The Tuck Rule

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Published on Thursday, 12 January 2012 15:58

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This posting concerns the Tuck Rule.  No, not the Tuck Rule game famously immortalized in the 2002 AFC Divisional playoff game between the New England Patriots and Oakland Raiders, but rather the unstated rule of whether to tuck your shirt in or leave it out.  

Before, I get into all that, a quick update.

I am still going strong on the Football Fan's Diet and it is J-12 already.  I watched what I ate, I have routinely exercised, and I am staying motivated.  As a result, I have not lost one day to my unhealthy self since I started this last season on The Football Fans Diet.  The winning trend began last week and is continuing into this one.  That is awesome.

However I do from this point forward I am happy with my health progress to date.  That happiness is perhaps no better exemplified then my willingness to go with a tuck in.  You see, I wore a collared shirt today and tucked it in my pants.  Call me old school, but I believe collared shirts should be tucked in.  I should add, however, that I think nothing looks worse than having a big enormous beer gut dunlop over the belt buckle.  Because I have one of these big things, I have avoided the tuck.  Well, I would tuck, but I would throw a sweater over the whole shebang.  The sweater over a collared shirt hid well that unsightly lopping of my dun over my flop (did that make sense?).

At last, today was different.  Today, I donned the collared shirt and tucked that bastard into the zippered realm. Was there loppage over my flop?  Dun right about that but the dunlopping was minimal comparatively speaking.  Indeed the hard work is slowly paying off.  I have touchdowns to show for it but I also have a tucked in shirt to sport.

Survived an irritable Monday - Was it the Beer On Sunday or the fact The Steelers Blew It?

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Published on Tuesday, 10 January 2012 21:02

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I am desperately trying to change my lifestyle and we need look no further than most people to know that changing oneself is just about as difficult as changing a mountain by looking at it.  This mountain has about 100 pounds to loose.  

Yes, I know, some Buddha nugget of wisdom would counter that the mountain doesn't change or your don't change or whatever, but this is now, this is me. This is the year 2012, which if the Mayans got it right, will be the last on Earth.  I can't go out a fat guy, right? 

Okay, I am pretty sure the Mayan's got it wrong.  After all, they aren't here anymore?  So maybe their clock was a little off.  Speaking of which, I was off on Monday.  Following the Steelers loss to Tim Tebow (our Savior), I was very irritable.  I was not sure if this was because the night before the Steelers fell short or it was all the beer I drank during the game or both?

I noticed something.  Days after beer, which I love, I do feel quite moody.  Is it the fact that I am no longer having beer?  What is it?  Surely beer can't be the downer that some doctors claim it is, right?  Do the suds momentarily pick you up only to let you a lot farther down?  I don't know. 

I do know, the thought of that next cheat meal indeed keeps me going.   I also know that moving mountains is damn near impossible to do - that is unless you do it one pebble at a time.  On that note, you can't win the game or loose it on one play, such as a blown Ike Taylor coverage, which is about the worst coverage I have ever seen ever since I signed up with that fly-by-night insurance company. Nope.  It is a mountain of plays that determine if you reach the summit or never got past the foothills.

It is a series of first downs that will win the game or loose it for you if you can't muster up enough of them.  It is the small stuff.  It matters little when the Mayan calender ends, rather it only matters what you do in this second.  So on this Tuesday, I am going to focus on getting the next first down.  I'll work my way up to that mountain next !

A Cheat Meal Is A Must And Who Said "Hi Dad" To The Fat Guy?

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Published on Thursday, 05 January 2012 22:00

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I must laugh at my fatness. Apparently my wife and daughter were walking down the street outside of my son's daycare, holding my son's hand, when he looked at a really, really, large fat guy that wobbled when he walked and my son said "Hi, Dad."  What a wake up call.  So the answer to the title of this posting about Who said "Hi, Dad" to the fat guy is my son. 

Love you little guy.  But, 40-year-old fat dad is trying. Trying like hell to become healthy so he can live another 40.

I am actually off to a great start on the 2012 edition of the Football Fan's Diet.  It is "Jay 5" as I pronounced January 5th, 2012 and I am beginning to feel a bit lighter.  Heck, the scale has even demonstrated a relative modest "less fat guy" as well.  All well and nice, but I would like to talk about something I believe is critical for me to achieve health and that is the "cheat meal."

The cheat meal is some folks way of approaching dieting by going so long on a strict regimen of whatever sorts and then allowing yourself for a cheat whereby you can lay off the Taliban rules and simply go at your grub any which way you choose.  Although, I like to look at them from the football fan's perspective and call them the day off after a hard fought game. 

All NFL teams have a day off after the game to rest up for next week.  There is a reason why this is done in football because if you didn't you would run every player until his limbs fell off. 

In a similar vein, you can't do crazy diets forever.  Take a day off at the end of the week and don't overdo it and get back into the film room and prepare for next week when it is over.  That is my "cheat meal" mechanism on the Football Fan's Diet. 

I have to agree that planning such days is not a bad way to go if you have a lot of weight to loose. And remember that word "planning".  Don't just decide at the spur of the moment today is my "cheat meal" because I simply feel like being a pig.  That would be, eh, considering cheating.  Don't cheat your cheat meal when dieting you blob. 

However, I plan to use my cheat meals in ever greater periods of intermittent delay.  That is, I may have a a "cheat beer" day where I allow myself for watching a football game with all the trappings I can chew or swallow (within reason), especially as it appears my Pittsburgh Steelers are ready to crucify (perhaps a poor choice of words considering the saintly Tim Tebow) the Denver Broncos.

So relax the day after a win on the Football Fan's Diet.  Sit back and chase any kid's down the street that look at you and say hi to the fat guy. 

The Hierarchy of Fat Pants

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Published on Wednesday, 04 January 2012 21:05

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You may have heard of Maslow's hierarchy of needs whereby human beings in general whom have progressed beyond the physiological deficiency needs of say beer, butter, and bacon have actually went on to do something with their lives. With all apologies to Maslow, I noticed going through my wardrobe the other day that there is a similar hierarchy of pants - fat pants - to be more specific.

When you are in shape you view clothes differently.  Styles matter.  Looks matter.  The type of tailoring is important.  You pay attention to the texture of the fabric, the color of the material.  You look in the mirror and turn here and there to see if such pants look just right.  You then are at the top of the pyramid.

When you are a fat man or fat broad you are likely happy that they simply fit.  These are your fat pants.  You my friend are at the lowest wrong of the pant needs.  You are happy they simply can be stretched over your mammoth humps.  Such pants are rightfully at the bottom of the hierarchy of pants pyramid because as would be befitting the bottom wrung of any pyramid your fat pants are no doubt the widest textiles in the closet and thus constitute great material for the base of any structure let alone a pyramid.

My fat pants are a pair of dark Levi jeans and a pair of lighter Levi jeans. I also have 2 or 3 other fat casual pantaloons, which normally accompany me to work, when I am in the mood to use words like pantaloons.  I am happy that these pants simply fit.

Deeper in the wardrobe is an ever shrinking smaller set of pants, which one long day from now an archeologist is likely to determine that whoever lived in this house apparently grew a new tree ring around the buttocks every year. 

And here I am now in my fat pants, wondering what it would be like one day to pick from the older pants in the closet not based on if they actually fit, rather if they actually look good.