Happy Birthday To Me ... And LOTS of Others You Know and Love (or Loathe)

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Normally, I wouldn't write about my own birthday - not even a milestone BD like this one - but let me tell you ... October 13 is the birthday of the stars! 

My most famous (or infamous) "birthday buddies" include ...

Glenn "Doc" Rivers, my Marquette cohort who went on to make a bit of a name for himself in basketball. Not only is the new Sixers coach one of my all-time favorite people in sports, but he also made my favorite basket ever when his heave from just inside half-court beat evil Notre Dame in 1981 (his freshman year, my junior year). Surprisingly, even though Glenn could jump out of the arena, he really sucked at volleyball in Charlie Nader's Team Sports class.

Jerry Rice, the best wide receiver any of us have ever seen.

Cowboys owner Jerry Jones, whose overrated "America's Team" has won all of 4 playoff games since winning Super Bowl XXX 2 1/2 decades ago. 

Borat alter ego Sacha Baron Cohen: "King of the castle!"

Baseball Hall of Famers Trevor Hoffman and Eddie Mathews, Hall of Fame jockey Pat Day, and future basketball Hall of Famer Paul Pierce.

Billy Bush, he of President Pussy-Grabber's Access Hollywood tape fame.

Journalist Jamal Khashoggi, murdered in 2018 by the Saudi dictator (with the tacit approval of the U.S. president). Shameful.

Olympic skater Nancy Kerrigan: "Why me?" (So unfair. She was a great skater, but she'll be remembered forever as Tonya Harding's victim.)

Tiffany Trump, or, as President Pandemic calls her, "Uh ... Who are you?"

A little bit country, Marie Osmond.

A lot of rock and roll, Paul Simon.

Caleb McGlaughlin -- Lucas of Stranger Things fame.

Kelly Preston, who had a memorable turn as Jerry Maguire's squeeze. (Sadly, she died earlier this year.)

Sammy Hagar, aka The Red Rocker!

The late great Lenny Bruce.

Hero or villain? With Alexandra Ocasio-Cortez, it depends upon which side of the aisle one stands. At only 31, AOC has a lot of decades left to be loved and loathed.

But wait! There's more!

Actors Ashanti, Tisha Campbell, Lorraine Day, Melinda Dillon, Nipsey Russell, Kate Walsh, Matt Walsh, Cornel Wilde, Demond Wilson ... athletes/coaches Tim Brewster, Ryan Clark, Norris Cole, Brian Dawkins, George Frazier, Derek Harper, Del Harris, Brian Hoyer, Jermaine O'Neal, Lou Saban, Summer Sanders, Reggie Theus, Rube Waddell, Eddie Yost ... Politics' Ari Fleischer, Margaret Thatcher ... Musician John Ford Coley ... Sportscaster Tom Mees.

WOW!!

And lest I forget, my one-time Chicago sportswriting colleague, golf buddy and all-around great guy Phil Arvia - who loves to remind me that although we have the same birthday, he is WAAAAAAAAY (2 years) younger than I am.

And speaking of people younger than I am ...

That's a pretty large group these days.

Yes, today I turned ...

The Big 6-0!

Take away my aching back, tight hamstrings and bad vision, and I really don't feel that old. I mean, I'm still as immature as ever, and that's kind of a Fountain of Youth, right? I also golf every bit as well as I ever have!

I am the youngest of Rhoda and Jerry Nadel's 4 sons. By FAR the youngest! The baby!! I'll always be able to hold that over the heads of Al, Don and Lee - none of whom is even allowed to sing "When I'm 64" anymore.

I was 13 when I started high school, 17 when I started college and 21 when I entered the workforce in my chosen profession. (Journalism, silly. I only moonlighted as a Chippendale.)

I was a groovy, hip, happenin' dude.

When I was 24, I became the youngest full-time sportswriter in the AP, a distinction I held for about 5 more years. During that time, I was one of a handful of AP scribes dubbed "The Young Turks." (Mysteriously, Howard Ulman, who is 13 years older than I am, also was put in that group. Apparently, bribes work.)

On my 29th birthday, I noticed I was going bald. The Vikings had traded for Herschel Walker the day before and photographers took an overhead shot of the media throng around him. And there my head was: curly hair encircling a surprisingly large patch of skin. Yikes!

I was even young when I was put out to pasture - retired at 48 by the clowns at GateHouse Media, who couldn't afford to keep hundreds of their real employees but amazingly found hundreds of thousands of dollars in bonus money for all their pencil-dick managers. (Not that I'm bitter or anything.)

I was a little worried when I got the heave-ho, but retirement has turned out to be pretty darn sweet. 

I learned how to invest, which led to writing about investing, which led to my freelance gigs at Daily Trade Alert and Seeking Alpha and Dividends and Income. (I especially recommend clicking on that last one and looking at some articles to see  amazingly cute photos of my adorable grand-twins, Logan and Jack.)

I coach basketball, I referee, I umpire, I pretty much do whatever I want (within reason). 

Of course, all that is only possible because of my beautiful bride of 37+ years, Robbie. It's great to have a Sugar Mama, and I strongly recommend every man get one (or more).

And now that I've got Ben's littles toddling around - and, exciting, exciting, exciting! - another cutie any day now from Katie, I'll have no choice but to stay young.

You know, I'm already looking forward to the next 60 years. Heck, by the time I turn 120, COVID-19 might even have disappeared "like a miracle."

As my favorite rocker, Roger Clyne, likes to sing: 

Here's to life! 

Wishing health, happiness, peace and love to all of my family, friends ... and, yes, to my birthday buddies everywhere.

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Bulls hammer Heat; also, rockin' with Roger Clyne

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Call 'em the Thug-A-Bulls.

That's not a criticism at all. If I were coach Tom Thibodeau -- and with my rugged chubbiness and bulging bank account, we are often mistaken for each other -- I would do the exact same thing against the Heat.

Playing without Derrick Rose, Luol Deng and Kirk Hinrich (and, for all intents and purposes, without Carlos Boozer, who appears ready to do his annual postseason disappearing act), the Bulls pushed and shoved and hammered and stomped and hip-checked and elbowed their way to victory in Game 1.

It's not cheating. It's not even dirty. There are three refs on the floor, and it is their job to make the calls. It's the job of Thibodeau and his players to win the game.

The Bulls also outhustled their more-heralded opponents. And down the stretch, the Bulls -- not the Jordan/Pippen/Grant Bulls, mind you, but the Robinson/Belinelli/Gibson Bulls -- made all the clutch plays.

Playing all 48 minutes for the third straight playoff game, my Marquette homie, Jimmy Butler, had 21 points and 14 rebounds and, more importantly, made LeBron James work hard for every inch of space on the court. Sometimes that involved Butler fouling LeBron. Hard. That's why the MVP gets the big bucks.

Yes, the Bulls did more than beat the Heat -- and even did more than beat up the Heat. They flustered and demoralized LeBron, Dwyane Wade & Co., got them to do things they normally don't.

A few examples:

-- After taking a 76-69 lead that seemingly put the Heat in command with 6:22 left, the next two minutes go like this: Norris Cole fouls Nate Robinson, who makes both FTs ... 24-second violation on Heat ... Wade fouls Butler, who makes both FTs ... Ray Allen badly misses 3-pointer ... Marco Belinelli makes 3-pointer ...  Mario Chalmers misses 1 of 2 FTs for Miami ... Taj Gibson makes jumper to put Chicago ahead. Neither James nor Wade even attempt a shot during this stretch.

-- With 2:21 left, James hits a FT to give Heat an 86-83 lead. Miami doesn't score again. LeBron misses his second FT ... Joakim Noah rebounds Chicago miss, leading to Belinelli's tying 3-pointer ... Chris Bosh misses jumper ... Robinson scores to put Bulls ahead to stay.

-- With Miami down 2 and the clock ticking close to the minute mark, a defensive switch leaves Belinelli on James, who immediately goes to the post for a pass that never comes. Instead, Wade, a career 29% shooter from 3-point range, launches a brick from way outside. Noah grabs the rebound, Robinson scores again and Miami players look like they've lost their best friends. Fans start heading for the exit even though their team is only down 4 and plenty of time remains.

-- James then misses a short jumper from the baseline with 29 seconds left and doesn't bother going back on defense. Again, the Heat is only down 4. Instead of trying to do something -- anything! -- to get his team back in the game, the MVP is sulking. It's one of several times either he or Wade react that way, usually because they're whining about fouls not being called.

I love watching LeBron do his thing and believe he is the best player in the world since Jordan's heyday. But Michael never would have reacted the way LeBron repeatedly did. And I've always liked Wade, another fellow Marquetter, but these days he spends almost as much time complaining as he does playing.

So there you have it ... the best player on the planet and another in the top 10 let the battered, beleaguered Bulls get into their heads and steal home-court advantage.

I still think the Heat will win the series, but only if they stop feeling sorry for themselves and stop thinking the NBA owes them another title.

I'm sure they spent the better part of a week hoping and praying that the Nets would beat the Bulls because the Heat wanted no part of this scrappy, hard-working, physical team.

Sorry, BronBron, you've got the Bulls. Deal with it.

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Robbie and I had our most fun weekend of the spring.

We took in two concerts by Roger Clyne & The Peacemakers -- one in suburban Washington, the other in Philly; yeah, I guess that officially makes us freakin' groupies!

The scene in Falls Church, Va. If you click on the photo to expand it and look very, very carefully, you can see me and Robbie in the very center of the picture, about three rows back.

Robbie, Roger & Me after Philly show

In Philadelphia, we introduced my brother Al and his girlfriend Sandy to our favorite band, and like all others we've indoctrinated, they had a blast. We also played bad golf, ate good food, drank a few Yuenglings (America's oldest brewery, by the way), and enjoyed the company of another brother, Lee.

Grub, grog, great tunes and family. As Roger sings (with gusto):

HERE'S TO LIFE!

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Roger Clyne - now THAT'S rock 'n roll!

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Sometimes I wonder what makes a rock group or performer take off to become a superstar, platinum-selling sensation and what relegates others to mere mortal status.

Roger Clyne (that's him between my wife Roberta and I after Friday night's show in Charlotte) is talented enough to be part of the former but instead must be content with the latter.

For some 15 years, I have been watching Roger do his thing - first as front man for The Refreshments and, the last dozen or so years, as leader of Roger Clyne & The Peacemakers.

Their sound is classic Americana - supercharged rock 'n roll with an occasional country-rock twang. It's reminiscent of Tom Petty, though Clyne arguably has a better voice and more vocal range. He comes from the same Phoenix music scene that spawned the Gin Blossoms, Jimmy Eat World and Meat Puppets, but Clyne has been far more enduring.

In the mid-90s, The Refreshments had a couple of mini-hits that received significant play on FM radio nationally. Not long before I was headed off to Phoenix for a spring training trip in 1996, I heard "Banditos" on the car radio in Chicago. When I got to Phoenix, the same song was playing on the radio there and when it was finished, the DJ said the Refreshments were playing that night at a local bar. I finished that day's work, went to the establishment, plunked down my 5 bucks and enjoyed a night of great music.

When I got home, I went out and bought "Fizzy, Fuzzy, Big & Buzzy," The Refreshments' debut album. Roberta and my kids, Katie and Ben, became huge fans, too. I took Roberta to see them when they came to Chicago on their promo tour and it was a great experience.

Over these last 15 years, I have introduced dozens of people to Roger's sound. Many of those people now make sure to go hear RCPM whenever the group comes to their area. Katie, now grown and living in Seattle, already has recruited a bunch of friends to join her when Roger & Co. play there next month.

Roberta and I went to see RCPM last night in Charlotte, along with two friends who never had seen Roger before. Two more converts! As usual, a wonderful time was had by all, as we reveled in the crowd's enthusiasm and Roger's talent, personality and showmanship. We paid $12 apiece - a fraction of the price of any big-arena show in which the sound is terrible and you have to watch the artists on big screens because you are sitting so far away from the stage.

While big-time commercial success has eluded Clyne, he did write the King of the Hill theme song, the title track for the 1997 film An American Werewolf in Paris and the Arizona Diamondbacks' anthem ("D-Backs Swing"). He and the Peacemakers have made waves on the Web; each time they debut an album, it ranks high in the most-downloaded category. Once when I saw him in Phoenix, he was introduced by Alice Cooper as the "embodiment of Arizona rock."

For newcomers, the CDs (or downloads) I'd recommend are "Americano," "Honky Tonk Union," "Bottle and Fresh Horses," and, of course, "Fizzy, Fuzzy, Big & Buzzy." Amazon has them, but you usually can find them pretty cheap on eBay.

Roger Clyne has so much talent, both as a writer and a performer, that I'm amazed more commercial success hasn't come his way - especially when you compare him to some hacks who, for whatever reason, have hit the big time.

I'm just grateful that he has soldiered on, touring tirelessly so fans like me and thousands of others can see true rock 'n roll in fantastic settings at bargain prices.
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