing my job – because my company lost most of its advertising revenue – I have had countless thoughts about what the hell I need to do to land a job. That was my third lay off in eight years, and I was thriving at each of those three positions when I lost my job … at no fault on my part.

So, it may have taken 605 days, but I am now employed again in a stable, full-time position. I am particularly excited with my new position as Regional Sports Editor for St. Louis’ Patch.com network of web sites, because it will draw upon all of my abilities. I look forward to writing much more about this new endeavor as it unfolds. Wow … the future has arrived.

With that being said, I do not think I could be involved in sales full-time. In addition to trying to find suitable sponsors for my radio show, I am currently working for AOL to help them launch a vast network of community-based web sites (patch.com) around St. Louis. Though I should be moving into more of an editorial (writing/editing) role in the next few weeks, I’ll take whatever work I can find right now. So, I’m helping them complete their online business directories for these sites.

It’s not bad. I keep my own hours, and do everything independently. Much of this work involves taking and uploading digital images, and updating business information on the web sites. Flexible, manageable … and it’s work!

Unfortunately, much of the work I have been doing recently does not always pay, so these kinds of jobs and opportunities can be very helpful.

One aspect to this short-term venture is that I visit businesses to make sure I have their information correct, and to see if they want any input into how I present their directory web page (text, photos, etc.). It’s actually been relatively smooth, but I can tell when I first approach a business, they assume I am selling something. Their patch.com directory web page is FREE.

It takes a minute for them to realize I am no salesman. The fact I am wearing such casual clothing helps; and, I assume that I project very little sales “presence.” I’ve learned to mention that I am NOT selling anything, and this is a free deal right away. The few times the business representative made me feel like a salesman did not sit well with me. I’ve had a few moments recently during these business visits when all of a sudden I did not feel like myself. I’ve now adopted an approach where I just act like myself, tell them I’m a writer trying to get these web sites launched, and am helping out with the directories because I need the work and since I’m not selling anything, it is a good opportunity for some work.

People understand that. There is nothing wrong with those involved in sales, and, in fact, it is not only necessary but it always comes down to the authenticity and character of the person. Like in all aspects of business, there are people you like, and those you are not quite sure about. Sales exposes any artificial elements in certain personalities, and I’m sure most business owners pick up on this.

Between this web site work, and trying to convince people to sponsor my radio show for just a few bucks per week, I’ve experienced an increased glimpse into the world of sales. It is scary; the constant rejection, doubts, skepticism, dread and discouragement that traditional sales people experience on a daily basis has to be astonishing. It must be so difficult to operate knowing that only a fraction of your contacts will pan out in a positive way. It is also no surprise that this rejection and dejection is why so many sales people are depressed … and with the rough state of the US economy, this is a startling realization.

This is a very condensed version of a lengthy tale, but that is the point of a blog post. If I decide to write a book, I’ll let you know the details. I grew up in love with playing basketball from as far back as I can remember. The fact that I was really good at it helped, but when you play for hours a day you are destined to adapt a talent and ability for the game. I recall not being able to sleep the night before our morning league games … in fifth and sixth grade. These were games played before school, and though my body kind of felt like it was in slow motion at 7am it was still a thrill.

My junior high years started off a bit sluggish as my shyness prevented me from asserting myself, but once I moved to mid-Missouri (Lake of the Ozarks) for 8th grade I was becoming more confident – not socially, but with basketball. I played a key role for Eldon’s team in 8th grade, and when my family moved to Versailles my freshman year, I was intent on being a visibly talented basketball player.

When you find yourself in a new school, and don’t know anyone, it is helpful to have something to define who you are. I wanted be the best basketball player in the school. I led the JV in scoring as a freshman, though it was only about 12 points per game. Just as I hit my peak early in my sophomore season, playing major minutes for the varsity team (a rarity for a sophomore), I began to get lost. I was scoring double digits for the varsity, making over 50 percent of my 3s and becoming popular at school – perhaps the worst thing to happen to me.

All of sudden, I noticed that girls liked me, older kids wanted me to hang out and I actually knew about parties. It may sound like an after-school TV special, but it was my reality. I made it through that sophomore season, but I did not get much better at basketball. I was not even a prominent varsity player by the end of that season. All I cared about was girls. Girls, girls, girls. That set the stage for a very bad summer.

I chased girls and partied … and got into a LOT of trouble. However, none of that trouble really stuck. I went into my junior year still intent on playing hoops, and diving into all of these other recreational activities. I started off really well, scoring lots of points, drilling 3s and staying on the team. After nine games, the team seemed headed for a special season behind a fine group of senior players, and a few quality juniors like myself.

But … I kept indulging in various, misdirected late-night activities. It caught up with me. Busted! Big time. The list of what I had done wrong is lengthy, and I did not play another game in high school after that ninth game of my junior season. I still supported the team, as it won the district championship. I hung out in the locker room after wins, and was a huge cheerleader from the stands.

But, I did not stay straight the summer between my junior and senior seasons. I ran afoul of the law, and was not allowed to play my senior season. Ouch.

For the past 20 years, I have had recurring dreams (nightmares) about playing that senior season, maybe averaging 20 points per game, being named all-conference and setting all of the 3-point shooting records at Versailles … getting college scholarships. And, I could have done those things. It’s hard to let go sometimes, but after 3 or 4 of these dream cycles a week, it gets to be a bit much. That’s like 4,500 dreams dedicated to this issue.

Last weekend, I achieved resolution. Finally. My family went to Versailles’ annual Apple Festival, and I had made plans with the vice principal (and my ex-JV head coach) to play basketball early in the morning before the day’s events began. I woke up very eager, and was in the gym by 830am. I’m rarely awake and in motion before 9 … but I just wanted to do this so badly.

The gym was quiet. No one else was there. I went into the locker room, and changed under the 1990 District Champions sign. The year I should have led us to a state title. The locker room was the same. I went out on the court, and just felt free. I stretched, ran a few sprints, and started to shoot. I felt good. Really good!

I define my shooting by 3-pointers. Eventually, I was going to attempt my first 3 in 20 years at Versailles. I realized, after about 10 minutes, that I was stalling, and was plenty warmed up. I stepped behind the 3-point line and let one loose. Oh, no! It felt short. And it was … except after hitting the front of the rim, the ball went straight up into the air and came down and swished through the hoop. I almost cried. Almost.

I proceeded to make every conceivable shot and just generally had a great time. I am 37 years old, so I was tired rather quickly. I walked around the halls of the high school, seeing many of the same teacher names I knew. Lots of class photos. I changed in the locker room, took a deep breath and prepared to depart. I shot – and made – one last 3 to just hear the sound of the ball swish through the hoop (which is loud in an empty gym) … and pounded the basketball on the floor, listening to the resulting sound reverberate for a few seconds as I walked out.

I felt great about the experience, and got into my car to head back to my mom’s house to shower and get ready for a very special family day. I started the car, turned the XM station to The Grateful Dead channel … and it was playing a brilliant live version of Touch of Grey. I felt stunned. I looked into the car mirror, taking very particular notice of the grey hair in my beard. Well, at this point … I did cry. A joyous cry.

A really, really, really good year!

I am infatuated with the 70s, on many different levels. But my recent St. Louis radio show foray into the ABA and the Spirits of St. Louis has renewed this interest of mine. The ABA stories are riveting, quirky and relevant. STL’s team featured a cast of legends, yet in the end kind of whimpered out of town after the 1976 season. I’d love nothing more than to be able to go back experience those ABA days – kind of how I feel like about missing so many legendary Grateful Dead 70s and 80s concerts. Seeing those burnt orange, silver & black jersey at The Checkerdome would have rocked.

I’m just old enough to recall the 70s, but the decade concluded with me at just 6.5 years old and full of innocence. I do really appreciate all of the ABA and Spirits information provided at remembertheaba.com. This allows us to piece together the basketball puzzle that breezed through our city in the mid-70s.

To hear about what the crazy scene was like when the ABA was in St. Louis, you can listen to my interview with ex-ABA and NBA player Ron Boone right here.

Then, there is this great story: In 1974, the Carolina Cougars ABA franchise was purchased for $1.5 million by Daniel Silna and Ozzie Silna. The franchise moved to St. Louis and became the Spirits of St. Louis.

As I detailed on the radio show, this team was unpredictable yet armed with an abundance of talent. Marvin Barnes had several games of either 50+ points and/or 25+ rebounds. Early in Barnes’ rookie year with St. Louis, he bolted the Spirits and attempted to renegotiate his contract. Eventually, he was found in a bar/pool hall in Dayton, Ohio. Eventually, substance abuse and poor decisions led to his hoops demise.

In 1976, attendance was poor despite teams like New York (with Dr. J) and Denver (with rookie sensation David Thompson). In a convoluted series of dealings, the Spirits folded in 1976. In return for folding their team, the Spirits’ owners, Ozzie and Dan Silna, reached a famous agreement with the other remaining ABA owners. They obtained the rights to 1/7th of ALL future television money received by the surviving ABA teams (Denver, Indiana, New York and San Antonio) — in perpetuity. Basically, for as long as the NBA existed. It’s one of the most incredible things to ever occur in sports.

In the late 70s, the NBA’s contract with CBS was very little. But as the NBA’s popularity exploded in the 80s and 90s, the league’s television rights were sold to CBS (and then NBC), plus the TNT and TBS cable networks, for hundreds of millions of dollars. So …. over the past 25 years, the Silnas have collected approximately $100 million from the NBA, despite the fact that the Spirits never played an NBA game. The Silnas continue to receive checks from the NBA on a yearly basis, representing a 4/7 share of the television money that would normally go to any NBA franchise. Just amazing.

Though I love to party, my affinity for the night life is unrelated. In high school, I went to school until noon, then “worked” the rest of the day at Pizza Hut as part of a program for kids who needed to be employed. I hid from my high school the fact that I would go home and take an afternoon nap, then work from roughly 5 to 10 pm and stay up way too late afterward. Only to be exhausted by the next morning, where I’d repeat the same drill.

I was always late for school, and sometimes would sleep completely past classes. I could never wrap my mind around the fact that we were expected to be ready to learn and be attentive at 8am. It was like some cruel joke.

I was a smart and resourceful student, so I managed to always keep solid grades and made sure my absenteeism was not so excessive as to warrant extreme punishment. Plus, I had friends like Jennifer Rouse who would write my “mom” notes if I needed an excusable absence (that my actual mom would NOT have approved of!).

Throughout college, I managed to always keep my classes to 1040am or later – after my first year. I had to battle through two straight semesters of a 940 Italian class. That was hard, since I managed to get through high school without ever having a single foreign language lesson. Not even an uno, dos, tres … Eventually, I discovered the best legal drug our country has – strong coffee. All good. Bring it on, college.

I’ve worked some periodic early shifts in the 12 years since I graduated from Missouri (Columbia). But it was not until 2005 that I had a traditional 9 to 5 commitment … but the fact I was working for Emmis Communications (KSHE 95 and KHITS 96) meant I was in a rock ‘n ‘roll environment, having a ton of fun and could rely on being excused for coming in late – as long as I kept working my ass off into the evening as needed and taking care of business. Eventually, I had to leave Emmis because of layoffs, just as we had a baby at home.

So, that is what has been on mind as I stay up too late once again. I love the solitude of night, the quiet, the rain and thunder, sometimes the crazed partying if desired, the flow of consciousness, the romance, the stillness … and just being very involved in the moment. And lots of TV!

Being a night guy helped when we had a baby who only slept for a couple hours at a time for about five months! I still sucked at early morning help, but rocked the late shift.