Manliest Man Ever

In case you can't read the above picture very well I'll transcribe it for you.

ROCKY MOUNTAIN GRIZZLY BEAR

JACKSON HOLE, WYOMING

This bear was taken by world famous hunter and hunting guide C. Dale Petersen of Jackson Hole, Wy. It is one of only two Grizzlies known to have been killed "without" the use of modern weaponry.

Verified by Game Biologist, Mr. Peterson killed this bear with his hands, and oddly enough, his teeth. It is known that the bear had been aggravated by a group of backpackers, shortly thereafter Peterson, unaware of previous happenings, came upon the bear. A Fight-to-the-Death ensued. Petersen, having his right hand and arm wedged in the bear's throat, actually used his own teeth and jaws to pinch off the bear's jugular vein. When the bear passed-out from lack of blood flow to the brain, Petersen beat the bear upon the head with a stick.

Now, I've written in the past about what it means to be a man but this guy takes it to a whole new level. I guarantee you that no one in Jackson Hole ever though once about picking a fight with this guy. Sure some stranger probably breezed into town from time to time and found Petersen in the local tavern where people were still buying him drinks for his super human accomplishment. They probably got drunk and wanted to pick a fight with him, but he just bit their jugular till they passed out then clubbed them with a pool cue or something.

Could you imagine sitting around telling stories with this guy?

You: I broke my high school touchdown record my junior year.
Petersen: I killed a Grizzly with my hands.
You: I won a gold medal in the summer Olympics.
Petersen: I killed a Grizzly with my hands.
You: I saved an orphanage from burning down once.
Petersen: Did I tell you about the time I killed the Grizzly... with my hands?

The sad part for you is that his one story is better than anything you could have ever done.

I don't know what Petersen looked like but I bet it was a lot like this.

Buford Leo Zink

A couple of weeks ago the patriarch of my family passed away. Buford Leo Zink, my Pappaw, passed away in his home surrounded by family.
I've been struggling ever since to come up with something to write about him. It's hard to sum up the life of someone you looked up to since you can first remember. It seems both trivial and necessary at the same time. I've thought of listing all the things I'd learned in life from him, or maybe all his accomplishments but these all seem so over done. So I've decided to just tell some stories of things I remember and things I've heard that describe him as I remember him.

My Pappaw was born May 5th 1928 in Palmyra Indiana. As a child he would stand by highway 150, with everyone else in town, and watch all the rich people go by in their cars. This happened once a year when everyone from St. Louis would come to Louisville for the Kentucky Derby. I like to think this inspired his lifelong love of cars.

He was the star player for the Morgan basketball team. When he graduated high school he did like many men of that time and joined the service, he chose the U.S. Navy. He was assigned to the U.S.S. Boxer. It was an aircraft carrier and he would start off his navy career as a radio operator on a bomber, during the Korean war. He would tell me stories of how they'd go out during the day and fly high above the range of the North Korean anti aircraft guns so they could take pictures of potential bombing targets. They'd get back to the carrier, intelligence officers would review the pictures, then assign targets for them to blow up that night. Then the next morning they'd check the previous nights targets while searching for new ones. Day after day this was his routine. Then one day for some reason his pilot was flying lower than usual and they came under anti aircraft fire. In an instant a bullet ripped through the plane and shattered his five point shoulder harness that kept him secured to his radio seat. He was not wounded in the least, but the radio was also destroyed. Not a single light remained lit, the dials were all dead and he could hear nothing from the carrier. They were going down fast. He radioed their coordinates in a distress signal not knowing if the radio was putting any signal out at all. They crash landed in the cold East China Sea. For hour after hour the crew clung to floating debri and hoped that a rescue chopper would come and save them. Pappaw told me that it was the coldest he'd ever been and he had decided that he was about to meet his maker when a tiny spec appeared on the horizon. It was a rescue chopper. His distress call had transmitted. The men were so cold that their numb hands couldn't grab that lowered rope ladder. They had to wedge their arms in the ropes to get hoisted up. Pappaw was a hero. His fast thinking had saved those mens & and his own life. He finished up his service in the maintenance shop where he had a plane prop fall across his feet. He was hobbled for life but refused to take any disability money from the Navy since it was money he didn't work for. That's just the kind of man he was.

When I was born (the first of his grandkids) my Pappaw decided that all his grandkids were going to know how to swim. He went out and bought the biggest, pool available at the time. One day when I was 2 I was riding my tricycle around the pool while Pappaw was sweeping it out. As I rounded the corner my back wheel got caught on the edge and I tipped over head first into the pool, never letting go of my trike. Pappaw acted in a flash and pulled me up by the ankle. He had literally saved my life. I would grow up spending my summers in that pool, learning to swim and love the water. A few quick years later I was on the varsity swim team winning Indiana & Kentucky state titles as well as a state record that still stand today. I know that all started with Pappaw deciding that I was going to know how to swim from day one.

My Pappaw was a man of few words. A member of a generation where men were men. They didn't need to speak because you knew how they felt by their actions. I remember one time when I was about 5 my cousins and I tried to run away to the local grocer because she always gave us bubble gum and the grown ups wouldn't. As we hit the rural road with our bikes two trucks came speeding up the driveway after us. My uncle jumped out of one and jerked my cousin up and began paddling her, I thought to myself, "I'm glad my dad's not here to do that to me." That's when Pappaw jumped out of the other truck and painted my back porch red. At that point I was wishing that Dad was there instead. Nobody spanked like Pappaw, and I knew I had done wrong, and he never said a word.

My Pappaw was also a man who believed in doing things right, and taking pride in your work. For years he worked at Ford motor company and farmed on the side. When his work day at the plant was over his work day at the farm was just beginning. I can remember one story about how he had a fence row to put up when he got off work. My Granny had tried to surprise him by digging and setting all the posts while he was at work. The only problem was that her fence row was "as crooked as a snake". Pappaw was so worried that someone might see it that he dug the whole fence row up and did the whole job over again. If you did a job, then you did it right. That's just how he felt, and his work always reflected it. When he finally retired from Ford motor company he had only missed one day in over 30 years of service. The story goes that he was going to be late (he drove an hour each way) so he made my grandmother call in and say he was sick because he couldn't show up late. That was the only day he ever missed. Years later I worked part time in the same plant where my Pappaw worked. I found a plaque on the wall that listed all the retiree's names. The first thing I did was found his name and took a picture of it.

As I sit back now and reflect I'm flooded with memories. Mostly little things like sitting on the back of a horse while he led it around the field, talking in the garage while he swatted the flies, working on his old cars, swimming while he watched from the deck, riding the 4 wheeler he bought me. So many things in my life were shaped by how he led his, and I think that I'll always carry that thought with me. Hoping that how I lead my life will have a positive impact on those around me, just as he did.

Since I first started writing this blog I've found out that I and my brother will both be having babies in April. We both got the news about 3 weeks after Pappaw's funeral. These babies will be the first great grandchildren for my Granny and the first grandchildren for my mom. Though I wish Pappaw could have lived long enough to see them here on earth I know he'll be watching them from afar. And since his passing was made so much easier to bear by the news of two new family members I can't help but wonder if his time to pass was more than just coincidence.

Where's the Beef?

My legions of loyal Followers, I'll tell you where the beef is. It's in Jasper Indiana at Fischer Farms market & Grill.
I went there this weekend and picked up my first side of beef. The deep freeze is now full of top quality, aged, non-hormonal, non-anti-biotic beef. For those of you that don't know, as I didn't till recently, Fischer Farms is located outside of Jasper and specializes in "Natural" beef & pork. The animals there aren't loaded up with hormones or anti-biotics and they're all pasture fed. The meat is great but let me tell you about the market & grill. Not only can you pick up your aged & freshly butchered beef, but you can sit down in this little small town diner and enjoy any of their grilled specialties. Burgers, steaks, roasts, pork chops, everything grilled. You get the feeling sitting there that this is a mom & pop operation and you're right. The husband works much of the farm and the wife runs the restaurant.
To top it all off, there is a riverside park about 30 seconds walk from the front door. You can take your meat directly to the park and enjoy a cookout with the family. There are horse shoe pits and picnic shelters to enjoy as well and a riverwalk complete with old working mill and an antique train station with a working train.
This is definitely one of my new favorite places and I can't wait to go back and enjoy this little gem. I think I'll go back on the first weekend in August and see what their Strassenfest is like. I'll see you there, my legion of loyal followers.

Lessons learned at Little League

Legions of loyal fans, I write to you today with a heartfelt sincere message. No humorous anticdotes, or whimsical tales, just a pure honest lesson. So pay attention.

Yesterday I went to my 10 year old cousins baseball game. I thought it would be a typical 10 year old game that dragged on as ball after ball is thrown and batter after batter takes his base, till miraculously some child manages to get a hit and equally miraculous another child manages to catch the ball or field it and throw him out. But this was not that sort of game at all. The kids played one hell of a game. The pitchers were throwing strikes. The batters were hitting line drives and deep fly balls. The infielders were making diving scoops and the catchers even threw out a few would be base stealers. "Wow", I thought. These kids really know what there're doing. What good coaching they must have. That's when it happened. Some loud mouth fat mother announced to the crowd that she didn't like the coach because he didn't teach the kids that baseball is about fun and not about winning. Since when did winning become not fun? And why does everything that we teach kids have to be about fairness and fun. I applaud the coach for teaching those kids that winning is important. That's a life lesson that millions of kids used to learn from baseball. It's a game of losses. If you get a hit 30% of the time your probably one of the better hitters on the team, but you percivere till you get that hit, and that small victory makes it all worthwhile. Kids today don't get that lesson. They all get pizza and a trophy after a mandated tie game.
I then found out that they only allow each team to score 5 runs an inning so that no team can run up the score. You know when I was playing baseball, sometimes you got your ass kicked, bad. Like 30 to 2 bad. But you went out there next week and played again, and maybe you kicked the next teams ass 35 to 2, but it was a good lesson. Sometimes the world seems against you and nothing is in your favor, but it will pass, and eventually things will be in your favor again. And you don't need an umpire to follow you along in life and tell everyone "ok that's enough picking on little Billy, now it's your turn Billy."

Before I go I have to write about another brilliant ray of hope that I wittnessed. One of the kids on my cousins team, Brenden, broke his leg during a scrimmage game at the beginning of the season. He was sliding feet first into home and collided with the catcher. He had to have steel rods and pins put into his leg and couldn't walk for months. He missed almost the entire season, almost. Brenden played last night. He had a limp that no adult in their right mind would play baseball on, but he was out there. This kid was by far the smallest kid on the team, maybe 50 pounds. When he got up to bat he managed to make contact and put the ball just over the 2nd basemans head. Any normal runner would have been safe by a mile but with his limp and slow gait Brenden barely managed to make it safe on first. The dugout erupted with cheers as Brenden was on base for the first time that season. The next batter hit an almost identical ball and Brenden once again labored to make it to second base. The outfielder knew Brenden was the easy out and threw it to second base but the baseman dropped the catch and Brenden was safe. The crowd was now talking. They whispered of the possibility of Brenden making it to home plate. "Don't slide Brenden, whatever happens don't slide", his mom yelled at him from the bleachers. The next batter crushed a shot into right field and Brenden knew this was his chance. He put his head down and ran as fast as his reconstructed leg would let him. As he rounded third the kid who was on first had already caught up to him and was trailing right behind him. I could see Brendens face and there was only pure determination in his eyes. He wanted to score more than anything else on earth. The outfielder threw the ball to the cut off man, and he threw it to the catcher. With a split second to spare Brenden slid, head first, into home and touched the plate just before the catcher could tag him. The dugout emptied and his teammates ran to meet him at the plate. They high fived and cheered him the whole way back to the dugout. The fans were going crazy, even the opposing teams fans were standing and cheering. Even writing about this story now I feel such joy for that little kid.
My point is this. He had a broken leg and missed the entire season, he couldn't run, he could barely swing the bat and he sure couldn't slide. Everything in life was against him. His whole season ruined. But he didn't need the fairness police coming in and intervening. He simply needed to percivere and wait for his chance, then take it. And I can bet you that if he had not broken his leg and missed all those games and faced such adversity that he never would have felt the sence of accomplishment or joy that he felt last night. He will be telling his kids about that day, just as I'll be telling mine about it when they complain that somethings not fair. Go Brenden.

Drunk Charades

Well, where to begin on this one???

This is a friend of mine who we'll call Joan. I'm using an alias cause if this was me I wouldn't want anyone to know my name either. Joan attended a New Years Eve party at my brothers house last year, 2010. Throughout the course of the evening Joan consumed a few beers. I wouldn't say that she was drunk, but judging by the video she definitely didn't have her full whits about her. We were playing a board game that has some elements of pictionary, charades & trivial pursuit mixed in. Joan had a real tough time getting someone to guess what she was trying to act out. As a matter of fact, I dare you to try and guess what she is acting out.

A tip to my legion of loyal fans, if you're playing charades and your team doesn't get it based on what you're doing, do something else or just sit down. Other wise you'll look as silly as Jean did.

And notice my brother's clearly sarcastic comment right at the end, priceless.

I work with Joe

So I'm on a work trip to West Virginia and on the ride out I heard this great story that I had to share. As always I've changed the names of those involved to protect the guilty.

Joe, Bill & Bob were coming back from a similar work trip and decided to stop by a titty bar before heading home. Bill & Bob were both married but figured what there wives don't know won't hurt them. Once they got to the bar and threw back a few cold ones Joe paid one of the ladies to give Bill a lap dance. Bill squirmed and squealed as he knew he would soon smell like a stripper, and any wife could pick up on that from a thousand yards down wind. On the way home Bill was freaking out. "My wife is gonna know. She's gonna smell this perfume on me. BLAH BLAH BLAH". So Joe has a plan. He tells Bill that he can go to his bachelor pad and wash his clothes and take a shower while Joe drops Bob off. Then Joe would swing back by, pick him up and take him home smelling fresh and innocent. So it was agreed.

There Bill was freshly showered, in his underwear, sitting on Joe's couch and waiting for his clothes to dry. Little did he know that Joe's parents had come by to check on the place while Joe was out of town. Joe's mom walked in to find Bill in his underwear watching TV and the only thing he could get out was, "Uh uh uh uh, I work with Joe." She immediately walked out without saying a word. Minutes later Joe came home to find Bill freaking out. "Your moms gonna think we're queer or something." "Don't worry", said Joe. "I'll straighten it out." Joe, being the funny guy that he is, called his mom right there and said, "hey Mom, so I guess you met my boyfriend."

Snakin Stick

So a few days back I was up at T's and the girls wanted me to look
under some carpet rolls by the garden for a snake that T found a
couple of days ago. I told them I couldn't cause I didn't have my
snakin stick. Madi quickly picked up the hoe and said, "here use
this". After several tries we gave up without finding any snakes.
Fast forward to yesterday. (does that make sense)
I hear Juli & the girls carrying on and hollering for me to come kill
this snake that Juli had impaled with a rake. When I got there I asked
where my snakin stick was and Madi grabbed the hoe for me. I wacked
the snake a couple times, and thus saved the women from certain
slithery peril, before throwing it's carcass in the woods.
As I walked back to the garden with my instrament of death in my
clutches Soph let me know that I could use that snakin stick any time
I come over. She's so sweet.
In conclusion, I hated to kill the snake. However I take comfort in
knowing that it was already mortally wounded and I was performing a
mercy kill. Plus my Y chromosome likes to kill beasts that threaten
the safety of women folk. You can see from the picture of my
vanquished foe at the end of my snakin stick that he could have easily
eaten us all if I had not acted swiftly.

Kerosine Smells Like Gas

Greetings to my legion of loyal fans. Today I want to discuss an
incident that occured last week while I was in Mississippi. I called
my brother up and asked him to mow my yard for me while I was gone.
I'd done it for him before so I met minimal resistance. I did suggest
that he bring over his mower since it was better than mine and he in
turn insisted that I provide him with some gas. I was obliged to do so.

Here's where it gets interesting. I tell him there is a RED gas can in
the garage and it's full, he asks if it has 2 cycle oil mixed with it
and I said no, I don't have anything that takes 2 cycle.
The next day I call him up and the first thing he asks is, "what's in
that blue can in your garage?" At this point I'm already laughing as I
say, "kerosine, why?" His response, "mother fucker" told me everything.

I explained how I told him that the red can was gas and he gave me
this story about a tag on the spout that he thought could have meant
it had 2 cycle in it. Then he goes on to tell me how he even poured
some kerosine out and smelled it, that convinced him it was gas.

In closing I'd like to let my legion of loyal fans know that kerosine
will run a lawn mower, he mowed the whole yard on it. But I wouldn't
suggest it, he did say the mower was bouncing around and carrying on.
So this doesn't happen to you always remember:
Red = gas
Blue = kerosine
Yellow = diesel

Oh and check out the picture of my clearly marked kerosine can, when
in doubt, read.

Rebel Yell

Hear me my legion.
I spent a little time in Corinth Mississippi last week and was able to
see some of the sights around town. For those that don't know, like
myself before I went, Corinth held strategic value during the Cival
War. It was a cross roads where the north-south & east-west railroads
met. These rail ways were the backbone of the confederate supply lines.
As I toured the historic sights around town I was reminded of the
common misunderstanding about the cival war, that it was started over
slavery. This is in fact a distortion. The war was about states
rights. Could the federal governmant tell individual states what they
could and could not do? Yes slavery was abolished because of the war,
and thank goodness it was, but that was only a consequence of the war
not a cause for it. The majority of northern citizens didn't even care
about slavery one way or the other in 1861.

I bring this up because as I was walking these historic battle grounds
I found myself reflecting on how similar the circumstances are today
to back then. No I don't think we're near any kind of cival war but I
do feel that a lot of people out there are tired of the over intrusion
of the federal government in their lives. I sincerly think that we are
on a slippery slope that could lead to a country that we neither
recognize nor care to live in.

It wasn't till 1957, I believe, that confederate soldiers were given
full U.S. Military rights and recognition. By then they were all dead.
Up until that time they were traitors & rebels. Imagine that, the
federal governmant finally acknowledged that those trailors & rebels
were legitimate soldiers fighting for their rights.

I am man

Loyal followers, let it be known that I am MAN. As I replaced my belt
tensioner today a couple thoughts passed through the Hammer's mind.
Literaly a couple, it was a quick job. So I'll now share those with my
legion of adoring fans.

Few things in this world are as gratifying to a manly man as repairing
his automobile with his own two hands. The squish of the grease
between your fingers, the warmth of the engine radiating onto your
arms, the sound of cussing as you rake your knuckles across a sharp
engine component. There's something magical about the whole situation.

I would encourage you all to get out there and get under the hood.
Even if there is nothing wrong, you can break something, blame it on
the wife, cuss her for ruining your Saturday, and then go out to the
garage and repair your car with your buddies. Trust me, you'll thank
me for that one.

In the world according to Hammer real men repair their cars, or at
least try before seeking professional help.

If I were homeless

This one time, Tony and I saw one of these in an old Peddler's Mall
parking lot. We were gonna take it home but it wouldn't fit in the
Freestyle. As we walked back from the car Tony said, "Man, if I was
homeless with kids I'd be rocking that thing." we laughed our asses off.
Now go forth my legions of loyal fans and spread the word of how funny
that shit was, in the world according to Hammer.

Silva the Ball Rubber

To my legions of loyal fans. I am at this moment mobile blogging.
Few things in this world are more gratifying than getting paid to take
a shit and blogging your personal column at the same time. True, fast
go carts are close, but not as gratifying, unless you're getting paid
to ride them too.
Usually I save my blogging for quiet moments at home but I knew that
certain loyal fans, who we'll call Chris, were eager for some fresh
World According to Hammer. So here goes.

This weekend some friends and I watched the UFC fights. First, I was
so disappointed that BJ Penn lost by a bullshit decision. Bu in the
world according to Hammer, you better knock a guy out and process to
the world that it's your belt, never leave it to the judges BJ.
Second, the Anderson Silva vs. Some Loser fight. I have to say that
Silva is by far the most skilled UFC fighter out there. He'll probably
crush GSP in their upcoming fight. However I have to point out that I
completely hated the taunting and poor showmanship display that was
put on by Silva. He fans may enjoy a little taunt, but only if you're
gonna finish the guy immediately after. Silva never closed the deal.
He's like some slut who tells you how good the pussy is over and over
but all she does is rub your balls till they're blue. That's Silva to
me, a ball rubbing media slut. In the world according to Hammer this
shit would not stand. If I were Dana White I'd have sent a crew of
pipe weilding, butch bulldyke truckers into that ring and given the
fans a real show while they went ape shit on Silva's skinny femanine
legs. Then I'd flush his career like I'm now doing with this turd. My
only prayer is that GSP will be able to break Silva's leg when they
fight. Go French Canada.
Till next time, that's the world according to Hammer.