Uncharted Territory

Just a few thoughts following the Rangers' historic first round victory, clinched late Tuesday night:

First, my sincere apologies to my co-workers for the several high pitched screams during the course of ALDS Game 5. There were about a half-dozen moments that had me jumping up and down like a little kid. When Ian Kinsler slammed the door shut with a home run in the 9th, I absolutely lost it. My thanks especially to David Robinett for putting up with a temporary noisy neighbor, and Manny Diaz, whose desk I sat at for all 3 Rangers victories.

Second, I would like to thank everyone I work with for indulging me, or at the very least, not treating me like an absolute lunatic, for my loud outward expressions of rabid Rangers fandom. I have worn the same shirt, my brand new Rangers AL West Championship t-shirt, to work on every game day thus far, and will continue to do so until this magic ride ends. Guys, I promise not to let it get smelly. And let it be known that I am in fact getting work done during these games. No, I'm not nearly as engaged as I normally am. But the newscast can't be sacrificed, no matter how important the game is, and I appreciate Stephanie Harris, Randy Turner, and associate producer Stetson Samuel for getting the job done. And to Austin Kellerman for not firing me.

Third, this still hasn't sunk in. Maybe it never will. This is special. We Rangers fans are in uncharted territory. After the Game 4 loss, I walked around like the season was already over, because I've come to expect this team to come up short. Maybe the Rangers will get killed in the next round. Or maybe they'll make it to the World Series. Who knows.

Fourth, BRING ON THE YANKEES.

Fifth, The Texas Rangers are the only team never to have won a postseason series.

Sixth and finally, IT'S TIME!!!! GOOOOOOOO RANGERS!!!!!!!!!!!

Hairy Problem

I try to take a quick check of the mirror before the camera comes on at 5:30 for KTAB Daybreak. I have a comb and can tackle an unruly waft of hair pointed inappropriately in, out or sideways. I have a problem commonly called a "widow's peak." It's genetically recessive. It's always been a problem. When I was little, it gave me something in common with Eddie Munster. The "widow's peak" often sneaks out from under the rest of my hair on my forehead. It's worse if I try too hard to fix it. But, I noticed it on a recent promotional spot we recorded about the Ready, Set, Home segment. A newsman's hair should be like a football referee. It's there to do a job...but it should never call attention to itself.

Nude? Who Knew?

I'm heading to the Abilene Public Library at lunch time to check out some books on photography. I've already scouted them out on my computer, read the summaries, and know which ones I want. I head downstairs, grab my three books, and take them home.

I grab a snack, sit in front of the TV and begin to browse. I start with The Complete Guide to Light. It has a sunset, building, and angelic child on the cover. How lovely.

After looking at the first several pages, I realize the pictures in it aren't all that great. So I begin to thumb through quickly, and land on a complete full-frontal nude woman. With her head cropped out, of course. I freak out and close the book and drop it on the coffee table.

What the heck? There is nothing on the front or back cover, or in the summary online, that indicates there are nude photos inside. There is a flower girl on the cover. I assume there are more naked photos, because the book kind of shows several of the same type of photos demonstrating different kinds of lighting. I don't know that there are more than one, because I'm not about to find out.

A man here at the station informs me that this is nothing new. Growing up pre-Internet, he used to go to the library and look at nude photos all the time.

I suppose some sort of warning label would just draw attention to the bad pictures inside, but you would think there would be something to alert innocent eyes that they're about to see something completely inappropriate. I am sure that if there were a website with that picture on it, it would be blocked by the library computers.

And for the record, I don't buy the "it's just art" argument. It's a naked woman posing for the camera.

Employee Gets Doc's Note from Chuck Greenberg

We've all done it. We make a silly joke or say something we probably shouldn't have and immediately reply with the phrase, "just kidding!"

Although, the truth is we were just kind of kidding. Actually, we meant it.

That's the way I look at this strange note I received via Facebook today:

I've had employees have their significant others call them in sick. I've had workers send text messages. But, sumbitting a fake doctor's note via Facebook?

Sure, Mark Moseley was joking when he "tagged" me in this post. Deep down, though, he was also hoping I'd post a comment saying, "how funny! Why don't you take a much deserved day off and enjoy the ballgame." Well, too bad buddy!

The difference between Mark and some folks is that he'll still show up for work. He'll physically be there. We can't count on his mind (poor Randy, Stephanie and Brittany).

Nevertheless, it'll be interesting to see how many Big Country workers make that sick call, sit back, grab some popcorn, and enjoy a little Rangers baseball. Something tells me Chuck Greenberg may have a stack full of doctors notes to sign at the end of the day...

Magic.

I was among the 50,000 or so in attendance at The Ballpark in Arlington on October 9th, 1999, when the Rangers played, to date, their last ever playoff game. I remember it clearly: Derek Jeter tripled in the first inning, followed shortly by a homer by Darryl Strawberry (DARRRRRRRYL). That was all the offense the hated Yankees needed; Roger Clemens, no doubt fresh off a gigantic shot of steroids, shut the Rangers down, didn't give up a run, in comes Mariano Rivera, and for the third time in four years, Texas was promptly dispatched by the eventual world champions.

For 11 years now, I've waited to see my beloved team back in the postseason. Ever since then, in times good (a few) and bad (a whole freaking lot), I've stayed behind the wheel of the unofficial Rangers' Bandwagon. And now, barring an epic collapse, it's gonna happen. As the slogan reads: It's Time.

The purpose of this blog is not to wax poetic about the Rangers' string of awful seasons the last week or so, or to recap the spectacular, memorable season they've given me in 2010. No, this entry is an open invitation for all you sports fans: jump on the bandwagon now. I'm driving this sucker, and I've saved room for all of you.

Unless the Cowboys turn it around quickly, and somehow overcome their overwhelming schedule from here on out, Dallas games are going to revert to what they were a few years ago, which was basically akin to taking medicine: you knew it was gonna be bad, but you had to suffer through it.

Now, finally, there may be an alternative, if only for a short while. The Rangers' Magic Number (combined wins + losses by 2nd place Oakland) is at 6. Again I say, barring an epic collapse, it's. gonna. happen.

Hop on.

Anchor Down

Written by Tim C., KTAB producer

Anchors are more than pretty faces for the TV...and Bob and Lane will be the first to let you know.

Seriously though as much grief as I like to give them Bob and Lane are more than just anchors. They produce, write, coordinate, and share in just about every responsibility in the newsroom. Which makes it a lot less fun when they are out of the office for many reasons.

As many of you have probably noticed Lane has been out, and will be for another week or so, and my boss let me know that dropping the 5 pm show was not an option so that means a few extra hours up at the office.

When people are gone from the workplace you really realize just how much work they do...all that time I thought Lane was just goofing off. So all this to say that anchors should not be allowed to take time off from work, mostly because its inconvenient for me.

Voir Dire

I went to the mailbox a few days ago and found a big green postcard from the district clerk. I checked the front and there was my full legal name, Ronald Wayne Rosseau. Jury Duty. I don't have time for jury duty...almost no one has time for jury duty. I thought about the disqualifications and the possible exemptions. My kids are all too big. There is no one invalid in my house. I'm still a ways from the exemption for being at least 70. I thought about the sound mind exemption. The judge might buy it. My alarm clock goes off at at time when the chickens would slap the silly thing off and tuck their head under the other wing. I finally dropped the idea and showed up. Surely, the lawyers wouldn't want someone like me for the jury. Hundreds of people were already in the jury assembly room when I got there. Hundreds more came in later. My chances for early dismissal looked pretty good, and after the clerk named a hundred or more people and directed them to different jury panels, she told the rest of us that we wouldn't be needed. The exhales of relief was audible and palpable. One of the biggest and loudest came from my chest. I came back to work, but the phone rang. There was a mistake and I had to come back for another jury panel. After sitting there and waiting for the wheels of justice to grind on our nerves, the judge invited all of us up to the fourth floor for the voir dire. I know just enough French to know that it shouldn't be pronounced "voy-dire," but that's how we say it here in West Texas. It means "to say truth." I had already raised my hand and promised to tell the truth. I would anyway. After the attorneys explained the importance of what the process for the defendant and for the Texas legal system, my thoughts began to change. I was secretly hoping that the lawyers would want me on the jury. I was number 25 of about 40. They needed twelve. The judge started calling out the names that the lawyers wanted for the case. The only took four or five from each of the first two rows. There was still a chance...but then they skipped me and called the last two-or three jurors seated down the line. The rest of us were free to go with the thanks and appreciation of the court. It was an interesting process. I don't know which attorney didn't want me. It really doesn't matter. I hope that the dread will be a little less the next time I open the mailbox and find one of those big green postcards with my full legal name on it.