Digging Deeper-Utah versus Northern Colorado

    Thursday night marked the season opener for the Utah Utes.  With Northern Colorado coming into town, it was more of a chance for the Utes to try some things than to actually find out where they are as a team.  What can we learn from digging a little deeper? Let's find out!

    It's often said that a key to winning football games is to "keep the chains moving".  So it was with the Utes in this game.  Rather than big offensive plays that gained large chunks of yardage, the Utes seemed content (perhaps out of necessity?) to move the ball down the field methodically rather than with big hits. 

   One key to moving the chains is to convert on 3rd down.  In this particular game, the Utes were faced with 16 such opportunities.  They converted on nine of these, punted twice, went for it (and made it) on fourth down three times, tried a field goal, and simply let the clock expire on the last attempt.  

   Let's a look a little closer to see how they did and what we might be able to expect in coming games.....

   Of the 16 third downs faced by the Utes, eight of them could be considered "manageable" (4 yards to go or less).  Of these, they successfully picked up the first down seven times.  The only miscue was when Jordan Wynn missed a throw.  

   The team struggled a bit more on the longer downs, going 2-8.  Jake Murphy caught an 8 yard TD pass on 3rd and 8.  Kenneth Scott caught a pass from Travis Wilson is garbage time to pick up the other long conversion.  

    To me, its equally as telling to look at who was targeted on 3rd downs.  This gives us an idea of who has the trust of the QB and the offensive coordinator.  Not surprisingly, John White had the team lead for being targeted on 3rd down (tied).  He ran the ball twice, picking up the first down each time.  He also caught a six yard pass, which failed to move the chains.  Wolfman also picked up a fourth down conversion by scoring a five yard touchdown. 

   Tied with White, and this surprised me, was Jarrell Oliver.  He carried the ball 3 times on third down, and went 2/3.  That says a lot about what kind of trust Brian Johnson has in the freshman if his number is being called that many times in his first game.  

    Otherwise, Jake Murphy (2), Westlee Tonga, Dallin Rogers, Dave Rolf, Dres Anderson, Kenneth Scott, and Kelvin York were all targeted on third down.  

     Which players get the call on third down will be a fun thing to watch this year as we get into the meat of the schedule.  Having players who can make the big play when it matters most will be a big help to the Utes in their quest for a Pac-12 title.

     Other random notes:

     Where was VJ Fehoko?  I heard a LOT about him during camp and in the spring.  Didn't really hear his name called.  The stats show that he recorded one assisted tackle.  Seemed to me that Dave Fagergren was in on more of the action. He actually led the team in tackles.   

    I loved that we were getting our hands on the passes.  Six pass breakups in all.  Three were batted down at the line.  

    All in all, there were seven tackles for loss.  I have heard some who are upset that we only sacked the QB twice, and one of those was on a snap over the head.  Watching the tape, it looks to me like we were VERY vanilla on defense.  

    Next up: The Utah State Aggies! I am very excited for this matchup and look forward to a great game in one week.  

The Race-by DH Groberg

    I love to watch the Olympics.  I can watch just about all of the events (ok, well I struggle with Equestrian and that one where they ride their bikes as a team around and around and around.)

   Its fun to see people who have worked hard and reached the pinnacle of their sport.  Its amazing to see what people can train their bodies to do.  

    One of the things that it is hard to watch is when someone falls.  I feel so bad for them.  They worked so hard to get there and one little mistake ruins their chances to win.  

    As I see this, I am reminded of a poem that has inspired me and I think is a good metaphor for life.  Its attributed to DH Groberg..............

Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
    my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
A children’s race, young boys, young men; how I remember well,
    excitement sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope, each thought to win that race
    or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place.
Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son,
    and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire,
    to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy’s desire.
One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd,
    was running in the lead and thought “My dad will be so proud.”
But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip,
    the little boy who thought he’d win, lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace,
    and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face.
As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn’t win it now.
    Humiliated, he just wished to disappear somehow.

But as he fell his dad stood up and showed his anxious face,
    which to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win that race!”
He quickly rose, no damage done, behind a bit that’s all,
    and ran with all his mind and might to make up for his fall.
So anxious to restore himself, to catch up and to win,
    his mind went faster than his legs. He slipped and fell again.
He wished that he had quit before with only one disgrace.
    “I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.”

But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face
    with a steady look that said again, “Get up and win that race!”
So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
    “If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!”
Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten...
    but trying hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again.
Defeat! He lay there silently. A tear dropped from his eye.
    “There’s no sense running anymore! Three strikes I’m out! Why try?
I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought. “I’ll live with my disgrace.”
    But then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face.

“Get up,” an echo sounded low, “you haven’t lost at all,
    for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
Get up!” the echo urged him on, “Get up and take your place!
    You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!”
So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit,
    and he resolved that win or lose, at least he wouldn’t quit.
So far behind the others now, the most he’d ever been,
    still he gave it all he had and ran like he could win.
Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again.
    Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end.

They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place,
    head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace.
But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place,
    the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race.
And even though he came in last with head bowed low, unproud,
    you would have thought he’d won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
    “To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.”

And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face,
    the memory of that little boy helps me in my own race.
For all of life is like that race, with ups and downs and all.
    And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face,
    another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”

Ben There, Trolled That

     I boldly claimed that my run-in with Gordon Monson was the best troll fest I had ever started.  As I got to thinking about it, I realized that there are a few more that deserve serious consideration for that honor.

"Caught with........."

       During my time at SUU, one of my favorite things was to go to the basketball games.  SUU was half decent, we had the Goose Man (legendary, he deserves his own blog entry, ill get to him at some point), and we had a student section that sat right on the court.  Harassing the opposing team was no problem at the Centrum Arena.  

       About halfway through the second half of each game, a promotion called "Caught with a Coke!" was run.  Some PR lady would pick some random person in the audience who had a coke to be the winner.  The cheerleaders would hold up this big sign that said "Caught with a Coke!".  When there was a timeout, the PA guy would say "Turn your attention to Section F, Row 13 where Jeremy has been CAUGHT WITH A COKE!".  Good old Jeremy then got a free drink at the next game.  Some promotion eh?

       So my friends and I started trying to win this little contest.  We'd go by a drink before the game and we'd try to be over the top in showing off that we had them so we could get picked.  Didn't work.  

      One night, we are sitting in the convenience store right by the arena and we got an idea.  One of the guys said:

       "Why is it just 'Caught with a coke'?  Why isn't 'Caught with a..................(im scanning around the store looking for something obscure and I finished his thought)....can of creamy tomato soup?"

      And thus it was born.

     We bought a poster board that we knew was at least double the size of the little "caught with a coke" sign.  We make it look all fancy (ok, not really).  We had someone bring it in.  Then we waited.  

     With 12 minutes left in the game, we saw the cheerleaders get ready with their sign and we got ready with ours.  When there was a timeout, as soon as the PA guy started his little speech, we jumped right up and started yelling at the top of our lungs.  I had the soup can, and my friends on either side of me held up the sign. I think we had about 10 guys there in on it, so we attracted quite a bit of attention.

      Our timing was so perfect that the vast majority of the arena looked at us, and not at the Coke person.  Thus, the promotion was completely ruined that night.

     Here is what it looked like:

   
"Je-rry! Je-rry! Je-rry!"


        If you have never been to a baseball game at Spring Mobile Ballpark in SLC, I strongly recommend it. One of the neat features of the park is that there is grass all around behind the outfield to sit and enjoy the game.  This is my favorite place to watch a game from.

       On July 4, the team always has a fireworks show after the game.  In 2009, I took my girlfriend there.  I intended it to be a double date, but my buddies showed up alone.  Oh well.

       Anyway, and this will come as a surprise to exactly no one, but I like to heckle the opposing team at whatever sporting event I attend.  So, I made plans to get to this game very early so that we could get a spot right behind one of the outfielders, so we could heckle him.

       I discovered that the center fielder for the Tacoma Rainers was named Jerry Owens.  (For an in-depth analysis of this baseball legend, click here.)  Every time Tacoma came out into the field, we heckled this poor guy.  "You're the man, Jerry!", "How's Ichiro, Jerry?" "You were adopted Jerry!"  (I still cant figure out why that last one is insulting, theres nothing wrong with being adopted. but my buddy yelled it out!)

     Anyway, this spread like wildfire.  Soon, we had all the people around us heckling this guy.  It got to be a mob!  I felt bad when it got to the point that kids started hurling profanity in his direction.

     When the game was over, and Tacoma had won, Jerry came right over to us, pumped his fist a few times, and yelled "yeah!!!!!!!!!!!!" before pointing at us and running away.  Still, the fact that we led a mob that grew and grew throughout the game, was awesome.

     And by the way, despite this display of maturity, my girlfriend still agreed to marry me three months later!


"Hey!"


      My athletic career in high school was remarkably unremarkable.  And by that I mean non-existent.  Lots of reasons for that.  But I always loved to go to the games.  One night, we were playing Fremont in basketball.  Some buddies and I got together and decided to paint our faces to show school spirit.  While we are using the bathroom mirror to do that, some little kid walks up and asks for some face paint.

     Being the nice guy I am, I painted this kid's face all up  I put "VHS" on both of his cheeks and just did an outstanding job of making him look like a Viking.

     I forgot about it, I enjoyed the game.  We won.  As I'm walking out, joking around and talking with my buddies about the game, I feel this sharp, sharp pain in my leg.  I look down in time to see this kid launch another vicious kick that hits me right in the shin.

    "YOU PAINTED ME THE WRONG COLORS! GO FREMONT!"

    Whoops! My bad!

    All in a day's work for a troll like myself............