Live Report and Review from the NFL Rookie Symposium in Aurora, OH

Full disclosure:  I live five minutes away from the hotel in which the NFL Rookie Symposium was being held this year.  I live here, and I don’t understand.  Anything about this.

I suppose Aurora put in a bid to host the symposium?  I don’t know.  All I know is I woke up in a fog on Monday before work, like I always do, turned on ESPN, like I unfortunately always do, and saw Aurora, OH.  I thought it was a dream.  Then I thought they were talking about me.  Because, of course they would be.

Then, as I do every day for work, I drove by the hotel it was in.  Only saw a sign that said “Closed for Private Function June BlahBlah – June BlahBlah”.  I guess this was true then.  Kept driving, past the abandoned transmission shop on the left, abandoned amusement park on the right, BMW MOTORCYCLE DEALERSHIP on the left, and blacked out the next 25 minutes until I got to work.

I thought, is the NFL having it here so they can scare the players straight?  As in, if they don’t take this opportunity seriously, they could end up in a place…just…like…THIS??? MWAH HAHAHAHA…

Maybe it was just the bid.  The rest of the week I saw banners for the NFL welcoming the rookies, and nothing else.  No cars dropping anybody off, picking anybody up.  No one outside except for one property security guard, one security guard car, and one guy with a lanyard at a table at the entrance, apparently to check the no people showing up.

But they were there.  And, sadly, I was unable to get an interview.  Yes, unfortunately, I was unable to obtain an interview…with a kid who is at least – at LEAST – five years younger than me, who is about to be a million – at LEAST – times richer than me, at a function I never attended.  

I didn’t get to talk to Johnny Football.  And I am very disheartened by that.


And this is, without question, one of the biggest events – if not THE biggest event – ever hosted in Aurora, Ohio history.  Well, unless you count that one time we payed an unthinkable amount of money to Jack Nicklaus to design the private golf course and provide those very rich who attend said golf course the privilege of his twenty minute appearance once every year.  

Yes, either a bunch of twentysomethings about to play professional football, permanently damaging themselves for our entertainment or the greatest golfer ever touching down on a flyby – Aurora, Ohio was the perfect place for the NFL Rookie Symposium.  I hope those kids were properly scared.


And I didn’t even get an autograph.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

“Bill Simmons Faces Karmaic Judgement”, or “Hope is Precious in Cleveland”

I was so excited to rub it in his face.  I couldn’t wait to tell him that God may “Hate Cleveland,” but the Sports God hates haters more.  God hates Cleveland, but God knows it’s the owners that are really terrible.  The fans’ hearts are in the right place.  Unlike Philly fans.

I wanted to thank him for his karmaic blessing right before the lottery, trashing the Cavs and their hopes for winning.  And whether or not they actually deserved the top pick.  I wanted to say yeah, the owner of the team is a dolt, and the previous regime was terrible at their jobs.  They don’t deserve any second, or third, or fourth chances to get their team right.  But the fans deserve it.

I would have referenced that old 2007 Sports Illustrated special magazine dedicated to Cleveland, and told him that if he wanted to bring us down again in as easy a fashion as possible, just throw the cover of that edition at us.  I understood where I was coming from, and what this hope I had about all our teams really meant.

But, as you can tell already, this e-mail was going to take too long.  And it was far too serious for sports.  So I didn’t send it to him.  

And he wouldn’t have read it anyway.  

But these are the things that pass as hope in Cleveland sports.  I know I have written before about what a fan cheers for, but it had very little to do with what we define as hope.  Hope to a Cleveland fan is drafting a football player who is popular, who is my size, and who “wants to be here.”  Hope to a Cleveland fan is getting the top pick in an NBA draft lottery that is supposed to be one of the better drafts of the last fifteen years, when we only had a 1.7% chance of getting the pick.

Hope to a Cleveland fan is sweeping a first place Detroit Tigers team to put us only 7.5 games behind them.  In May.

Hope is relative.  As you can see.

And hope comes in small slivers for Cleveland sports fans.  Did I feel like I won the Super Bowl when we drafted Johnny Manziel?  No.  I didn’t feel that the next morning either.  We didn’t win any games at all because of the draft.

But you all saw it.  Well, those of you who watched the NFL draft.  You saw the elation in Berea, where the Cleveland Browns draft party for the fans was happening.  Those people erupted like, I assume, New York Giants fans did when they won one of their two Super Bowls.  Or New England fans.  Or Pittsburgh fans.  None of these fan bases erupted during the draft.  They are beyond that, because they haven’t had to face fifty years of futility.  

We handle hope in small doses because we have those 2007 Sports Illustrateds checkered all over the past fifty years.  50 years.  Hope is dashed so quickly and harshly.  So this week has been a generous week to us.  Will Joel Embiid be the savior of the Cavs fans, or Andrew Wiggins?  Will we make a trade with the top pick so the already embarrassed, shamed fans can grovel in front of LeBron James and kiss his ass just so we can win?  Yikes.

The Indians swept the Detroit Tigers to get some much needed momentum going forward.  If the series ended up the other way?  If we were swept?  I would be as close as I ever had been to closing up shop on an Indians season this early.  

Johnny Manziel.  I don’t know about him, whether or not he will be the answer, but I know it looks like the team as a whole is moving in the right direction, and that is encouraging.  If Jimmy Haslam wasn’t the owner of the Cleveland Browns, we would all want his head.  It’s funny how little cheating millions of honest hardworking americans out of money matters when you want your sports team to win.  

But if he was convicted of whatever fraud he committed.  I don’t want to think about starting from scratch for the third time in five years.  

Yes, sports are trivial, and it was a hope filled week in Cleveland.  I don’t want to go any more in-depth on this because I not only am afraid of what would happen, but I am afraid I am taking this too seriously.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

In Open Defiance, I Ironically Talk About my Father’s Triple Bypass on the Internet

Last Thursday my dad went to the hospital to check on his heart.  He hadn’t been feeling well for the past few months and wanted to know what was going on.

The doctors found several(!) blockages in the arteries surrounding his heart.  They told him he had to stay in the hospital because one of his arteries – not the one that was huge and completely blocked – was so dangerous that he couldn’t leave as a precaution.  He stayed the weekend at the hospital, and is now having a triple bypass to fix the errors(!) of his ways.

I have been calm about this whole situation for its duration.  I have been consistently positive about the situation because I remind myself how much worse it could have been.  We are fortunate the problems he has were found this way, and not some other way(!)…

…and I haven’t really told anyone.  I haven’t really talked to anyone who wouldn’t directly care about the situation until right now.  Well, technically, I still haven’t, considering how many people read this blog.  Ha ha.  


And that’s the way I’d like to keep it.


From the moment he was admitted to the hospital, my stepmom and sister have been hard at work letting everyone who knows my dad know what is going on.  I suppose that is an important thing to do, and I know he has appreciated all the love and support, including all the people who have come to visit him at the hospital and wish him well.

I was entirely, justifiably, afraid of their potential to get carried away however.  I was afraid of – and fully prepared to become very angry about – my sister posting some very private information very publicly over the internet.  Private information that could be skeeewed – not so subtly – to allow sympathy for someone who doesn’t really deserve it.  Well wishes and prayers for the person who isn’t directly affected.

You know anyone like that?  I do.  And I…don’t like them for it.

So I spent from Thursday to basically Sunday not talking to anyone about it except for Ashley.  Well, Ashley and my sister(!) and stepmom.  I was directly opposed to that “sympathy call” I would be making, so I did the farthest thing from it I could.

I finally called my one friend (who entirely admires and loves my dad) on Sunday to tell him what was going on.  To say he was shocked would be to say I’m not rich.  Did that work?  I don’t know.

He was beyond shocked.  He was almost mortified.  I was fully surprised by this.  He said he wanted to come see my dad, and I told him I’d bring him after the surgery to see him.  He wished my dad well.

Was I wrong about how I felt about this whole thing?  I called another friend on Monday and just threw what was happening with my dad in the conversation.  

More mortification ensued.  He wished him well also.  

Had I been taking this too lightly?  I mean, I’m thankful he’s not dead, that they caught this problem before it was too late!  That’s all I have been is thankful.  I have not been a wreck like my sister, and even when I heard the news I felt less than shock.  I would venture to say I kind of expected it.

So am I thankful they found the problem and are fixing it before something terrible happened?  Yes.  The surgery itself is actually pretty low-risk as well – only about a one percent chance of some serious side effect taking place is possible, considering his youth (he’s sixty)(!).

It is splitting his chest open to work on his heart though.  That is scary.  I was in the shower last night and imagined the same thing happening to me.  Made me a little queasy I must say.

Regardless of the fear, the risk (be it low or high), the situation my dad finds himself in and the emotions swirling around it, I still find myself afraid and angry about someone(s) I know using the situation as a platform to gain personal sympathy.  That is where I am storing most of my anger, and where I am stationing my soapbox at this moment.

And of course my prayers are with my dad at this moment, but I know he’ll be fine.  He doesn’t need my prayers, he needs good doctors – and he’s got that.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Dad’s Hands

His hands clamped completely over mine. The sheer size of them swallowing mine every time I tried to shake them. Each of his fingers were equal to two of mine. Maybe three.  They were coarse, but gentle.  Like pillows in burlap sacks.  

I was young but I was still strong. I was fast, I was active. I was great at sports.  He was older.

I would try to show him how strong I was, how fast I was.  I would race him to the entrance of the grocery store.  I would always win.  

I know now he would let me win.  I do the same thing now with my young cousins.

I would squeeze his mammoth paw with all my might to show him what a strong handshake I had.  He would tell me good job.  Then he would squeeze just a little.  

His squeeze would get stronger and stronger.  Evenly until I gave up.  I would hold on until I couldn’t take any more and quit.  He could go farther but never would.  He would let go and smile.

His fingers felt like the inside of a blood pressure test machine against my fingers.  It was like experiencing a blood pressure test for the first time, but he could do it to my hand.  My hand that I put all my strength into, every bit I could muster.  He could take all of it, and with an ever so slight of hand return it to me tenfold.  And he could do it so calmly.  So smoothly.  He smiled, and I quit.  He taught me well.

This was twenty years ago.  I am a man now.  I am two feet taller.  One hundred fifty pounds heavier.  I am a man in every sense that word can mean to me.

Now I can beat him in a footrace fairly.  I can hit a golf ball farther than him by at least twenty yards.  I can throw a baseball faster than he ever could.  I can lift more weights than him.  Hell, I can do most anything better now than he can.  I should be able to.  I am twenty eight and he is sixty.

This was months ago now, but I still remember it clearly enough to write about it at this moment.  He was sitting on the couch on a Saturday.  The sun was out and the sky was blue.  There were no clouds.  He was done riding the lawnmower cutting the grass, inside for his two o’clock nap.  Even if he didn’t do any lawn work it was still time for his nap.

I had been waiting twenty years for that moment.  I stepped quietly up to him as if I were sneaking.  I was going to surprise him.  He was laying back.  His eyes were flickering.  His right hand was in the air.  

I reached for it and started to shake it.  Shake it firmly.  He smiled either knowingly or charmingly.  I couldn’t tell, but it made me nervous.  It was a warm smile as if he was just waking from his nap and he hadn’t seen me in years.  I smiled too.  I tried a wry smile.  My fingers were now almost two-thirds the size of his.  

I planted my feet.  Again I began to squeeze.  This time I squeezed with twenty years of built-up reprisal.  Twenty years of long formed man strength.  My extra twenty yards.  My supercharged fastball.  My two hundred pound bench press.  My hands that were now almost the same size.  I squeezed with all my power again.

He never stopped smiling.  He kept the same smile.  

He nodded a little.  He began to squeeze.  

So calmly, so evenly.  So smoothly.  

And again he began to crush my hand.  

I panicked as if I was eight all over again.  I gave up just as quickly.

I smiled and laughed as if I was joking the whole time.  As if I didn’t just try to prove something essential to him only to be rebuffed like a child.  

He smiled as if he knew.  As if he knew I was a now a man, but still and forever his child.  As if he knew I would always be his child no matter what kind of man I became.  As if he knew he would love me no matter how long I tried to beat him.  As if he knew he would always have those hands.  

And he would always squeeze but never crush.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Why Do You Hate Obama?

I’m about to go to sleep soon.  I have to wake up at 5 to go be terrible at golf.  Before I do that though, I want to go pander to some bloggers.

I didn’t become heated about this just a few minutes ago, but I was thinking about this today, and it is something I have been thinking about for a while.  I’d say about six years.  

And, since this is my blog, and I write about things I think about, I can write about this.

At the place I work, there is a nice older lady who comes in a couple days a week to help us out with various menial labor.  I have never had a problem with her, and she has always been very outgoing and kind to me.  I helped her granddaughter out by buying Girl Scout cookies from her.

There is one standing, well-known rule we have when the other guys I work with and I are around her:  don’t mention Obama.  She hates Obama.

You don’t even have to be a supporter of Obama, or an Obama fan.  I just wonder the same thing we all wonder when someone comes out and says they hate him:  why?

Why do you hate Barack Obama?

Perhaps it’s because he wants to take all your guns away.  Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t created enough jobs.  Perhaps he hasn’t fulfilled all the promises he made when he was campaigning.  Perhaps it’s Obamacare.  

Perhaps there are a lot of other half-baked insane ideas a person can come up with to disguise their anger towards a person that they can’t really explain.  Perhaps you just don’t like the guy.  

It doesn’t bother me whether or not you like or hate the guy – no president has ever been impeached because one person doesn’t like them.  What does bother me is unfounded rage.

I swear I’m not being naive here.  I know what the truth is behind the anger, and that bothers me too.  It scares me to think people like Cliven Bundy get to vote.  It scares me to think 25% of americans believe the sun revolves around the earth, and they get to vote.  It scares me to think some people believe Ukraine is in Iowa, and they have a vote.

It scares me to think that misinformed people believe in misinformed ideas, and they can decide the direction of our nation.

Let’s say Barack Obama actually wanted to take away everyone’s guns (he doesn’t).  Hypothetically, how would he be able to actually pull that off?  Let’s not even get into the notion of whether or not we would be safer against each other and our own government if we didn’t have our guns.  Let’s just stick with the idea of one man, in a government chock full of checks and balances, being able to do whatever he wanted and getting away with it.  It’s not possible…right?

So, guns aren’t going away; nothing will change that (sorry).  Let’s continue with that whole checks and balances thing.  Checks and balances gone awry in our country.  We are so checked and balanced, we cannot get anything done.  Especially in our government.  Without getting long-winded about this partisanship thing, and how to change it or make it different (read: “better”), we all can agree we’re kinda fucked here.  

Did anyone actually think Obama was going to be able to fulfill any of his promises when he first ran for election in 2008?  I mean, I know it’s a dumb question, but honestly.  I certainly didn’t.  I mean, I hoped, but I knew better.  There was no way he would be able to contend with the giant steam engine that is our terrible government.  That didn’t stop me from voting for him.  I appreciated his energy and his belief in trying to make this country better by any means.  

Note – I even liked McCain back then too; before he sold his soul for the Republican nomination I mean.  Would he have been able to make change happen?  Would Mitt have changed the country?  At all??

And how would one man be able to create jobs out of thin air.  Certainly not by lowering taxes on business owners – that would not allow them to hire more people.  Why would they.  I’m trying to talk simply here:  deregulation or tax cuts would not prevent outsourcing or any other form of exploitation (clearly it would have the opposite effect).  Again, simply:  we gotta have some industry to have work to have jobs.  We cannot just create jobs out of thin air.

I just ripped up some paper and threw it on the ground.  You pick it up.  I have created a job for you.  That is one job.  Add it to the imaginary “job creation” tally.

I’m really resisting getting technical here because I want to wrap up before I go to bed and wake up in five hours.  We have no new industry.  We have no new jobs.  We cannot create jobs where none exist.  We have to rebuild this country before we gain dollars and cents.  But that is ridiculous talk.

And obamacare:  I pay more now for healthcare.  Oh no.  But you know what?  My stepmom and dad pay less.  And my dad has to go to the hospital to have his heart checked out this week.  I’m glad to make the sacrifice of a few dollars and cents on my end so the people who really need it can afford it.

It was a simple idea from the beginning:  everyone should be entitled to healthcare.  I know, an awful idea.  We all knew that idea would become twisted and perverted before it ever could come to fruition.  Healthcare companies, lobbyists, people with deep pockets unable to bear seeing those pockets lightened even by a few pennies.  

Everyone should be entitled to healthcare.  It couldn’t be that simple.  No change in this country ever can be.  It will never be simple again.  


So why do you hate Barack Obama?

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Watson Henchkins, Part Two

This is Part Two from my previous post.  Go read my previous post before reading this…if you dare!

– Wooo.  OK.  Let’s take a step back here to regroup.  I’m sorry about all this.

First, let me try to rationalize my story so far.  Before I do, let me just say – it’s reeeeally hard to go from ‘game context’ to ‘it makes sense to make up this terrible story for a created character in order to make his/her redemption that much greater.’

I could say I was trying to make a creative, honest, real-world redemption story in order to raise the stakes of my character’s achievements in an environment that is restricted to denying reality as its most base physical nature.

The real reason I made Watson Henchkins go through this is because, in Tiger Woods 12, the character you create goes in a few short months from merely qualifying for the PGA Tour and winning tour events to winning The Masters.  It’s an unrealistic timeline, unless you have a person who is extraordinary and who had to re-build themselves from their psychic and physical bottom.

I didn’t want to make him a bad guy either, so I had to make his story as high-stakes and, most importantly, as sympathetic as possible.

With that being said:


Three years had passed since Watson’s father and brother passed away in their tragic car crash.  Watson had spent the years after his multiple surgeries in intensive rehab, and making incredible strides.

When he began the doctors said it would be a miracle if he ever walked normally again:  he was walking unassisted in three months.  They told him he’d never play golf the same way he used to ever gain:  he shot a 72 at his home course a year removed from the accident.  They said he’d never play professional golf.

It is noteworthy to say right here that, when the crash happened, it was national news.  It was grand tragedy, the likes with which the country was ill-equipped to handle well.  No one enjoyed hearing the news about this young, hard-working, lovable phenom and his inseparable family being torn apart the way it was, but for days and weeks after the accident it was headline news.  National news.

Then suddenly, when the doctors said the boy would never play professional golf and the rehab began, the headlines stopped.  No news, save for perhaps small updates on his rehab every few months at the bottom of a few hours.  The country mourned his loss, and forgot about him.

Until he won a few tournaments on the tour, the minor leagues of the PGA Tour.  Three years removed from losing everything he cared most dearly about and being told he’d have difficulty even walking the rest of his life, Watson Henchkins won a professional golf event.

The country started to take notice.  What a wonderful human interest story!  He achieved more than anyone had ever expected after what he went through, and the news was positive for him again.  Everyone was satisfied with this impossible achievement.

Until he tried to qualify for the PGA Tour.  Yes, young Watson Henchkins, only 21 years old and a mere few years removed from all that had happened to him, was trying to earn his PGA Tour card.  The news covered it front and center, but the country tried not to pay attention.  This was too nerve-racking.  It was one thing to hear about this young man winning – it was the opposite to watch him live, knowing his story, not knowing the outcome, and seeing him fail, which was the great probable outcome.

(Another quick note:  had to make the player come back from some injury or something like that because in the game you build your created player from the low attributes the game starts you with.  I know, I know – why did I have to do it like this, but…let’s get back into it.)

Watson Henchkins qualified first, and earned his PGA Tour card.  He became THE story of the PGA Tour that year.


–   I’m sorry, but I’m going to end this story here abruptly.  I believe we can all understand how the rest of it will go, and it ends happily.  I guess I was just trying to examine how this process happens in my head.  I had even more details:  details about the crash, his family, etc., but I wanted to keep this brief enough to see my point and to put it on something.  That is all.

I’m sorry to end so abruptly!  But it’s a blog, not a short story site.

So make up the rest of the story for yourself!

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Story of Watson Henchkins

It is unfortunate, but I am a man in his late 20s who still likes to play video games.  I’m not proud of this, but I’m also not (completely) ashamed of it.  It is true, at their worst video games are a disastrous drain of my creativity and life, but at their best they provide me with a release from my often wanting existence and its many pitfalls.  I have used them at their best and, much more commonly, at their worst, but video games sometimes do provide me with some chances to be creative.

I like to play sports games.  I like to play sports games that allow me to create a career mode, or improve the fortunes of the oft-failing real sports franchises I love so dearly.  Recently I have been playing NBA 2K14 and my Cleveland Cavaliers have made it to the playoffs two years in a row.  They even won the NBA Finals in the second year.

In these games, when a career or franchise mode is played, it is inevitable to have “created players,” which are the people in the game either created by the person playing the game (me) or created by the game itself automatically.  I have played many games with many different “created players.”  I used to, when I was younger, create myself in my games.  I would imagine myself playing professional baseball, or basketball, football…

Now I am too old for that.  Creating myself in video games started feeling really sad to me when the “me” I created was younger than the real me (“I’m 28 and in the game I’m… 21… awwww”).  So I have not done that for quite some time now.

What I do now when I have to create a player, or a player is created for me, is make up an overly elaborate backstory for this character.  I do this so that, when they succeed in the game, their success feels that much sweeter, or that much more unique, considering I could just delete them at any time and make up another random character with another random name and do the exact same thing I did with the previous character.

Now when I play these video games, I play them with imagination rather than fantasy.  When I got Tiger Woods 12: The Masters about a year ago, I created a character in the game.  I picked the name “Watson Henchkins.”

Why would I choose this name you ask?  Well, even if you didn’t ask, here is Watson Henchkins’ story anyway:


The boy was 12 years old, and already he had the form of a young Tiger Woods.  Or Phil Mickelson, since he was left-handed, but that would be a lazy, reductionist comparison.  He was a young African-American though, and he was winning every tournament he played in, resembling a young Tiger.  ‘Someday,’ they said, ‘this kid is gonna play Tiger, and he’s gonna beat Tiger.’

Watson grew up in a small town south of Georgia called Statesboro.  The son of Henry and Wanda Henchkins, his hometown was mere hours away from the home of his father’s favorite golf tournament, The Masters.  Henry Watson was a fierce golfing fan and an even fiercer golfer, though his skills lacked the fire of his competitive spirit.  Henry didn’t raise his son Watson to be a fan of golf, but somehow it came naturally to him.  One of their greatest pastimes together was viewing The Masters on TV:  even if Henry and Watson never were able to go to the tournament itself, young Watson would glue himself to the TV with his father every April when it was played.  When it wasn’t on, Watson would watch old highlight videos of Tom Watson with his father, and go in the backyard to learn how to play like him.  Tom Watson was Henry Henchkins’ favorite golfer.

Watson Henchkins was named after Tom Watson.  His eyes were green like the grass on the green of Azalea, the 13th hole of Augusta National, site of The Masters.

Henry quickly learned to his great joy how talented young Watson was.  He entered him in as many junior tournaments as he could, and Watson was winning as many as he entered.  He was winning so often he soon had to face older, greater competition.  He would, and he would win.  He won against teenagers when he was 10; when he was 12 he beat high-schoolers.  His swing was natural, effortless; young Watson could beat his father in a round of golf when he was in third grade, and shot his first sub-par round when he was in grade school.

Word of the young phenom spread quickly after he won his first U.S. Amateur Championship at 14.  His father was always proud of him, but always kept him focused and grounded.  His younger brother, Nicholas, kept him a kid.  They were close – Watson was even able to let Nicholas carry his bag in his final match of his second U.S. Amateur Championship the next year, where he won handily (Nicholas was named after another famous golfer, Jack Nicklaus).  Watson’s career was mirroring Tiger’s – that, combined with his skin color, allowed those comparisons to rear their ugly head rather quickly in his life.  Watson faced immense nationwide pressure and press when he won his third U.S. Amateur Championship in a row before he could even drive.  His father, thankfully, was his protection against the harsh scrutiny and ignorance of the outside world, while his brother was the soft heart he could always count on to keep his perspective and innocence intact.


Watson’s life was forever changed when coming home from a recruiting visit from the University of Georgia.  Following his junior year in high school, Watson was offered scholarships to attend any school of his choice.  His mother Wanda kept him focused on school while Henry and Nicholas kept him focused on golf, and that allowed him to excel at both.  Every college from Stanford to Florida offered him a scholarship to play golf, but Watson wanted to stay close to home.  Watson and his family drove to the University of Georgia for a visit in July that summer.  On the way home, Henry Henchkins lost control of their car and ran into an embankment on the highway.  The car flipped and was sent through the air across the highway, landing upside down in the middle divide.

Watson and Wanda were critically injured in the crash.  Henry and Nicholas, tragically, passed away from their injuries.

After emergency surgery and recuperation, Watson was told by his doctors he would need more surgeries, and a great deal of painful rehabilitation just to walk again.  He was told by his doctors that his career as a professional golfer was over before it even began.  He was able to cope with that news.  The news about his father and brother was taken much more severely.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment