Gaba's Guide To The Super Bowl

Unless the Sam Kinison-Jessica Hahn video treat called Wild Thing has warped your brain beyond an intellectual nightmare, you're probably ready to indulge in a different type of pleasure principle.

Pleasure of the pigskin.

That's right, ladies and gentlemen. After (shudder) two weeks without football - which, for you addicts, is a different sort of nightmare - yet another of the decade's "Battle of the Century" takes place. Super Bowl XXIII, January 22, on a television near you.

Sunday, people who are considered "sane" the rest of the year will be transformed into football-frenzied couch potatoes. Fans near and far will paint their faces black and orange, dress up like gold miners, and invent creative ways to cheer for their favorite team. (Or is it against the other team? Is this like a presidential election, or what?)

High school and college students across the nation will follow the action while mulling over math questions, book reports, biology assignments and other extracurricular activities - like, for example, breathing.

The following is much more than simply the Gabaman shooting off his mouth, It is, perhaps, the most important literary achievement you will ever lay your hands on.

Welcome, my friends, to GABA'S GUIDE TO THE SUPER BOWL.

To understand this incredible event, you must first learn vital information about the participants. After all, this isn't Nintendo - it's the real thing. Trust me.

The NFC is represented by San Francisco's "Ain't nothing finer than to be a Forty-Niner" football team. Joe Montana, the quarterback, has sung backup vocals (along with some of his teammates) on a few songs by pop musician Huey Lewis. He is the only quarterback who has a state named after him. I understand Jim McMahon is considering changing his name to "Jim Nebraska."

Jerry Rice-a-Roni (hey, who am I - ESPN's Chris Berman?) is the 49ers' dangerous wide receiver. How dangerous? If touchdown receptions were nuclear missiles, the Soviet Union would be in trouble.

San Francisco has a running back named Roger Craig. In the off-season, he's the manager of the other San Francisco team, the Giants. Take that, Bo Jackson!

On defense, the 49ers are led by Ronnie Lott. Many Bears got to meet Lott a lot last weekend. In fact, most opponents meet Lott a lot. I think he should change his name ... to Lance.

San Francisco will be facing the AFC champions - Cincinnati's "Who dey - who dey - who dey think's gonna beat them Bengals?" Who dey think? For starters, San Francisco beat them - in the Pontiac Silverdome, the "Showdown in Motown" - seven years ago.

Cincinnati is led by a group of guys named Boomer, Krumrie and Ickey. All teams should have players with such unique and interesting names. Think about it - "Boomer Long." "Krumrie James." "Ickey Fontes."

Maybe not.

Boomer Esiason, leader of the "Jungle Brigade," likes handing off to Ickey "Dance Master" Woods almost as often as he likes to heave the football in the air. Which he likes to do quite a bit.

Krumrie - as in All-Pro nose tackle Tim Krumrie - spends more time in the opponents' backfield than the opponent. It's like watching The Twilight Zone all over again. Can you hear Rod Serling in the press box? "A place between here and there, where no running back can escape a tackle ... welcome to The Krumrie Zone."

Ickey likes to run the ball. See Ickey run. Run, Ickey, run. See Ickey score. See Ickey do his dance. It's called "The Ickey Shuffle." Dance, Ickey, dance. Dance in the end zone, for all of us to see.

Hey, you gotta have soul.

So much for the participants. Now, then - what are you going to do Sunday? Fear not - this guide covers all the angles.

Eats: When you shop for Super Bowl chowables this weekend, don't look for a 20-ounce porterhouse. A turkey won't do the job, either - after all, this isn't Thanksgiving, and William (Refrigerator) Perry isn't watching the game at your house, now, is he?

You want something a little more ... well ... footbalish.

Go to the store and get real football food. Potato chips. Cheese puffs. Pretzel sticks. Nachos.

Don't forget the French onion dip, either.

Drinks: Now that we've put the eats in our grocery cart, it's time for something to help ease the starches down the throat. Trust me on this one - nothing, I mean nothing, beats a case of the finest (root) beet for a man-sized thirst. (I hope that wasn't taken as a sexist comment - "person-sized thirst" just doesn't sound right.)

Now we're rockin'!

Enjoy: The pre-game show begins at 3 p.m. Sunday, while the main event starts two hours later. So, when 2 p.m. rolls around, it's showtime!

(Yes, I know you have an hour. But you never know. Some fanatical Arabic country might try to gun down a couple of our fighters. True, it's a stupid concept. But the whole country might be at war by the kick-off.)

The television is on. It's always a good idea to check out the set before the game. How's the vertical hold? The color bars? The station? That's right - are you tuned to the right station? Remember, HBO airs First and 10, not the Super Bowl. This is NBC's baby.

The comfy chair is ready. Every football fan should has his or her chair, and the comfy chair is the choice nine out of 10 doctors recommend. (Sorry, wrong commercial.)

The comfy chair can be your best friend. Always there for you. Of course, the comfy chair doesn't have to be a chair/ It can be a bed, a sofa, a jacuzzi - whatever.

The munchies should be within easy reach of the comfy chair.

The VCR. Wake up! This is America - Land of the Free, Home of the Instant Replay. Slide a blank tape in the machine and tape the game. Then you can watch it at your leisure, or at family gatherings - like when cousin Seymour and his son Myron come over. Go ahead - rub the loss in their faces. They're family. They can handle it.

I hope this guide has filled you in on some of the finer points of Super Bowl watching. And remember what Spuds McGaba always says - "Know when to say that's enough!"

As in, turning off the game is your team is being blown away in the second quarter.

Oops, I forgot. Denver's not playing this year. So much for the Charlie Brown Syndrome.

Oh, one more thing. San Francisco 24, Cincinnati 13. Trust me.

This article originally appeared in The Marshall Chronicle.

The New Kid In Town

Let's begin with a memory.

Almost six years ago - a February afternoon in Mt. Pleasant - I became part of a sports conspiracy.

It involved a basketball game, the Central Michigan University police department and some toilet paper.

The CMU basketball team was, at the time, not among the squads most likely to be invited to the NCAA tournament. During the 70s, the Chippewa home court - Rose Arena - was known as the "Snake Pit," a place opposing teams dreaded to visit, because of the intensity and quality of CMU.

But hard times had come across the Snake Pit by 1983. "Bad" cannot begin to describe the way the Chippewas tried to play the game. Attendance at the home games was rather sparse. Rose was barely filling 1,000 of the 6,000 available seats.

We, the concerned students, were determined to bring some life back to the ailing Chips.

So a plan was devised. Perhaps the greatest plan ever formulated for showing team spirit. When the first Central basket fall, we would throw toilet paper from the stands.

What better way to get the crowd and team fired up?

Central was playing Kent State that fateful day. As soon as Central scored its first basket, the court became an instant sea of white. We threw something like 400 roles of the stuff. It was, indeed, an impressive sight.

Unfortunately, the police were watching.

Guess who got kicked out of the game for "inciting a riot"?

Memories and sports go together - always have, always will.

The players are not the only people affected by the event. They are the centerpiece, the actors on stage, performing for all to see and critique.

Just as with dramatic performances, there are critics. In the sports world, they are known as fans. Every mover every moment of a game is scrutinized and diagnosed. Favor or dissatisfaction can be felt as the game progresses.

Then there's me. I'm the person who tries to be as objective as possible in reporting the event.

One of the stereotypes of the sports genre is the concept of the "big game." There are winners and losers (and a lot of ties in hockey). My job is to bring these challenges, heartbreaks and thrills to you, as openly and honestly as possible.

That's what this job is all about. Challenges.

Starting a new job is a challenge, too.

Reaching out to a new audience can test your nerves, your sense of security.

I don't know you. But I know sports. And so do you.

With the world of sports becoming even more encompassing, we already have quite a bit in common.

I know you have questions. Let me try to answer some.

What can you expect from me? I'll be talking to the players and coaches, to bring you the stories which affect you.

But I'll be adding my own thoughts and opinions in columns such as this. It's my chance to give you a different perspective of sports. I'll take a look at the emotions and feelings which control or decide the games, and try to put them in a different light.

I'll touch base with the people behind the scene. After all, sports - no matter what level of play - involves much more than merely stats and scores. There's game plans, strategy and other factors to be dealt with.

I'll try to be honest. This is the major theme in writing. And sports.

Now, then ... what do I expect from you?

Only one thing: to read.

The stories I write cover Marshall and the surrounding communities.

The columns I write may be about a topic you find fascinating or depressing. I will bring my own experiences and opinions to these columns.

Whether you agree with what I write - or, indeed, how I write - is beside the point.

What is important is taking the time to read what I write. For it will be about games, matches and meets affecting people you know.

Memories. Sports is filled with them.

Let's have some good ones.

This article originally appeared in The Marshall Chronicle.

People Should Appreciate Their Parents

The holidays are a time for families to get together and share memories of the year gone by. Often, it seems the year was much too short; time passed us by.

The holiday season is also a time for hope. A new year approaches. Perhaps this year, time won't be so quick to escape our grasp.

Time.

There's never enough time.

This column is dedicated to a man named Leonard. A man who used time to the best of his ability. A man who shared time with his family, friends and profession. He often appeared to stretch his talents, yet had time to participate in everything he believed in.

For Leonard, there was never enough time to do everything he wanted to do.

Time ran out too soon.

Leonard was a wealth of knowledge to anyone who took the time to know him, both up-close and from a distance. Even those people who hardly knew him were aware of his accomplishments in the medical field.

He earned a degree in osteopathic medicine in 1966, and operated a private medical practice for over 20 years. He was on the executive board of a Detroit-area hospital. Leonard was also chosen to be president of the Oakland County Osteopathic Association.

He didn't brag about his accomplishments. Even some of his closest colleagues were unaware of Leonard's pre-medical career.

Prior to becoming a physician, Leonard had been a civil engineer for the Wayne County Road Commission. He quit this job to attend medical school because he wasn't happy with what he was doing with his life.

We students are often told our careers should be something we enjoy. Not many people would have the courage to quit a profession - no matter what the pay - to return to school for the sake of starting over.

Leonard did.

He was a political man, too - not a rebel or activist, but someone who believed in what was morally right. He was open and honest with his feelings.

During the Vietnam era, he accompanied the American flag with a peace-sign flag, because he felt the war was wrong.

In January 1973, he went to Washington as part of a mass protest against the war. Held the same day as President Nixon's re-inauguration, it stemmed from the famous "Christmas bombings" over Cambodia.

He also read countless articles and books on political hotbeds such as the Middle East, Nicaragua, Argentina, Chile, Haiti and The Philippines.

Leonard was a man who cared about life. As a physician, he tried to assist those who needed his help.
He was so conscious of cancer-causing products, he refused to use pesticides on his lawn, theorizing the chemicals would get into the water supply.

When it came to his family, Leonard was there for love, comfort and support. He tried to guide his children with his knowledge to the best of his abilities. To open his children's minds to new vistas, new opportunities. To not suffer from tunnel-vision when looking at the future.

To guide and teach.

Leonard tried to use his time wisely. But time caught up to him this past August.

Four months ago today.

He was a good man. An honest man.

As I prepare to graduate, I hope to pass to you some of the knowledge, love and trust Leonard gave me.

Time.

Use your time wisely, for time is precious.

Take time with your families this holiday season. Tell them how much you care for them. How much you love them. Because you never know when your first holiday without a father will come up.

Leonard H. Gaba.

Happy holidays, dad. I love you.

This article originally appeared in Central Michigan Life.

Jolly Old St. Nick Has Had A Shady Past

He starred in such holiday specials as The Year Without a Santa Claus and Santa Claus is Coming to Town. In Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer, he played a supporting role.

Santa Claus didn't do too badly for a guy who never took acting lessons.

The notion of Santa being a "cool" dude is disputable. Adults brought up children to believe he was "above the law."

They pointed out his mode of world travel. Look at the perks he obtained from the FAA.

His own flight crew. Unrestricted use of air space. A lot of frequent flyer points. Unlimited travel time. And he began flying before the Wright Brothers invented the airplane.

Then there was his wardrobe.

Did you ever notice his attire? His belt and boots are black patent-leather. Certainly not affordable on his salary.

His red velvet jacket, featured only in the finest men's stores.

Maybe he charged it all on his credit cards.

But Santa's image has been tarnished because of recent discoveries about his past. Santa got away with corrupt activities.

Look at the record:

• Trespassing. Breaking and Entering. He would enter houses illegally (under cover of darkness), drink milk, eat cookies, ransack the place, and leave a secret clue under the tree.Not a very nice thing to do.
  
• Cruelty to Animals. How can anyone explain his forcing eight or nine (depending on the fog level) innocent reindeer to pull a heavy sleigh for 24 hours straight? The only place they could stop and eat overnight was at a Denny's, and there are some areas (hint! hint!) without said restaurant.As incredible as it may seem, the animal rights activists have yet to chastise Mr. Claus for his use of animal labor.
  
• Illegal Drug and Narcotic Use. Obviously, the Reagan "Just Say No" policy doesn't work on the guy. Claus and Manuel Noriega must be dealing something together; this explains how the reindeer fly.Magic dust.
  
• Tax Evasion. He hasn't even filed a 1040 tax form in the past 500 years. He refuses to acknowledge earning any money.I'm sure he's worried about prosecution, too. With "Club Marcos" heading to New York for similar charges, Santa Claus had better contact a good lawyer.

Yes, Mr. Claus is in pretty deep doo-doo. The word is he's trying to improve his public image. You see, while out on the street these days, he's collecting funds for needy charitable organizations.

But, given his past record, there are some suspicions.

The most prominent theory about Claus is he's skimming funds from the pot and transferring these monies illegally into his own pocket.

Even worse, it's not just him. The Santa Mafia, so it's labeled, is begging for spare nickels, dimes, quarters - even dollar bills.

Last weekend, five of the Santas were arrested and lined up in a Detroit police station. They had been soliciting in front of the same dime store. In order to rack in more money from unsuspecting citizens, the Santas all claimed to be of different ethnic origin. Among those arrested:

Mohammed Claus. The money was to be wired to Iran to purchase "G.I. Joe" weapons, an authentic replica of the Ollie North paper shredder and a box filled with copies of the "1989 Fawn Hall Pin-Up Calendar."

Stalin Claus. Representing the "Communists for a Decent Society" organization, the money was to be used for electing Gus Hall to the presidency.

Santi Clausi. Supposedly the "Number 2" man under Santa, he was using slush funds to purchase bottles of champagne for minors attending Central Michigan University. The champagne was to be used at New Year's Eve parties.

Panda Claus. The goal of this man was to saturate the entire American zoo population with giant pandas, thereby gaining power and clout with panda breeders.

Satan Claus. The fifth - some say, most evil - of the gang, his name comes from transposing letters in the name Santa. He wanted to remove Bloom County from the newspaper and replace the strip with old copies of Prince Valiant.

All were released on $10,000 bond.

So, enjoy your holiday shopping. Try to keep it within your budget. And watch out for False Santas. And the real one.

It's the holiday season, and he's back with a vengeance.

This article originally appeared in Central Michigan Life.

Candidates Don't Compare To Past Leaders

I remember America.

It was a land of freedom. Of democracy.

A place where names such as Washington, Jefferson, Franklin and Lincoln were on the highest plateau.

A land where Liberty and Justice were the cornerstone of a new government, not just empty words etched into mortar.

I remember the Declaration of Independence, a document proclaiming the desire to rule without oppression.

The Constitution, a trail or words which tried to ease a young nation's birth pains.

I remember the Civil War, bringing about a semblance of freedom for blacks enslaved in the South.

I remember Jim Crow laws, a group called the Ku Klux Klan, and a strong-willed woman named Rosa Parks.

I remember listening to Woody Guthrie, Bob Dylan, and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, crying for the soul of a nation.

I remember my elementary school teachers telling me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up.
A doctor. Fireman. Astronaut. Cowboy. Baseball player.

President.

Yes, one day I could be president.

And then in learning what the textbooks omitted, I began to discover the big lie we call government.
It his in such places as My Lai, Cambodia and Cuba.

It was defined in terms like Watergate, Abscam and conta-rebels.

It was exposed in stories on Kent State, Iranian hostages and Daniloff.

And through all of this, we had an esteemed leader of the so-called "democratic process."

A crook, a schnook, a peanut farmer, a B-movie actor.

My friends, i remember America. Beyond the glitz and glamour of Lady Liberty's refurbishment or the skyward flight of a space shuttle.

It's important to remember, with the election approaching.

Remember these names. Repeat them out loud, forming a distinct image in your mind.

President Bush.

President Dukakis.

President Bentsen.

President Quayle.

America, I'm worried.

It's Pied Piper time again. Of the thousands of politicians in this country, these are the most qualified?
I say it's Pied Piper time again because that's all we Americans seem to do in times of elections, We say, "Gee, this guy looks like Robert Redford, so I'll choose Mr. Voodoo Economics."

Or: "Well, my grandparents came from the 'old country,' so I'll vote for Mr. Eyebrows."

We vote, not so much because of the issues, but because of the commercialization.

Only 50 percent of this country's registered voters will take part in electing our news leader. Much of this is due to the dissatisfaction of the American voter.

Let me take this one step further. I'm ware of who to vote for because I'm not only dissatisfied, but I'm outraged at what my choices are. This is like choosing between a plain, no-salt potato chip and a stale, chip-your-tooth potato chip.

No flavor, No satisfaction. No additives or preservatives.

The sad truth is that we know too much about Bush, not enough about Dukakis, and Jesse Jackson (remember him? - he's the dynamic one) decided to play the game by the rules.

Bush has so many skeletons floating around his campaign, bot in and out of the closet (Iran-Contra, Nixon aides, etc.) that it resembles a Vincent Price horror film.

In Massachusetts, medical malpractice and the tax base are so far gone that Dukakis is viewed as being out of touch with the middle class.

And you can bet Jackson, who decided to wait until 1992, will be more than read to assume the lead Democratic role, should Bush win this year.

If this election isn't enough to worry you as it does me, then America is worse off than I thought.
I cry at the realization of seeing higher taxes in the next four years. It doesn't matter who we have in the hot seat; after seeing our national debt soar beyond the trillion mark, there is no doubt this will happen.

Along with more taxes being depleted from paycheck, there will be cutbacks.

When talking tax increases and cutbacks, the Republican attitude is to blame Congress. If they hadn't (a) threatened to override that veto; (b) approved the arms sale to that Mid-East country; or (c) wasted those hard-earned dollars on nonsensical issues, then we wouldn't be in the mess we're in today.

On the same subject, the Democrats feel a little differently. If Mr. Teflon hadn't been (a) treating the budget like a credit card; (b) imposing his desire to fund the contra-rebels with another billion or so; or (c) so eager to blame Congress that he forgot where the buck is supposed to stop - with the President himself - then our debt wouldn't be so far out of the ozone layer.

So much for our taxes. How about Central America?

Let's see. A majority of the citizens in this nation are opposed to any interaction in Central America.
Yet, only one of the four main performers in the 1988 insult derby is opposed to contra aid - Dukakis.
And how credible is he on this when his choice as a vice president is opposed to Dukakis's opposition?

My biggest problem, I guess, is seeing Ying and Yang as our candidates; two men slinging so much "doo-doo" around that the shovel brigade has resigned. Two men who can't get me to agree with them entirely.

And I don't know what do to anymore. I'm lost.

I remember, America. I remember. And it scares the hell out of me.

This article originally appeared in Central Michigan Life.