Steak And Schrempf

40 Piece Nugget. (James Schneck Highlights)

2011-01-26T07:21:00.000-08:00

This past Friday I watched as my younger James dismantled long time rival Milwaukee Lutheran for 40 points and 15 rebounds setting a new WFBHS scoring record (Ladies he's taken). Proud is one way to describe it, in awe would be another. I haven't seen a high-school player drop 40 points so effortlessly since my first AAU game with Jerry Smith, who now resides in the NBA D-League. Here are highlights below:

I was also lucky enough to find highlights of my youngest brother Andrew's 16 point, 8 block game floating around the internet.

Ghostwriter (Andy Rennecke Guest Spot)

2011-01-23T22:18:00.000-08:00

Steak and Schrempf hasn’t exactly taken off like Club Trillion. 28,000 views isn’t bad but it’s not 3,000,000. I personally believe the reasons for the 2,972,000 viewership discrepancy are simple: A. I don’t have an incredible fundamentals montage and B. It’s incredibly difficult to write. Possibly even harder than the actual process is formulating the idea of what your going to write and gathering the necessary information, especially in the world of athletics. We've all seen the empty apologies, cliche team player responses, and questions diverted to another time. And we've all seen it because athletes are formulated to make these certain responses. That is until they reach the NBA. Then they just do this. Very interested in the world of journalism I often give interviews in specific ways to see how the author will shape the article. It isn’t to say I give quotes with dishonesty, just with different personalities. Various situations allow for these different shades of me to be revealed. By the end of my four years at St. Cloud, I felt that fans were able to paint a very accurate picture of who I am as a person and connect to me in that manner, which I enjoyed. With my departure in several days, I’ll be spending time with family in friends. Thus I’ve decided to step inside the mind of SC Times Andy Rennecke for our 5th guest spot. The central minnesotan newspaper reaches over 100,000 viewers while on a more personal level Rennecke covers Athletics at SCSU, maintains a very informative blog, and rocks the hell out of pea-coats. After years of interviews with Andy and the development of a professional relationship, I’ve flipped the script on him by asking to hear his story and how he created mine. Enjoy.

I thought I knew Matt Schneck, but I didn’t know the real Matt Schneck.

When you’re a sports writer, though, it’s hard to get to know your subjects. A journalist worth his salt will keep a safe distance from the people they’re covering. That’s the oath I took a long time ago and have abided by since I started learning from the great Mike Vadnie in the St. Cloud State Mass Communications department.

I cover St. Cloud State football and men’s and women’s basketball for the St. Cloud Times. I’ve been in the sports writing business since I graduated from SCSU in 2003. When I was at the Chronicle, I chose to write columns about ripping on the old bald rollderblader who creeps people out when he skates around campus and the fact that squirrels can attack you because they get so close to you at SCSU. I was in fact attacked by one walking to class one day. Not cool. Luckily, I’ve branched out since then.

I started out in southeastern South Dakota at a six day-a-week newspaper called the Mitchell Daily Republic. I lived right next to the Corn Palace for four years and covered basketball five nights a week at the place. It’s always been my favorite sport to cover. The action is hard to beat and the stories that people have gone through to get where they are in college are always interesting to me.

I started covering SCSU basketball back in 2000 when I did the women’s beat for the University Chronicle. Those were the days when the undersized Tina Schreiner was grabbing every loose ball like a female Kevin Love. After my first year, I moved on to covering the men’s team for the next two years.

For more than a year I was the sports editor. I covered players like Jason Kron, Forrest Witt and Alex Carlson and had a great time following them. I went on road trips with my future Times co-worker Mick Hatten and went to the regional tournament in Kearney, Nebraska, in the spring of 2003.

I missed covering the Huskies when I went out to South Dakota and was covering an NAIA school called Dakota Wesleyan. They played at the Corn Palace and had some good players, but it just wasn’t the same as watching quality D-II ball.

After a brief stop in Marshall for 15 months, I got the job at the Times. I was happy to be back at my alma mater, but I wasn’t going to start buddying up to people just because I was an alum. I want to cover my beats the best that I can with the utmost objectivity. Don’t get me wrong, you want to get along with the people that you cover. If you don’t, you could be in for a long tenure with the job you have.

Luckily I’ve had good people to work with at SCSU. I think they know I’m trying to do the best I can. They’re not always going to agree with what I write and that’s understandable.

But to maintain that objectivity, sometimes I’ll write a column that says a certain team isn’t playing well and what they could do to get on the right track. I want to keep the readers engaged and coming back for more in that regard and that’s why objectivity is the thing I strive for. It’s my job to analyze things in the written word and people aren’t always going to like it.

With players that you talk to routinely (like in the case of Mr. Schneck), you do develop a camaraderie over time and they learn to trust you after they read you in person and in print. There’s always a hesitancy at first on the players’ part, which is completely understandable. You don’t know this person and they’re asking you some intimate questions about your livelihood at times.

But over time, that trust is developed. I want to tell a player’s side of a story and get their take from the game they just played. For a feature story, things can get a little more detailed about their background or something significant that’s happened in their lives.

I don’t write your typical game story, I believe. I want to featurize a game story whenever possible. If it’s a buzzer-beating or overtime game, obviously the story is going to be more about the game than anything else. But if a player stood out who normally doesn’t get written about, I’ll gravitate toward that every time. Those players also have a story to tell and readers want to know more about them.

When you cover a team as closely as I did last year with the St. Cloud State men’s basketball team that’s where you can sometimes cross a line with objectivity. When you’re at more than 90 percent of the games and follow the team to Massachusetts for the national tournament, it’s hard not to build a very good chemistry with most of the players.

But in this case, it worked really well since there was nothing but positive things to say about last year’s team. They were a good bunch of dudes who worked hard to get where they were. That’s what made it so much fun to cover. Plus, when you’re covering a beast of a center and a point guard with a little Maravich in him, that makes it really fun.

I thought I got to know the 6-foot-9 man who rocked the faux hawk last year pretty well. But when he started his blog, that’s when I started to get a real feel for who he was. I knew he was a deep guy, but I didn’t know he was so savvy with the pop culture references. That’s part of keeping that distance as a writer. Still, it’s cool to see him branch out and do something he loves. Keep it up, Matt.

But it’s not all sunshine and lollipops when you’re a sports writer. The schedule is a bare. If I do this until I’m 65, I’d be shocked. However, since it’s the only skill I have I think I might be set. Not too many people can say that their major in college paid off by getting a job in the real world. I have to count myself lucky for that.

During the winter, you’re busy six days a week. The one day off might come on a Sunday or Wednesday. Wednesday is basketball night for me in Sartell so that’s always going to happen. Somebody has to shoot 15 foot jump shots on a regular basis because nobody else seems to have that skill anymore. Besides, that’s all I’ve got.

The travel is also something that can start to be a grind. This year’s schedule has been very weird for the basketball team and I haven’t gone on many road trips...yet. When SCSU is playing in Bismarck, Aberdeen and Wayne, Neb., the Times usually isn’t going to send me to such exotic, faraway locales. But if it’s in the state or close to the border during the regular season, I’m there. So that means trips to Winona, Duluth, Bemidji, Marshall, Mankato and Moorhead.

It’s great that I work for a paper that sends me on road trips still. We’re the only paper in the NSIC that does that on a regular basis. But with tight budgets being what they are, it makes it tough to go out of the Land of 10,000.

The best part of being a sports writer is having some time off in the summer. You’re still working five days a week, but you’ll have those two full complete days off. It’s also when we use our vacation time. There are still times though when you don’t get to see your significant other, your friends or family for long stretches. That’s the biggest drawback.

But this is what I love. I grew up using my grandpa’s old typewriter to write recaps on Twins games I had just watched starting at age 10. I knew what I wanted to do at a very young age. And, man, I miss typewriters.

Well, I have to hit the road to Moorhead. Game time is in a few hours. Gotta love it.

You miss typewriters, I miss Ghostwriter, it was an incredible show. I'd like to personally thank Andy and anyone who has ever covered a team I've been a part of, I've learned it is deceivingly difficult. If you liked Andy's post check out his St. Cloud Athletics blog here. SCSU Sports Marketing Department and SC Times you're welcome for the free advertisement.

By Wednesday, I will post highlights of Jamie's 40 point performance this past weekend. Might take a while to battle through the tears of pride but I should be able to get it up. That's what she said. After a few days for travel, the next full entry will cover 10 popular myths Steak & Schrempf style, and more than likely my typical flight complaints. Look for it Friday.

Shout-Out to the GB Packers. Super Bowl XLV getcha popcorn ready.

Until Next Time: You say that I misheard you, but I think you misspoke.

Free Nachos and Cougars.

2011-01-21T10:28:00.000-08:00

Basketball is my addiction, I find it difficult to take a single day off. This past weekend however I did just that, taking a trip to the Windy City for a reunion with some old friends. It ended up an epic 36 hours. Throughout the trip I jotted down the play-by-play to share with the SteakHead nation. For the sake of certain friend’s future employment I have used nicknames only. However, I have also included incriminating pictures and video clips. Enjoy.

Saturday, January 15th, 2010

9:00 A.M. Rise and shine. Last night's anticipation felt like Christmas Eve. It’s too early, I need coffee IV'd through my veins.

9:20 A.M. Time to throw on the headphones and begin my second workout of the last 24 hours. Let’s do this right because tonight will be rowdy. Rap Music. 500 Shots/347 Makes. I’m decent unguarded. Rap Music. Post Moves. Rap Music. Water Break. Rap Music. Water Break. Rap Music. Damn I’m Thirsty. Rap Music. Weightlifting. Rap Music. I bet that guy had a protein shake this morning, he looks extra serious. Rap Music.

10:45 A.M. Stretch, Shower, Steamroom. A close relative to the typical triple S. It’s man law for you know what that is. The same way it's man law to never drink MGD64 or sing Katy Perry.

11:00 A.M. This ’96 Acura is a piece of sh*t. The roads are incredibly slippery right now. When I was 16 all I wanted was to get from point A to point B. At the moment I just want to make it home with all 4 tires and no one noticing that I’m singing Katy Perry.

12:30 A.M. Facebooking like a gentleman. FB chat is relatively weak as all cute English girls are eating dinner.

1:15 P.M. I am currently dismantling Roos on his home turf. My forearm is “Randy Johnson In His Prime” untouchable right now. Maybe I’ll let him win this next one. I wonder if I could hit a bird too?

2:00 P.M. I let him steal one. I’m the 08’ Patriots of Table Tennis. I could have been ’71 Dolphins. I need a new hobby. Time to hit the dusty trail. First, I need to head home for a change. I just swamp assed the one pair of boxers I brought for the weekend trying to stomp this dude.

2:02 P.M. Our 1st attempt to pick up DZ is unsuccesful. He's busy eating Bon Bons. We've proceeded to Fairchild’s house, while fielding an angry phone call from DZ. Fairchild flicks off the Schneckumentary camera while making his way to the car. That’s not the only flick he had in his possession. Now was it Wayne?

2:10 P.M. Back to DZ’s. He takes a long walk of shame down the driveway while flicking off the camera. Did he really bring a frappuccino?

2:12 P.M. DZ just loaded his belongings, took a seat in the middle row, and proceeded to throw on his headphones. When questioned why he doesn't feel like being involved in our conversation, he claimed Bob Dylan to be more interesting then us. I was unable to argue.

2:14 P.M. The answer was yes. Vanilla flavored. Is he reading Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood or Bullpen Gospels? The frappuccino is preventing me from clearly telling.

2:20 P.M. We pick up the girls overall uneventfully. They are more mature, don’t flip the bird, and didn't bring frappuccinos. Am I overdoing the frappuccino comments? Arguments arise between Fairchild and DZ as to whose lazy ass has to get out of the middle seat to allow them into back. Six deep in a mini-van we head to soccer practice. I mean the trip commences.

2:40 P.M. We kick on some The White Panda. An incredible mash-up duo which easily rivals YouTube MashUp and Super Mash Bros by my summation. I’ve never been a fan of Girl Talk, not sure why. You can get the majority of White Panda’s library for free right here.

3:50 P.M. A stop at Woodmans allows us to load up on more beer than a Mike Ditka poker party. DZ has just purchased Leinenkugel Lights which comes with free cheese? He denied the free cheese but still claims to be American. Can he still claim to be a cheesehead though? Roos debates buying whip-a-hol, an alcohol infused whip cream. This has got to be an omen.

5:30 P.M. After getting stuck in typical chicago traffic, we arrive at Chuck’s apartment.

5:30:01 P.M. Our first beers are cracked, Roos is drunk before it begins.

6:30 P.M. After destroying 6 pizzas, also known as a meal to Kobayashi, we have begun our draft for the Packers drinking game. It is an absolutely genius creation by the girls which makes no sense. DZ chooses Andrew Quarless, the Packer’s second string TE. With this he claims he doesn’t need to participate heavily as he plans to finish all 24 of his cold ones. (He cashes out at 16)

Side Note: Roos picks Tramon Williams, an unintelligent move given his lack of soberness at this point.

7:00 P.M. Game time. There is no better sports moment than the opening kick-off.

7:15 P.M. Packers are having a rougher start than The Blue Collar Comedy Tour in Brooklyn.

7:55 P.M. DZ has just peed his pants for the 4th time in as many months. In reality at least 3 out of 4 times has been a beer spill, one is up in the air.

7:56 P.M. DZ has just received a phone call from Depends, they are looking for a new spokesperson.

8:30 P.M. Tramon Williams just returned a Matt Ryan interception as time expired in the first half. The decision has been made to shotgun a beer on the balcony in his honor. Roos stutters worse than the kid from Billy Madison, adding some liquor and making it a shot-shot-shotgun. We will see him again tommorow. The view of the skyline is incredible.

10:15 P.M. The Packers have absolutely smacked the Falcons 48-21. Time to take shots like marine snipers.

10:45 P.M. We are preparing to go out, when Fairchild breaks out a shirt he borrowed from a 1985 Prince music. It’s 100 percent silk. He apparently purchased it for 4 dollars at the Goodwill.

Purple Rain

11:15 P.M. We’ve resided at a bar called The North Side. Some asshole Bear's fan just threw a Green and Yellow themed insult in our direction as we walked in. We retaliate by buying him a Smirnoff Ice and a BJ shot. Suck on that.

11:30 P.M. Chuck is making it rain Miller pitchers like Fat Joe. EC and Pop Warner are getting scolded by bouncers for their horrible dance moves behind an unopened bar. Fairchild has continued his cameo on VH1 I love the 80‘s. And all this is occurring while Bass and Flowin’ Sconnie appear to be normal bar goers.

11:45 P.M. Roos just shoulder bumped Al Bundy’s twin. There is no explanation for this. He is in Hulk Mode. Tim the Toolman turned to retaliate only to find my beefy ass standing over him. He throws out the cliche “You want some?”. I throw out “Meet me outside.” It’s cold as hell, no way he’s coming out there, problem solved. Brains over braun.

Saturday, January 15th

12:15 A.M. We move to a bar called Canns in Bucktown.

12:20 A.M. Roos gets to know the bar owner well which is a positive because he should have been kicked out at least five times already. We take over the “VIP” section from some bitter 20 year old chicks. Completely disregarding that most of them are attractive, Chuck gets in ones face with beer breath.

1:15 A.M. Stares for our Packer attire continue. There aren’t many rivalries like it in football, and we are scheduled to meet them in the NFC championship next weekend. What did we expect? Roos has started to dance like an old black woman.

1:20 A.M. A girl has just attempted to coax Roos into a fight by dancing on him and having her boyfriend step in. Either that or she saw his dance moves, believed him to be an extra from Step Up and wanted to pull a D-list actor. I believe it to be the latter. Either way, the guy is met by three 6’5” plus frames and his chivalry fizzles out. The next morning we will find her plan to rival DZ’s Summerfest Experience.

The Holy Ghost

DZ’s Summerfest Experience: Back in July, DZ found himself dancing/dry humping with a female too good to be true. Not respecting his personal bubble, she began to go all tango/limbo/salsa on his ass. She then began kissing him, at which point he thought to himself “This was far too easy for how attractive she is.” He was right, her next move is to head for his wallet, snatching it out of his back pocket and throwing it to the ground. It is there her boyfriend resides with a cellphone scouring the pavement for their prize. DZ is able to recover his wallet, his pride remains in shambles for months following.

1:30 A.M. We leave shortly after getting down 90's style to Notorious B.I.G-Hypnotize because we are intelligent enough to know a night doesn’t get better than that.

1:33 A.M. Roos flags down 3 cabs, none of which we use. A snowball fight ensues on the short walk home. EC apparently doesn’t throw like a girl, as Bass learns the hard way.

1:45 A.M. We’ve arrived back to warmth. It’s time to mash any food that remains and prepare for bed. By prepare for bed I mean do anything but stand up. We hit Chuck's hardwood floor like it's a California King.

2:00 A.M. Roos has passed out on Ellie’s air mattress. DZ is wavering on the edge of dropping a peoples elbow on Roos. Boom. He has done it. Went all WWE on a brother. I’ve just decided to deflate said air mattress. EC will blame it on DZ, she always does.

2:02 A.M. She blames it on DZ. I will spend the next 30 minutes enraged that the air blast has blown the Baked Lays out of my opposite hand. Bass is fast asleep, she has secured a coach spot.

2:05 A.M. Envious of said coach spot, DZ places a 5 dollar bounty for anyone who farts on Bass’s head.

2:10 A.M. EC and Socky have proceeded behind close doors in search of actually getting some sleep. It’s not college anymore, a lesson several of us have struggled to understand.

3:00 A.M. You seriously think I remember?

10:00 A.M. We look like the wake-up scene from the Hangover. We have just found Roos on top of a coat which doesn’t belong to him and an un-inflated air matress. However it’s not Ellie’s air matress. Her’s is once again fully inflated? We will proceed to lay around, eating leftover pizza for two hours before venturing to McDonalds.

12:30 P.M. I have just purchased a 20 piece McNugget and Strawberry Shake. They have incredible Music here. Roos just created his own Sampler plate, probably $20 worth of food. I think I’ll use the $5 from dusting on Bass’s face to pay for the meal. Just kidding Bass.

2:00 P.M. We pack up and load the mini-van for the drive home. I've just housed 4 waters. I've lost all interest in taking notes. I need another water.

5:00 P.M. Just arrived home. These chili dogs taste delicious, not sure as to why and how. I need 4 more waters. I head to bed intent on a two hour nap followed by a workout.

6:00 P.M. I’m in bed and face-booking like a gentleman. However FB chat is relatively weak as all cute English girls are fast asleep. I can't move.

7:00 P.M. Still can’t move.

8:00 P.M. Marley crawls into bed and proves for the 15th time this break, a yellow labrador retriever can out-snuggle any girl I’ve ever met. Still can't move.

9:00 P.M. Lights out. I have dreams of Free Nachos and Cougars.

Of all the time I’ve spent training to prepare for my return to the hardwood February 18th, possibly the most beneficial 36 hours were the oness I spent with some old friends relaxing my mind and body(albeit pumping it full of lagers).

Shout-Out To The Cheshire Jets. Good luck with the Double Derby this weekend.

Until Next Time: Go Pack Go.

So You Think You Can Dance?

2011-01-18T20:31:00.000-08:00

Over the past year, I've collected clips with a Flip camera to begin a project labeled by Scott Hawkins as The Schneckumentary. It's main objective to give insight to the life of a professional athlete off the court. It is not representative of our regular daily routines, yet rather the few days we take off each year. After years and years of vigorous training, it's safe to say everyone looks to make light of their time off. Thus far I've collected an unconventional montage that is part life, part beer, and 100% ridiculous. Enjoy the latest installment. The accompanying entry will be posted by Thursday. If anyone believes they can out-dance DangerRoos Michler I'm accepting submissions. E.C. you came close.

*** Yes, I have removed the most recent entry. It ended up more outspoken than intended. At this point my career can speak for itself. I still think it's sad you shop for suits at Macy's.

Dinner and A Movie.

2011-01-10T14:06:00.000-08:00

The Schneckumentary Euro Edition Preview is finally complete. I spent several hours compiling it over the weekend, only to attend a St. Cloud State Men's Basketball game last night and capture a 15 second clip of Winona State's Mike Leaf tweaking that's equally entertaining. You've got to respect Leaf's National Titles and ability to put together a competitive team each year. However you've also got to admit, he's mad. I'll have the usual post on Thursday. Until then, forget the movie theatre, it's too cold outside. Stay in, grab some Chinese and anticipate a film that will rival Quentin Tarantino. Or have a bunch of people Moving Like Bernie.

Nachos and My Nostrils (Guest Spot)

2011-01-06T17:10:00.000-08:00

My post last week was subpar. In fact I didn't see it as a post, more of a large run-on sentence. It was barely edited, a result of a jet lagged and crabby writer. Somewhere along the line I lost sight that some people actually come to Steak and Schrempf to see how my basketball career is panning out. You know that the one I shouldn’t have because I’m slow and white and my nostrils flare in every newspaper picture. The problem is I’m on my winter break and while I’ve continued to add strength and a mid-range jump-shot at North Shore Elite there isn't much to tell you.

Instead I’ll turn it over to the second guest post in as many weeks where legend Sir Wyndham Fairchild Gary The Third will smack you with some game-watching etiquette. Yes that’s his actual name, minus the Sir and maybe with a few extra legends in there.

SteakHead Nation,

I must first introduce myself. My name is Wyndham Fairchild Gary The Third. My Great-Great Grandpa, The First, invented America and boneless chicken wings. I am an advocate for the perfect game-watching experience, and a sucker for corn rows and manucured toes. I hope that one day Dane County ceases it’s obnoxious practice of dealing legal trouble to people who randomly punch Purdue fans. I mean are you honestly going to let a guy come into Badger territory, taunt "Boiler Up", and leave without a black eye? I'm not, where is your team spirit? I didn’t email my introduction so this isn't really me talking. Regardless, if you’re at my house watching the game, these are the rules.

All phone calls are to be taken outside. Unless it’s someone at the game named Erin Andrews or a taunt call to an opposing fan. However this is what Budweiser commercials are for.
If your main purpose of attendance is not the game, do not come or keep your mouth shut. Very shut.
The game is to be louder than any conversation AT ALL TIMES. I'll blow an eardrum out no problems.
All things surrounding the game are to be watched (Pre-game, Halftime, Post-game, etc.) If it is a blowout or your team loses and you mad like Bill O'Reilly, you are exempt.
All topics of conversation that are not the game or other sporting events is to be kept to a quiet minimum. Think Ms. Carrolo’s library, minus the drop box.
If you don’t know a lot about sports stuff your pie hole with Nachos instead of talking.
When the Nachos hit, always crop-dust on the guy to the right. Going left with your butt-cheek lean is unnatural.
Know when to stop a line of belittlement. After a while the same insults get annoying, bring something new to the table. Brett Farve weiner jokes never get old.
Do not judge others in the room by their reactions to big plays. I’ve seen a man punch through dry-wall. Don’t address his anger issue, buy him wall filler.
Talking during commercials is acceptable, especially Herbal Essence commercials they hold no place on ESPN, and they are generally awkward.
Eliminate all other distractions from the game. (Dogs, babies, baby dogs, etc.)
Leave the team cheers to those at the game. Jump Around is only cool when surrounded by 10,000 other drunk kids.
Leave the attitude at the door. The only beef during game watching, should be the tremendous burgers I just cooked up.
Everyone is sedentary while the game is on, commercials and celebrations are for movement. I want my man cave to look like a statue garden minus the fountains and plants.
Don’t focus on one player too much, positive or negative. No one player is that important, plus it appears you have less knowledge of sports than Skip Bayless.
Women, no commenting on the attractiveness of the players. We know Tom Brady is attractive, we just don’t respect his haircut.
Tell stories after the game not during. No one cares what you did last night. Unless you jogged home 2 miles from the Village Pub and face planted (Ross Michler) .
Say the score in a correct fashion. 20-10 not 10-20.
Don’t repeat the latest episode of Sports Center.
Don’t stand in my viewing periphery. You make a better door than a window. In fact you make a better guy sitting on the coach not about to get punched in the face for standing in front of the TV.
Make as much fun of the announcers as you please. Just please don’t comment Charles Barkley is hilarious. It’s common knowledge.
Don’t bring up bad things happening to your team. "He better not fumble". There is no wood in my cheap ass Man Cave for me to knock on.
If things are going well don’t change the equilibrium in the room. If you leave and there is a positive moment in a bad game, you stay wherever you went. I once spent 2 hours chopping wood in the garage to secure a packer victory. We had a hell of a fire afterwards.
Win or lose we still booze.

A pleasure to read Gary, now pass the Nachos.

Lately, I've been told by everyone I've run into "You have the best line of employment in the world." I'm not going to argue. However, as I watched my brother's HS game two nights ago, I realized how commercialized my career has become. I only get paid to play basketball because it's a business, and as such certain aspects of the game are lost. Next post I'll address this issue, as well why I'm going to have a longer vacation then expected.

In addition by Monday I'll have a preview clip of the next installment of The Schneckumentary. The first time around was my introduction to movie making. The Euro Edition has worked out some kinks to provide some solid comedy and an insight to the life of a second-tier pro athlete.

Until Next Time: Love is selfless.

Job Fair (Guest Spot)

2010-12-30T20:51:00.000-08:00

Yes, that's the hindside of Mount Rushmore. You'll have to read more to see why. Unfortunately for you it's not as easy as me finding Honest Abe attractive, although I do because I love America and his beard. He's my American history man crush. After saying man crush I have to clarify, I'm attracted to females. I'm just also attracted to bald eagles, and the colors Red, White and Blue. World travel can enlighten you to many new discoveries. Namely but not limited too American Airlines having the worst customer service of any company not named Ed Debevics. You return home after 8 hours of contemplating life 35,000 feet in the air to find your baby brother two inches taller with a mustache, your father with a few courageous gray hairs, and your best friend from childhood in the midst of a job search. I’m sure by now everyone expects me to drop a post about my plane ride. I’ve done it before so why not again. My plane ride was comical, it never fails to be. This time around however I’ve decided to head a different direction. Of course I first have to get some things off my chest. I own this blog and want to complain.

Already delayed four days, the trip started with the looming fear England would get half an inch of snow and my flight would be pushed back to 2012 also known as never if you’re a Mayan. Everything went according to plan, and after I mashed a nice airport sandwhich for $24, I boarded the plane to witness the sorriest exit row seat I’ve ever laid eyes on. The seat was smaller than normal, and was deemed exit row, because upon seeing it all hope of having extra leg room exited my mind.

This was just the beginning. Pre-flight I looked around to see the biggest group of misfits I’d ever laid eyes on. People who actually didn’t mind flying on christmas eve. They had probably booked the flight by choice rather than had it forced upon them by the American Airlines frown squad. There were no good-looking girls, and I realized every guy has the hope of being placed next to a 10 on his flight. That way he can maybe fulfill some How To Lose A Guy in Ten Days romance fantasy he made while being forced to watch chick flicks with his girlfriend in High School. Run-on sentence. I decided however this was for the best, I've heard I talk Japanese in my sleep which isn't the most attractive. With one tylenol P.M. down the hatch and no attractive asians on board I was in bad company. I sat down next to a man aged around 40, and tried to put my best game face on. The kind of face where you pretend you'll be able to stand him for 8 hours, but know you won't. He immediately informed me I had just brushed his foot. As if I was headed to New Jersey to kick back with Rex Ryan. Did I really? Hold on, let me scold my pinky for accidentally grazing your bootleg ass K-Swiss kicks. Seriously, it’s my fault my foot is so long my toes are out of touch with my nervous system. I know how you can punish me. How about you do PDA with you’re less than charming girlfriend in her Walmart clothes on and off for the next 8 hours. That way I can throw up in my mouth several times without getting any chunks on K-Swiss's. Rough start.

I was lucky enough to pass out for around 40 minutes of the face suckage, only to be roused from my nap after being run over by the beverage cart. No I wouldn’t like any ginger ale, but I’d love for you to stop bumping into my broad ass shoulders. It was then I realized what would turn out to be the second issue of my travels, the horse jockey to my left with the red wine problem. I swear I’m always placed next to drinkers. The kind of guy who blows $150 on overpriced spirits, only to calm his nerves and find things socially acceptable that aren't. I’m going to call our friend “ass in the isle” guy. I caught the backside of this man’s JC Penney knickers more times than a changing room mirror. For the life of me, I can't understand why overhead luggage would ever need that many re-adjustments, but I do know I was two seconds away from opening the exit row door, and tossing it through the clouds. My hopes that it would land safely only to be stumbled upon by some less fortunate man in need of a suitcase full of khakis for a 4’ 2” guy. A wandering homeless midget if you will. Each time Seabiscuit stood in the isle I caught wind of an unpleasant smell. Unfortunately it was the beginning of a bad trend on the verge of unfolding.

As I went up to relieve myself from the several bottles of water I had consumed, a man of middle eastern decent slipped into the rest room before me. I waited for quite some time before deciding this was the only time I could think without being racist that he was making a bomb in there. Nice. Bruce Duece was followed by the dirty diaper baby act. I'm almost positive our flight was sponsored by Pampers. I’m plan to look into the Guiness World Records for most diaper’s changed on a plane when A. I have time and B. I care at all.

This is why I didn’t get started because there’s nowhere to finish. An 8 hour plane ride is hell no matter what way you spin it, unless your physician is cool enough to prescribe you Ambien, then it's one long dream. The real reason for this weeks post was to aide a friend in need. Without further to do, David Zoltan's second guest post:

Dear SteakHead Nation,

First and foremost, I am all too familiar with the collective groans you let out as the words guest blogger are processed through your frontal lobes. As an avid television watcher, I liken a guest blog spot to the clip show. You’re all quite disappointed, yet as fans of the actual TV show(blog), you struggle through the episode (blog) and surprisingly chuckling at a few one liners which wouldn't hold a candle to the real thing. A professional athlete leads a busy, exciting existence, full of twists and turns, all of which seems better than the next. None of the aforementioned colorful adjectives describe my mine.

As a very recent graduate of the prestigious Marquette University, I find myself in a very unbecoming situation, sitting on my parents couch as a member of our great nation’s nine percent (The unemployment rate for those of you slow on the uptake). Finding a real job is much less glamorous than getting paid to hit the hardwood for a little roundball. Yet, what if finding a job was in fact that simple? What if I could practice and perfect activities which I actually found entertaining instead of making my resume seem far more impressive than it actually is. Potential employers of David Joseph Zoltan, here is what I'm actually really awesome at:

FIFA: I am not going to beat around the bush with this one. A lot of people chirp a whole lot about their skills in the FIFA arena, yet time and time again, I prove all you suckers wrong. Sure my style of play is more technical than class, yet I frustrate my opponents until they break down and then assert my authority. You all know where I stay at. Come get a game. If you have the cubes. Yea I'll bust your ass on FIFA 99 too, I'm a man of history.

BASKETBALL AGAINST PEOPLE LESS ATHLETIC THAN ME: Sure my hoops game never gained any serious accolades. You could include the “Best Rebounder” award at a Rick Majerus camp many moons ago, but that sits in the same arena as a participation medal. Somehow I continue to assert myself as a force on the low block when I step between the lines. Could be my Chipotle induced grown man muscle or my Junior Blue Duke jump hoop. Either way you're too little. Pick up basketball is a very inexact science. Most people try and dress like their favorite And1 stars and assume the role of a real ball player. Doing this may make the gym class all star feel as if he can knock down smooth treys from down town and lock up his opponent like Mike Kelly. His attire may even fool the opposing team into thinking he got game. Jesus Shuttlesworth. My strategy is the complete opposite. My gear consists of soccer shorts I may or not have bought freshman year of highschool, an old ratty T-shirt, beat up Nike cross trainers and the icing on the cake, YMCA old man tube socks with the tubes color matching said ratty shirt. Because of the outfit, my opponents intially don't view me as a legitmate threat. Maybe cause I'm not. But at some point they ask what the score is, which results in pure shock. Running down the court I crack a smile because I've still got it, if scoring on five quite fundamental white man post moves in a row can serve as any indication. The other team quickly catches on and has a real player guard me which results in me becoming invisible again. However, those early moments are what I live for and are the only ones my son will hear about in my glory day stories.

LOVING AMERICA MORE THAN ANYONE: Ok so I lied. There are some who love America more than me, but their heads are on Mount Rushmore or names are Geoff (Carl) Horton. I have items in my wardrobe entirely dedicated to America, flags draped across my walls and a clip of an Argentine proclaiming how awesome this country is. Balls in your court. All male jury. Some people only celebrate our country on the Fourth of July yet I consider myself a living tribute to the land of the free and home of the brave. AMERICA.

DISCOVERING HILARIOUS INTERNET LINKS: Some call this a skill, myself included, while others accuse me of having way too much time on my hands. Guilty as charged. You all post comical links on your friends Facebook walls directly hoping you get a chuckle from your buddy. Indirectly you are hoping your Facebook blows up with comments from friends and enemies alike intrigued by an amusing video/story. Everyone loves notification e-mails, they far trump special offers. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I am definitely going to. Sure this is a quite an arbitrary claim since most of the videos I “discover” are hardly new and hardly unseen, yet amongst my friends I consider myself the king. Watch the following videos and try not to laugh.

ENJOYING THE FINER THINGS IN LIFE: This is a far more ambiguous skill than the three previously mentioned yet I pride myself on simplicity. Sit me in front of a television with a marathon of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, a box of Cheez-Its and a sixer of Orange Gatorade and call me smitten. So if MTV Cribs ever comes to my place of residence, the surprise of what is in my fridge is no longer.

FANTASY FOOTBALL: Sports are my true passion and as I grow increasingly in age and my realizations of one day becoming general manager of a real team agonizingly fall to the wayside, I take solace each year in my fantasy football team cleverly entitled, Scoregasm. Sure I usually cripple my team to a point of near embarrassment when I have one or ten too many Miller Lites during the draft, but the real magic is seen with my shrewd mid-season waiver wire acquisitions, which this year included Brandon Lloyd, LeGarrette Blount and a guy who spent some time in the clink for mistreating dogs. This season, I turned my waiver wire magic into a team poised win its semifinal matchup and go straight to the top. Look out Ted Thompson.

KNOWING WHEN TO QUIT: I found humor in my last paragraph, so let's end this on a high note. If anyone knows of a job in Milwaukee or Chicago, please inform me and do not show my future employer any portions of the Schneckumentary.

White Castle Enthusiast,

David Joseph Zoltan

If anyone’s got a job for DZ, please email me at MatthewJSchneck@gmail.com , only requirement is you first show his employer the Schneckumentary and they are at peace with it. He is a first ballot hall of famer, there is nothing to be ashamed of.

I'd like to shout-out to Alec Doyle for dropping Steak & Schrempf in one of his recent articles. And for Jet Streams of course. Most importantly though, shout-Out to the year 2010. You were a very positive year full of changes, life lessons and a fulfilled dream. Unfortunately, you're old news and at 12:00 PM tomorrow I expect you to get out of my life and take the hangover about to be caused by ridiculous amount of high-end champagne I’m going to consume with you.

Until Next Time: Happy New Years. Best of luck in 2011.

Sidelined in England

2010-12-20T11:29:00.000-08:00

I arose at 6:45 AM this morning, optimistic that tonight I’d lay my head to rest at 842 E. Lake Forest Avenue, dosing off in my own bed after a heavy dose of Mama Schneck’s steaks and Miller’s champagne of beers. Turns out there would be no such reality. Light dustings from the heavens above have flights benched like J.J Reddick all across the mother country. Now scheduled to depart in 4 days, I've been left enough time to breast stroke my way home across the Atlantic. Unfortunately I can barely doggy-paddle, which leaves me no options in a country that is backed up like a rear end in a Juvenile music video. And so I've once again been served a reminder that something about professional athletics doesn't click with the holidays. My 5th thanksgiving away from home was trying enough, but to miss the pre-christmas build-up makes me feel like I'm in some whack european Home Alone remake. Trapped at the Manchester Airport, I whipped out the MacBook and devised a list of epic proportions. A list of people whom at that exact moment I wanted to punch square in the face. No Freddie Roach, no fancy shoes or boxing gloves, just pure fisticuffs in no particular order.

1. While waiting for some less than stellar customer service, a man urged me to keep the line moving despite the obvious 45 equally frustrated people ahead of me. It’s as if he felt my size gave me the right to play human dominoes and then prance over my fallen comrades on my way up to a solution. No problem bud, I’ll just clear the way for you and your self-righteous ego, but not until after I plant one in your fat suck-hole.

2. The main character from CSI:Miami because he is a horrible actor and immediately reminded me upon my return to my house that I’m still in England. No one watches that shit anymore in America, unless your into SPIKE TV. I’d like to punch his face quite a bit and would if he wasn’t a man of the law, but I respect that too much.

3. Floyd “Money Man” Mayweather just to see how quick he could knock me out after receiving the initial contact from my knuckles. My underlying frustrations towards him might be caused by the amount of times he has dodged a Manny Pacquiao bout in recent history.

4. The 70 year old fart who felt his age entitled him to be more vocal and twice as upset as the other passengers. In reality, you should be in your zone being up this early, because that’s what old people do. You know hit the sheets at 8:30 P.M. after an episode of Murder She Wrote and a warm glass of milk, then spring up at 5 A.M. the next morning to make coffee cake. Early bird gets the worm, you get...can't bring myself to punch an elder, but you're lucky old man.

5. Sam Cassel for being the NBA’s ugliest player since 1993. I’m talking Klitschko right bear paw type hammers striking at the force of lighting.

6. The American Airlines employee who walked past 100 waiting people in line only to exclaim “I don’t want to get involved with this.” You’re right, we all wanted to get involved with this. I chose to have my flight moved back to December 24th. Probably want to keep it lull and do you’re job next time. Or...I could sock you proper in your face.

7. The french guy waiting next to me in line, you’re mustache was incredible, and accent easily a lady killer. Consider me jealous, consider you punched.

8. England’s ability to deal with severe weather: Obviously not a person but if it was it would be a master of panic (Shout-Out Stan Van Gundy) and have a similar stature to Pee Wee Herman. Nastiest 1-2 combo seen by man.

9. Chris Kaman for taking the second most whacks by the ugly stick in the NBA. Left hook on this one cause it's my weak hand and he’s still not Sam Cassel ugly.

10. The American Airlines customer service representative whom told me he couldn’t wait all day as I searched for my flight number. I understand you’ve probably just received a series of phone calls that would make The Jerky Boys look polite. I do, but keep in mind, I’ve just waited 97 minutes to speak with someone, and yes I’m riled because you woke me from the nap caused by your busted ass elevator music. That malarky is worse than a polyphonic ringtone, mix in a little Jack Johnson to your 2-hour wait playlist next time. Yes, I said malarky. If I’m too much trouble why don’t you just go ahead and forward me to 1-800-FACE-PUNCH.

In reality, I'm not much for throwing haymakers so I headed to the gym instead. It was here I added to my list of punch receptors the new flock of meatheads in Total Fitness home for the holidays. Would you please go stuff you're face with christmas ham and drink some egg nog? I think it has eggs in it to satisfy your guido-esque quest for protein intake. As frustrated as I've been to day, it gives me happiness to see the SteakHead Nation continue to grow. With 24,000 views I wonder who reads this shit. Seriously, do you really care who I want to punch in the face? Probably not, but you support me, and that's exactly why no matter how far I seem from home at the moment, I've got a fat smile on my dome. Just please don't punch it.

Shout-Out to Gareth Murray for this holiday case of Stella we are about to tackle. Get your Ray Lewis on.

Until Next Time: Heathrow Airport suck it.

X Marks The Spot

2010-12-16T11:35:00.000-08:00

Sidelined lately in England, I needed to create something to keep my interest that didn’t include laying in bed watching DVD’s and braiding my beard hair. And so it began, a Wisconsin treasure hunt. The concept simple, cruise Chester looking for all things midwestern, purchase some, and have myself an American old time. Get your Schrempf on.

Miller Geniune Draft- This was an easy find. Although Budweiser is more prevalent, I decided to stay true to my Milwaukee roots. Unless you have stock in it, there is no reason to support Anheuser-Busch. Their St. Louis based beer taste like Albert’s Pujol. Is it just me or does that advertisement say: Anheuser Busch Brewing Ass? 9 Pounds for a 12 pack.

Milk/Cheese- Yes they have Milk and Cheese in England, it’s not Zimbabwe or something. Yes this is a filler. The milk is much cheaper in similar containers and the cheese is overwhelmingly cheddar. Still on the hunt for the proper holy Swiss to compliment my Salami sandwhich. Milk- 1.50 Pounds. Cheese- 1.50 Pounds

Chewing Tobacco- Nothing spells America like a good old fashioned fat hunk of chaw. Grass straw in mouth, cowboy hat on head, a midwestern man can make Clint Eastwood proud tossing in a lipper like a gentleman. I don’t chew, mainly because of The Sandlot. You know the scene where they throw in some long-strands and spend the entire Fourth of July barfing. I have to admit I did try Grizzly Straight one time in St. Cloud and went Grizzly Straight to bed. Bad buzz. Regardless, it’s an American product and it was a fun one to look for. Unlike the United States, it can’t be found in gas stations alongside the Swisher Sweets some 17 year old kid intends to buy with a Fake I.D. so can puff some totally radical herb he bought behind Blockbuster from a 28 year old Homestead drop out, unaware he’s purchasing Strawberry Mango tea leaves. Sorry for the run on sentence about fake North Shore hippies, back to the story. The search was on, I asked several pharmacists, every gas station and even a few grocery stores, no one had the snuff. At one gas station, a man suggested that the mouth cancer gum might be found at Turmeaus Tobacconist in town. The place was incredible, despite containing some of the unhealthiest, it was also home to most of the classiest products I’ve ever seen. If you remember my post about the show Mad Men, this place was a staple of manhood. Barbershop razors, old-school pipes, expensive lighters and cigarette cases lined the walls. Towards the back it laid, a case of Oliver Twist and Co. chewing tobacco bits. Intent on having one for the sake of having one, I opened the package to find that it looked like rat droppings and smelled of black licorice. I put the cap back on and decided to save it for some my more country friends back home. Mom I know you’ll probably scold me for this post, rightfully so. 4.95 Pounds

Oreos- Is this really American? I'm not positive but I feel like it is. For the sole reason, they have tea over here with cookies. It doesn’t make sense, I mean tea. Why add a semi healthy drink to a solid cholesterol building session? Unlike the skittles which taste like they’ve had all the goodness taken out of them, Oreo’s continue to be delicious in England. They are packaged like a roll of ritz crackers, that’s the only difference. 93 pence.

A United States Flag- There is nothing like representing the old Betsy Ross. I’ve got full intentions of throwing that beauty on my English bed room walls when I return to Chester in February. However I may have to pack one to make the jump over the pond with me. The flag can be found everywhere on hats, shirts, scarfs, but not on a flag. Now I didn’t check the UK Flag shop in Derbyshire but that’s not because I’m not putting effort into this little adventure, it’s because I’m still deadly scared of roundabouts and have no clue how to drive manual.

Beef Jerky- This one fell into my lap. I was in the crisp isle, purchasing some Cool Ranch Doritos because that’s what snackers do when there it appeared. A red, white and blue package of Wild West Teriyaki Beef Jerky. Incredibly gimmicky packaging. The gods of Uncle Sam themed product searches had spoken. Couldn’t have been more perfect or delicious for that matter. 2 pounds.

Green Bay Packers Hat- This one fell into my lap as well. Admist a sea of Liverpool, Manchester United and Everton gear, my man was cruising down the middle of the town centre rocking the green and gold like a true Cheesehead. Due to a very solid tache of the must, I thought to myself holy shit what is Aaron Rodgers doing in England? Unfortunately he was a bit old to be our savior QB, aged at somewhere around 60 which led me to believe the Packers used to be huge over here back in the day. This was further confirmed when a friend told me her favorite Packer was Brett Star. It sounded like the sick fantasy of some 1996 Keith Jackson fan, who dreamed up a robotic Bart Starr and Brett Favre’s love child to feed their favorite TE. Free 99.

A Keith Urban CD- I shouted out cowboy Keith for his silky tunes my last post and he's continued to impress. With no country stations, I had relied heavily on an outdated iTunes collection to get my fix of Alan Jacksoness. Or so I thought until I dropped by HMV and picked a copy of Mr. Urban’s Get Closer. Yee Haw. 10 Pounds.

Pick Up Truck- I can’t find one anywhere. There is however a surplus of smart cars. Smart? I see nothing intelligent about driving a hot wheels on an actual road. Actually sounds pretty dangerous. The roads for the most part are gas guzzler-less, which wasn't a word until now. Manual labor's around here drive something similar to soccer mom mini-vans and it's got me missing the days of metal grids and camouflage deer mirages on rear windows.

Fireworks- You know it’s Uncle Sam’s birthday when little kids run rampant with bottle rockets, and black cats. Lighting up the streets with back pack and bike while dodging the WFB police. England rocks Bonfire Day with pride, but has since cleared the firework supply. It's unlike the U.S. where you can pull off I-43 in Ashwaubenon and fill up on your cherry bombs.

Cat Scratches- Like the Jared Allen combined with a mullet type, not the random back-up dancer from Step Up 3D type. This venture was semi successful. Despite the fact that the lines didn’t turn out incredible straight, the blended high and tight which accompanied it only cost 4 pounds because I played for the Jets. I don’t know if we just got a new Just Cuts sponsorship, but I’m not going to argue.

Trapper Hat- If dead squirrel was a hat this would be it, thus there couldn’t be a more midwest product. Have I had a squirrel burger? Yes. Have you ever eaten chinese? We’re in the same boat then. The Hat Company. 10 Pounds.

Sleeping Pills- The life of a student athlete is very stressful. Shout Out to my college athletes. No not you John Wall you know damn well you don’t do your own homework. I mean the real STUDENT athletes, the Coach Schlagel breed. Those ones know there are nights when you sleep naturally, and there are nights where you simply can not. In America, the concept of vitamins, supplements, and medicines is through the roof, their is a whole different pharmaceutical industry in the U.K. Different names, different outlook. They call band-aids plasters, at the Village Pub next Monday, I’ll call my friends plastered. I was able to find the English equivalent of Tylenol P.M. but decided to have a little more fun with this. I instead purchased an alternative product by the name of Horlicks, which is a warm malted milk meant to relax you. I’m battling a heavy dose of the toasty milk as we speak. I don’t really think that it works. I mean how could a millllll........zzz. 2 Pounds.

Shout-Out to every basketball player whose not the guy below.

Until Next Time: Good things come to those who wait, but good things are gone from those who are late.

Three Inches Too Short

2010-12-09T10:24:00.000-08:00

Some day I plan to release a tell all book. Hold your horses. The phrase someday implies not anytime soon. At this point, I feel the only people at my age successful enough to have their own book are Mark Zuckerberg and Lil' Bow Wow. Unfortunately I'm neither the creator of Facebook nor a successful rap artist. Unless you count the I-Am-T-Pain iPhone app. Plus I have to much of a future left to piss everyone off.

When I say tell all, I actually mean tell some. My intentions are to completely protect those whom I still hold solid relationships with, while bus tossing the rest of you. I’m a man of honesty, and accordingly must reveal I’ve always wanted to share my story. But in addition to it being more work than I was ever willing to put in, there arises the issue of my status as a second tier athlete. Would anyone really care? Let's hypothetically say someday Coby Karl writes an autobiography. Unlike Coby Bryant: The White Mamba I wouldn't be able to write about the time Delonte West gave J.J. Hickson pink eye on the road in a hilarious rookie hazing incident, because I haven’t been there. Despite the fact I’d love to expose the nature of NBA players, who pray to the lord above each game with their enormous cross tattooed forearms to the sky then proceed to order three prostitutes afterwards, I can’t. Doing so would erase all credibility from my writing. Case and Point: A Million Little Pieces. However, there is a different kind of connection I can make with my readers. I’m exactly like them minus the stretch-marked back I was blessed with during my awkward 6 month, 6 inch growth spurt.

For those of you who’ve read me it’s obvious I’ve had no real training in journalism. I write what I feel and find research that doesn’t include the word google to be at a level of difficulty I can’t comprehend. It's safe to say my writing style is more rugged than a Copenhagen advertisement and that's always hindered me from attempting to complete something substantial. Fortunately I have a few connections within the industry and with some surprising interest in my blog, and more than a little persuasion, I’ve decided to try it.

Now, I've always envisioned an author as some english professor gone overboard, locked in a room surrounded by crumpled papers, dusty books and their research, chewing on a pen until the next stroke of genius hits them. Won't be my case. I’ll carry on with my everyday life, but just write more in depth. In essence, a diary. In my case a man journal. One day at a time, copying and pasting blog posts, and piecing together my thoughts behind each of them. Sharing the things I couldn’t really share while presenting myself professionally. Then possibly, a few years down the road, a positive result will come from it. If not, I’ll have 200 pages on an old MacBook to serve as a reminder of my standing as an egotistical meat head.

Thus today, it began, a whirlwind of 90’s references, emotional rants and the raw details of my journey. Being that I’m lazy I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, and make a blog post which included bits of my future, unedited introduction. It's not the whole thing, which is called a cliffhanger. I’m using it so that 4 years down the road when I get published by some local failing book company, the 12 of you left whom still read Steak & Schrempf will purchase the piece of shit. Here's a few excerpts. Enjoy:

"Your fate is sealed at birth, whether you choose to accept that or not, it’s true. You’re someone else’s creation, not your own. Your personality is formed before you can speak. The place you call home is provided before you can handle a mortgage and your family tree is rooted two hundred years before you were an embryo. Most importantly in my profession, you’ve got a set of genes before your even born, and unlike a pair of Lee Dungarees you can’t just change them. Can’t bust them either."

"If given the ugly gene, you’re going be ugly. You can spend as much money to fix this as you want, it's going to be a while before you cure your huge nostrils, and snaggle tooth. Born with high metabolism? You’ll probably settle into a habit of eating Funions dipped in ketchup and not gaining weight. Who wouldn't? If you’re blonde, you’ll think cheerios are donut seeds. Then you’ll go to school, upon which you realize they are just hula hoops for skinny people. You can tell yourself what you please, but some things in life are uncontrollable."

"As for me, I would end up three inches too short for the life goal I set for myself, plus have the huge nostrils. At 2 months old, there was no way of telling I would end up 6’7”, the average NBA height. There also wasn't a way of telling I’d have a less than average jump shot, terrible defensive foot speed and a heart big enough to carry me through a mediocre pro career, but it was all set in stone."

"This isn’t meant to be a basketball memoir, that would require me being more successful than I am. In fact I don’t know what you would call the story of an average guy who ate enough Wheaties to lead a semi-interesting life? Maybe, uninteresting."

"My childhood wasn’t different from any other suburban kid. I played recreational sports, owned a Penny Hardaway nerf door-basket, and was several tech decks behind being as popular as the kids who could skateboard. I didn’t see the winner in Bam Magera and still don’t. My hometown was Whitefish Bay, WI and my life picture perfect. Everyone’s was. In reality, the number of us that didn’t have family or identity problems were few and far between. However, the overwhelming philosophy seemed that these issues weren’t anything a North Face couldn’t cover up, which at one point frustrated me. It doesn't anymore."

"The pinnacle of my childhood popularity came in 5th grade when I got my first kiss behind the bushes at Khlode Park. I’m pretty sure her breath was something furious because she had been there before, the no big deal kind of attitude. However I made sure to hit myself with a nice spray of Binaca before we all commenced in a game of spin the bottle. It would reach another peak my junior year of Highschool when I finally grew into my size 15 aircraft carrying boats. The time in between then was an awkward one for me, constantly attempting to find my identity. "

"I wasn’t really with the athletic crowd, because although I played sports, I wasn’t athletic. I warmed several benches during this stretch, played offensive lineman and failed to cope with an ever-expanding strike zone caused by uncontrollable growth spurts."

And so you have it, a glimpse of something that will probably never hit the shelves. I guess if it does, you saw it first. Which isn't anything special, because once an editor's done with it, the introduction won't include anything you just read and all your friends will lie saying they followed Steak & Schrempf anyways.

Shout-Out to Keith Urban, your smooth country tunes have hit the ears just right lately.

Until Next Time: If I'm not back in five minutes, wait longer.

Clogged Sink.

2010-12-03T06:28:00.000-08:00

November was a rough month, and I decided to let it show by growing a beard of epic proportions. Last night I intended to relieve my chin fur of it’s no-shave duties. While I actually enjoyed it’s warmth, in addition to looking like a Bon Iver cover artist, it had begun to itch something furious. Enter my dilemma. I wouldn’t be able to shave it clean off, in a weird way it held a part of me. Thus I thought maybe I'd leave myself a little reminder that life’s not always perfect. Some form of facial hair, a goatee, possibly mustache? Yes, a mustache, there is my solution. Maybe go a little chinese villain with it. Trim it up Fu Manchu style then egotistically self-portrait my transformation. Game-plan delivered.

Wait. Let's hold the train here. I shouldn’t shave it at all. What if it is yet to serve its purpose? Panic button hit. I can't tell you why (Eagles reference) but there is something which has comforted me about being beard brothers with Matisyahu. It might be that my Daniel Day Lewis has served as a good-looking symbol for discoveries I've made this month. Mainly, the one where a lifetime of work can be jeopardized by the wrong energy drink in the world of athletics. But could some simple cheek fuzz represent how attentive to detail life can be? Could scruffy bum fluff represent a new found respect and passion I’ve taken towards basketball in my current standing? At the same time illustrating a reaffirmation of who holds importance in my life? Every so often, especially in my chosen profession, you are obligated to sit back and take judgement from others. Those which truly support you are quickly revealed, while unfortunately the others are also discovered. In time you can prove them wrong, but do you move forward with thick skin or take note? And does that thick skin keep a beard on it? God humbles in mysterious ways, and then pushes you to metaphorically connect beards to life situations, and pending bans via blog.

I apologize for the emotional rant. It’s been quite some time and despite the fact you probably think I’m better suited to write for Dawson’s Creek than for a sports blog it’s purpose was this. The journey’s not always perfect. Plus I can’t stand James VanDerBeek. My life’s a fishbowl but that’s my choice and in the end I can’t help but smile because there's constant reminders that life is what you make it. Example:

“Every day a new insignificant meaningless record is broken...Yesterday’s pointless record was the largest gathering of mustaches...Last night at the Minnesota Wild game against the Nashville Predators history was made…It’s all for “Movember.” The non-profit, charity organization to promote men’s health. Dudes are supposed to grow mustaches throughout the month of November to draw awareness towards prostate cancer..Following the game, the mustached men hit the ice at Xcel Energy Center to begin the world record documentation process..In total 1,131 mustaches gathered together to set a new, unofficial world record.” -Terezowens.com

Thinking life is so serious that 1,131 people grow their lip squirrel for a month to break a world record, is an argument your going to lose 60% of the time, all the time. And while we're on the topic, let's take a moment to applaud their location. Certainly, everyone knows life's better on ice. Like Disney on ice, Orange Juice on ice, or Ice Ice Baby...on ice?

So, I woke up this morning and went with the Fu Manchu, and a dirty one at that. It was very Hulk-Hogany, minus the white hair, huge muscles and awesome WWE wrestling attire. Additionally, it kicked in a slight hint of ancient Kung-Fu instructor (pun intended) and accordingly didn’t make it past 3 o’clock.

Plan B, plain mustache. A nice clean police man/trucker look. I'll look like Farva from Super Troopers and it will be brilliant. I'll carefully shape it, rev-up car ramrod and head over to Dimpus Burger for a liter of cola. Want me to punch-a-size your face for free? If you haven't seen the best comedy of the 2000's, disregard my references but keep in mind I had a mustache.

Fast forward two hours and a fast-food meal later. It's gone, all of it. A clean shave because nothing's better than a fresh start. Besides a celebratory Coors Light and with no chin fur, my face feels cold as the rockies. I really don’t like Coors to much but I felt it made for good word play. So here I sit, more baby faced than Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone and November at a close. Under my belt: A U.K. turkey day, a few too many posts about facial hair, a potential life-changing event, and one clogged sink.

Until Next Time: Come on son.

U.K. Turkey Day

2010-11-25T08:50:00.000-08:00

It’s been five years since I’ve been home for thanksgiving. Two years ago it hit an all time low when I spent my day of thanks in a California gas station Wendy's. Last year I can't even remember where I spent my day but it was probably at a gas station Wendy's. Regardless of where I was, it's been five times too many I’ve missed the best Mama Schneck meal of the year, and given my profession it's likely to continue. Since I’m in England and not Asia, there are the proper ingredients available at local grocery stores to prepare myself a make shift celebration for a real man’s holiday. Enough turkey for a food induced coma. Check. A few games of pigskin streaming live from the ATDHE.net. Check. A six pack of diesel fuel beer. Check. Okay, I admit I just bought the Turkey, and have failed to give it enough time to thaw out. Which is 20 hours. So turkey-induced coma will have to wait until tomorrow evening but for introduction purposes it sounded good. I'm not a cook. While I’m in the spirit I thought it’d be a good idea to make a list of things I’m thankful for. That was until I started writing it. Let the good times roll.

Buzz Ballads: Because everyone once in a while, you need a little 90’s rock in your life. When’s the last time you listened to Tonic- If You Could Only See? Your welcome for the reminder.

Family: Cliche but true. Grandma Ruthe and Grandma Gerry, you are the best roots a family tree has ever grown from.

Sweet Potatoes: For allowing me to satisfy my sweet-tooth while still achieving the carbohydrates of a potato.

White NBA Players: You create grounds for humorous name drops and provide inspiration for an unachievable goal. I salute you Ryan Bowen.

YouTube: How else would the world have been christened with The Grape Lady, Bo Burnham and Keenan Cahill?

Blake Griffin’s Dunking Ability: Amar’e Stoudemire gave him a nod, why shouldn’t I?

Veteran Players: Despite the fact they once moved my bedroom into the living room, put my boxer’s in the microwave, and introduced me to the health ruining doner meat, I’ve learned quite a bit. The old farts have kept me even-keeled and given me some good hazing ideas for my sophomore season.

Pringles: Once you pop the fun don’t stop. They call French Fries chips in england, they call chips crisps. With all the snack treat confusion, I was able to find myself this familiar American goodness at a local grocery. There is no turning back.

Paul Shirley’s Can I Keep My Jersey?: Once again finding myself thankful for white NBA players. I mentioned this book in my first post ever. Combined with Club Trillion, Shirley’s journey man story was a driving force behind Steak & Schrempf. An essential read for anyone whom enjoys professional athletics and/or doesn't have the worst sense of humor ever. Paul has continued to blog at FlipCollective.com and if you're wondering why I'm giving him publicity to my readers it's because he added me on Facebook, writes 20 times better than me and I roomed with his brother Tom last year, who has a better mustache than Adam Morrison. Speaking of which...

Toms: It's not because I think Tom & Jerry is the best cartoon ever produced or feel that Tom Tom's are a decent GPS device. I have two Uncle Toms. Not the derogatory racial term, actual Uncles named Tom. I guess that means I like Dougs as well. Not because Nickelodeon produced the second best cartoon ever (Shout-out Patty Mayonnaise), but because I have an Uncle Doug.

Thumbs: For giving importance to the other four fingers.

Total Fitness’s Hydrotherapy Pool: The world’s first ice cold hot tub. Ground-breaking.

I Am T-Pain: For the record deal I'll more than likely sign in the near future. Shout out Scotty Stankins.

Facial Hair: My no-shave November has gone better than expected. It’s okay Brian Wilson, somebody has to have the second best beard in the world.

Dill Pickle Sunflower Seed’s: Giant’s to be more specific. David’s sunflower seed game has severely lacked since the days of little league. Ranch seeds just don't cut it anymore. My UK reader’s you won’t know what I’m talking about which is exactly why I’ve craved them for the past two months.

Cheshire Oaks NIKE Outlet: If I buy one more pair of Kobes at your discounted price my feet will turn into Black Mamba’s.

John Mayer: Asshole or not? That man plays a smooth guitar which is lovely for lady situations.

The 1007: The further I become removed from my college days, the more I miss sitting on my hairy white rump drinking the champagne of beers and playing Call of Duty.

Parental Guidance: My sister's going to be a doctor, which may not mean much to you besides your sister sucks.

Now That's What I Call Music 77: It's a real CD, and I'm not thankful because I like any of the music on it. Rather because it's the first thing since Pet Rocks which has reaffirmed my dream to one day become fairly wealthy off an incredibly horrible product.

Land's End: No reason, I just thought of Land's End. I feel for some reason they are probably an outstanding corporate citizen, but don't feel like doing any research into it.

England: I've also discovered that the letter X can be used in place of a period, peas are to be mushed and subsequently ruined, and that the phrase isn't it doesn't need an S or an apostrophe in it (innit). Rock on Britain.

SKYPE: While I yearn for the Pecan Pie so delicious you feel bad eating it, today for the first time on turkey day I will join my family via webcam, making it not so bad I'm thousands of miles from home.

Jeff Hornacek: Have I been thankful for White NBA Players yet?

Shout-Out to Scorer's First and The Cheshire Jets organization, thanks for your support.

Until Next Time: A man's true character is revealed through his actions at life's lowest points.

Zoo Animals

2010-11-18T18:18:00.000-08:00

Yes this is lazier than last week's post of half-assed beard jokes and yes it's fairly egotistical. Guilty as charged on both accounts. I hope The Nation can forgive me for making it a bye week over here at Steak & Schrempf and getting my copy and paste on. Months ago people used to read this blog as a way to keep up to date with my basketball adventures. Nowadays you're more likely to hear a zoo animal reference about the balls magnet attached to Shawn Bradley's forehead. As in the list of guys who've dunked on The Enormous Mormon is longer than a giraffe's neck. To the three of you roundball junkies still following, I've posted the BBL Interview of the Week which I feel very fortunate to be chosen for as a rookie. Enjoy the entry, while I busy myself trying to find a way to squeeze my ever-expanding head into my Brewer's fitted cap.

Jets centre Matt Schneck has been one of the main thrusts of a terrific season so far for the Cheshire club. His eye catching performances and hard work have already established him as a firm favourite at Northgate and as a BBL rookie, it was definitely time to find out more about the big man – starting with his life back home before he pitched up in Chester.

“I grew up in Whitefish Bay, Wisconsin, a suburb of Milwaukee which has a large culture of basketball. My father put a basketball in my hands at the age of 4 and I haven't look backed since.”

“There were a lot of hours spent on the driveway playing with my two younger brothers on a hoop attached to my garage. We bent the rim crooked, pulled shingles off the roof, put holes in the garage door, but my father always fixed whatever we'd wrecked to give us an avenue to work on our game.”

“I played soccer, baseball, basketball and football growing up.”

“As I continued to grow, I focused on primarily on basketball, went through an awkward stage as a Freshman/Sophomore in HS but eventually grew into my body, played AAU with Milwaukee's Playground Warriors and received a scholarship to St. Cloud State University, a Division 2 school in Central Minnesota. I continued to progress throughout my college career, and now find myself here!”

“The Final Four run which we placed together this past season was my fondest memory at St. Cloud State. It was an incredible experience spending time in Springfield Massachusetts, seeing the Basketball Hall of Fame, and being recognised as one of the elite teams in the country.”

“We cut down quite a few nets during our run, winning conference and regional tournaments, and the way the community surrounded us will stick with me for quite some time.”

“To have the opportunity to play with the Jets in the BBL has been an incredible experience for me. Until my senior year at St. Cloud State where I earned the conference POY, All-American awards and things of that nature, my basketball talents went generally un-noticed. I had previously made a name for myself by doing the little things, and never envisioned I would play professional basketball.”

“I completed my degree in marketing last year and had begun the job search, when agencies and teams started to show interest. To have a professional organization reach out to you like the Jets did to help you to continue your athletic career is dream-like.”

“It has been a very satisfying experience thus far, and I still have those moments where I have to remind myself I'm being paid to pursue a passion of mine.”

Schneck almost ended up carving out his fledgling pro-career in Europe and had been pencilled in to play in the Swiss League before a late hitch caused him to become available and the rest is – as they say, history!

“I was very close to having a deal with Monthey in Switzerland's top league. While I was out in Vegas for a showcase they showed quite a bit of interest, the deal was 95% done. The week following while on vacation, I gave my made my commitment to their organization.”

“Shortly after I was contacted by the Swiss agent I had been working with, saying the club had decided to head a different direction. Within days the opportunity with the Jets presented itself. To be honest, I was very relieved to complete the process and to be able to play in a country where the league is becoming more and more respected, and the culture shock wouldn't be as heavy.”

The Jets are flying right now and Schneck has been central to that scintillating form, underlined by his inclusion in several BBL Team Of The Week line-ups although he isn’t getting too carried away.

“The 5-0 record is nice right now, but the season is very young. The team's chemistry has started to improve offensively, and our length has given teams some trouble on the defensive end. During the BBL Trophy, the team had yet to find it's identity and I think we are starting to get to that point.”

“That being said, with the level of competition in the BBL you can never be satisfied with the way you are playing. We are looking to improve each week and taking each game seriously. When the season winds down, it is likely there will be 4 or 5 teams in the mix for the league title and that's something we are taking into consideration.”

“The BBL Team of The Week recognition has been very nice, but more importantly I am focused on the team aspect of our season thus far. While it's nice to be recognized, I've never been one to over acknowledge awards.”

“ If the guard's weren't creating great opportunities and the team wasn't boxing out, I wouldn't be having the success I've had so far, and it's important to remind yourself of that. Without the team being 5-0 right now, those awards would lose quite a bit of meaning.”

While the centre may not be lapping up the plaudits, it is likely more will follow if he continues with the kind of efficient production that you just have to love if you are Paul Smith or a Jets fan. What is also striking is that Schneck has plenty of savvy when it comes to dealing with a rookie season.

“I've always looked to play efficiently. When you run the floor and work for second opportunity chances, you can create that for yourself. It's important to finish strong in this league, the referees allow you to play.”

“I understand being a rookie I'm arguably not going to receive the same calls as someone whose been around the league for 5 years and that’s the way it should be. In this situation again you have to attribute a lot of it to the opportunities the guards are creating for you but also some of it to your personal focus on not forcing shots.”

It has been a scintillating month or two for the player an his team and after a sticky opening weekend of the season, the Jets have really shifted through the gears with Schneck highlighting the thrilling win over the reigning league champs as being the turning point. A win made extra special for him due to the presence of a familiar face.

“Our win over Newcastle sticks out the most in my memory, I think that's when we started to find our identity and put trust into one another. You have to take pride in beating the defending league champions, until someone takes it from them, that is their crown, so that's always a big victory.”

“I grew up watching Chapman at Marquette, where my grandfather played in the 40's and we hold season tickets. So on a personal level, that was a fun game for me to be on the same court as him, as well as some of the other well established players they have.”

“Sheffield as well was a big game for us, their front court is extremely tough. They have great size and physicality. How we play them will be big for us before the short winter break, we have them twice more. I have no doubt they are one of the teams that will be in the mix at the end of the year.”

The big question on everyone’s lips is whether the Jets and Schneck can continue their impressive run and keep themselves in the hunt. Or will they fade away?

“Our expectations are too put ourselves in a position to win some things this season, with the level of competition in this league, that's all you can ask for. You have to make each game important and understand that one game could mean the separation between you and an opponent at the end of the season.”

“Personally, each game I look to get 20 points and 10 rebounds. It's a goal I've set for myself since my junior year at St. Cloud State. There are more than enough games where I don't achieve it but the point is too continue to push myself. Outside of that I don't have many expectations, it's my rookie season and I'm just looking to do what I can for the team and organization.”

For now though, it’s all about enjoying the Jets experience, bonding with the local community and soaking up the history and culture of his new surroundings.

“Off the court the UK has been a tremendous experience for me, the culture in Chester is very rich. There is a lot of history around here if you look for it, which is something I've taken an interest in. This is my first travel experience outside of the U.S, so I'm looking to enjoy it while staying focused on the reason I'm here.”

“The community has been incredible so far, very accepting and more than willing to educate me or show me around town. I've got my new favourite foods and have picked up a few new phrases.”

“There is a lot of diversity on the team, which is also a great learning experience.”

“Also I don't mind the rain at all, back in Milwaukee it can snow as much as a few feet on any given day, it's a different kind of cold here though – it chills the bones but it’s nothing a cup of tea can't cure.”

Shout out to www.bbl.org.uk and writer Paul Nilson for the article.

In other news, 3 racks of ribs, 2 pairs of Kobe's and 1 beard later, November has carried on strong. I'm thinking of extending my face ferret growth into late December and making a little pocket change as a mall Santa over our christmas break. The Reasons I'm On Twitter page will be updated shortly, as The Big Shamrock has continued his streak of brilliance and TO has engaged in a solid war of words with Skip Bayless.

Until Next Time: The sinner or the one who judged him, who was wrong first?

9 Beard Salute

2010-11-11T16:23:00.000-08:00

In the midst of No Shave November, I would like to extend a shout out to my Father for the tremendous beard growing genes he bestowed upon me. Sure my face itches more than Dennis Rodman’s lower region, girls refuse to kiss me and bread crumbs have found a second home, but I’m a man. Will my mother be proud when I go on SKY (England's ESPN) next weekend looking like Paul Bunyan? No. However, there are only two kinds of people in this world that go around beardless, boys and women. I am neither one. In honor of the international event in which men refuse to shave facial hair for the entire month to support Prostate Cancer and general men's health awareness, Steak & Schrempf has compiled a 9 Beard Salute. Why 9? Because it's all I have time for.

1. William Darryl Mays Jr : Billy Mays here with another fantastic product: My Cheek Fur. The late great informercial king wasn’t only famous for pushing Hercules Hooks, Kaboom and OxiClean. Big Willy Style made scruff famous again with a jet-black forest of face-hairs that revolutionized the short boxed beard. I will never understand how he didn’t sign a multi-million dollar contract with Just-For-Men Brush-In, as the only thing bigger and blacker than Billy May’s beard belongs to Manute Bol.

2. Jerry Garcia: The only thing The Dead’s leading man enjoyed more than some devil's lettuce, was a thick facial haystack.

3. Al Borland A.K.A Richard Karn: Tim “The Toolman” Taylor’s faithful co-host and best friend on Home Improvement, had a Food Saver that would make Zeus jealous. Tim Allen was supposed to be the man on that show but Borland’s beard made him look softer than Wilson.

4.Chuck Norris: Chuck Norris doesn’t grow beards, beards grow Chuck Norris. In honesty, Walker Texas Ranger grew a thin-ass red beard but you try telling him that. Sounds like a recipe for a roundhouse kick. Fun Fact: In 1991, Chuck Norris shot a 14 on an 18 hole golf course, falling short of his personal best by 2 strokes.

5. Zach Galifianakis: Mike Tyson won 44 of his 50 fights by K.O. throughout his boxing career. Zach Galifianakis's beard broke Mike Tyson’s hand during the filming of The Hangover. Enough said.

6. Brian Wilson: The guy carried the Giants to a World Series championship, achieved YouTube stardom, and grew an Old Dutch that made Rik Smits jealous.

7. Abe Lincoln: What more can you say about a man who put an end to slavery and had the best Chin Squirrel in the 1800’s. You think he’s on the five dollar bill because he did something important? Please, his beard is meant to serve as a damn good reminder each time you hit the dollar menu at McDonald's that your manhood his lacking.

8. Joaquin Phoenix: In Mid-January 2009, Phoenix appeared on David Letterman looking like Robin William’s knuckle hairs were at war with Pierce Brosnan’s chest hair on his face. During the show, he seemed incoherently and largely unresponsive towards David Letterman as he announced his retirement from acting to pursue a hip-hop career. News of his melt-down spread quickly, little did the public know it was all part of a publicity stunt for his mock-umentary I’m Still Here(2010), an analysis of the gullible viewer. One of the manliest beards of all-time all as a hoax. That’s cajones.

9. Rick Ross: Rick Ross is the Boss. His facial hair is the CEO. I can't lie I fear his chain game is in severe danger of being overshadowed by his Bum Fluff. Plus he looks like Kimbo Slice, who is the only man I would take in a fight against Chuck Norris.

HM. Mr. T: Before he started making World of Warcraft commercials, Mr. T was a bonafied bad-ass. Well known for pitying fools, his jaw-bristle was the real hero that separated A Team from MacGyver as the best action show of the 80's.

HM. Nick Bellore: WFB's finest has had the Chips fired up and razorblades in fear for years. Now a senior, ESPN commentator's are struggling to find a beard whose jock strap they can ride harder. Should be a difficult task, as the mans graced TV's everywhere looking like a young Billy Mays.

HM. John Axford's mustache. While we are all busy fearing the deer, let's not soon forget the lip fur that put Milwaukee on the map this past summer.

BBL Update: We remain 5-0 and take on Leicester in the BBL Cup this Sunday at 5:30 P.M.

Until Next Time: I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country. Thanks to our Veterans.

Frank Winters and Name Drops

2010-11-05T16:14:00.000-07:00

I wonder in how many garbage bins my signature lies. T-shirts, pictures and schedules, autographed by a Division 2 All-American covered by sloppy joe remnants and apple pie, an All-American meal. Kids dreams shattered as they reach their teenage years and realize it’s highly unlikely Matthew J. Schneck #50 will ever be Matt Barnes or even Matt Harpring. The minute you sign that rubber basketball with a near ink-less Sharpie, the countdown begins until they discover reason they can't find you on NBA Live. I often wonder after an autograph session how long will it be until the kid grows his first mustache hair and the complete lack of value that scribble holds reveals itself?

There's no intention to put myself or any other athlete down. However if you think for a minute you're getting more than a quarter on eBay for that ketchup stained napkin you got signed by 11 year MLB vet Fernando Vina back in '98, your a few fries short of a Happy Meal.

It is with great remorse I announce that Gilbert Brown's best contribution to my childhood wasn’t the signed mini-helmet that now collects dust in my attic, but rather the staple of the Wisconsin Burger Kings in the late 90's. You guessed it, the Gilbert Burger, a creation that put Whopper's to shame. Now obviously Dr. J’s signature is worth more than Dr. Peppers but the real value of a signature comes in it's memory. Visions of your father getting two High Lifes spilled on him as he pushed through a crowd to get your Rawlings glove graced by a Jeromy Burnitz signature hold sentiment.

You don't remember the Brewer's had just lost 12-3 to an ailing Cincinnati Reds and Mr. Burnitz was in need of an ego boost after getting a hot dog thrown at him in left field while going 0-4. And you don't need to. That day you witnessed the bond of sports, and a father teaching a son that with hard work he may one day be lucky enough to K four times and have processed meat thrown at him while a fan shouts "Go back to Cleveland asshole." As you grow, that memory hits you subconsciously each time you see that old hump of leather seated next to the John Jaha foul ball on your shelf.

Do you remember Ross Verba? Didn’t think so. The exact reason his inscription is no more important than the one you jotted on the receipt of your most recent Sendik's purchase. Don't be ashamed you forgot the man you watched lay pancake blocks every Sunday, until I googled “2000 Packer’s Offensive Line” in hopes of name drops, I didn’t either. However I’ll never forget the feeling of my dad coming home from a long business trip on a Saturday evening and handing me a GAF Roofing card with his signature on it as he proudly stated “Look who I ran into”.

The following day, still in my church clothes, I laid on the couch watching the Pack play, my father plopped into his leather chair near the fireplace. I didn’t pay attention to Dorsey Levens, Santana Dotson or LeRoy Butler, why would I? I practically knew Ross Verba. After the game we raked leafs and tossed the pigskin in the street. I imitated Bubba Franks and Antonio Freeman, but my heart was with RV. Unfortunately enough, this would lead to my placement as an Offensive Tackle when I arrived for my first day of Freshman football, unless you want to attribute it to my beefy slow-footed whiteness.

While I’ve complained a bit about being under the microscope, the image of the professional athlete allows one to provide others with a moment of happiness, a memory, and I like that very much even if I do wind up covered in banana peels and last weeks tuna casserole. Not to mention, I’m sure Mark Pope’s John Hancock has seen quite a few more helpings of old beef stroganoff.

This past weekend was an off weekend for the Jets. Instead of taking advantage of the fact that I’m in a foreign country and doing some European traveling I took advantage of cases of Red Stripe and San Miguel being 8.99. In my four days off I took trips to Jamaica and Mexico spending quite a lot of time in Bed and Breakfasts. Minus the breakfasts.

Tonight is Bonfire Day which is like a English Fourth Of July. Despite the rain, firecrackers liter the air. All I know right now is that my next door neighbor Alfie better thank the SteakHead Nation above that I’m in here writing this post instead of showering his windows with a steady stream of bottle rockets. His love for rap music from “Now That’s What I Call Music Volume 17” at 2 A.M. has continued to ruffle my feathers. I understand you've just discovered hip-hop but please let 50 cent get back to the year 2003.

Tomorrow there will be fireworks at the Chester Race Course which I am really looking forward, although it won’t hold a Roman Candle to the CMU goon fest which ensued on Big Jim’s rooftop this past summer. Future NFL players and two bottles of Goose thats geese.

In basketball news, this Sunday we play the Sheffield Sharks in a top of the table clash. While we remain undefeated after the bye week, it means zero as the season is incredibly young. Sheffield is a team that is potential league champion contender, making the game very important at this stage. It will be pivotal for us to control the tempo of the game, as they push the ball very well in transition and lead the league in offensive PPG. Look for an update on the game and the Tweet Of The Week in the days following.

Until Next Time: My belt holds up my pants and my pants have belt loops that hold up the belt. What's really goin on down there? Who is the real hero?

Who Needs Egg Yolks?

2010-10-28T08:05:00.000-07:00

Last post I wrote about the stereotypes that athletes sometimes face, but failed to mention a major one. Because competition takes being competitive (who would have guessed), people sometimes feel that transitions into your every day life. If your friend orders a double cheeseburger, he expects you to tackle three patties. If your sister goes for a light jog, your supposed to breeze past her on your way to the Chicago Marathon. If your girlfriend buys you a Polo Ralph Lauren shirt, she better get a horse in return. There is one case of this expectation that has caught my attention on a continual basis.

As a slow footed 6’6” center I don’t feel overly skilled in any one aspect of the game, thus view my physicality as quite possibly my most important attribute. This puts me in the weight room 3-4 times a week where I've become no stranger to receiving stares, and an overwhelming feeling of being challenged. Not because I am doing ridiculous amounts of weight, lengthy frames make that quite difficult. Instead, the 5’4” guy who eats 3 egg whites for breakfast, reads men health magazine and is ripping his extra schmedium shirt at the seams, seems completely focused on out-lifting me, for absolutely no reason other than my Cheshire Jets attire.

At North Shore Elite this past summer, I would notice it from time to time, the wealthy plastic surgeon type, with some faded Kohl’s brand NIKE gear on, attempting to prove his worth to the young athlete. Problematic to him that I didn't mind any attention to his workout while focused entirely on my own. In reality I'm always impressed at an old bag of bones still putting in work on the treadmill in his Air Monarchs instead of making a butt implant on a Lazy Boy while watching 60 Minutes. Without my recognition of their accomplishments however, the stares would grow a little colder. I've never understood it, found humor in it at times, and been slightly bothered by it at others.

In England it’s a whole different story. I was prepared for judgement, that's what a professional athlete gets. However, the competitive looks are constant and it’s not only the silver foxes you find guilty of un-warranted swagger. There is a ridiculously disproportional amount of meat-heads, with out of control testosterone trying to stare you down because they played rugby 4 years ago, and feel threatened you somehow made it to the highest level. It doesn't register that it's possibly the keg they drank after each game which fell them short of their aspirations.

Last Saturday, we battled Leicester to maintain our undefeated record and break their streak of 9 months unbeaten at home. After taking elbows to the head, and shaking off the pressure of 1,500 people packed into a low-beamed old wooden gym to seal our victory, my manliness felt at an all time high. It would soon return to earth. As I walked off the court, two men in nice suits grabbed my attention. At first I thought I was being apprehended by the Men In Black. Big Willy Style. They proceeded to inform me I was to have the first drug test of my career. Actually excited to see the process, I would soon learn they mine as well have said hey lets go watch PS I Love and eat rainbow sherbet together. Aside from being fire extinguished, it was the most devastating experience my manhood has ever had.

It wasn’t the 80 year old with the mole watching me suds up in the shower to ensure I wasn’t doing I don’t know what. Nor was it the fact I had to wear laboratory gloves to use the rest room as if I was holding a radioactive object. The manhood was stripped when the man joined me near the toilet and shut the door behind us. It was stage fright at it finest when he told me to move to the left so he could catch a better view like he was at a Packers game and my cheesehead was in the way of Brett Favre. The old chatterbox thought it'd be a good idea to talk to me through the process midstream sealing my fate that for that round, as I fell shorter than a midget pole vaulter.

8 bottles of water, a series of uncomfortable jokes, and nearly two hours later I reached the required amount, and I’m fairly certain I pulled a abdomen muscle straining to do so. The whole process had the same feel as you get in the airport, where you fear the metal detector might go off despite the fact that you know you are more metal(medal)-less than Dan Jansen's early olympic career. I relieved myself 9 times on the bus ride home, yes I counted. Phil locked me in the bathroom 3 of those times, which is a 33.33% average. Fairly weak when you consider I’m 100% sure he was later pushed down a flight of stairs by a furious Romanian.

Basketball wise, the Jets are 4-0 and remain on top of the BBL going into a bye week. My averages sit at 23 and 8.5. While our offense has been a little stagnant, it hasn't been an issue as we are getting out well in transition and defensively holding teams under 66 PPG. Our length and physicality have bothered teams, although our defensive rebounding needs to continue improving. I've run into quite a few players with connections to the SteakHead nation recently. Two weekends ago, I ran into Joe Chapman whom was a freshman reserve during Marquette’s D Wade Final Four run and the BBL MVP last year with the Newcastle Eagles.

This past weekend I ran into Tom Sherlock who graduated from Wayne State(NSIC) in 2005 and J.R. Blount from Whitefish Bay Dominican, a school not more than 2 miles from me, which apparently doesn’t give us any connection. I looked forward to talking to him after the game, it’s always nice to meet someone from back home. No such luck. After an unintentional hard pick, he made reference to the idea I wasn’t really from his Milwaukee. It was as if the solid financial standing and education that my father worked hard to provide for me somehow disqualified me from belonging to the city which I pay taxes for, which makes less sense to me than PGA Tour Street.

Shout-Out to Giant's closer Brian Wilson, the best thing to hit the MLB since Dill Pickle Sunflower Seeds. I'm not jealous of many beards, but you have one of them.

Until Next Time: A nickel ain't worth a dime anymore.

Michael Phelps And Speedos

2010-10-20T15:47:00.000-07:00

It only took six weeks across the Atlantic Ocean to get the sense that I have broadened my outlook on life. In youth you often forget that life exists outside of what lies directly ahead of you. On days where a breaking news story catches your attention or on nights where the stars hit you just right, you envision the bigger picture. With a carefree childhood those moments can be few and far between. It’s safe to assume that everyone’s existence holds ignorance in some form. No matter how educated you feel, there are experiences you haven’t experienced. Each opportunity you seize expands your horizons. I’ve already grown vast amounts in a country where they look the same, generally speak the same and are similar culturally, leaving me to ponder how much further my boundaries could stretch.

Aside from the English architecture, foods, and customs I've picked up, I've discovered quite a bit about the idea of stereotypes. Not to say it was my introduction to the concept, but rather a further education from my upbringing in Milwaukee which sadly is known as one of the most segregated cities in America. These new conclusions which others have stumbled upon, don't have to do with me being American although Colin's rants about Monster Trucks, haystacks and Rascal Flats have seen no end. They aren't the racial kind either, aside from people not believing a big white guy plays professional basketball, which is common in the basketball world and hilarious. Despite only 10% of the NBA being Caucasian, I don't understand why I shouldn't be at this level. Certainly both Luke Walton and oversized carrot-top look-a-like Luke Schenscher made it, but somehow white with athletic ability means I must play tennis or swim. And while my muscle-builds not horrible, my milky white Will Ferrel thighs would forever disgrace the Speedo brand. Shout-out to Banana Hammocks.

However, when recognized for my correct employment, I feel the wrath of the professional athlete stereotype. It is something I have written about in previous entries, but never fully understood until my emergence in this lifestyle. While children envy your profession and the image allows for you to deliver a positive message, elders view you as materialistic womanizer with an un-necessary swagger. As I was raised to keep a pin close by in case my own bubble needed bursting, I've found this aspect of my journey incredibly difficult to accept. Regardless, I’m learning fast the rules to this game. Without thick skin, there's no thick paychecks. Everyone’s a critic, quick to place you in a certain category. It’s your job to break outside that box. To think outside the box. Taco Bell. The weak of mind are quickly sifted out of the process. Through mutual respect and selfless actions you are able to solidify yourself as that small percentage who doesn't fit the stereotype.

With each game my confidence continues to grow and I have begun to find a decent standing with-in the community. Game winning FT's don't hurt that. More importantly with guards being lowered, the team chemistry has also improved, becoming Bill Nye like in nature. Teammates understanding of one another is pivotal to success. While the outside world is quick to judge, it becomes of little importance when the people inside the locker room get one another. I Love The 90's.

In coincidence with new experiences and Disney style television, yesterday we filmed several segments for a children’s sport show on BBC. Although disappointed there wasn’t an English version of the Cookie Monster (Shout-Out to Britains over-priced Oreos), the camera time provided for some good laughs. It also reaffirmed the general lack of basketball knowledge in the U.K. when the host name-dropped Vin Baker upon mention of my home town Milwaukee Bucks. Now, Vin Baker was a Buck legend but if you want to talk 90's hoops at least mention Glenn “Big Dog” Robinson. For two simple reasons:

He had the best mid-length sock game in the NBA.
He dunked on Greg Ostertag.

I'm not sure, its possible Nike Air Jordan Jumpman Vindicate-Vin Bakers were big in England in which case I both understand and applaud his humor. However, you're a sports show host, it might be a good idea not to be 12 years behind the rest of the world. What's next on your list of brian-busters, Nolan Ryan's Cy Young quest? It's like I was supposed to say "I was devastated by the Bucks loss to the 76ers in the playoffs this year but you have to hand it to Eric Snow, Theo Ratliff and Iverson, they're a tough-nosed bunch of guys. Losses are always difficult to swallow, but I see a bright future for the team as Ervin Johnson continues to develop and gives us a low-post option."

Transitioning, my agent Daniel Poerschke (or the “Big Schnitzel” as G-Dog Murray labeled him) was in Chester this past weekend. Saturday was filled with tourist activities, as we covered the city hall, Chester race course, downtown area and Grosvenor Park which occupies 16 acres of land next to the River Dee and has breathtaking scenery. Pause. While I somehow lost the pictures taken on my BlackBerry, I will be returning to the park shortly to document its beauty and share with the SteakHead nation. At night we met Jet’s owner Pete Hawkins for dinner at La Cantina, a family-owned Italian restaurant right outside the town square with tiramisu that puts Kopp's to shame (Mom- It’s worth getting your passport for).

At dinner Dizzy’s status as a second-hand mascot from the Toronto Raptors was confirmed. While I was positive the 8-foot inflatable had suffered an un-repairable puncture wound, the operator has merely been on vacation. You can't blame him/her for going into hibernation, the air-pressure and heat combination must make for a musty and difficult two hours. I've officially e-mailed ESPN to consider him for mascot of the year.

Sunday brought a one point victory against 2009-2010 League Champion Newcastle Eagles, and with that a small amount of celebration. Before heading out for the night, Daniel and his friend from home Janina, whose recently moved to Manchester for work, picked me up to grab some McDonald’s. If there's one way I can continue my cultural expansion its through the Golden Arches.

In true Christopher Columbus exploration mode, we found our destination sans GPS or what the English refer to as Sat Nav. However, three lost foreigners on the wrong side of the street, two speaking in frantic German won’t soon leave the memory bank It’s here I should mention that the Chicken McNugget sauce game in the U.K. is severely lacking. Their BBQ taste like olives, enough said. It’s quite possible I’m used to the deliciousness delivered by Nando’s, but with nothing to dip my 20 piece nug-bombs in that could satisfy the taste buds I was forced to call it quits after 10. Conscious of the U.K. food and drink categories sensitivity, I will compliment it by revealing I have in fact found a third Gatorade flavor. Orange.

As much as I have experienced in Chester, the life of a professional athlete is tiresome and I have found myself among the ranks of the 161,606 people on Facebook who “like” napping. The amount of physical activity is taxing on my body, and most days I’ll spend a few hours snuggling the stuffing out of my pillows. It’s a cycle I’m trying to break. As a young professional I’d like to spend that time furthering other aspects of my resume, and possibly writing a bit more. In that regard, I apologize my entries have lacked as of late but afternoon rituals of Strawberry-Mango tea and a Ben Harper: Live From Mars playlist make it virtually impossible to combat the afternoon siesta.

Until Next Time: Don't fear what you don't really know.

Utah Jazz Gym Shorts

2010-10-14T15:37:00.000-07:00

The idea of a blog is in a sense very egotistical. It holds implications that you feel people have a general interest in your life. That they would like to know your opinion on everything from Karl Malone’s mustache to the length of John Stockton’s nut-packers. While Steak & Schrempf wasn’t created for selfish reasons, my first entry was at a time where certain people and activities which held a great presence in my life had suddenly disappeared. With very little closure, and lack of definition, I think subconsciously I needed to feel an importance again. Reality is, my life isn’t that interesting. So this Steak & Schrempf is dedicated to others. Let the Shout-Outs begin.

Shout-Out to the SCSU Men’s Basketball mustache growth. Witt has the tanning bed burned yours off yet? Bernie has the peach fuzz settled in? Ortmann does yours look like cotton balls have nestled on your upper lip?

Shout-Out to Rachel Johnson. My feet miss your pampering.

Shout-Out to Grandma Ruthe and Grandma Gerry for our first succesful SKYPE calls a couple weeks ago. Way to adapt to technology you beautiful women.

Shout-Out to Phil Brandreth for having a better baseball swing than Mark McGuire. Although he definitely out-sterioded you.

Shout-Out to Sam Radbil for your recent series of grown man actions. Interview with Washington Nationals director of baseball operations. Check. Not urinating yourself when held up at gun point. Check.

Shout-Out to the Texas Rangers whom celebrated their Game 5 history-making playoff win Tuesday night against the Rays with ginger ale before bringing out the booze. The team showered themselves with bottles of the nonalcoholic drink to support outfielder Josh Hamilton's substance abuse battle. You stay classy Rangers, I’m Ron Burgandy?

Shout-Out to Nutella for continuing to bring me joy with your chocolate unhealthiness.

Shout-Out to my agent Daniel Porsche and Scorer’s First for coming to visit this weekend. You sure know how to take care of your players. Prepare for Malibu-Ya’s after we give Newcastle all they can handle on Sunday.

Shout-Out to Kevin Schlagel. I’d like to congratulate him and the SCSU Men's Basketball Team for winning the Boggs Mitchell Award at the 2010 Arc of Minnesota Awards which honors an agency or program that provides inclusive recreational experiences for people with developmental disabilities. Coach was nominated for this award by the family of long-time Bench Coach Ryan Slingluff. Basketball wise he’s not doing so bad either, the St. Cloud State Huskies were recently ranked #3 in the nation by the D2 Bulletin Poll.

Shout-Out to my little brother Andrew for being the first in the Schneck lineage to rock the dreadlocks. Although they were temporary I envy your dedication to hair growth. Ras Trent.

Shout-Out to Father Reid Hennick for entering your second year of seminary. Spread the good word and god bless.

Shout-Out To Claire House and Jet’s Basketball. This past weekend I was able to take my first trip to the Chester Race Course to participate in a Black Tie Charity event in support of the Claire House Hospice. The event organized by Jet’s owner Peter Hawkins and Marketing Director Jess Forbes in coincidence with the Claire House, was one of the classiest things I have participated in. If money makes the world go round, it’s on a good rotation in the city of Chester. People dressed in expensive suits, drinking expensive wines gathered to raise over 12,000 pounds in a mere three hours. “The aim of Claire House Children’s Hospice is to enhance the quality of life for the child with a life-limiting condition, offering a high quality service with both personal and professional support. In partnership with the child and family, each child’s individual needs will be met; those of their family and significant carers will be recognized and respected in a safe ‘home from home’ environment.” The Claire House operates purely off of donations, if you’d like to help their cause click here. (Shout-Out to Chester Race Course. Your wait staff is incredibly attractive.)

Shout-Out to Colin O’Reilly for his ranking as the 3rd best player in the BBL Fantasy League. Unfortunately starting next week each time you listen to a Daniel O'Donnell tune, you lose a point which will cause your stock to plummet country boy.

Shout-Out to Garreth Murray on his Romanian descent.

Shout-Out to MJ for re-affirming that neither Kobe or LBJ should be mentioned in the same discussion with his greatness. “It’s less physical and the rules have changed, obviously,” said Jordan. “Based on these rules, if I had to play with my style of play, I’m pretty sure I would have fouled out or I would have been at the free throw line pretty often and I could have scored 100 points.”

Shout-Out to Stef Baker. FHM Model, law-student and fashion expert. You've got quite the eye for scarfs.

Shout-Out to the SCSU fan base, you are the best in the NSIC. Do any of your opponent’s have tattoos of dedication? I think not.

Shout-Out to Brett Favre for following in the foot steps of Tiger Woods. Everyone knew you had big balls when you signed for an NFC Rival a year after leaving GB, looks like you took that 365 days to show Jenn Sterger the size of them.

Shout-Out to Erin Doherty's new ink. I'm still scared to get mine. Not because it will hurt but because my Mother put the fear of god in me.

Shout-Out to Richard Murphy for maintaining his spot as England’s top Sumo-wrestler for the 3rd consecutive week.

Shout-Out to Carl Horton on his new fashion column in the Badger Herald. You make Tommy Hilfiger look like a bum.

Shout-Out to Amanda Eggebrect’s halloween costume of Carmen San Diego. Your love for 90’s computer games is unparalleled.

Shout-Out to Scott Hawkins butt-cut before our Elite Eight appearance last year. Never has a haircut more resembled a hind-side.

Shout-Out to SCSU Women’s basketball for your Michael Jackson music video. I’d post the link but I don’t know if you could handle becoming a YouTube sensation over night.

Shout-Out to Freshman baseball coach Aaron Barret for calling out my hack on Facebook today. “Just think, if we could've fixed that swing you might have tried sticking to baseball and never be where you are. Good thing that wasn't ever going to happen.” Also didn’t help I had the largest strike zone to ever hit a baseball diamond.

Shout-Out to the police that will be over in ten minutes to do the crime scene report when I break our techno-loving neighbors stereo into unrecognizable pieces. These walls are paper thin. You can't possibly love fist-pumping that much.

For those of you interested in the basketball side of things, the Cheshire Jets are currently 2-0 in BBL League play with last years champion Newcastle Eagles coming to town this Sunday. It should be a difficult game and a noteworthy test of our physicality. On a personal level I am currently averaging 24.5 points and 9.5 rebounds and feel increasingly comfortable with each game. My season and career 3 point percentage remains at 100. It must be the shooting sleeve. Or the fact that I was confused with Garreth Murray on the stat-sheet last week. It is a nice shooting sleeve though. Be sure to check out The Tweet Of The Week.

Until Next Time: Never moon a Werewolf.

The Schneckumentary

2010-10-08T06:40:00.000-07:00

As some of you know, over the past year, I've collected clips with a Flip camera to compile the Hawkin's termed Schneckumentary. It ended up a unconventional montage that is part life, part friends and family, and 100% ridiculous. Click here to enjoy the Schneckumentary.

England Doesn’t Rain. Rain Englands.

2010-10-06T15:32:00.000-07:00

I’ve decided once I’m done torching the BBL like Indiana Jones in an ancient tomb, I want to become a weather man in England. It has to be the easiest job in the world. Today’s forecast: Rain again with a chance of more rain. It never stops here. On average, it rain’s more than a Mark Titus fundamentals montage. Forget everything you learned about climates in science, deserts exist purely because the U.K. has stolen their rain supply. “If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is, "Probably because of something you did." - Jack Handy. In this case England is worse than Latarian Milton (Just a little bit no video games for a whole weekend). That kid is going to ace Driver’s Education.

On that topic, I had my first driving lesson today. It went as bad as expected. Although nervous for my introductory attempt, a little push from a very cute instructor who was armed with Reese’s Pieces easily persuaded me to give it a try. While I’ve always considered myself a good multi-tasker, the manual transmission proved far to worthy an adversary in the parking lot of Morrison’s. When put into perspective it kind of felt like that awkward stage in HS where I couldn’t chew gum and walk at the same time. Back then a pack of Trident and my size 15 boats would take me on more trips than The Magic School Bus.

Even more embarassing than the actual driving was trying to fit my 6'7" frame into an English sized vehicle. It resembled a giraffe stuffing into a dog cage. However, once I was miraculously squeezed behind the wheel, I learned a couple of things. They were as follows:

I am less understanding of the clutch than Greg Norman or Bill Buckner.
My friend Rachel has more patience than a hospital.
Driving on the passenger's side of a Go-Kart isn't as bad as you would expect it to be.
Memories of the Bavarian Inn parking lot where I first learned to drive, have not yet been deleted. Shout-Out to the family mini-van.
A moped purchase seems a much better course of action than a second driving lesson.

If only it were as easy as driving tractors. Bad transition, but my roommate Colin has for some reason conceived the notion that Milwaukee is a farmland. I guess I'll blame my one article of flannel clothing and his love of Tammy Wynette for his miseducation. In reality the assumptions seem legit enough. To the outside world Milwaukee would appear to be the biggest city in America that prides itself on beer and cheese, which doesn't scream Wall Street. There was also FarmAid in town this last weekend, which he caught wind of like the Ripper, allowing him to further argue his case. Regardless, Colin shops at FarmFoods, that's right FARM foods, so next time you see him, let him know you think he's more country than cornstalks. After watching Gangs Of New York, I was under the impression the Irish people were very proud of their culture. You can imagine the surprise when I found a box-set of Larry The Cable Guy DVD's and a CD entitled George Strait's Greatest Hits under a cowboy hat in Colin's room.

While I think now would be a great time to bring Phil Brandreth into this love-hate fest because of his Corona fueled FB antics today, I can't because roid rage is a dangerous thing. I can however point out that Phil models for Bow-Flex, enjoys in the needles in my country haystacks and named Magnus Samuelsson as his childhood idol.

In other European-United States hate crime news, people who act Americanized over here are called "Captain" as in Captain America. I find this absolutely hilarious. I must warn you though to proceed with caution when dropping this lingo. Last time I saw this terminology used a screeching bald Eagle wearing a NASCAR hat swooped down out of nowhere and smashed an Apple Pie in the perpetrators face.

Basketball wise, things have gone very well as of late. In my first BBL League game I finished with 28 points, 13 rebounds and 5 assists against the Essex Pirates. Not an incredible accomplishment as they currently don’t have their American center in at this point due to work visa issues, but enough to earn me a spot on this week’s BBL Team Of The Week. Our household is turning in two to three workout’s a day between morning shoot-arounds, the official team practice and lifting weights. This is probably the reason why after a three hour nap today I still didn't feel like rolling out of bed.

I apologize the blog has been lacking lately, I’m working on a few things behind the scenes to upgrade the site and have finally finished the much awaited Schneckumentary, which will have it’s own page on Steak & Schrempf by the end of the week (make sure to check back).

Shout Out to DZ for his hole-in-one a couple weeks ago. I didn’t post this until now because I didn’t believe your incredibly whack mid-range game could deliver such an epic sports moment, but it has been confirmed. I salute you Mr. past your prime in athletics random hole-in-one at your local par 3 getter guy. Real men of genius.

Until Next Time: Fundamentals are the crutch of the talentless.

Sherwin Williams

2010-09-28T17:09:00.000-07:00

Before discovering Viva La Hova (A Jay-Z & Coldplay Mash-Up) earlier this morning, I often wondered if there would ever exist a combination more untouchable than Reggie Miller & Rik Smits. Everyone knows that while most of the NBA was making it rain, Miller was making it monsoon 3-balls from Guam. Still, arguably RM's best quality in my opinion was his ability to talk trash better than Oscar the Grouch. John Starks was no Ron Artest, he was as level-headed an NBA player as there ever existed. But in Game 3 of the 1993 play-offs, Miller proved a big enough butt head to make Stark's drop a head butt that made everyone ask "Man did this dude just did this?" It's here I should thank Mr. Stark's for strengthening the association of a 3-grade education level and professional basketball. Kendrick Perkins wasn't doing enough for us.

True students of the game however, understand that it was Smits who was both the man and the anchor of the Pacer's combo. A 90's Ron Burgandy if you will. It is argued by several Norwegians that the Dunkin Dutchman was the best thing for their country since ovens. Quoted as saying if not for the NBA, he would have liked employment as an under-cover police officer. Read that one more time. Under-cover. As if you needed more convincing, Super-Nintendo players everywhere have agreed, that aside from Hakeem Olajuwan, Smits was easily the most dominant big man in NBA Showdown.

Back to the point. My discovery of musical genius combined with my first BBL double double has allowed me to temporarily enjoy the idea of pairs. Although the history of two-somes includes Hall & Oates, as well as Dennis Rodman & Fishnet shirts, today my train of thought was more Rocky & Bullwinkle. Boats & Ho’s. Kent & Mary Schneck.

It's a stretch of a transition but deal with it. My father a roofing salesman and my mother, a housekeeper of 4 children and a part time caterer, brought me up to understand the meaning of hard-work. With a full-ride scholarship to St. Cloud, my summers were spent between two-a-day workouts and a 9-5 as an exterior painter. 40 feet in the air, inches from a wasp nest, the sun would beat down on my back as I questioned the purpose of an All-American athlete spending time as the self proclaimed Picasso of houses. While my morning lifts would go as expected, my early evening sessions became a struggle. I rationalized it was wasted energy, and there should be a basketball ball in my hands rather than a brush and bucket. It was the exact reason I needed to be out there, I lacked humbleness, and felt myself above manual labor that million's create a living from.

Kids will be kids and I certainly didn’t mind having a little extra change in my pocket. At age 16 it could make a guy feel on top of the world to take his girlfriend out to Applebee’s and still have enough money purchase a jumbo size popcorn to cope with the fact he was just tricked into buying two tickets to “Brokeback Mountain"(a movie about cowboys) at his local Marcus Theatre.

Regardless of the fact that I could keep my 96' Acura fully fueled, and purchase College Dropout five times over, I would lay in bed, sunburnt and dehydrated and question my parent’s encouragement of an employment at The Village Painter. What I mean by encouragement is a 7 A.M. wake up that depending on the day would be either a jovial “Rise and Shine” or a much-needed “Get your lazy ass out of bed, get your weights done and be to work by 9 with a smile on your face if you want a bed under this roof tonight.”

Most day’s I would whine more than a vineyard but with maturity I came to realize the importance of those summer’s. From them came life’s most valuable lessons. While nearly every set of parent’s preaches the cliche “you can be anything you want to be” routine, reality is few enforce it’s lesson. Mine did. While blessed with height, and an athletic ability which has me nicknamed “the flying cracker” by Richard Murphy, I find myself most thankful for the way I was raised. A precise amount of discomfort, tough love, and opportunity allowed me to grow immensely but never lose an appreciation of reality.

Not everyone is given the tools to play professional basketball. 5’2” in the BBL would mean you’re a step-ladder to a highlight-film dunk, that’s a fact. But also true is that being 6’7” with the ability to launch a sphere through a metal circle doesn’t make you any better than the man putting in extra hours on an accounting desk, drive through window, or ladder 40 feet in the air. It just makes it difficult to fit through doorways and you slightly luckier. As I shot FT’s several hours before practice today at Northgate, I contemplated why it took me professional contract and a trip to Ireland to realize my parents had hidden a four-leaf clover in my shoes quite some time ago.

Shout-Out to one Kaitlyn Elizabeth Schneck for you’re acceptance to medical school. Everyone knew you were the smartest of the children, and I’d like to personally thank you along with John Starks for further enhancing my reputation as the family meat-head. Also, Shout-Out to Jamal Williams. Best of luck with Mersey, aside from when we play you of course. 7 Ash Lawn Court isn't the same, but your pork steaks are delicious.

I’ll update you on this past weekend’s game within the next few days after I get over the home-sickness currently being caused by Google suggesting websites that end with co.uk rather than .com. For now please enjoy Wyndham Fairchild’s college highlight film. Forgive me father, it has the word slam dunk in it. Until Next Time: Life is my wife, until death do us part.

The Professor

2010-09-20T18:22:00.000-07:00

A marathon of Mad Men later, four cocktail glasses and an unopened bottle of Jameson rest upon my desk. It’s where they’ll find themselves for quite some time. Stored until some significant win by the organization merits celebration. I’m spiritual, but not much of a spirits man. As it turns out, life as a professional athlete has proved to be a trying existence. Miles from home, theres no room for homesick. You learn to cope through facial hair, late night lifts, and walks through town. Regardless, emotions surface at night, when tired from the day, you’re guard inevitably drops and you are left more vulnerable than a teenage girl after The Notebook. An “import” player implies you’re eligible for export which results in self expectations higher than a Grateful Dead crowd. In any employment, value must be proved on a re-occurring basis if you wish to continue your career. In the sports world this stressor is magnified by the pressure of the public eye and a looming masculinity. While the green bottle towers over a pair of Oakley shades and a Armani watch, it appears I’ve subconsciously reached to solidify my manhood, in AMC’s Don Draper terms. I suppose it’s here I should publicly reprimand myself for relying on material goods to manifest what my actions should.

While slightly threatened by the situation, the reality is I enjoy the challenge. An opportunity to prove myself once more. Quarter life crisis quickly resolved I've realized a clean slate renews the thrill of the chase. Like a middle-school dance, you unknowingly want to be the kid lucky enough to have some straight-laced teacher drop the "ruler of death" between you and your dance partner. At first you’re devastated that 13 inches rather than 3 now stand in the middle of you and the girl from Social Studies during you’re favorite KC and Jo Jo song. Then come light bulbs. A sudden understanding that the inch-stick from hell means you had gotten close enough to little miss geography to create hormone intervention by legend Mrs. Mangan. Is it possible you get a peck on the lips post-dance while you’re friends watch in envy? 98 degrees plays the students out of the gym, and wobbly-kneed you approach for a kiss near the bike rack. You're dreams are shattered as Jimmy’s mom ruins the moment with mini-van headlights. Regardless as you bike home, your Gary Fisher seems to float. Although you don’t realize it then, you’ll soon become aware that your achievements hold value as a consequence of the road you’ve endured to accomplish them.

The team was dealt two losses this weekend. I played on a bad knee, swollen from bruising on the tibia and fibula. WebMD it if you must. I averaged 13 and 7 and did my best to provide a post presence. Wasn't good enough, nerves created trouble finishing around the rim. With both a home and away game under my belt, it's easily correctable. The refereeing has continued to be difficult for me to adjust. I’ve started to wonder if the NSIC didn’t take it easy on my physical play last season because of my veteran status. Don’t comment. In two games, I’ve had more fowls than a chicken farm. I meant fouls, I apologize. Right now the team chemistry is worse than Chernobyl, but ease off the panic button. It’s to be expected when the latest editions to the team are fresher than the week of September 26th (Shout-Out to Philly B). The team has some nice pieces to put in place, and in a fifty game season, were bound to find a puzzle master.

Every team I’ve ever been a part of has taken time to mold. As frustrating as losses can be, they are important for locating correctable weaknesses and building character. The atmosphere in North Gate is tremendous. An MC announces the games like an And 1 show while Dizzy roams the sidelines in an 8-foot inflatable basketball, rumored to have been purchased from the Toronto Raptor’s. Most importantly, the fan base is incredible. Despite a difficult performance Sunday night, the Arena remained packed until the completion of the match. Next weekend, we have a single game at home, once again taking on Worcester. While impressed with the beauty of Chester, the city of Worcester blew my mind. Then the refs blew their whistles. I blame the WOR and absence of H for the home cooking.

Shout-Out to my St. Cloud State Huskies for their upset of Winona. I hope you walked the RED CARPET like MC's Hammer. The play of your DB's was very imPRESSive. To the non-Minnesotean readers it mean's I hope they celebrated. Until Next Time: Victory goes to the player who makes the next-to last mistake.