The Notre Dame Fighting Irish left their fight and something more in South Bend, as they fell to Oregon State last night, losing their seventh consecutive bowl game in a fashion that exemplied their entire season — you just never knew which Irish team was going to show up and you invariably got the sinking feeling that the Irish coaching staff didn’t know either. “Win one for Willingham” turned out to be a hollow commitment and came as close to mirroring the legendary “Win one for the Gipper!,” as have many other elements of Irish lore during this now long-suffering, ignominious stretch of also-ran seasons. Team speed remained an issue, as did one of the most porous secondaries in college football. But worse were the moments of glaring ineptitude that spoke volumes about Willingham, his staff, and their collective inability to prepare and execute a worthy gameplan and to make the necessary adjustments at halftime to win. I don’t know how any Irish fan could watch last night’s debacle and continue to participate in the handwringing over Tyrone Willingham’s ouster. Willingham may not have been walking the sideline last night, but that was his team out on the field looking so mismatched against an inspired and aggressive Oregon State team. Notre Dame no longer keeps Christmas well (nor New Year’s Day, for that matter). They’re never in the hunt for the National Championship and even when they land a no-name bowl bid, they can’t muster the wherewithal to win. It is good, therefore, that the incoming president of the university was visited by three spirits in recent weeks: the Ghost of Christmas Past (the powerful alumni); the Ghost of Christmas Present (frustrated Irish fans); and the Ghost of Christmas Future (the promise of Charlie Weis to restore the lore and luster of a once inimitable football program).

My wife Cathy and I left our home in southeastern Texas early Wednesday morning, December 22nd, bound for northcentral Kentucky not only for a Christmastime family get-together with our two sons, two grandsons, daughter-in-law and my wife’s mother, but to see for the first time ever our new grandson, two week old Austin Burgess Higgins. The good news was we opted to travel in my wife’s Jeep 4×4, rather than my sedan. Had we not, we never would have made it. The bad news was from Texarkana, TX, on through the balance of our two day journey (more like a bad dream), we encountered the worst weather conditions I have ever driven through in my lifetime. In a trip that should take 18 - 19 hours of pure driving, I drove 18 hours on Day #1 of our “adventure,” getting as far as the eastside of Memphis, TN, and another 13 hours on Day #2. To say we were intrepid travelers is understatement. Some could fairly argue that we were nuts to keep going. It was eminently unsafe out there on the Interstates. However, conditions were such that once we were caught up in the nasty winter weather, we were committed. Arkansas was far and away the worst portion of the trip. It was that state’s worst snow and ice storm since 1990 and we caught the brunt of it. The Little Rock to Memphis leg of the trip should have taken 2 1/2 hours maximum. We hit the southern edge of Little Rock at 3:30pm CST and didn’t reach the bridge over the Mississippi River into Memphis, TN until midnight. And all along the way, through Arkansas, Tennessee and into Kentucky, all we saw (and oftentimes witnessed firsthand) were cars, pick-trucks and tractor-trailer combinations down in the medians or off either side of the Interstates — victims of black ice and, I suspect, poor driver judgement. There were interminable delays, as emergency responders tried futiley to clear the backlog of accidents and drag jacknifed big rigs from deep, snowy culverts. What an absolute mess. But, we made it. Many, I’m sure, did not. Passenger cars and pick-ups could not get traction on the upgrades, their tires spinning fitfully on the slick, ice-covered pavement. It was a scary proposition, but once we were a captive of the severe winter weather, turning around and heading back didn’t seem any safer an option than continuing on. So, on (and on) we went. If we weren’t at dead stops, oftentimes traffic wasn’t moving any faster than 20 - 25 miles per hour. But we weren’t stranded at an airport and we were never separated from our luggage. And now our first trip to visit our grandchildren may well become the stuff of legends — a part of family lore. At least in our own minds, anyway!

If you, family members and friends will be gathered around the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, and are of a mind to sing Christmas carols a cappella or with instrumental accompaniment (is there a pianist in the house?), it’s bad enough if some among you cannot carry a tune, but worse to muck up the lyrics! Here’s a website that can come to the rescue. You can look up any number of popular carols and print off the song lyrics to distribute to your amateur choir. Don’t forget to spike the eggnog, as it’ll help Aunt Em’ hit those high notes.

The American Thinker has kindly published an inspirational poem entitled “The Soldier’s Christmas,” written by a U.S. Marine, who has requested that it be circulated wide and far this holiday season in honor of the many sacrifices made by our men and women in uniform. It’s far too easy to get caught up in the traditions and festivities of the season and to forget that our troops are enduring hardship and homesickness, and the anxiety and turmoil of combat. This Marine has done a good thing. Take the time to read his words and reflect upon them. Count your blessings. Pray for the troops.

To honor him, his comrades in arms, our armed forces everywhere, and their loved ones, I print below the powerfully patriotic lyrics of country music artist Toby Keith’s American Soldier:

If you’ve not yet seen the bawdy, irrepressible, 93-year-old Marie Rudisill on NBC’s JAY LENO SHOW, then let me help you cure what’s ever ailing you. You’re in for more than a few chuckles, I promise you. You may have to see your internist about the onset of acute stomach spasms following your bout of gut-wrenching laughter, as this geriatric, dubbed The Fruitcake Lady, dispenses with her own special twist on television’s equivalent of an advice column.

The pull-no-punches Floridian cuts straight to the chase when the unwary pose a question or personal dilemma to her. If your feathers get ruffled by some off-color language, albeit from a woman who could be your great grandmother, then don’t link; but, if you’ll just let your hair down (and get the youngsters away from the computer screen), you’ll be in for a bushel basket of laughs. Personally, I think Ms. Rudisill ought to be retained as Special Counsel to Donald Rumsfeld. She’d cut through the red tape and get armor on those Humvees. Trust me, your stomachs may need armor plating before this is over!

Mother and Son … priceless!

Cathy put a nice frame around this beautiful shot of our daughter-in-law Krissy holding Austin Burgess. Krissy’s hubby, my younger son Joe, took this photograph with his new Nikon Coolpix 8800 digital camera. Of course, he had unquestionably superb subjects to photograph, but I must applaud him nonetheless for getting up-to-speed so quickly on his new toy. I’m still an old fuddy-duddy film guy, but my wife has already become a convert to digital. Do you think Ansel Adams would have eschewed film for digital technology had he the choice early in his career? There’s a romance in dealing with the vagaries of film (e.g., blocking your shots with different F-stops) while fussing over a camera, tripod and cable release, as the light changes and the ineffable beauty of a scene dissolves into plainness in a matter of heartbeats. Years ago, when our boys were young, I took a memorable photograph of them sitting side-by-side in a meadow of tall grass on the floor of Yosemite Valley. It wasn’t until the slides were developed that I knew I had the shot I wanted. If Joe ever gets there with Krissy and Austin, he’ll know immediately whether he has framed his shot properly and captured the moment. Ansel Adams didn’t know he had done inimitable justice to Half Dome until he got back to the dark room. I suppose it’s all in your “frame” of reference!

If you’re a dog lover, then DO NOT PASS GO — check out the Barneycam at the White House website. Just click on his photo by the Christmas tree under the heading, Where In The White House Is Miss Beazley? The video runs a tad long, but it’s masterfully produced and on the heels of a nasty election campaign, in which the bloodletting was over the top, it’s nice to get back down to earth and enjoy a mundane glimpse of the pet (soon to be joined by a second of the same breed) that brings joy to our President and First Lady.

Okay, I’m all for the rights of the accused to be “innocent until proven guilty in a court of law”; but, what must the parents of these children be thinking in allowing them to go to the Neverland Ranch given the charges filed against The Gloved One? Where’s the parental oversight and discretion? What provokes a parent to run such a risk? Is this simply the height of naivette or, worse, the endless search for freebies and ineluctable desire (forgive the expression) to rub up against a celebrity? There are things in this world that boggle the mind and trouble the soul. At least the story makes no reference to “Jesus Juice” hand-outs.

Kudos to President George W. Bush for being named Time magazine’s “Person of the Year” for 2004 (see the story in CNN) for his stunning victory over Teresa’s second husband and erstwhile heir to her/his prenuptual agreement, which will keep him in catsup, pickles and designer wet suits for the rest of his life, but not necessarily his Senate seat. It’s good to see the Liberal-biased MSM (mainstream media) begrudgingly saluting the president’s political dexterity and resilience in the face of whithering attacks. Whoopie must be beside herself. Can anybody tell me when Chevy Chase last got a cover story in Time?

Dreaming about new Head Coach Charlie Weis and whether Notre Dame football will experience a resurgence …

There’s a nice NYT’s write-up linked in Notre Dame Nation on The Irish’s new Head Football Coach Charlie Weis (see: Weis Made His Luck On Way To ND), who will come to South Bend having served as a well-regarded (some say “brilliant”) Offensive Coordinator for the Super Bowl Champions’ New England Patriots. This is a good site to bookmark if you’re into “Blue and Gold” football, as am I, my two sons, and the older of my two grandsons (Matthew). Our newest addition to the family, newborn Austin, will no doubt become a football junkie like his father and follow the family tradition of cheering on Notre Dame through thick and thin. With Charlie Weis now at the helm, this writer fervently hopes that the “thin” years are behind us and that the “thick” years loom on the not too distant horizon. Weis should become in no time an inspiration to the troops, as he’s a dyed-in-the-wool over-achiever, inveterate workaholic and true lover of sports. And for good measure, he’s a Notre Dame alum! Weis has trained at the feet of the masters — Parcells and Belichick — and has earned his bones with a reputation as a “sponge” and, the hyperbole notwithstanding, an “offensive genius.”

“Wonder when Grandpa will be here to hold me and tell me how handsome I am?”

Joe forwarded some nice digital photographs of his son (my grandson!) this afternoon and this is Cathy’s (”Granny’s”) favorite of the bunch (see above). Austin is becoming more expressive now and you can look into those eyes (will they remain blue?) and see the gears turning. So much to take in, so much for the senses to ferret out and begin making sense of — the “little man” appears alert, healthy and, if I may say so, serenely cerebral. There’s an umistakable curiosity staring back. Isn’t a new life magical? He’s just now in the very early stages of mentally writing what will become in time a voluminous autobiography. Where will life take him, what will he become, who will he touch and who will touch him, and what will his mark be? The world awaits Austin Burgess Higgins and he will assuredly leave an imprint. For now, however, let’s just cuddle him and kiss him, and thank the Good Lord for creating life and giving us someone new in the family to love. What a wonderful Christmas present. Thank you, Krissy and Joe.

SIMPLY TOO CUTE!

CAN THERE BE A HAPPIER FATHER?

Brothers Jim (3+ yrs) & Joe (7 days)

New Pappa Joe (10 days old in 1978)