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So there you are...four great college football coaches. Penn State's Paterno, legendary Knute Rockne of Notre Dame, Paul W. Bryant of Alabama, and the University of Georgia's Vince Dooley. Between them they had/have 1003 victories (put that in perspective—play a 13 game schedule and, given their combined win total, a team would have to play until the year 2085—77 years—until it lost another game).

Anyhow...this is a piece regarding something that is missing on the college football sidelines. No, it's not a bunch of platitudinous blather about "honor" and "integrity" and "giving 110%." If that was what was necessary to win, we'd all be screwed as a nation. It's about neckties. Yeah, that's right. Neckties.

What happened to neckties and jackets among college coaches? I'll tell you what happened: the swoosh and its cousins.

God bless Nike and Adidas and Under Armour. They provide a valuable service to collegiate athletic programs vis-a-vis top-rate equipment and apparel in exchange for  whoring the players and coaches out as breathing billboards. Even that isn't my gripe. It is the year 2008 and marketing and advertising is what it is. I have no real beef with Madison Avenue.

But would it kill Nick Saban or Pete Carroll or Charlie Weiss to throw on a tie? (OK, Weiss would have a hard time buttoning the top collar—but work with me here.)

That's all. Just wanted to get that off my chest. Roll Tide! I'm off to Joseph A. Bank.

        

                                                           

Today is the fiftieth day after Easter, the day traditionally celebrated as Pentecost Sunday in the Roman Church. It commemorates the decent of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples. But before the gospel account of of their reception of the Holy Spirit, St. Paul opined about the machinations of the early Christians communities as they worked together—often with competing opinions, interests, and traditions. The point is well-taken for us as Christians but it is a lesson, also, that Democrats need to keep in mind as we appear to be nearing the end of a contentious and protracted nomination fight.

I'm an Edwards-guy-turned Hillary-guy-settling-for-Obama-guy. We don't always get what we want in life. How, then, do I make nice and turn my disappointment into work to avoid four more years of broken policy, short-sighted militarism, and neglect for America's working class? I begin by keeping in mind the first epistle that Paul wrote to the community in Corinth regarding different talents being used for the common good:

    "There are different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit; there are different forms of service but the same Lord; there are different workings but the same God who produces all of them in everyone. As a body is one though it has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also Christ."

The beauty of being a Democrat is that I am part of something bigger than my own corner of the world. The northeastern intellectual wing of my party drives me crazy, the ultra-doves in my party frustrate me, and the DINO's (Democrats in name only) in state capitols from Augusta to Sacramento get me itching to help them cross the aisle. But everyone of these folks bring something to the table that I don't—whatever that may be.

So I'll stew for a few more weeks I suppose, slowly accept that the Democratic banner will be carried by my third-string quarterback, and then get to work to end eight years of incompetence and disregard for middle class America.

There are, in fact, different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit. There are many opinions and personalities, but one Party. It is time that all parts of this "body" began working in unison in anticipation of November. Because beginning on January 20, 2001, the only working parts seem to have been limited to boobs and asses.

Congratulations Senator Obama. Begrudgingly, congratulations.

        

I would like to think that this article is inspired by my rectitude in carnal matters and my high moral standards. I’m actually just mad that I’ve never had $4K sex. But just when we heard enough, newly-minted New York Governor David Paterson went on a binge-and-purge session with NY1 Television, disclosing that he’d had extramarital affairs and—gasp—used drugs in the ‘70’s. Thank you, governor, for admitting that you were part of the adult population during the Nixon and Ford administrations.

It is time to put the issue of adultery and public office holders to bed once and for all. I am calling for a “Sex and Drug Amnesty Day” on Capitol Hill, to be duplicated by each of the fifty state capitols as they see fit. The ground rules are as follows:

**You are given the floor of your respective chamber for six to nine minutes. For executive branch officials, your briefing room will suffice.

**You spill the beans. No names, no salacious details, no dollar amounts, no mea culpas, just the truth.

**Your semi-attractive wife can NOT be at your side. Deal with her later. She’s already dealt with your bullshit; stop imposing on her any more than you already have. Oh, and by the way, if she’s cool with it, then that must be stated. A lot of these wives couldn’t care less—why are they suddenly acting as if they do?

**No apologizing for having done it. You’re sorry you got caught, not that you got laid.

**No suddenly finding Jesus, a Higher Power, or realizing “what’s really important in life.” I’ve had tons of sex (probably more than you have) and it has brought me to NONE of those things.

**NO resigning from office or dropping out of your current race. What a bunch of wusses. If you were man enough to get some on the side then be man enough to finish the job you started and represent your constituents.

**No crying—that one really pisses me off.

I wish I was smart enough to do this as a Wiki—-I’m sure many of y’all have some good parameters that I’m leaving out.

Now for the political opponents:

**This is called “amnesty” for a reason. If he discloses anything during his six to nine minute period that you have uncovered in you oppo research, it’s now off limits. He did his part. Should you find additional info he did not disclose and it’s verifiable then it’s fair game and he’ll be nailed to the wall for being selective in his disclosure.

**You must do the same at some point no later than 45 days prior to the election. We aren’t doing this again for you during your term.

**I really don’t have another point here; I just like typing double asterisks.

One final note: all of the terms in this piece have been masculine, implying that only male pols screw around. To prove I’m not a sexist, I have full faith that women are as capable of infidelity as men are. Where are the sex scandals involving the chicks? C’mon Mikulski, Boxer, Napolitano, and Todd Whitman—show us whatcha got. Do you really thing Elizabeth has only been doing Bob all these years? Maybe, maybe not. I don’t have much money to throw around and I’m very selective about whose campaigns I give to, but I’ll make a donation (albeit not huge) to the campaign of any female office holder who steps up to the plate on Amnesty Day (even if she’s GOP).

Stop polluting my MSNBC with this crap and get down to the business of making healthcare affordable for working Americans, easing our addiction to foreign oil, and ensuring that the Iraq death toll odometer doesn’t turn over a “5” within the next fourteen months.

        

Super Tuesday is rapidly approaching—February 5, nine days away—and we are at a crossroads. We have an opportunity in Alabama to vote for the only candidate who has consistently fought for the rights of the middle class. To make healthcare a basic right in America. To allow workers to organize and work for a livable wage. And to ensure that the child who grows up in a single parent household has the same chances at a great future as a child of privlige in the suburbs.

That candidate is Senator John Edwards—the champion of the working class. Alan Jackson's song "Little Man" is an anthem to the working people who make America work, and who are continually getting shut out the American Dream.

My father owned a Texaco gas station for 25 years—Fred's Texaco. Where his very popular small station stood has been bulldozed and now there is a big corporate Exxon mini mart. Good luck getting the person behind the counter selling you beef jerkey to come take a look at that noise under your hood. Trust me, this song speaks to me.

If you are from Alabama—or anywhere else for that matter—and are 30 yrs of age or older, think about how many places you grew up with that are no longer standing. What happened to the neighborhood pharmacist? He's been shut down by CVS and Walgreens. Do you want to buy a special piece of jewelry for your husband or wife? The jeweler who sold you your wedding bands is no longer on Main Street because the corporate jewelers are now all in the mall.

                            For the Fred's Texaco, Crystal Cleaners in Tuscaloosa,  vote Edwards. For the Little Man.



                                          

        

A quarter of a century ago today—January 26, 1983—Paul William Bryant became a self-fulfilling prophecy. He exited the world stage as the result of a massive heart attack at Druid City Hospital in Tuscaloosa less than one month after coaching his last football game. Bear predicted he wouldn't live for a week without football but, in typical Bryant style, he downplayed expectations then surpassed them. He mad it 19 days longer than advertised.

Having spent four wonderful years in Tuscaloosa getting my degree, and having lived in—and gone to countless football games in—T-town for many years before and after, I've heard all of the Bryant anecdotes, witticisms, and myths—fact and fiction. (Note to Alabama fans: I'm BORED with all your great "stories" about Coach Bryant. I've heard them all a million times and most of them are embellished for the sake of legend and folklore. They hold little value beyond tailgating and, again, they've all been told by now. I love the man, his legacy, and his contribution to my school immensely. That's why I'm asking you, out of respect for HIM, please stop boring us with all of your (mis)quotes that begin, "Well, you know Bear said...." When I hear something begin with those words, I know Bear likely didn't say it.) OK, off my tangent.
 
                                                       

Bryant was a drunk, he was a womanizer, possibly a closet racist, and a hell of a leader. He wasn't hired in 1957 by Oliver Cromwell Carmichael to be the moral compass and spiritual leader of the University of Alabama. He was hired to win football games. Six national titles, 14 SEC championships, 24 consecutive bowl games, an astonishing 3 losses in 25 years when playing in Tuscaloosa, and 232 wins later, I think he fulfilled his contractual obligations.

As Democrats, who is our Bear Bryant? Is it Obama, Clinton, or Edwards? Is is Howard Dean? Is it an up-and-coming Democratic state legislator somewhere in America? Is it one of the eight other strong D women in the Senate? Is it one of the 42 other members of the Congressional Black Caucus? Is it just a plain old Blue Dog Southern Democrat? Or am I wrong for looking in any of these places?

Democrats need to win for America. Democrats need to unify. Democrats need a Coach Bryant.

        

 

That's right, I said it, "Cancel the MLK Holiday." Coming from a left-leaning Democrat? You bet.

Today is the date of birth of the most influential instruments of social change and human rights our nation has known. And it's been mentioned sparingly—quickly, mid-sentence, in passing—in the mainstream media. NBC 13 in B'ham did a 30 second blurb on it. The Birmingham News had no mention of it today that I could find—God, if I missed it the e-mails will come pouring in, so I guess I'm asking for it.

Let's honor Dr. King and do away with this mockery of a "holiday" on Monday. If his birthday is not worthy of our attention on the actual date, why is it suddenly important six days later?

Want to honor Dr. King? Go to work on Monday, Congress. Reach across the aisle to help more minorities gain access to health care. Let the Alabama Legislature debate how to ensure that the black grandmother's vote in Hale County is counted every bit as much as a wealthy white man's vote in Mobile. And so you don't think I'm just another mushy white liberal, I'm not letting you brothers off the hook either: STOP KILLING EACH OTHER IN BIRMINGHAM AT RECORD RATES. Seriously, give it a shot (no pun intended). Try honoring Dr. King by having no incidents of black-on-black homicide from sundown Friday to midnight Tuesday morning.

Prayer breakfasts at black churches—attended by politicians who fail to take any real action to help minorities—don't impress me. Tangible action impresses me.

And just for kicks, go to the NAACP and Congressional Black Caucus websites and see if there's any mention of today being King's birthday. Go ahead, I'll wait.....told ya!

Cancel the "3rd Monday MLK Day" farce and get to work instead. Help the intelligent, able, and ambitious black community—one in four Alabamians—achieve the greatness I know they're capable of.

Jeff Culler

        

¡Si se puedes!


"Mi no demando soy bilingue perfecto cualquiera, pero mi español es mas que un frase de César Chávez."  —Jeff Culler

OK, save the e-mails and the scholarly corrections. I am sure that this gringo made a mistake or two in the senctence above. I was spouting it off the top of my head without the aid of a dictionary. It simply translates, "I don't claim to be perfectly bilingual either, but my Spanish is more than a phrase from César Chávez."

At the culinary workers union Local 226 in Las Vegas on Friday, Senator Obama recalled the battle cry of César Chávez "¡Si se puedes!" or "Yes, you can!"  Being a fan of labor and Latin culture myself, in spite of being lilly white, I appreciate a little salsa in our politicians' speeches. My problem is not with Obama though, it is with CNN.

Punits on the Cable News Network waxed poetically (and politically) on Saturday about the Illinois senator's "Spanish." Exuse me? He memorized a phrase from a late labor leader. This does not qualify as speaking Spanish.

Ultimately I don't care if Barak Obama speaks perfect Spanish or zero Spanish. My gripe is with this mythologizing of the man by the mainstream media and failure to really nail him down on his very vague and plastic claims of "change." The Spanish incident is just part and parcel of the kid gloves treatment he has received since his address at the 2004 Democratic National Convention in Boston.

 

        

Open letter to SMA Kenneth O. Preston

As a proud American veteran, I'd like to send my thanks to all of my colleagues who have served in uniform. In times of war and times of peace, men and women such as myself donned the uniform before daylight to maintain a fighting force that history has known only during the time of the Spartans.

The following is an open letter to Sergeant Major of the Army Kenneth O. Preston, the U.S. Army's top enlisted soldier. A lot of people write letters to the commander-in-chief, to the Secretary of Defense, and other top military brass. I was a simple enlisted soldier who, in spite of suggestions to West Point as a young private, enjoyed and appreciated the guidance and leadership provided by the NCO's to whom I was assigned.

On September 26, 1994, I was honorably discharged from active duty at Fort Bragg as an E-4 Airborne Artillery crew member. Jump wings, an Army Commendation Medal, and not a single Article 15 on my record prevented the Army from jettisoning a good soldier, and good citizen, and a loyal American. The "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy prevented a good soldier from continuing to serve.

I earned my degree from the University of Alabama and enjoyed various levels of professional success but still felt that I had the skills and spirit of an American soldier—skills and spirit I would be willing to lend to an Army that I love, even in a war with which I deeply disagree. The bottom line is this: I'd make a jump from a C-141 into Baghdad in a minute given the opportunity. But the Department of Defense's policy against gays in the military keeps that from happening.

So the following is a letter to SMA Preston, encouraging the military to stop rhetoric on this issue and take positive action. Put your chips on the table and deal the cards. If we aren't wanted then get rid of us. If we are wanted and needed—now more than ever—then end the policy and let's move on to other issues.

                                


Sergeant Major of the Army Kenneth O. Preston
200 Army Penatgon
Washington, D.C.  20310

November 11, 2007

SMA Preston:

Thank you for your continued service to our nation as the Army's 13th Sergeant Major of the Army. When a young man boared a bus to Fort Knox in the summer of 1975, he likely had little idea that he would be leading the finest enlisted fighting force on the globe. Your records jacket speaks volumes for your dedication to America, her Army, and the lives of the soldiers and dependents serving under you.

Proudy I served in the 18th Airborne Corps as a Cannoneer in a 198 howitzer unit. I graduated from college in 1998 after four years of study, but I don't think that that day in Alabama made me nearly as proud as the August day at Fort Sill that I became a soldier, or the June day at Fort Benning on which I received the silver wings of an Army parachutist. On September 26, 1994, I was honorably discharged for violation of the Department of Defense's "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy. I moved on and continued with my life, but still have regrets that I can't serve the Army that I respect—even in a war that I don't.

My proposal is simple: conduct an across-the-board discharge of all gay and lesbian soldiers or work to change DoD policy regarding service by faithful Americans. I am not asking for witch hunts or a return to the days of fear and ignorance. I am simply asking senior leadership to stop political rhetoric on this issue, put their chips on the table, and play cards like men.

Discharge the E-3 pay clerk in Baghdad; then explain to a soldier's wife back at Fort Campbell why their direct deposit didn't go through on time. Discharge the young tech at Walter Reed; then explain to the paralyzed soldier returning from Afghanastan that he or she won't be receiving physical therapy in a timely fashion because of under staffing. And tell the bleeding Staff Sergeant, the latest car bombing casualty in Fallujah, that medical help is being delayed because the company medic was discharged because of who he is.

This letter is being addressed to you specifically, Sergeant Major. I have no interest in communicating to top civilians and soldiers wearing stars on their collars. The NCO's under whom I served made a big difference in my life and instilled values in me that have carried me through college, my professional life, and in my church and community. I was a soldier's soldier and I am asking a soldier's soldier to do the right thing: be a man and allow all good soldiers to be who they are. And, by the way, if they aren't good soldiers, get rid of them anyhow, gay or straight.

Cordially,

Jeffery N. Culler
Specialist, United States Airborne Artillery
jeff@jeffculler.com