The Dixie Classic Fair - 10/13/09

This weekend I attended the Dixie Classic Fair in Winston-Salem with my daughter, Carly, son, Rick, his wife, Jennifer, and my three grandchildren. It is an amazing fair and we had a great day. I had no idea we would endure the intensity of a melanoma growing sun in Winston-Salem in the middle of October. I got quite a bit more sun than my dermatologist would recommend…..which is none.

One of my favorite things about a fair is the variety of food available that I would not, could not, order anywhere else. I love a real carnival corn dog and funnel cakes, washed down with fresh squeezed lemonade. I abandon any concern for hygiene standards. Don’t ask don’t tell. One joint even fashioned their funnel cakes into French fries, making it easier to eat while walking the fairgrounds. Novel idea.

Something they do here in the south that may not be a big hit in the health-conscious Pacific Northwest, is that they deep fat fry everything. Healthy food like broccoli and string beans. Fry ‘em. Candy bars, Oreos, and Twinkies. Not unhealthy enough. Let’s fry ‘em. One place even advertised fried butter. I am not a health nut, but WTF? Who thought of that?


I am in a place in my life where I have become an observer of life rather than a participant. The fair is the absolute best place to people watch. If you ever lack in self-confidence or have image problems, just go the fair. You will feel like Brangelina with a touch of Einstein. Note to woman weighing 4 bills: There is no place on your body that a piercing enhances your look. Please do not show them to me. I just ate a corn dog.

I am certain that every person who has ever punched out a relative on Jerry Springer was present at this fair. And I am certain that the people running the rides that we entrust our children to have all done hard time or were acquitted on a technicality.

Mountain people, who only come to town once a year, come to the fair. There is a booth there where the carny offers to guess a rube’s weight, age, or birth month (Like in The Jerk). Judging from the people I saw, it would be more interesting to guess their number of extra chromosomes, number of teeth, or which is higher, their IQ or the temperature. If they really wanted to make the game challenging, they would have the yokel guess who their daddy is. Kind of a Maury Povich twist on the game.

After I had put in the appropriate amount of grandpa time and the obligatory waving like a moron at the kids on carnival rides, I followed the sound of music to the stage where various bands played all day. I heard two really good local bands: Doug Davis and the Solid Citizens and Kavish. Both were very enjoyable. I left before the Pranksters took the stage. They were a Grateful Dead tribute band and since I would not cross the street to see the actual Dead, a fake version did not interest me at all. Of course the advantage of playing a 2 hour Grateful Dead set is that you only need to learn one song. They tend to go on forever. The Grateful Dead have given me a very graphic description. When I want to portray a very foul odor I say "smelled like Jerry Garcia's beard."

Adding to the excitement of the fair was the fact that Wake Forest was playing Maryland at the adjacent football field. It was homecoming for Wake, so they had scheduled one of the worst teams in the Atlantic Coast Conference to assure a victory. Is it me, or does the Wake Forest mascot look suspiciously like Ebenezer Scrooge? They call him the Demon Deacon. I have no idea what that is, but when he comes onto the field he is riding a motorcycle. Wake Forest is an amazing school. It is very small but very competitive against the huge schools on its ACC schedule. They have a beautiful football stadium.


This fair is by far the largest I have ever been to. But I knew I was out of my element when I realized there are people that can tell goats apart. There was a tractor pull that drew more of a crowd than several major league baseball teams. But the coup de grace was that there was a line to get into the vegetable displays. I will stand in a line for a funnel cake but not to look at a turnip. Even a prize winning one.

Sunday Scribblings - Sports - 2/13/09

When I saw the prompt was sports, there were several ways I could go. I could talk about how my life has been defined and enhanced by sports. I was a competitor in my younger years,
then became a coach, critic, and motivator, as my children participated in a variety of sports,



and now am pretty much reduced to being a fan, unless you count golf and bowling as sports.


My poor daughter, Carly, by virtue of living with three guys, had no choice but to play sports as well.



Lucky for her, she was a good athlete, but in high school switched to cheer leading. Carly was good enough at that to compete in the national championships at Disney World.

She has continued this competitive family tradition with her son, Carson. She has exposed him to several team sports to let him discover which ones he enjoys, if any.

My granddaughter Maris has already shown some talent. If nothing else she has learned to pose like an athlete.

I know a lot of bloggers consider themselves academics that are above sports and will predictably rail against athletic folly but they were and are a very valuable glue that helped to hold a broken family together. Don't get me wrong, we did not obsess with sports at the expense of academics. All three of my children graduated with honors from college. I was always of the belief that the best way to keep kids out of trouble is by keeping them busy with activities. In a military community, sports were always available. All three of my kids possessed aptitude for physical competition. After hauling their trophies all over the world, I gave most of them away to the Special Olympics, keeping only those with special meaning.
I could have written about that but I decided not to.

I could have talked about how professional sports have been ruined for me by the money, drugs, attitude of the players, and corruption. Here are a few facts that will illustrate my disillusionment with where professional sports have gone.

4th place in a single major PGA tournament pays more money than I have earned in my entire life (I checked my social security statement).

2nd place at a major PGA tournament pays more than Arnold Palmer made in his career.

Alex Rodriguez makes more money in a 3 game weekend series than I have made in my entire life.

In 2008, playing in only 6 events, Tiger Woods won more prize money than Jack Nicklaus, the greatest golfer of all-time, earned in his entire career.

David Beckham made $13,000 per each minute he played for the Los Angeles Galaxy. He was paid $32.5 million dollars and played a total of 2,500 minutes.

Carl Pavano was paid $40 million by the New York Yankees and pitched a total of 26 games, winning only 9 of them. That is over $4.4 million per win.

The minimum wage of a major league baseball player who is a bench warmer and may never actually get on the field is $390,000.

The minimum wage of an NFL rookie, who may never get into a game is $295,000.

The minimum wage of an NBA rookie, who may never get into a game is $442,114.

The minimum wage of an NHL rookie, who may never get into a game is $450,000.

Is it any wonder kids are drawn to steroids in order to compete at a high level?

But I decided not to write about that aspect of sports either.

What I have decided to write about a sporting event that I recently attended that restored a bit of my faith in professional sports. Though I am not a hockey fan by any means, my daughter and grandson recently treated me to a professional hockey game in Winston Salem. The Twin City Cyclones participate in the Southern Professional Hockey League. Yes, they have hockey in the south. I was surprised too.
It is, however, the absolute bottom of the professional hockey barrel. These kids play their hearts out with absolutely no hope of ever lacing them up in the National Hockey League. They are definitely not doing it for the money or glory. They play in front of about 1,000 fans. The league enforces a $5,600 a week salary cap which is split between the 18 players on the roster. The league minimum for Canadian players is $275 (hear that NHL). They can pay Americans less than that (we evidently suck at Hockey). Players are provided a place to live and some local restaurants give them discounts and that is it. And for that they get the absolute stuffing beat out of them. They undoubtedly play for the love of the game.

As a non-hockey fan, I was entertained every bit as much as if I were watching the top tier of the NHL and had a lot better seats. They have a mascot, though I am not entirely sure what it is. It is some kind of blue bird. How that relates to a cyclone is anybody's guess. But it nearly got ran over by the Zamboni, further adding to my enjoyment.

We attended on Humane Society Night and if you brought a dog your admission was free. They had dog shows on a carpet rolled out on the ice between each period. Skooter would not have approved and would have made a scene. The Cyclones even gave my grandson a puck and would have autographed it if we had desired.