The Winter Olympics are now over. Did you enjoy them? Did you watch ANY of it?

I did, and am startled to announce my personal conversion: The winter games are more fun than the summer games.

Can’t believe it? I can hardly believe it either. I have always been one (of the many) who trash talk about how lame the winter games are.

But they are NOT lame. They are way more interesting than the summer games.

Let us start with the obviously fun events: ski jumping, the aerial jumps, short track & long track racing, hockey, half pipe (and ALL snowboarding events), slalom & moguls skiing, luge, skeleton and bobsled.

Those events are entertaining regardless of who is competing, but the wacky X-game additions are especially fun to watch. There is not NEARLY as much crashing in the summer games.

But I had a good time with lots of other events, even the curling. Okay, curling doesn’t elevate your blood pressure, but sort of draws you in anyway, like watching poker on TV.

The Nordic skiing events were all pretty good, but especially fun was the skiing and shooting event called the biathlon. Skiing and shooting…. Gotta love it…

Imagine how much I would like the Winter Olympics if I cared even the slightest bit about figure skating! Which I don’t!

I liked how much fun Canada seemed to have hosting it (note especially the goofy closing ceremonies). Nobody makes more fun of Canada than Canadians.

Everybody tells me how beautiful Vancouver is. Now I believe them.

Maybe I enjoyed this so much because I have been cooped up inside too long this winter and just needed visual evidence of some physical activity other than shoveling.

It makes no difference. The winter games, minute for minute, are better than the summer games. We will see if I change my mind in two years…
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Tiger apologized recently. It was broadcast live on TV. This was a really big story.

Whole televised sports hours were dedicated to discussing all aspects of this.

Countless hours of radio programming, even on non-sports stations, have parsed his words and vocal intonations. Newspapers and magazines are swimming in articles about this.

Was he sincere?

Maybe you know this already, but it seems he cheated on his wife.

Granted, my opinion of him, overall, has changed. I now see him as an athlete who cheats on his wife. Not the most exclusive club.

I presume many of his original sponsors liked his story, his too-good-to-be-true persona. A handsome super-perfectionist golfer, a mixed-raced kid who obviously loved his mother and retired-military father.

When the news of his infidelity broke, sponsors fled from him like rats from a sinking ship. That doesn’t break my heart. He is already more wealthy than about half the nations on the planet.

I suspect though, that some sponsors, cash strapped due to the recent recession, just used his foibles as an excuse to bail on some multi-million dollar payouts.

Did you watch his televised apology? I didn’t, because I don’t care. I follow golf and I still don’t care.

But the media cared. Much, much, much of the coverage and commentary seems to revolve around the following concept:

Too little, too late.

As if Tiger owes the media pundits an apology.

Nope.

Tiger is a guy, not a god. He clearly owes his wife an apology. It is up to her as to whether to accept or not.

He probably owes his sponsors something of an apology. They normally don’t want to shower money on someone who exhibits embarrassing behavior.

Who does Tiger NOT owe an apology to?

• To sportscasters. To columnists for newspapers and magazines.
• To pompous political pundits. (Alliteration!)
• Not even to other golfers in the PGA. Amazingly, some of them are shooting off their mouths about how this is damaging the pro tour. (Shut up, all of you. Your paychecks are all WAY BIGGER because of Tiger. Now would be the best possible time to show a little gratitude.)

And finally, Tiger does NOT owe an apology to you, the average fan. If you are fool enough to hold up an athlete, any athlete, as a role model, then you are an idiot.

We had a flat tire the other day. Noticed it outside, at work.

Since we are deep in snow (for what seems like three straight months now), I just went to the store and purchased a product that is supposed to fix a flat. I won’t mention the name of the product, but just know it is an aerosol that is supposed to fix a flat.

I followed the directions, and sprayed pretty much the entire contents of the can into the tire. The directions say you should then drive two to four miles so the goop covers the entire inside of the tire.

No problem. The tire store was more than four miles away anyway.

The guy at the tire store said he would fix it free since we purchased the tire there. I was delighted! I was less than excited when he said ….

“…unless you used that spray that is intended to fix a flat. That substance never stops eating at the inside of the tire.”

“If you did that we will have to replace the tire.”

So instead of just plugging a hole (albeit a cool one caused by a decent sized bolt), I had to pay large sums of money to buy a pair of new tires. (You can’t just buy ONE tire.)

I guess the moral of the story is this: If you use the spray stuff designed to fix a flat, be prepared to pay way more than you anticipated.

If you intend to keep your tire, never use the aerosol product that implies it will fix a flat, fix a flat, fix a flat.

Are you a guy? Did you have a brother? Was he older or younger?

I am a guy, with an older brother.

I don’t know what it is like to have a younger brother because I WAS the younger brother. I am sure I was pretty annoying…. hanging around, saying stupid things, bugging his friends.

He is about five years older than me. That doesn’t matter much now, but when he turned eight, I was still three. When he was 11, I was six. You get the picture.

He could have been really obnoxious and abusive, like many older brothers are, but he was never that way.

Maybe he appreciated me because his two older siblings were girls. He never really had a ‘guy’ to play with until I came around.

I imagine at times he thought of me as a toy, or sort of a smart puppy dog. I always just wanted to be where he was, and do whatever he was doing.

He had to teach me that our toy cars were meant to be smashed together. We would get down on our knees, about ten feet apart, and drive (fling) the cars at each other as hard as possible. Toy cars were WAY cooler back then, made of metal, about the size of a small cat, and weighing 2-3 pounds, so smashing them together actually involved physical risk to the smashers…

He taught me how to wait til the very last instant before tossing a firecracker. This is a lesson I have NOT passed on to my kids.

Even as a kid he knew how to fish, hunt and work on cars.

I attribute his mechanical abilities to his intense desire to take things apart long before he had any sense of how to put them back together. Dismantling things is a skill that will drive parents crazy, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Did I say ‘dismantling things?’ He also taught me the quickest way to dismantle things ….. blow them up. This is why God created the Fourth of July. (We both still have all our fingers, but his have more burn-marks than mine.)

We had bunk beds, and slept in the basement.

Yep, he would prank me now and then (and I will never forget the old ‘smelly pillow’ trick), but I never feared him. I knew he would never hurt me and, more than once, he stood up to neighborhood bullies in my defense.

Rubber-band fights. Paper airplanes. Knee football (which we poetically called ‘crawl football’). He taught me all of this useful stuff, and more.

He had (has) mechanical ability that has always eluded me. I imagine he wonders how I can be so mechanically inept.

Because we are guys, our standard form of communication is the insult. You guys out there who have brothers know exactly what I am talking about….

“When are you going to get rid of that piece of s*** car?”

“I presume you got THAT haircut for free.”

I could never say any nice stuff to his face. Still can’t. It was damned difficult even to write this, but I decided I was not going to wait until his funeral to say all these things.

By the way, he is NOT dying. He is WAAAAAYYYYY too obnoxious to die young.

I am forever indebted to him but, as a guy, I am not allowed to say it.

I suppose he doesn’t think about it much. Maybe he never thought about it but, to me, he was an amazing force.

Some kids grow up in fear. Sometimes there is fear of the unknown, but too often it is fear of the known. Abusive parents, abusive siblings.

I lucked out.

Often times when a superstar, whether it is an athlete, actor or musical act takes a political or moral stance, people tell them to just go back to what they are famous for, and leave the politics for the politicians.

I don’t have a problem with a person expressing his/her views even on such a large stage.

Next, I am glad Mrs. Tebow chose not to have an abortion. It is her right to make that decision, not the governments.

It is wrong for the government to be making the decision in either direction.

Please note: Planned Parenthood also supports Mrs. Tebow’s decision.

Enjoy the game.

Formerly fierce Conrad Dobler has paid a terrible price for choosing the NFL as a career. No longer a physical specimen (in the positive sense), today he is 90% disabled, having suffered through numerous operations to repair his battered body. He has had too many surgeries to count, but let us just begin by noting his nine knee surgeries.

His medical issues have no end, and he is still in need of further surgeries. Along with countless other disabled NFL veterans, he has been unable to gain disability assistance from the NFL.

The NFL fights tooth and nail to avoid making disability payments to any retired player.

According to recent comments by Dobler, there are some 9000 living retired NFL players, and 125 have qualified for NFL disability payments. One-hundred and twenty five.

Dobler sarcastically concludes that the NFL must be the ‘safest industry’ anywhere in the world.

I will tell you what the NFL really is, it is a collection of the most heartless bastards anywhere.

Does the NFL have financial problems?

At the Super Bowl this year Queen Latifah will sing ‘God Bless America’ and Carrie Underwood will sing the national anthem. The Who will perform at half, a spot in recent years filled by no-names like Paul McCartney and the Rolling Stones.

Did they all perform just for free tickets to the game? I guess there must be a little money involved. How can the NFL afford that?

It is the richest sports league on the planet, with multi-billion dollar TV contracts and creative ‘rights fees’ that require season ticket holders to pay an additional charge, not for tickets, but for the right to buy tickets. So, you pay the fee, and THEN you pay the cost of the tickets. (My understanding is that this creative ploy was invented by the Dallas Cowboys many years ago.)

Think the players are ‘overpaid fat boys?’ You can ignore all of those salaries they trump up.

Sometimes you hear a player signed a five year contract for $10 million or some such. Most players never collect those amounts. While salaries for baseball and NBA players are mostly guaranteed, NFL paychecks end when you are cut from the team.

You can get cut for underperforming, and you can get cut for being injured.

Being cut for being injured will NOT qualify you for disability thru the NFL. Almost nothing will qualify you for disability with the NFL.

C’mon NFL, start sharing the wealth with those who made you all rich. The players. But especially with the players who have been physically disabled by the brutally crushing nature of your sport.

Conrad Dobler is 90% disabled and you argue it has ‘nothing to do with football’? Your high-powered lawyers make that same argument against every disabled player. Pathetic.

By Ike

Disclaimer: The Winkest Link is not responsible for the emulation of any actions listed below. These directions are to be heeded at your own discretion.

Death is a very touchy subject with most people. They see it as a thing to be feared and pushed away. As a result, they usually die comfortably in a hospital bed surrounded by loved ones. This is generally the preferred method, but to be truly memorable, you need to get creative.

To die in such a way as to be remembered until the end of time, you must be prepared to invest plenty of time, money, energy, and patience. First and foremost, be careful. Don’t drive too fast, don’t annoy government officials, don’t drink alcohol in excess. Remember, it would be really embarrassing to plan the most exciting death of all time and then die by choking on a pretzel.

To start, you need access to wild animals. Bears are your best option. Try to get a Grizzly bear or polar bear. If you can’t, sun bears or black bears will do in a pinch. Make sure that the bear wasn’t raised in a zoo or domesticated in any way, as this would defeat the whole purpose. Keep the bear in a wilderness environment until you arrive at the final stage.

Next, you will need a private jet. It will need a large amount of storage space. Retired military transport aircraft aren’t bad for your purposes, and possibly even attainable. Pilot lessons are preferred, but you really just need to know how to take off and keep the plane level. Make sure to keep the jet well-fueled and ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Finally, you’ll need active nuclear weapons. Look for World War II or early Cold War-era bombs, so that your spectacular death does not unintentionally wipe out all of humanity, leaving nobody to remember your greatness. Keep these bombs or missiles in the cargo bay. Ensure that nothing will be able to set the bombs off prematurely to avoid the need to buy a new airplane, air strip, and neighboring city.

Now that you have all the fundamentals, you must wait for hurricane season. In late August and throughout September, watch for significant hurricanes near the Atlantic Ocean. Don’t waste your time with a hurricane with a wind speed lower than 200 mph (320 km/h). After all this effort, it would be quite awkward when people find out that you died in a sub-par hurricane.

You can spend the downtime wiring your aircraft with an elaborate video system. This is the most efficient way to spread the news of your exploits. Make sure you leave a way to send the video footage to national news stations after your death. Hell, make it world news stations. You only die once, right?

When the right hurricane comes along, it’s time to move. Tranquilize the bear and put it on the plane. Double-check the plane’s fuel level and arm the nuclear weapons. When everything is ready, start the plane and take off.

As the plane comes within a mile of the hurricane, set the autopilot to direct the plane toward the center. Head back to the cargo bay and check the nuclear weapons. Keep a remote detonation device handy. Then release the bear, giving it a heavy dose of adrenaline to jolt it awake if necessary.

Begin fighting the bear, and don’t hold back. The bear will not. Remember, this fight will be broadcast to every news station available. Done right, it will make UFC look like a mild-mannered playground disagreement.

The plane will soon enter the hurricane, shortly after which it will stall and begin to nosedive, likely spinning constantly in the process. The time has come to amaze the world. Activate the detonation device, pausing only to give off some last words that will hopefully include a terrible pun¹.

As you wrestle the bear in a battle of life and death, the bombs will erupt in a horrific fury. The strong winds will contain most of the bomb’s energy, causing the entire height of the maelstrom to be filled with fire and capped by an orange-and-black mushroom cloud. (This adds the finishing touches to the towering inferno that serves as a beacon of your demise for hundreds of miles.)

News reports will be flooded with the tale of your events. People for decades to come will remember as the man or woman whose explosive, bear-battling death looked not unlike a giant, flaming ice cream cone. Congratulations, you have just enjoyed the most exciting death in history.

¹ “Bomb voyage!”

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By Ike

There have been hundreds, perhaps thousands of countries in this world, and tens of thousands of languages. There are those that have become remote or extinct, with names unrecognizable by today’s citizens of the world. However, as languages die, new ones are always there to take their place. This kind of transition is rarely seen elsewhere in history. The only reason behind this phenomenon lies within the importance of language itself. Without language, the cities and civilizations we see today would not exist. Humanity as we know it would not exist.

Without language, there would be no communication. Without communication, there is no artistic or logical expression. Without expression, there would be no governments, no countries. Every human would be trapped in perpetual isolation, with no hope for relief. Fortunately, when language was established, populations began to grow. Order became sustainable instead of transient. People could come together and aid each other. They could discuss ideas, simple at first, but increasingly intricate as the languages themselves grew.

Now, language is a keystone that holds the world together, Instead of countries keeping to their own, every country has the opportunity to expand and be a part of the global community. Language allows people to travel abroad and be accepted, instead of distrusted or considered a burden.

Language is not only significant, it is crucial. In a world where technology advances at an impressive rate, language stops us from being paralyzed with fear of what others might do. Countries do not need to keep an ear to the door, trying as they might to catch a stray thought of what the rest of the world is planning for the future. That door is open. All one needs to do is ask.

I just found out that someone I know is into numerology. I didn’t know her well enough to know that she was born on the 6th, but I do now.

So the number six means a whole lot to her. She sees six’s in all of her daily life events.

I see six’s too, but I was born on the fourth. Is that a bad omen?

Now that I know she is into numerology, I have started to pay more attention to numbers.

My beloved Celtics lost recently, by 8 points.

I have two children born on the 12th. Other key relatives were born on the 3rd and 16th.

My brother was born on the 13th. Friday the 13th.

Jesus was NOT born on the 25th. (I hope that doesn’t shock you.) But what if he was?

My sister was born on the 22nd, but she is left-handed. Does THAT mean anything?

Cripes, it turns out numbers are everywhere!

Today’s temperature was 4 degrees below normal.

I take 72nd street to work.

The word “number” has six letters, just like my numerologist friend would hope!

Some names have many letters (Omgwonna Kikkbouhtti). Some have few (Tom Li).

Barack Obama has 11 letters. Rush Limbaugh has 12! That has GOT to mean something.

Every product on the Burger King menu has a number attached to it. (99 cents is my favorite.)

Look people, you may have good luck, you may have bad luck, but most of what happens to you is what you do to (or for) yourself.

Stop looking for mysterious reasons why something good or bad happened today.

There is no mystery, sh*t happens. Good sh*t. Bad sh*t.

And it will happen the same way whether your mom named you Jenifer or if she named you Jhenniphyrrrr. (And it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest to find some clever parent had named their child “Jhenniphyrrrr.”)

Numbers mean no more and no less than you want them to mean. They are everywhere, and they are random.

You make your own luck. So go out and make it.

But that is just the kind of thing a Leo would say.

I wanted to title this article “FOX goes Rogue.” Couldn’t do it. Going ‘rogue’ means acting differently than expected. NOTHING could have been more predictable than hiring a shallow right-wing mouthpiece, to compliment all the other shallow right-wing mouthpieces. On the other hand, she is prettier than anyone else on FOX. Oh well…

Former Alaska Governor Sarah Palin has signed a deal with Fox News to appear as a contributor on the network.

Now we will all get a chance to see what a ‘regular guy’ she is. We just LOVE regular guys. We want to have a beer with her. “W” can come along too.

Ya know who we hate? Those egg-head ivy-league types who know too much. They are just so show-offy. We hate them. And we don’t trust them. They are always discussing these ‘high-level’ ideas on how to make the world a better place. I don’t understand them about 90% of the time. How can I trust someone I don’t understand?

Also, they ‘deliberate.’ I don’t want deliberation, I want opinions. Fast and easy opinions.

Deliberating is for those who think the world has ‘gray’ areas. There is no ‘gray’. There are two possible opinions: Mine and the wrong one.

Ya know who I DO understand? Sarah Palin and “W”. I know where they are goin’, and what they are doin’ and thinkin’. How do I know? Cuz they just tell me. They tell me they care about America, and I believe them. Average people like me and Sarah love our country. !

I DON’T believe them egg-heads care about America. I just don’t trust ‘em. They act like they don’t even hate foreign countries. They always want to ‘cooperate’ with them and ‘negotiate’ with them. What kind of words are those, ‘cooperate’ and ‘negotiate’? Five-dollar words, that’s what.

C’mon, the only thing you do with foreign countries is scare them! None of this pansy ‘treaty’ crap. History tells you the only thing those foreigners respect is the threat of bein’ blowed-up.

Ya know who ‘gets’ this? Sarah Palin and “W”, that’s who. And pretty much everybody else FOX has ever hired to be a commentator. They all get it.

I am an average guy. I get it too.