Welcome to Skiing

Welcome to Skiing

If you’ve never tried downhill skiing, what are you waiting for? There’s no better way to experience the great outdoors of winter, draw in crisp alpine air and be carried off in a stretcher with multiple fractures.

If you’ve never tried downhill skiing, what are you waiting for? There’s no better way to experience the great outdoors of winter, draw in crisp alpine air and be carried off in a stretcher with multiple fractures.

So, you’ve finally decided to take up the adrenaline-pumping sport of downhill skiing. Congratulations! I’m confident that, in no time, with a little advanced planning, you’ll be swishing between moguls, mastering hot dog aerials and being carried away on a stretcher by the ski patrol.

Folks are surprised when I mention I’m a former Olympic downhill champion – perhaps because they’ve seen me ski.  Okay, maybe I’m not a former medalist, but that’s only because I was snubbed by the US. Olympic Ski Team. As I wrote in that previous column, when I tried out, the head coach said I was better suited for lawn bowling. Hogwash. Whatever I may have lacked in speed, endurance, strength, flexibility, agility, sense of timing, self-discipline, work ethic, raw talent and peripheral vision, I more than made up for in tidiness. But I digress.

I may not be a world class downhiller anymore, but I am equipped to share some important tips to ensure that your maiden voyage into – and inevitable swift exit from – the world of alpine skiing is a little easier.

Let’s start with the minimum required equipment. You’ll need skis (ideally two of them), poles, boots, bindings, helmet, goggles, down-filled parka, waterproof pants, two layers of under-garments, neck warmer, hand warmers, gloves, glove liners, insulated socks, backpack, lip balm, over-priced wireless ear buds, and a $250,000 whole life insurance policy – just in case things take a nasty turn. Lift tickets can be pricey, so I suggest saving money by purchasing a season’s pass – a wise investment, so long as you plan to ski at least 75 times this season, and you don’t mind telling your youngest child you can no longer pay for their college education.

Now that you’ve got your ski ensemble (making sure to avoid last year’s color scheme – pink is so 2019), you’ll want to show it off. No worries – you’ll have a good 45 minutes to sashay from your car parked in Overflow Lot N to the ticket booth. Add another hour in line to purchase your lift ticket.

By now you’re sweating like a pig – but a fashionable pig – and you have to “go.” Allow another 90 minutes to find the restroom, disrobe, freshen up, re-robe, and figure out which pair of skis piled up outside the restroom are yours. Add another 30 minutes to head back to Lot N because you left your gloves in the car. Did I forget to mention – if you hope for more than 2 exhilarating runs, arrive the night before.

You’re all set to hit the mountain. Just one teensy weensy problem. So is everybody else. I suggest you return to the lodge and find a cozy spot near the fire pit. Try again around 2pm – next May.

You’re all set to hit the mountain. Just one teensy weensy problem. So is everybody else. I suggest you return to the lodge and find a cozy spot near the fire pit. Try again around 2pm – next May.

In the blink of an eye (in geologic terms), you’ll be queuing up at the chairlift – along with 900 of your newest friends whom you met in the restroom. Don’t be alarmed. In less time than it takes to watch Gone With the Wind – the extended version – you’ll be soaring in style on your maiden voyage up the mountain, enjoying the view of majestic snow-covered peaks – until you enter a fog bank and can’t see the chair in front of you.

A couple words about dismounting at the top: Good luck.

A lot of people are intimidated the first time they disembark. Fear not. Just inch forward, ensure your skis are pointed straight, with tips up, lean outward and glide off the chair. Uh oh. I see you ignored my counsel about “tips up.” Kudos! You just performed a perfect five-point yard sale / face plant. Take your time retrieving your skis and poles. The 752 people on the chairlift behind you are all more than happy to swing in the wind while you look for your missing ear buds.

Once you’re finally at the top of the mountain – which according to my watch should be around 2:45 pm – might I suggest stopping for a quick bite at the alpine restaurant? You’ll need energy to hoist yourself up after tripping over your skis while snowplowing down the slopes. And you look hangry. Find a convenient place to stow your skis, then wait 30 minutes to order your food, and notice that there are no available seats. Enjoy your $35 hot dog and soda which you scarf down standing outside the locker-room. As you exit the summit chalet, it’s the moment you’ve been waiting for: your very first run down the mountain.

Here’s a handy tip: Most mountains have color coded runs:

Green: Easiest way down the mountain. For novices. Typical names include Easy Street, Bunny Hop, Daisy Meadow, and Momma’s Boy.

Blue: Intermediate terrain for people of moderate ability. Look for names like Cruiser, Paradise, or Broadway.

One of the great joys of skiing is outdoor dining at the summit restaurant, with stunning panoramas. Oh, make no mistake, you’ll NEVER get this table. You’ll be lucky to find a stool in the kitchen. These restaurants are always packed.

One of the great joys of skiing is outdoor dining at the summit restaurant, with stunning panoramas. Oh, make no mistake, you’ll NEVER get this table. You’ll be lucky to find a stool in the kitchen. These restaurants are always packed.

Black Diamond: Advanced, high degree of difficulty. For Experts Only – and novice skiers who missed the turn-off for the Green run or idiots hoping to become a Darwin Award winner. You can tell an expert run by its ominous moniker like Widow Maker, Devil’s Crotch, Last Rites, Mine Shaft, Our Father, Organ Grinder, or my own personal favorite, Adios, Mother F***** (an actual trail at Snowmass).

Given the fact that you’re wearing your goggles upside down, how about we stick to the Green runs for a while.

Assuming you make it down the mountain in one piece – which based on your chairlift dismount is at best a 50-50 proposition – you might want to think about taking lessons. Or better yet, sell all your equipment on eBay and use the proceeds to buy a Play Station 4. They have this awesome downhill racing game called Steep, with incredible 3-D graphics. You’ll never freeze your fingers or toes, and the worst injury you might sustain is a sprained thumb. Plus, there’s no wait at the restrooms.

Ski safely, my friend.

That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.

PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.

Check out my latest humor book: YOU’RE GROUNDED FOR LIFE: Misguided Parenting Strategies That Sounded Good at the Time

© Tim Jones, View from the Bleachers 2020

My Wife’s Silly Concern That I Waste Too Much Time Watching Football

My Wife’s Silly Concern That I Waste Too Much Time Watching Football

[Author’s note: I meant to publish this article earlier, but I simply could not find the time. There were eleven college football bowl games I had to watch, plus four NFL playoff games. A man has to prioritize. – TEJ]

Like millions of other American males, I love to watch football. My wife thinks it’s a total waste of time. She’d rather watch a nature program or a documentary about Marco Polo. Who would want to learn something when you can spend quality time yelling at your TV over the officiating?

Like millions of other American males, I love to watch football. My wife thinks it’s a total waste of time. She’d rather watch a nature program or a documentary about Marco Polo. Who would want to learn something when you can spend quality time yelling at your TV over the officiating?

In recent years, there has been a national crisis brewing. No, I’m not talking about climate change or the latest measles outbreak. It’s the bane of millions of wives that their husbands are watching far too much football and totally ignoring the little lady (I’m not being chauvinistic. My wife is truly a little lady at 5’0″).

Recently, this topic became a source of strain in my own marriage. After many heated discussions, we decided to visit a marriage counselor to help my wife work through her silly problem. Below is a play-by-play transcript of how our first session went. 

Dr. Robert Taylor: Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Taylor. I understand that there are some concerns you have about your marriage. Who’d like to begin?

Michele: I will. I’m convinced that Tim cares more about football than he does about me.

Dr. Taylor: Tim, care to respond to your wife’s assertion?… Tim? … Tim, did you listen to what your wife just said?

Tim: Sorry, doc. I was just watching highlights from last weekend’s Saints – Vikings game on my phone. Could you believe that non-call in the end zone in overtime? Um, what was the question again?

Dr. Taylor: Your wife feels that you care more about football than you care about her. Care to comment?

Tim: About what?

Michele: ME! And put down your stupid phone. See, Dr. Taylor. This is what I’m talking about. Tim sits back in his recliner every Saturday and Sunday to watch his dumb football games. Tim, in a marriage, we’re supposed to be a team. Do you understand the problem our team is having?

Tim: I sure do. The Seahawks have absolutely no pass defense. They rank 25th in the league. That’s not gonna get them far in the playoffs.

Dr. Taylor: Tim, I don’t think that’s the problem your wife is talking about.

Tim: She could be right. Their pass blocking is equally suspect.

Michele: Tim, for God’s sake, can you hear yourself?!!? The problem is not the Seabirds’ pass blocking.

Tim: You make a salient point. I agree, their play calling is so predictable. But it’s not the Seabirds. It’s the Seahawks.

Michele: I don’t care if it’s the SeaWEEDS! You’re not listening to me. Every weekend, it’s like I’ve lost my husband to that stupid game. What exactly is so important about that ridiculous sport anyway?

Tim: You think football is a ridiculous sport? Might I point out that your parents love to watch curling? Now THAT’S a stupid sport. 

Michele: Don’t change the subject. I’m talking about how on weekends you spend more time watching football than you spend with me!

Dr. Taylor: Tim, is that true? Do you even talk to her during these contests?

Tim: I talk with her all the time as I’m watching. I’ll say things to her like, “Did you see that incredible catch?” and “What a horrible call by the official. Can you believe that call?” And “Can you make me a grilled cheese, honey? More cheese than last time, okay?”

Michele: You just don’t get it! All you talk about during these games is football, football, football.

Tim: That’s because I’m watching football. Would you prefer me to provide a commentary on the finer points of Badminton instead? Why would I do that during a football game?

Michele: ARGH!! How about talking to me about something – ANYTHING – other than sports? Like the last book you read.

Tim:  I could do that.

Michele: Really? That would mean a lot to me.

Dr. Taylor: And what book was that, Tim?

Tim: I just finished the pro football classic, “America’s Game”.

Michele: Unbelievable! What is so important about watching a bunch of over-sized men pound each other in pursuit of a little ball? I don’t get men’s obsession with this sport!

Tim: It’s football. Men like football.

Dr. Taylor: Tim, what I’m hearing from Michele is that, come weekends, you don’t seem to care about her interests. Am I understanding you, Michele?

Michele: Yes. Exactly. I mean, would it be so difficult for him to take a break from the flat-screen TV and go on a hike with me?

My wife says I never talk to her when I’m watching a football game on TV. That’s not true. Why, just last weekend, we discussed the possibility of her making me another plate of nachos and getting me a beverage. Her reply: Over my dead body.

My wife says I never talk to her when I’m watching a football game on TV. That’s not true. Why, just last weekend, we discussed the possibility of her making me another plate of nachos and getting me a beverage. Her reply: Over my dead body.

Tim: I hear you. The center really needs to work on his hikes on punts. Last week, he sent the ball over the punter’s head.

Michele: Dr. Taylor, see what I’m up against? He thinks any game on TV is more important than spending time with me.

Tim: Not if it’s the Dolphins – Bengals game. You can hardly call that football.

Dr. Taylor: Tim, I think you may be missing the point.

Tim: What point? Did someone score? Let me check my phone.

Dr. Taylor: No, Tim, you’re missing Michele’s concern, that you’re so engrossed in football that you forget to focus on her needs. What would happen if, just for once, you turned off the TV and missed a game?

Tim: I believe the answer is obvious. As you said, I’d miss the game.

Dr. Taylor: And so what if you did? Is that so bad? What if you went out for a walk with your wife instead?

Tim: Could I still listen to it on the radio with just one ear bud? She could listen on the other.

Dr. Taylor: Tim, are you willing to make any sort of compromise in your viewing habits in the interest of helping your marriage?

Tim: Okay, okay. I get it. How about I only watch football every other Sunday. And the other weekends, we do a fun outdoor activity together that Michele likes, say kayaking?

Michele: Well that’s a start, I guess. And I do like kayaking. Thank you, honey.

Tim: In fact, how about we start this new plan on February 3rd?

Michele: Let me guess. The Super Bowl is on the 2nd, right? 

Tim: Wow! You know when the Super Bowl is?! I think you secretly like football.

(Michele leaps from her chair but Dr. Taylor intervenes.)

Tim: Nice block, doc. You’re a natural.

Dr. Taylor: Well, I did play left guard in high school. (Whispering to Tim) Say, who do you think will win the Super Bowl? I’ve got $100 on the Ravens. Their quarterback is unstoppable –

Michele: Not you too, doctor. Unbelievable!

Dr. Taylor: Uh, um, well. I think we made some progress. Unfortunately, I have to wrap up early. I’m catching the playoff game with a few friends of mine. Oh, and one last thing. Rest assured that everything we’ve discussed today will be held in the strictest of confidence. – that is, unless your husband decides to publish the details of this session in an upcoming blog post.

Tim: I would never do that. Why would you even think such a thing, doc?

Michele: Oh no…..

That’s the view from the bleachers. Perhaps I’m off base.

PS: If you enjoyed this week’s post, let me know by posting a comment, giving it a Like or sharing this post on Facebook.

Check out my latest humor book: YOU’RE GROUNDED FOR LIFE: Misguided Parenting Strategies That Sounded Good at the Time

© Tim Jones, View from the Bleachers 2020

The League of (Un)Extraordinary Gentlemen

The League of (Un)Extraordinary Gentlemen

I belong to a men’s doubles racquetball league of 13 seniors. Okay, when I say “league” that sounds a bit more serious than it really is. It’s actually more like a “club.” No, that’s not quite it either. “Herd.” Yeah, it’s more like a herd – as in cattle, because some of us play the game about as well as a spry Holstein. We meet every Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings at 8am sharp – unless it’s Christmas. Then we play at 11.

Not to toot my own horn, but out of this Baker’s Dozen of racquetballers, I routinely rank among the top 15. As I see it, the only thing separating my game from my teammates’ is my lack of speed, power, accuracy, court awareness, and peripheral vision. Oh, and ability. Yeah, I’m sort of lacking in that department, too. And yet, despite how consistently inconsistent I am, they still let me play. My theory is that I make them all look like pros by comparison.

At 63, I am one of the youngest players. The ages range from 54 to 80. Jerry is eighty years young. He’s right-handed, but due to a shoulder injury, he now plays lefty. And he still cleans my clock on the court. Now, I’ve only been doing racquetball for forty years – whereas Jerry started playing during the Garfield administration. And as a relative rookie, I’m still learning the subtleties of this sport. For example, just last week I was informed that it’s legal to play the ball off the back wall. Thanks for finally telling me, guys. That’s a game changer.

Not long ago we accepted a woman into our men’s club. Kate is extremely talented – better than most of the guys – so, I always graciously invite her to be my partner. That’s because I am a gentleman and want her to feel comfortable and accepted in our group. And it has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that with Kate as my partner, I might actually stand a chance of being on the winning side for a change.

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I Was Snubbed by the U.S. Olympic Ski Team

I Was Snubbed by the U.S. Olympic Ski Team

Dear U.S. Olympic Ski Team:

Congratulations on an outstanding Winter Olympics in PyeongChang, South Korea. And hey, that 22-year-old Mikaela Shiffrin was impressive on the giant slalom. Well done.

I just have one minor complaint to register: Why did you leave me off the team? I contacted you last summer, telling you I wanted to try out for the men’s freestyle aerials or half pipe or any alpine event you guys thought might attract babes. But nobody ever replied to my text message – which by the way I typed in ALL CAPS to get your attention.

I have to say, your decision to leave me off the roster is confounding. I demand an explanation. When I attempted to get on the team plane for PyeongChang, one of your staffers refused to let me board. I must say he was very discourteous, even after I flashed him a crisp new Benjamin to let me get past.

I demand to know why you refused to let me compete with the rest of the skiers. Was it because I’m 63 years old, and the next oldest competitor was 37? News flash: I checked, and age discrimination is totally against the law. Besides, I may be over 60, but sometimes I use Grecian Formula (dark brown), making me look closer to 50.

Was it because you learned I was married to a Canadian and you questioned my loyalties? Or were you worried my wife would get into a cat fight with the American women’s hockey players? Or maybe you learned about my humor writing and worried I might write a sophomoric column which would create an international incident. I doubt I’d do that (although I confess I’ve never met a South Korean figure skating judge I trusted).

Or was it the minor technicality that I failed to show up on the date of the U.S. Olympic trials last December? That’s extremely unfair. I just overslept that weekend and missed my plane to Park City, UT. I texted, asking about a make-up trial date, but nobody responded to that text either. Do you guys even read your text messages?

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The Seattle Seahawks’ Secret Weapon: ME

The Seattle Seahawks’ Secret Weapon: ME

I’m a huge NFL fan. I root for the Seattle Seahawks because I live in the greater Seattle area, so it’s the law. The Seahawks have been one of the best football teams in the NFL recently, going to the Super Bowl twice in the past four years.

After every win, the Seahawks’ head coach Pete Carroll steps up to the microphone and gives credit to his offense, his defense, and his assistant coaches for executing a great game plan. But not once does he ever mention the team’s primary reason for their victory: ME! That’s right, I don’t like to brag about this fact – because I am one of the most modest, humble people you’ll ever meet – but I am the secret weapon in their success.

In full disclosure, the players and coaches did play a part in last week’s victory by doing things like scoring points and keeping the other team from scoring. But week after week, season after season, Coach Carroll ignores what I believe is the single biggest factor whenever they pull out a win: I WASN’T WATCHING!

Oh, I know what you’re thinking. I’m just another freakishly superstitious football fanatic who thinks their quirky rituals influence the outcome of the game. Like the Carolina Panthers fan Nate Bosworth, who must always sit in the exact same spot on the couch and consume exactly 8 cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer (two per quarter) to ensure his team’s win. Or like Bert Flanderson, who cheers on his Cleveland Browns by wearing his lucky shoulder pads and 42-year old Browns helmet for every game. (Bert, I hate to break it to you, buddy. It’s not working.) Or even Ethel Lembke, a rabid New Orleans Saints fan, who belts out Gloria Gaynor’s feminist anthem ‘I Will Survive’ in full Saints regalia before every game, to nudge her team to victory.

These people, of course, are seriously delusional. Trust me, their peculiar rituals have about as much chance of affecting the game’s outcome as I have of convincing my wife to buy that Lamborghini I’ve been eyeing. But it’s a proven fact that MY viewership behavior directly influences, no, make that DICTATES the results. I became aware of my powers a few years ago, when I noticed a pattern. Whenever I’d watch my beloved Seahawks play, they’d lose – about 70% of the time. But when I didn’t watch, for any reason, they’d win in equal proportion.

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