One where the sun decided there was no point in showing itself, so the clouds were sent in to provide the grey so appropriate. With the clouds came the snow. Not a blizzard of epic proportions, just snow. Slow snow, spitting, spotty, light, inconsistent in its consistency. Cold enough the snow stuck, piled up to nothing material – 5, maybe 6 inches lying flat in the open spaces where the bare tree limbs stretched out but failed to catch the snow, so it reached the ground.
There was nothingness. Wasn’t cold enough people would look back and say what they did during the Great Freeze of January 2025; not wet nor warm enough to remark how the streets ran with sluggish snowmelt; not deep enough to talk about the battle between shovelfuls; not windy enough for any shoveled snow to angrily return to the driveway.
Up until late Monday afternoon I had no idea who the pictured people were… then I found out. Angels… Good Samaritans… call them what you will but they saved my life.
I was hiking in South Yuba River State Park by Hoyt’s Crossing near Nevada City, California. The river is gorgeous, but in spots very deep even in October. It’s cold but refreshing… until it’s not.
Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria AKA Pablo Escobar, in case you were unaware, wasn’t merely Colombia’s drug trafficker, he was Colombia’s drug lord. When you’re a drug lord you have both time and money.
Theory with the relationship of time and money is such – you generally have, and should have, one or the other. When you have a lot of money, you probably don’t have a lot of time; when you have a lot of time, you generally do not have a lot of money. Trouble happens when you either have a lot – or a little – of both.
Pablo Escobar had a lot of both. The idle mind so to speak which is, according to the world’s most popular book thrusted upon millions, the devil’s workshop. And, to compound this dilemma, Pablo Escobar was a man who was constantly hiding in plain sight. Why? Again, drug lord. Lords, given time and money, can do what they want when they wish.
Therein lied his problem. When you have scads of money but can’t go anywhere since a better part of the world pretty much wants you eradicated, what do you do? You build a palatial estate. A given in my mind. But what do you fill it with? Things you would like to see but can’t. Pablo couldn’t travel without an army of muchachos, low flight pattern and a private landing strip. There’s only so far you can travel in that manner.
Fuck it, he may have claimed, you won’t let me see them in person, then they will come to see me. So, he brought four hippos to put in his own mini-zoo and let them have the run of his 7,000-acre estate, Hacienda Nápoles. He had other animals, but giraffes and camels are apparently easier to control.
A hippo is not even as controllable as Pablo Escobar and he was nowhere near being controllable. Nearly two decades of drugs, money, bribes, women, etcetera is a long run. Pablo, as a drug lord, eventually had his jig come up. No matter how many police and politicians you buy, the end will come sooner or later. For Pablo Escobar, it came with a self-designed “maximum” security prison built for him on property he owned through an agent. This, in a few years, took a turn once the people of Colombia found out the luxurious life he was leading continued in “prison.” They protested, he was scheduled to be sent to a harsher place, escaped via a bribed guard (naturally), then was gunned down in his Medellín hideout the day after his 44th birthday on December 2, 1993.
At this point you may be asking yourself, and you should, “wow what an insane life of crime and excess, but what of the lives of those 4 hippos?”
Did you hear about the Colombian who tried to cross the Magdalena River? Of course, you didn’t because I killed him. I’ll be here… well, forever.Continue reading “Escobar’s Hippos”→
He married my mother. She’s a God-fearing woman who has kept the gutsy farm girl in her for her entire life. She’s not one to shy away from anything… and apparently neither was Ernest John Cubbon.
Ernie and my mother met at church. She was the hottie with 2 young kids in tow in a failing marriage and he was the pastor/minister/reverend – I’ll stick with pastor purely for the alliteration. Being a Presbyterian pastor was his vocation for most of his working life after he finished his stint in the Air Force. He was the pastor at five different churches in his lifetime. Helping people became commonplace. Never mattered why or what they needed assistance for, or if they were monied or poor, Ernie was there.
In 1976, I was a teenager and got my heart broken. Was it a girl? No. It was the Denver Nuggets. 1976 was the final year for the ABA. The NBA was going to take a few teams, the ABA was folding, the NBA was taking 4 teams from it and we all knew it before the season was even over. And yet here we were in the final ABA finals, Denver Nuggets vs. The New York Nets. David Thompson vs. Julius ‘Dr. J’ Erving.
But my love affair with the team and with basketball started way before 1976. I remember as a child going to the Denver Coliseum to watch the Rockets. Coach Stan Albeck had Byron Beck, Ralph Simpson, Julian Hammond and Larry Brown among others. They were fun to watch but didn’t go anywhere in the playoffs.
The Rockets had no choice but to change to a different name. The NBA had informed the ABA that if they were to absorb a few teams one of them would be the one on Denver. But the NBA said ‘ahem… Denver, we already have a Rockets team in Houston. Pick another name… and you won’t be shooting with that red, white and blue striped ball anymore either when you get here.” As such, the Nuggets were born in 1974, two years before the “merger” which wasn’t so much a merger than it was a takeover. The NBA absorbed the Nuggets, Nets, Indiana Pacers and San Antonio Spurs.
But that was the way it was for the Rockets, then the Nuggets… until 1976. No respect, but they didn’t earn it either. And here I was in 1976, a 14-year-old glued to the radio listening to Game 6 of the ABA final (it was not on TV until a delayed telecast much later). The Nuggets had them, they had Dr. J on the ropes. They were down 3 games to 2 and it was back at Nassau Coliseum for Game 6 and they were up. Starting the 4th quarter the Thompson-led Nuggets had the Nets by 14 points, so I went to sleep. Woke up to find out they lost 112 to 106. Series ended and just crushed me as the Nets won 4 games to 2.
They never got back to the finals. Oh, they made the Western Conference Finals.
First off, just to be completely transparent about the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame – fuck them. They have done a tremendous job at completely botching up the process of nominations as well as their own perception of what truly comprises Rock and Roll. Subtle hint for you RRHOF – it’s not just white guys from the south.
I was wrong. OK. I said it. I thought the Colorado Avalanche were going to repeat as Stanley Cup champions. If you are among the dozen or so people paying attention to the NHL playoffs you will know they cannot as they went out in a game 7 in the first round.
A game 7 for the Colorado Avalanche is mostly poison. They haven’t won a game 7 since the end of May 2002. So, it was not much of a shock really. Not to me anyway. To many at the bar I was at watching said game 7? They were stunned. My comment was “watch the fucking game!” They’ve had a ‘0 for whatever for over 20 years Game 7’ graphic up on the screen about a dozen times!” Then I had to leave. Luckily, I was stone cold sober and those threatening to do me bodily harm were stumbling drunk brave.
So they lost. Granted I did not know their fearless leader and captain Gabe Landeskog (That’s Landy in hockey parlance, NOT Gabby) was going to be out 95% of the season as well as the entire playoffs. However, they have more than one good player. Yet, here they are – playing golf when they are not watching their victors, the Kraken, as they proceed to the second round to face the Dallas South Stars (they really are not the South Stars, but since they came to Dallas via Minnesota where they were the North Stars, it just seems appropriate).
Let me tell you about the Kraken. The Kraken, if you do not know, is a fierce octopus-like creature capable of devouring ships whole. You’ll see in the actual photo below the enormous size of it. Granted, it is far easier to defeat on ice as out of the water and onto frozen water is not their preferred place of battle, but yet the Kraken won.
I confess. I have had quite the love affair with you Chipotle, and not from afar either. It’s been a passionate cornucopia of taste bud delightfulness from the first day I met you. But now, my heart is speaking here not my taste buds, we are on the verge of a divorce.
Even though you did come riding out on your burro burritos-ablazin’ in 1993 in Denver, it wasn’t until a fall day in Chicago in the year 2000 (or so, details are fuzzy when it comes to love) when I first encountered you. I was in awe of your selection, your speed and the quality of your fare. Frankly, without apologies, it was love at first bite.
You, however, were not my first love. Way back in the days when phones still had cords that were (unless your parents were rich) only 3 feet long so everyone within the confines of the kitchen knew who and what you were talking about I fell for the new fast-food kid on the block. I was a niño of seven, and these Americans pretending to be Mexicans were fresh, lovely and enticing.
Well maybe not so fresh but again, I was seven. Everything was fresh back then at Taco Bell. Yes, they were the first to hold me to their faux-Mexican bosom and feed me Mexican-Americanized delights. The first offering I tasted I loved – the Chili Burger which was soon changed to the Bellburger then soon after changed to the Bell Beefer. Yep. Taco Bell had a burger which was effectively a Mexicanish sloppy joe. Imagine if you will, Taco Bell’s basic ground beef liberally splashed with mild sauce, topped with cheese and squished between soft luscious buns. Loved it, but it went away. Was I crushed? A bit sad for certain but there were so many other delights on the Taco Bell menu board to try. Plus, at the time ALL of them (except for the Bellburger) had pronunciations next to them. I could get a “buh-ree-toh” or a “toh-stah-dah” or just a plain old “tah-coh.”
Look at that menu! No, ‘free-ho-lays’ were not free.
It was an affair that would last the better part of 45 years.
Oh, he was so sought after. One of the best shortstops available after the 2022 season, Carlos Correa had a lot of teams willing to pay an unfathomable price to secure his services. They came, they pitched, they waited as he and his agent, the very talented and very much loathed Scott Boras, pored over every offer until they made their decision.
Attention President of Baseball Operations of the San Francisco Giants Farhan Zaidi, we will graciously accept your team’s offer and come play for your fabulous team. Giants fans (I am one) were elated (not all of us).
We got Carlos Correa! The Dodgers killer! We’re off to the World Series again!
As Giants fans we generally aim higher. Frankly I don’t give a fuck whether any single player does well against the loathsome Dodgers, but some do. And he did well, very well. In the 2017 playoffs when Correa was an Astro (when they won their first World Series CHEATING against the Dodgers), his slash line was .289/.326/.561. For the season he was .315/.391/.550. Pretty lofty numbers.
Now if the name Carlos Correa doesn’t ring a bell, perhaps a bang-bang of your trash can might.
Fancy Boys Club 