Looking back doesn’t cost as much as looking forward.  I suppose that is why so many of us do it from time to time.

The story has been conveyed before.  I graduated from high school in 1986.  From that time until the spring of 1991, I was a man with very little direction. As one friend tried to put it, he said I was finding myself.  I disagreed and told him I was right here all along. Through it all, my mind has always been open.  That is no great secret.  At least I hope it is not.  

In and out of school over the course of more than four years, I finally heeded the call to return to academia in earnest thanks to a serendipitous conversation I had with Mrs. Nancy Totten.  Nancy worked at the Indiana University Southeast library and also taught some writing courses, one of which I was a student.  With me, it always circles back around with the process of putting words on a literal or mechanized piece of paper.  

So in the spring of 1991, I was back in school for real this time.  Still unsure of the end game, I felt it.  This was the right thing to do.  Thank God I was paying attention.  

In my life I have never been short on coming across the right person at the right time for inspiration, affirmation, and direction.  This correlates with that open-mindedness we mentioned earlier; I am sure about that.  At the top of the list is Dr. Millard Dunn.  I have written about Millard here on many occasions.  He showed me an English classroom could actually look and sound like one I might be in charge of some day.  The dominoes started to tumble.  The snowball gained momentum and rolled with ease.  All of that sort of stuff.  

Around this time I was in my natural habitat.  I would spend three consecutive falls on a football field as a high school assistant coach.  After deciding on English as a teaching goal, in the fall of 1992 I had my first “field experience”.  This is where the college student is assigned a particular high school to visit and also assigned a particular teacher to observe.  Once again, I was seriously smiled upon.  

“You’re assigned to New Albany High School”, my college professor said.  “Your teacher to observe is Mr. Danny Tieken.  Good luck.”   

With that, I was given an assignment to go to New Albany High School, meet Danny Tieken, and work up a schedule with him that would include a set amount of hours of observation in Mr. Tieken’s classroom.  When I walked into his classroom, I met a short, portly gentleman with a bit of a scraggly beard that he had a habit of scratching at when he spoke to you.  His eyes?  As kind as any set I had ever seen and sincerely interested in everything you too had to say.  I was at ease in a single moment.  Check that box and then, check every other box.  

Within five minutes of conversation, I discovered Mr. Tieken was Coach Tieken.  And we were off.  He called me Coach.  I called him Coach.  I learned more about the vertical passing game sitting at his desk XXXXing and OOOOing than I had ever learned before.  And I thought I knew something.  Our time was special.  I gained even more affirmation that an English classroom could indeed work like I wanted it to.  His rapport with his students was genuine. Again, Coach Tieken was “one of those”.  One of those folks that left an indelible mark on my life.  Every day I was there at New Albany we ate lunch with New Albany legends Don Unruh, Lee Kelly, and Jim Miller.  I had a blast every time we sat together.  I listened and I learned.  I spoke when I was spoken to.  I did not want to get in the way.  I didn’t.

I lost track of how many coaching stops Danny Tieken made.  I was envious.  I don’t get that way.  Head Coach at Dugger, Mitchell, and Brown County, and assistant coach at the likes of New Albany, Bloomington North and Evansville North among others.

Coach Tieken and I would meet up in subsequent years going to coaching meetings.  We then kept up with emails now and again.  Ultimately, we became “friends” all over again on facebook.  

Our last back and forth messages were on March 20th of this year.  I was giving him encouragement, as I knew he was dealing with health issues.  He said he appreciated it and said he was feeling better.

Coach Tieken passed away this past Tuesday.  I was not shocked.  Just sad.  He was one of the good guys. There is a legion of players having a difficult time saying goodbye to their Coach.  They knew him better than I did.

I know. I know. Things aren’t all bad. They just seem that way from moment to moment now and again.

What was not bad this past week was when a senior, at the high school where I work, walked into my office to ask a question. He was dumbfounded when he looked at my office decor and found many Moody Blues related items. Then it was my turn to be dumbfounded when he started rattling off song titles like Melancholy Man, Legend of a Mind, Ride My See-Saw, and Lost in a Lost World. Two of these songs would be considered Moody Blues “deep cuts” I would not expect anyone, besides myself in that building, to have any inkling of. This young man, sporting a Pink Floyd t-shirt, was delighted to know I saw Pink Floyd in concert once. We talked music for a while. In earnest, I am glad the person he came down to talk to was out of the office. This little exchange was a nice piece of punctuation on a week that was more than trying.

Speaking the Rights here on this space is more difficult than it used to be. I blame that on myself. The political climate and our country’s willing attack on the democratic process has really had me down. My writing habits have never been ones you could call negative. I prefer optimism. Seems optimism has lost some of its popularity.

I’ll never get it. As long as I live, I will never get it. Folks burning Tesla automobiles – not smart- are deemed domestic terrorists. Folks beating down the gates and smashing windows of the United States capitol building (January 6th) are considered patriots. This is messed up.

I don’t spend a great deal of time on social media sparring with folks over political issues. That could be a full-time job. They don’t listen anyway. When I think about the folks beholden to Donald Trump, I think about the line in the old 80s movie Some Kind of Wonderful when the foil was getting his. “I can’t do anything to them that haven’t already done to themselves.”

Celebrating some guy (Elon Musk) holding a chainsaw over his head as he brags about the ruination of American families and their ability to sustain rightful, gainful employment is, again, messed up. What is the immigration status of that guy anyway?

When I think about all of this hateful Republican stuff, I hear the old hymn “Send a Great Revival”. That is one of my favorites. Nope. Never mind. Not gonna hold my breath on that. Not when the White House Faith Leader, Paula White, is selling Easter Blessings for $1000 in the name of Donald Trump. This old practice reminds me of the old Hank Williams Jr. song The American Dream. He sings about a preacher on TV in a suit and a tie and a vest. He tells you to send your money to the Lord and he gives you his address. Well, here we go again. My apologies to a real Republican, Ronald Reagan.

See what I mean. This stupidity is unfathomable. More is on the way. Indiana School Board elections are going to be partisan soon. Mark my word. That will be interesting. So far, decorum has ruled the day with non-partisan school board elections. After all, the kids can’t vote, and they are the political football. Non-partisan makes sense. Republicans are in charge in Indianapolis. They don’t make sense. Monkey see monkey do is the copy and paste mentality they are led by. So, when the board elections are partisan, I suppose decorum will go out the window with it. Teachers will be given a license, based on the leadership of the corporation’s ruling board, to hang a Donkey or an Elephant in their rooms. Right? Like I said, so much for decorum.

This was one of the first pictures I put on speaktherights.com over a decade ago. It was a much simpler time. Times like these are what I hope we can return to our youngsters coming up. We can apologize for being the imbeciles that we are and acknowledge that they will, no doubt, do better. No doubt they will be wiser. They are paying attention.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

I have told the story many times. On March 18, 1983, I walked into the Sears store in Clarksville, Indiana, a place I would come to know well, and found a cassette tape that changed me. This was my Ed Sullivan moment. This was my Buddy Holly moment. I looked down and saw this curious artwork on what, compared to an old vinyl album, looked like a postage stamp. It said: Including Nights in White Satin. I like that song, I thought. On my 15th birthday, I received a gift that has stayed with me all these years on.

As I type these words, I am listening to that exact cassette 42 years later. It still sounds great. I found the music that would be the soundtrack of my life. It still is. Even though I have written and recorded three proper albums. Even though just the last few weeks I have been practicing the most important song I have written this decade, when I listen to The Moody Blues things just seem a little better.

Only a couple of weeks ago, I saw The Moodies’ John Lodge and his band for the first time. I have seen Justin Hayward, and his merry group of players, perform ten shows. This on top of 54 Moody Blues concerts between 1986 and 2017. In 2017, my dear wife, Carrie, and I left The Ryman balcony before the last note of the encore Ride My See-Saw died. Never reaching the end is the way I needed to leave it. From The Other Side of Life to playing Days of Future Passed Live. It was a full circle experience for me that most fans can’t comprehend. But I was there. Was I ever.

So, I turn 57.

The year went by too quickly. I have enjoyed it for the most part. In my 56th year, I saw the Indiana Hoosiers become ultra-significant on the college football landscape for the first time in my life. I didn’t expect to live that long. Thanks goes to Indiana AD Scott Dolson and IU Football Coach Curt Cignetti. My sources tell me that Scott Dolson, who chose Coach Cig, will be able to select the next IU Basketball Coach. Dolson was not afforded that chance the last hiring cycle. I wanted it to work out for Coach Woodson. I watched him play at IU. He was a better college player than he was a college coach.

The fact that the number 56 above is a bit fuzzy is nice symbolism. As a high school football player, the only full-on season I played was in 1982 as a freshman. A back injury stole 1983. That back injury relegated me to punting and kicking in 1984. After a rough start to the season in 1985, I played the last 5 games at center, in addition to kicking and punting. I don’t think it was a completely popular decision at home. The results were there. 2-3 and much more competitive in the losses, after an 0-5 start. We gave the top two teams in the conference a tussle in two of the last three losses. We won the first sectional game ever played at North Harrison in 1985 in the next to last game of the season. All of that seems so far away now. There is probably a reason for that.

What’s next?

We keep pressing onward. I plan on playing my guitar more and listen a little closer for the next song to come into my life. Sometimes there are things you need to do so you can do the things you want to do. On that very special occasion, these two things merge together and change your life for the better. For me, music brings these two worlds together, as long as you do right by the song. Yes, Tim Krekel, your words and your voice still resonate with me.

I suppose one of the greatest gifts I have been bestowed is my audible memory. Between the things people have said to me, the songs that move me, the sports announcers I hear in my head and heart, or listening to Justin Hayward sing Nights in White Satin or Forever Autumn one more time, my ability to listen closely has led me on. Writing songs with no formal training and holding my own in a room with guys I had no business being around, I am thankful for my listening discernment.

Only this week have I found another great Birthday gift. Justin Hayward with Mike Batt and The London Philharmonic Orchestra recorded a version of one my favorite songs from my teenage years. They revisited The Dream Academy’s Life in a Northern Town, and it is a wonderful listen. I never imagined I would hear Justin Hayward sing this song. I am glad he said yes to whomever suggested this recording. It worked.

Full circle. I end this listening to the 2017 Days of Future Passed live recording.

For old time’s sake, I’ll lift the needle before the last note of Ride My See-Saw dies. Never reaching the end.

Speaking the 56-57 rights…

Danny Johnson

John Lodge spent Christmas Day 2023 in hospital, as the English say. He had suffered a stroke. There were many days ahead in hospital for John. He wondered if he had come to end of his journey.

I’ve heard music can be a source of strength for some stroke victims. Count John Lodge in that number.

This past Friday night, John Lodge was in Nashville, Indiana at The Brown County Music Center keeping the music of The Moody Blues alive and well. This was a promise he made to his old bandmate Graeme Edge before Graeme passed away in 2021. He is keeping the music of The Moody Blues alive and well as long as he can. John Lodge is 81. He still has the heart of a young English Rocker. There is no better explanation.

Leading up to seeing this show, I really didn’t know what to expect. The last time I saw John onstage was at The Ryman in Nashville, TN not Nashville, IN in 2017. In subsequent years, I have seen his old bandmate Justin Hayward play ten acoustic, scaled down shows. Hearing “a band” again was really special and I didn’t know how much I had missed it. The guitar helps John Lodge keep his balance. Walking out to the mic is delicate for him. Once he is there, he is home. And he can still put on a show. Why? He means it. He lives it. He belongs there. He’s been there a long time. Friday night, he told a story about how he was in a group with future Moody Blues member Ray Thomas called El Riot and the Rebels in the early 60s.

They routinely played gigs at a club outside of Birmingham, England. They were always “Top of the Bill”. One night they showed up and the promoter told them they were not top of the bill that night. The promoter went on to say this group from Liverpool, with a new single called Love Me Do, seems to be the rage. Lodgy said that night was the beginning of the British Invasion of popular music in his eyes.

That’s the kind of history we witnessed Friday night. To hear Ride My Seesaw, I’m Just a Singer (in a Rock and Roll Band), Isn’t Life Strange, and actually really enjoying Gemini Dream for the first time in nearly 40 years of hearing it, I was taken back. I thought about that 18-year-old me walking into The Louisville Gardens to see The Moody Blues for the first time in 1986. When the guys came out, I thought it was a good thing I got there when I did. There’s no way these guys will keep this up much longer! Ahh, the hubris of the young. What did I know? I’m now twelve years older than Graeme Edge, the oldest member of The Moodies, was that night in 1986. 45 looked too old for a rock and roller that night. Not so fast my friends…

John Lodge and Justin Hayward are all that is left of a group that was called The Moody Blues. Many fans wish they would get together again and play as their duo-led 1975 album called Blue Jays. Not me. I say leave these boys alone. Let them do their own thing. They had their run together. After seeing both of their solo shows now, I see why it will probably never happen. I don’t think it would work now. We know I have been wrong about these boys before.

Either way, this show by John Lodge and his band was a triumph. Long time Moodies side man Alan Hewitt on Keyboards and backing vocals, former 2nd Moodies drummer Billy Ashbaugh, Cello player Jason Charboneau, and guitarist Duffy King who also provided backing vocals. They took us back and delivered us forward at the same time with music that is timeless. Not a bad way to spend an evening.

Tragedy

This past Monday, we had to say goodbye to our son Jarrett’s dog Hot Rod. He took a sudden turn for the worse.

When Jarrett was stationed at Fort Bliss near El Paso, he and a friend came across Hot Rod in the desert. Jarrett was probably out there to see how fast he could make a car go without blowing up the engine. All I know is that he found Hot Rod with a back partially filled with buckshot apparently left there to die. Not so fast my friends!

Hot Rod gave us 14 great years. I have never known a kinder dog, providing you were on his side. He was protective as well.

Our alarm for the UPS and Fed Ex truck is gone.

I don’t know if all dogs go to heaven or not, as the story suggests. This one did.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

I know I have used this one before. My buddy Carl posing in Lake Placid in 2018. He was so proud to be there. So was I.

Some things get better with age. I am one of those and I am not one of those.

Knowing I was alive and well and of an age, 12, to know what a big deal it was, I still rewatch The Miracle on Ice. I watch the MIRACLE movie.

I have told the story before. When I was a college student, I did a phone interview with Herb Brooks. Herb was the coach of the Miracle on Ice team. I was writing a paper about the team for a class. He talked to me. I didn’t get much. He certainly made an impression. He thought the players should be the ones I was calling.

When Carrie and I visited the Herb Brooks Arena where the games were played in 1980, I was told I could sit anywhere I wanted in the team box. This was as close as I could bring myself. Nothing in sports has meant more to me. This team and this event are other-worldly to me.

I came across this photo recently and thought I would share it. The two from the love story of A-Ha’s great song and video Take on Me all these years later. The lead singer and the actress in the video.

Back to 2018. On the way back home from our trip to The Berkshires in 2018, we stopped by The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. I swore I would never darken the door until The Moody Blues were inducted. They were that Spring.

One of the coolest things I came across during our visit were storyboard illustrations for the video of A-Ha’s Take on Me song.

If you were a teenager in 1985, you know what I am talking about. This video transcended everything we had ever seen before. I still enjoy watching it.

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

I wish I had time to dig out some of my football cards to share with you. If I started that at this hour, I would never get this writing taken care of. But I’d dig out my Eagles and my Chiefs.

If you of a certain vintage, you’ll know these names. You kids who haven’t been here since lunch won’t know them. Just like I didn’t know a soul during the twenty-three minutes I viewed The Grammys on TV last Sunday.

These are my Top Ten Eagles!

Ron Jaworski Quarterback. He wore #7 and came over to the Eagles from the Rams. Backup to James Harris who had a handle on the Rams QB job from 73 to 76, the Polish Rifle was a great fit for the Eagles. Led them to Super Bowl XV in… wait for New Orleans! Yes, the sight of this year’s Super Bowl. It was the second time the Superdome hosted the Super Bowl. Super Bowl XII was the first one to be played in the Superdome. That was a Dalla Cowboys victory over the Denver Broncos. The Eagles lost Super Bowl XV to the Oakland Raiders. Linebacker Rod Martin intercepted three of Jaws’ passes.

Harold Carmichael Wide Receiver. He wore #17, all 6-8 of him. Roger Wehrli, a DB for the St. Louis Cardinals was the only guy I ever saw hold his own defending # 17. Harold caught 590 passes during his Hall of Fame career. Tallest WR in NFL history.

Keith Krepfle Tight End. He wore #84. Krepfle caught 152 passes in his 8-year NFL career. 7 of those seasons were with the Eagles from 1975-1981.

Bill Bergey Middle Linebacker. Bill wore #66. He started his career with the Cincinnati Bengals in 1969. The five-time Pro Bowler played for the Eagles from 1974-1980. Talk about a different time. When Bergey was an NFL player, he was also a member of the lieutenant in the Army Reserves. Bergey passed away this past Christmas Day.

Charlie Smith Wide Receiver. Charlie wore #85. An undrafted free agent, Smith played for the Eagles from 1974-1981. He caught 218 passes in his NFL career. When they doubled up on Harold Carmichael, Charlie Smith had sure hands.

Wilbert Montgomery Running Back. Wilbert wore #31. Montgomery was a hard runner. Toting the mail for the Eagles from 1977-1984. In 1979, he was fourth NFL in rushing with more than 1500 yards. In front of him? Try Earl Campbell, Walter Payton, and Ottis Anderson.

David Akers Kicker. Akers wore #2. David Akers kicked for the Louisville Cardinals when Howard Schellenberger was coaching the team and for Ron Cooper the two years after Howard took his pipe and left town because he would not be on the sideline for a team in Conference USA. David Akers scored 1712 points in his NFL career.

Horst Muhlmann Kicker. Horst wore # 16. German born kicker who looked more like an appliance salesman than a kicker. Really, I worked with a guy at Sears who looked like Horst. Truth is I just liked the guy’s football cards. He looked like he was having a good time. Horst kicked for the Bengals longer than he did for Eagles (75-77). I like the name Horst.

Reggie White Defensive Tackle. Reggie wore #92. An All-American at Tennessee, Reggie was All-World for the Eagles. A sack master, Reggie White was just fun to watch. He chased quarterbacks while wearing an Eagles jersey from 1985 to 1992. Sack master I tell you!

Spike Jones Punter. Spike wore #6. He punted for the Oilers, Bills, and Eagles. Three of those years, 75-76-77, were for the Birds. I still take pride in knowing my punting average as a senior in high school was higher than Spike’s in 1976 and 1977. He averaged a paltry 36.6 yards in 1976 and 37.2 yards in 1977. Be sure to know that both of those seasons he placed more than 20 punts inside the 20. That’s pretty good.

Honorable Mention goes to Herman Edwards.

For me all I need to know about the Philadelphia Eagles are within these curtains. These curtains were in my bedroom in our house in Brownstown until we moved from there in 1979. The were hung in my new bedroom in Ramsey that summer. I took this picture today. My old curtains are still there.

Here is where the story gets good. When my little brother, Darrell, was just a toddler, he and I were looking at these curtains one day. I asked him which team was his favorite. He said, “I like the Eagles!”

I looked at him and slapped my hand to my forehead and yelled, “Eagles!” I then feigned a fainting spell, and he just sat there and laughed like only a three-year old can. I sat back up. He looked at me and said, “I like the Eagles!” He looked to see if I was going to faint again. I put on again. He laughed with even more vigor.

My brother Darrell is now 41 years-old and his favorite NFL team has, since that day, been the Philadelphia Eagles. So, you know darn well who I am for.

Fly Eagles Fly!

Speaking the rights…

Danny Johnson

On February 3, 1959, Buddy Holly was killed in a plane crash near Clear Lake, Iowa. Don McLean wrote about this, in a roundabout way, inside his iconic tune American Pie. In the song, we know he referenced Holly’s passing as The Day the Music Died.

This is known to be the last photo taken of Buddy Holly that dreadful night. Recognize the bass player to his right? Waylon Jennings.

Five years and six days later, the bunch Buddy inspired began landing via airplane. February 7, 1964, was the day The Beatles landed in New York ahead of The Ed Sullivan Show.

I wish I could have been there. The Beatles are as ubiquitous to me as any group can be. I think the word is timeless. Timeless. A word that gets thrown around at bit for effect. For me, timeless and The Beatles fit. When I was eight, I was listening to The Beatles. The song Got to Get You Into my Life was on a new 45 in 1976. Rock and Roll Music was the album, I guess. Some kind of re-release. I don’t know. The point is The Beatles were a mere six years broken up at the time. But for me, it could have been forever ago. Right at this moment I am listening to The Beatles’ song Here, There, and Everywhere. This song has not grown on me. I hear what I heard in 1977 on the Love Songs compilation.

That is what I am listening to right now. A 48-year-old piece of well-preserved vinyl. And The Long and Winding Road was melancholy then and it is now. The music of The Beatles has not grown on me. This music grew with me. We got along straight away all those years ago.

For those of you who watched The Ed Sullivan Show that night, my hat is off to you.

Buddy Holly showed the way. Writing his own songs. Having a say in the recording process. He knew what Tim Krekel told me many years ago. “You have to do what is right by the song.”

A nod to Tim Krekel.

I was lucky enough to be standing a few feet away from Don McLean one night on a high school football field as he sang American Pie. Don signed my poster after the show.

A cold month that brought so much music to so many of us. Timeless.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

Written while listening to some great vinyl from 1971 and 1972. Justin Hayward’s “You Can Never Go Home” on Every Good Boy Deserves Favour is beyond his 24 years when he wrote it. Unreal track. I heard him perform this live in 2014 during a solo show. One of the greatest tunes ever crafted for me. It was not a hit. The great ones usually are not.

The Indiana Hoosiers finished the 2024 campaign with an 11-2 record and a #10 ranking in both the AP and Coaches polls. This is the highest finish for any IU team in my lifetime. I have been here a long time. I just missed the 1967 team that was ranked higher. You do the math.

A dear friend of mine gave me this poster this week. My comment was that this is the first time IU ever got ink ready for a football schedule calendar before June. I believe that. I know a guy who works in the printing department up there who could verify.

Sticking with football for a moment. This was my favorite Super Bowl. Terry vs. Roger. Doomsday vs. The Steel Curtain. They didn’t need hype. They created it on the field. This was everything you hope a Super Bowl will be, unless you are Cowboys fan, and you are still haunted by Jackie Smith. I was ten. I remember it like it was the day before yesterday.

Did we have snow around here or what? It was beautiful.

This is the start of my walking trail that leads to a hill that looks like this in fall:

This is the opposite direction. In the snow it looked a little different.

I will be glad when things warm up. I am ready to walk this trail again.

The Blue River from just below the house. Earlier in the year, I took a few pictures along the river in the fall.

This was taken in October.

This was a day when I wished I had a REAL camera. I did the best I could.

The haze about this photo is emblematic. Things are cloudy. Losing the likes of Jimmy Carter only makes things cloudier.

See what I mean. At Jimmy Carter’s funeral, only one guy didn’t get it. He never will. Trump and truth know nothing of each other.

Trump won’t be elected President.  Folks are crazier than I can remember…but not that crazy.  And that I sure miss the days of making fun of tree huggers when we could still count on the GOP.

I wrote this while reading real newspapers in the Northeast while vacationing in the Berkshires in June of 2016. I have said this here before. I rooted for the GOP for years when we had a GOP. Trump showed up and ruined that. I don’t blame him. I blame the GOP leaders who could have shut him down. Yes, they did exist. They were cowards. I guess I kind of foreshadowed this in the last sentence up there.

My reference about the “tree huggers” is novel. Ironically, the political horizon looks like a photo negative of what it once was. The liberals used to be the whiners. Now the Republicans are the whiners, and they have nothing to offer except whining and lies.

Look, for myself, I have to draw the line somewhere. I understand that this is a free country. If you wish to buy into a load of lies, you have that right. Merry Christmas to you. I can’t do it. I can’t support someone who is A-OK with people storming my nation’s capitol. If you are, my first inclination is to ask you just how much battery acid have you been drinking? You have been fooled.

I can’t imagine supporting a guy who has prostituted Christianity with bibles printed in his own image. On Christmas Day Trump was telling folks via his Truth Social Account (laughable irony) to “Go to Hell.” That’s rich.

What’s next? Will Franklin Graham will come down from the Blue Ridge Parkway with two stone tablets with NINE COMMANDMENTS. Though Shalt Not Bear False Witness Against They Neighbor need not apply in 2025. That one is out! Trump has seen to it.

There is always hope. That came in the form of Bishop Budde this week. Someone needed to say it.

This ole gal spoke the rights!

Danny Johnson

2024 was not kind. We need kindness to prosper in a civil and stately manner.

As the College Football Playoffs have played out, there has been just as much complaining and whining from teams that thought they should be in the mix as when we had only four teams vying for the spots. Maybe more whining and complaining. What do you expect? Whining and complaining and throwing around meaningless accusations has never been more popular in this country. Truth, while at a premium, means less than it used to. Why should college football be expected to give us higher comportment?

To the Alabama folks who thought your team should have gotten into the CFP, I can tell you there was a time when Lewis Grizzard and you would have said, “If we had beaten Vandy, we would have made it in. We didn’t beat Vandy for God’s sake! We don’t deserve squat.”

To the Ole Miss folks, I feel your pain. I was hoping the Rebs would get in. But when I knew Indiana would be there, I knew that committee would not let SMU go quietly. The Mustangs, thanks to the Hoosiers, were IN. Had the Rebs beaten Kentucky at home, the Cats only conference win, then, well, see the Lewis Grizzard reference above. You know it. I know it. Jimmy Swaggart knows it.

The Indiana Hoosiers were the darlings of College Football this year. Strange but true. Did they belong in the College Football Playoff? Maybe they did and maybe they didn’t. Doesn’t matter a bit. You and I were not on the CFP Committee. End of lesson.

I gave up predicting the games this season after Week # 13. Family time and just a lack of juice left me without much desire to continue picking the games. I won’t pick the finals. I expect Oregon will play Notre Dame for all the bananas on January 20th. So there, I guess I picked the finals.

All the college football season long, I have been thinking about this address on Waterwood Drive in Brandon, Mississippi. It has been more than a year since I spoke to my Aunt Barbara about college football. Our last conversation was about exactly that. That and I think we both knew our talks were finished. It was tough I tell you. You have no idea how much it hurt not being able to call her when Indiana was ranked higher than Ole Miss in the polls. Her response would have been this, “Go ahead. Go ahead and crow about Indianer!” It wasn’t Indiana with her. It was Indianer. It wasn’t Oklahoma with her, it was Oklahomer. Iowa was Io-way. I reveled in each syllable from her mouth. College Football will never mean so much to me again. She was my Ole Miss Football buddy.

I will share this photo one last time. Very little means more.

On a brighter note! My brother Darrell and his wife, Emily, will be having a BOY in the Spring. We can’t wait to say hello to this little young’un. Talk about good times.

You know our football is serious when my granddaughter, Penny, and I are both serious about a game so out of control.

We were in Florida watching in Old Oaken Bucket game. Indiana was in firm control. Penny and I were still serious about it.

I think this is her game face.

Her game face is intact even when coloring on Grandma’s lap.

When I walked onto the field at The Rose Bowl in 2018, I was looking at the spot where Vince Young had scored the winning touchdown in the 2006 Rose Bowl to lead Texas to an upset win over USC. That set the stage. I was about to kick some field goals, and I was not going to miss in The Rose Bowl.

Last week I watched the documentary “05” about this team’s journey to winning the Rose Bowl that year. It is worth watching.

I’m not sure where to start here. Mr. Keith Oppel was Mr. North Harrison High School. Keith passed away in late November this year. I always liked Mr. Oppel. We didn’t have one cross word. He was my PE teacher. He and my dad coached track together for more than a decade.

He tried to help everyone around him. Keith coached basketball, track, cross-country and was the Athletic Director at North for a long time.

I was always glad when he and my dad would sit together in the east endzone at North Harrison High School football games these last few years and banter back and forth as if the rest of us were in Shreveport. Those were special times. I know I have complained about North Harrison not having a great sense of history to be found anywhere. I hope someone gets around to naming the Field House on the west end of campus after Keith. It will be a case of better late than never. But it needs to be done.

1986 ad from my first Moody Blues concert.

2024 ad from the latest concert. The Moody Blues died with drummer Graeme Edge in 2021. Justin carries on with a simple solo acoustic act with the help of Mike Dawes, Julie Ragins, and Karmen Gould. I only wish the tickets for this show were $15.50.

Seeing Justin play and smile doing it is a pretty cool thing. He is the best.

Times change and we keep moving. Like F. Scott Fitzgerald said at the end of The Great Gatsby:

-tomorrow we will run faster, stretch our arms farther… And one fine morning-

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Press onward and hopefully truth will make a comeback in this tired land of ours.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson

My apologies to Charles Dickens. Obviously, Dickens inspires this title to a degree. Truth takes over somewhere after that.

Let’s get it out of the way.

This bunch saved the college football season for me. I had given up on college football for the most part. All that business. The blue bloods getting bluer and the rest trying to survive. I was less than enamored with Coach Cig when I first saw and heard him. Turns out, he meant it all. Hope turned into meaning. I don’t think I have heard him use the word “hope”.

I’m still down on college football. For the first time in memory, I haven’t kept up with the players in college football like I used to. No point in investing any hope in any of them. They could be gone tomorrow. I liked it better when we were hoping some kid from Columbus would work out. It is all an amalgamation for me now. When the whistle blows, I watch the game play out a little closer. Don’t get me wrong. It’s still a great game.

I haven’t posted anything on here in almost a month. These have been difficult days. I did not report last month that I took a spill between the bleachers at Notre Dame Stadium right after the game ended on November 16th. My old crony Kelly Samons and I were living the dream until I hit the deck. I was fortunate. I did not hit my head. Kelly was heading to the aisle to go down the stairs. I was beside him. I couldn’t tell you which leg gave up on me. I don’t know. All I know is I went down on a combination of left side and backside. That my head stayed off the ground was a miracle. I believe that. I was stunned in every literal sense of the word. Two guys in front of me came to my aid before Kelly looked back and saw me on the ground. I did everything I could to play it off. I tried to joke with the guys helping me up with an old line from my Granny. She was prone to falling. I looked at these guys and said, “I hit the deck, and I haven’t even pulled a cork!” The walk to Kelly’s truck was the most painful thing I have ever endured until I had to sit down in the truck. We drove nonstop from South Bend to Seymour. I drove on home wondering at times if I was needing to stop. I felt myself drifting off a few times is a state of shock I suppose. I had to talk myself into remembering how to keep a car on the road between Palmyra and New Salisbury.

I have been asked if I went to the doctor. I figured if I was walking there was no need. My mother, the nurse, asked if I had seen the doctor. I answered, “What for? There is no cast for my ass.” She said I had a good point.

Tonight, I spent 30 minutes on the elliptical. This is the most daunting workout I have had in over a month.

I wish the bad news could end there. Two weekends ago, my dear wife, Carrie, and I had plans for a nice, busy, and relaxing time of it. We went to The Big Ten Championship Game on a Saturday.

Of course, we were there rooting on Penn State. They lost. I pity the next team that goes up against the Oregon Ducks. The old throwback was sitting there trying to imagine he was watching an old-fashioned Rose Bowl between a PAC-12 team and a Big 10 team. Hard to do. Penn State got to the Big 10 in 1993. Not exactly old school for either of them.

I figured the next day had to be better. I figured wrong.

We made it out of Indy and got on I-70 heading to St. Louis. A Justin Hayward concert was on the books, as my friend Tim Mullins would say. The streak is still alive. Save the 2020 Covid year, I have not missed seeing The Moody Blues who are now no more, or Justin Hayward solo since 2003. That’s a great deal of Nights in White Satin, but never enough.

Turns out, the old boy is mortal. Me, not Justin. Driving across I-70 almost to Terre Haute, I was not feeling well. Like my great-grandmother, Ivy Nowling, I take a blood pressure pill. I just don’t talk about it as much as she did. I started counting and figured I was on my 4th day in a row without my blood pressure medicine. It happens. On to an Urgent Care center in Terre Haute we go. Two and half hours later and a trip to the Meijer store pharmacy was next. That was another wait. Alas, the little pill I took helped in a hurry.

By the time we arrived in St. Louis to a hotel that was a five-minute walk to the theatre and not all it was advertised to be, the Marriott man will never make this mistake again, there was not enough time to eat dinner. The breakfast we had in Cloverdale was going to have to hang on just a little while longer. On the show!

The old boy did not disappoint. Wow. Justin Hayward is 78 years old. This was the 11th solo show we have seen. On this occasion, his voice did not crack a single time. Not that it does often. This was another level of emotive sound from all of them. 14 songs and a 6-song medley that turned into 2 full songs and a 4-song medley.

For me, seeing the red Gibson 335 for the first time in six years was a treat. He played it on two encore songs. He ended the show with acoustic guitar on I Know You’re Out There Somewhere. That 18-year-old who went to The Louisville Gardens to see The Moody Blues with unhinged anticipation in 1986 didn’t know what was ahead of him. Some dreams we really can live out and we don’t even know it.

After the concert it was back to the hotel. Called out for pizza. Was told it would be there between 10:17 and 10:21. We were hungry. The pizza never showed up.

The next morning was more like a nightmare. Our car was parked in a lot behind the hotel, off the street. Off the street and away from most everything. Everything that is except for someone with one of those devices that tells you the car out there is unlocked when you see the lights of the vehicle come on. Our Explorer fits the profile, I guess.

The Explorer was not damaged. No forced entry. But all the bags of Christmas gifts we had acquired the day before at the Outlet Mall in Edinburg, as we were heading to Indy, were gone. The glove box had been rifled through. All of its contents were on the passenger seat. Gone was our very comprehensive first aid kit and our jumper cables. My blood pressure med was in the door ready to be taken again later that day. Well, it wasn’t anymore.

Carrie and I slinked out of St. Louis feeling as though we had been gut-punched. To go from the listening to the greatest music on my earth to being robbed was not a 360-degree turn I would wish on anyone.

So there. The good news is that I feel better. I’m still pissed about losing our Christmas presents. I told my brother Darrell the thief was not a Philadelphia Eagles fan. The Eagles calendar I got him was still there. I know. We were not hurt physically. Had I walked out there while that was going on…well, who knows.

The Indiana Hoosiers play Notre Dame Friday in the College Football Playoffs. I have seen both of these teams play this year and each one can get the other. It all depends on where they spot the ball (channeling my inner Dan Dierdorf). No, really. Indiana can win this game. I don’t think ND has seen a D-line that will give them fits like IU will. As long as the Hoosier defense doesn’t break down and is left watching Jeremiyah Love’s back running away from them, Indiana can do it. The O-line also need to protect Kurtis Rourke. He’ll find the receivers. The IU punt team will not lose it like it did against Ohio State.

Any other year, I could’ve told you what number Jeremyiah Love of Notre Dame wears. I don’t have the first clue. I’m just watching these guys play one game at a time.

Speaking the rights.

Danny Johnson