If you hunt or fish, you’ll find there are some activities that are more highly revered than others, at least they are by zealots of the sport. Take quail hunting, for example. While quail in our part of the country have basically gone the way of the Studebaker, there are those who still keep a brace of pointers and seek out those widely scattered pockets of cover that may hold a covey or two. Why? Because quail hunting is so special to them; they just can’t entertain thoughts that quail numbers continue to shrink.

Then there are the fly fishermen. The average angler heads for the lake or the creek bank armed with rods and reels, or a cane pole and bucket of worms. While some rod and reelers and cane polers have perfected their craft to a fine edge, the average fisherman just wants to catch supper, and the gear he selects is what he feels will allow him to do that most effectively.

Ah, but the fly fisherman is a far different creature. He’s probably more of a purist; a perfectionist, than any other sportsman. He talks in almost reverential tones of tippets and Royal Coachmen and such. He ties his own flies; builds his own rods. It’s as if the process of preparing to fly fish is an end in itself.

I once tried fly fishing, but I soon learned that I lack something in the “purist” category. I purchased my outfit years ago at the local discount store for $29.95. No, that was not the price of the fly line; that was the package price for rod, reel, line, leader and a box of flies. I took my purchase to a local pond where I’d located a bed of bluegills in the shallows. I managed to catch a few fish but I spent an inordinate amount of time getting my popping bug untangled from the myrtle bush behind me.

I also noticed a lack of dexterity when it came to making “the cast.” I almost threw out my shoulder trying to emulate the fly fishers I’d watched on TV.  While they made it look so easy, I spent most of my fishing time tripping over line wrapped around my ankles and getting a half-hitch from around my ear.

While on a turkey hunting trip to South Dakota several years ago, I spent some time with Dick Leir, owner of Dakota Angler and Outfitter, and as he drove me alongside the sparkling-clear streams in the Black Hills, he talked about his favorite sport, fly fishing.

“Fly fishing can be frustrating, but once you get over the initial aggravation, it is a calming sport,” Leir explained. “There is an evolution that takes place in the life of a fly fisher. At first, his goal is to catch ‘a’ fish. Once he accomplishes this, he wants to catch a ‘lot’ of fish. Then he progresses to wanting to catch a ‘big’ fish; then a ‘lot of big’ fish. He arrives as a genuine fly fisher when his consuming desire is to catch ‘that’ fish.

“Fly fishing is unique in that it is one of the few do-it-yourself sports. Anglers get a lot of satisfaction from painstakingly building their own rods and becoming adept at tying their own flies. To catch ‘that’ fish on a rod you have built with a fly you have tied offers the utmost satisfaction,” said Leir.

According to Leir, trout fishermen don’t go to a stream with the purpose of catching fish to eat.

“The object is not to catch ‘supper.’ Wild trout are much too valuable for that. A legendary fly fisherman, the late Lee Wulfe once said, ‘a trout is too valuable a commodity to catch only once,’” recalled Leir.

While wild trout are the number one quarry of most fly fishers, practically any species of fish can be caught on a flyrod. We don’t have trout in Louisiana, but there are other fish that can provide great sport for the flyrodder. Bedded bluegills, like I attempted to catch, bass and crappie are all amenable to being caught on fly tackle.

As advanced age has caught up with me, I have laid aside my fly rod and casting rod and settled for a seat in a comfortable chair on the bank of a pond with bedded bluegills swirling the water just off shore. Skewering on a cricket and lobbing it into the mass of bream, I’m as happy as a fly fisherman wading a clear mountain stream for trout. 

Contact Glynn at glynnharris37@gmail.com

---

Doesn’t seem that long ago but in 2018, one of best guys we know gave another one of the best guys we know a gift certificate to Superior’s Steakhouse, and he used the card to treat the Shreveport-Bossier Journal staff to lunch with local sports icons Bobby Aillet and Leo Sanford.

We are easily led. Especially when free food is involved. And lunch with heroes.

In a comfy “meeting” room, we sat there for nearly three hours and overate and listened to these two Louisiana Tech Athletics Hall of Famers and, at the time, besties for 70 of their nearly 90 years as bona fide dudes.

There are worse ways to spend time and money.  

When Mr. Bobby died three years ago this week, age 93, it was J.J. Marshall who recalled that day and said to me, “I could have sat there and listened to them talk all afternoon.” 

We just about did.

And now Mr. Leo has passed this early spring at 94, two of the final members of The National Association for the Advancement of Grandstand Quarterbacks (NAAGQ), an exclusive “club” for more than 70 years, formed by Tech football teens going off to war in 1943, a group whose families grew up together and, through the years, grew old together.

They weren’t stingy about sharing stories — if they were asked. No chest-beating in this bunch. Thankfully, they shared enough of themselves that we’ll always have stuff to carry around.

Leo was a member of the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame, the Ark-La-Tex Museum of Champions, a star at Shreveport’s Fair Park High, a Pro Bowler in the NFL, a league champ in 1958 with Johnny Unitas and the Baltimore Colts, a humble bear of a man with oven-mitt-sized paws who, after this playing days, sold class rings and letter jackets to students all over the area; he sold that stuff but the smiles and understated jokes, he did those for free.

He loved to tell about him and another Tech recruit being driven from Shreveport to Ruston by legendary Tech football assistant Jimmy Mize, and Coach Mize asking Leo’s friend what he wanted to major in, and the kid said, “Engineering,” so then Coach Mize asked Leo the same thing, and Leo said he was thinking that if his buddy could learn to drive a train, so could he, so Leo said, “Engineering.”

Another one’s about Coach Joe Aillet with Leo and some other linemen in a crescent moon around Aillet and the coach hollers “I need a dummy!” and nothing happens for like five second so Leo jumped out toward coach and Aillet said, “Not you, Sanford. I need a BLOCKING dummy.” (Leo would tell the story and shrug his shoulders: “He said he needed a dummy so …”)

When Sanford established the largest endowed scholarship in Tech Athletics history in honor of his wife Myrna after her passing in 2018, Leo told his buddies at their Friday morning unofficial club meeting at Shreveport’s Southfield Grill that “I’d be happy to have given the second-largest endowed scholarship if one of you other guys would step up.”

It was an almost ordained sort of special, the times Leo and Bobby and their football friends and families got to share. Disheartening to think it’s over, but then again, these were times built on love, and love never dies. No good thing ever does.

Speaking of love, this is from Myrna’s obit: “On their first real date he told her he was going to marry her, and she told him he was crazy. While she spent the next 68 years admitting he was right, she’d also tell you he was still crazy.”

Curt Joiner, one of Leo’s sons-in-law, will tell you it’s always been a “good” kind of crazy. “I don’t know if there’s any guy in the world I enjoy spending an evening with more than my father-in-law,” Joiner said.

A lot of guys share that feeling.

Contact Teddy at teddy@latech.edu

---

By the late JERRY BYRD, written for the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame, 1992

In 1943, when he was a sophomore at Shreveport’s Fair Park High, Leo Sanford was one of only four players on the football squad who didn’t get game uniforms.

Fifteen years later, he wrapped up an eight-year NFL career in a game that is still considered “the greatest game ever played.”

Between those milestones, Sanford helped Fair Park reach the 1945 state finals and helped Louisiana Tech win two Gulf States Conference championships.

In 1969, the 100^th anniversary of college football, the Louisiana Sports Writers Associatioin selected an all-time Louisiana collegiate team. The centers were Max Fugler, from LSU’s 1958 national championship team, and Sanford.

Offensive linemen rarely receive individual recognition, but Sanford played on both offense and defense in high school, college and in the NFL. He was a starting linebacker in the 1957 and 1958 Pro Bowls, but throughout his career was equally effective at center.

Until his senior year at Fair Park, Sanford’s chief claim to fame was winning All-City distinction in the trombone three times in elementary school and twice at Fair Park. As a senior, he was a backup linebacker on a team that reached the Class AA state finals before bowing to Holy Cross of New Orleans.

Returning the following season for an extra year of eligibility, as many prep players did at that time, Sanford stood out on a Fair Park team that lost the district championship to Haynesville. After the 1946 Indians completed their season, with a 12-7 Thanksgiving Day victory over Byrd, Sanford had scholarship offers from LSU, Florida and Louisiana Tech.

He chose Tech because of two people: Joe Aillet and Myrna Mims. Aillet was Tech’s head coach, while Mims was the future Mrs. Leo Sanford. She was working in Shreveport, and Sanford didn’t want to attend a school so far away that he couldn’t visit her frequently.

In his sophomore year at Tech Sanford played a key role in the Bulldogs’ 13-13 tie with Auburn. His 50-yard interception return for a touchdown was erased by a penalty on the runback, but the turnover set up a Tech TD.

The highlight of his four years at Tech was a 33-13 victory over Mississippi Southern, which was considered the No. 1 small-college team in the nation that year. Jimmy Harrison and Gene Knecht were Tech’s offensive stars in that win, while Sanford led a charge that held Mississippi Southern to minus 12 yards rushing.

Sanford was a three-year starter, All-GSC two years in a row, and was captain of the 1950 Bulldogs.

He was a sixth-round selection of the Chicago Cardinals in the NFL Draft. Several weeks later, Sanford received a standard player contract in the mail. If he made the team, he would be paid $5,000 for the 1951 season. Sanford, who was making $275 a month with Pan Am Southern Oil in New Orleans, decided it would behoove him to make the team.

At 6-1, 220, he was a bit small to play center and linebacker in the NFL. But he made up for it with great quickness and versatility. In high school and college, he had played for teams using the direct center snap (before the T-formation took over). His deep snapping ability was a plus for his NFL aspirations.

He had plenty of competition. Another rookie candidate for the Cardinals’ center position was Notre Dame All-American Jerry Groom, a first-round draft choice. Still another was Knox Ramsey, younger brother of Cardinals’ linebacker coach Buster Ramsey. When the coach moved his brother to a guard position, Sanford felt he had an excellent chance to make the team.

He called defensive signals for the Cardinals in 1956 and had two interceptions and a fumble recovery in a victory over the Eagles. One of his career highlights was a club-record 92-yard touchdown on an interception return against the Steelers.

“Leo is one of the league’s finest linebackers because of his speed,” said Cardinals’ coach Ray Richards.

After seven seasons in Chicago, he was traded to the Baltimore Colts just in time for their championship season in 1958 – capped by a come-from-behind 23-17 overtime victory over the New York Giants that would be called “the greatest game ever played.”

It was the last game Sanford ever played. He tore up his right knee in the first half, but still managed to limp back out for deep snaps – including the one for Steve Myhra’s 20-yard field goal with seven seconds remaining in regulation to force overtime.

That snap was the final play of Sanford’s career. He attempted a comeback in 1959, but his knee gave out in the second week of training camp. Sanford spend the season in the press box, scouting opponents.

He gave pro football one more shot in 1960, trying out for the expansion Dallas Cowboys. Once again, the knee didn’t cooperate. After a couple of weeks, Sanford told coach Tom Landry he was calling it a career.

By that time, he was already a sporting goods salesman in the offseason. He later switched to the senior ring business, traveling the Ark-La-Tex for many years..

• This profile was written for the 1992 book “Louisiana Sports Legends” book comprised of Jerry Byrd’s profiles of every inductee of the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame. Sanford was enshrined in 1990. He died last week at age 94 and will be laid to rest today in his hometown after a family funeral service.

---

This is a special time of year, for many reasons. For the outdoorsman and woman, fishing is on the verge of getting white-hot and it’s about time to start chasing gobblers.

There is one thing that more and more outdoor enthusiasts have taken an interest in over the past few years. Seed and feed stores will bear this out. Bird watching has grown into a sport that is attracting not only the Jane Hathaway types but good ole boys and girls as well. Birdseed, feeders and bird books are hot items today.

This is the time of year when a plethora of species make the unbelievable trek from South and Central America to move into our woods, some to nest and some to make brief stops on their way north. The best way to know just which wild bird species are paying you a visit is to get yourself prepared to view them. Here are a few essentials to make this sport more enjoyable.

BIRD FEEDERS – These come in a variety of shapes and styles. You can buy them, or you can make them yourself. My personal favorite is one I once constructed that was squirrel-proof. I nailed a 3-foot square of plywood on top of a length of old power pole that extends some five feet above the ground. Before securing the plywood, I slipped a length of sheet metal pipe, something like a stovepipe, over the pole, making it difficult for squirrels and raccoons to climb.

BIRDSEED – I use two types; a black oil sunflower and wild bird mix. Others use thistle for finches or suet for woodpeckers and nuthatches.  Be sure you replenish the supply regularly, especially after a rain since birdseed will spoil if left wet and unattended too long.

WATER – Birds, like humans, need water. A birdbath located somewhere in the yard will attract birds that come to water and bathe. A pump in the bath that circulates water will often attract warblers and other species that are not seed-eaters.

BINOCULARS – Leave a good pair of binoculars near your easy chair or wherever you can sit and watch what goes on around your feeder. Good viewing glasses makes bird identification so much simpler.

BIRD BOOKS – I have several and these are invaluable in helping me determine which species I’m viewing. I also keep a log of new sightings to help me build a list of birds I’ve identified.

Another type of bird will be here any day now, but you won’t find it feeding on sunflower seeds. It’s hummingbird time and they’re easy to attract. All you need to do is hang a couple of hummingbird feeders outside your window for a colorful aerial display.

Here are some facts about these tiny creatures you might find interesting.

• Hummingbirds wings beat about 55 times per second in normal flight, and up to 200 beats per second during courtship and territorial displays.

• Top speed for the hummingbird is about 60 miles per hour.

• During migration, hummingbirds may travel 500 miles non-stop across the Gulf of Mexico.

• Their nests are no bigger than a half dollar and their eggs the size of an English pea.

FEEDER TIPS

• Make your own hummingbird food by mixing one part granulated white sugar to four parts water; never substitute honey for sugar.

• Hang feeders in the open but shaded areas, especially under eaves next to hanging flower baskets.

• Clean your feeders every two to three days so the liquid does not ferment. Feeders should be cleaned with vinegar or bleach (not soap) and then rinsed with scalding water.

• Don’t worry about when to take your feeders down. Hummingbirds know when to leave. Late season feeding of northern migrants often occurs after your resident birds have already gone. They won’t stay behind and freeze.

While hummingbirds need nectar for energy, they also rely on insect protein for body and feather growth. When insect levels fall, the birds begin to leave.

Bird watching…it’s inexpensive, it’s rewarding and it’s fun. And I’m glad that even good ole boys can enjoy it.

Contact Glynn at glynnharris37@gmail.com

---

For today, a step away from sports and a step into Easter for a look at a trio who witnessed that first Easter weekend …

Simon of Cyrene could not have known when he woke up that first Good Friday that his life would, in mid-morning, change forever. After all, he was just passing through. By divine circumstance, his path crossed the path of the beaten and bleeding Savior.

A scared and timid step forward, a shove, and Simon was in an unwanted spotlight, “compelled” by a soldier’s whip and order into a moment that would capture his life in God’s Word for eternity.

But it would also capture his heart.

He was told to help carry the condemned man’s cross.

Few people run toward the cross. Most of us have to be compelled by the soldier of misfortune, suffering, disease, and any of a thousand pains and problems. Even then, we pick it up kicking and screaming.

But what if we could be like Simon. Surely . . . after looking into Jesus’ eyes that day, after seeing up close his shredded back, His crown of thorns, surely . . . Simon knew that, in comparison, the yoke was easy. Jesus always does the hard part.

How could Simon look at that and not be changed forever?

That Friday evening, while Simon and so many others tried to process the events of the day, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus took the body of Jesus and wrapped it in strips of linen “in accordance with Jewish burial customs,” John writes in his gospel record. They did it secretly for fear of the Jewish leaders. But, with Pilate’s permission, they did it.

These two Jews — well, Pilate too — knew there was something about Jesus. Something…

As tombs go, the new one where they placed the body of Jesus after the crucifixion wasn’t used for very long.

On the third day, a day we celebrate as Easter, Jesus rose, by the power of God.

That’s the kind of power that’s available to us. Wonder-working power, is how the old hymn puts it. 

Our actions say so much about the human condition when we consider how we fret over things that God wishes we wouldn’t. We have his power available to us, and we so often ignore it.

The tomb, the scriptures say, was close to Golgotha, a Latin word meaning “the skull.” But in the shadow of death there on that hill was eternal life. On Easter, God raised his son.

An empty tomb represents what God accomplished in the fullness of time. The empty tomb represents what God offers through his son: grace and life, protection, provision, and peace.

In the emptiness is a fullness only God can offer, grant, and sustain. Forever.

Joseph and Nicodemus must have been among the first to have heard the news of the empty tomb. More than curiosity must have pulled them to the place where they’d placed the dead man. But they’d found only linens. No body. “We knew,” they must have thought, “that something was different.” They just didn’t know how different.

A whole new way of dying. And a whole new way of living. 

Then in the days and weeks after, as news of the Resurrection spread and reached Simon, I imagine his horror of that day turned into an overwhelming feeling of honor. I imagine him on his knees and, through tears, gazing toward Heaven, arms extended, awed, overcome. I imagine his arms around his sons, his grateful whisper in their ears: “I walked with that Man . . ..”

---

Last Sunday I saw it for the first time. At first, I didn’t know where that dust was coming from that I found on the windshield when I crawled behind the wheel preparing to head to church. Then I noticed the light golden color of the tiny flecks of dust. It hit me.

Pollen. Pine pollen.

Glancing at the ends of the branches of the hundreds of loblolly pines in my yard, I saw the swollen buds, locked and loaded to dump their load of aggravating yellow dust with no concern as to where their loads would land.

Pine pollen is produced by male pine cones, just trying out their masculinity I suppose. Some people are allergic to pine pollen, the same people are also likely to have allergic reactions to grass pollen. The culprit for most who experience bouts of hay fever in spring comes from pollen produced and released by oaks, hickories, rag weed and other such plants. 

My wife enjoys opening the windows during spring to take advantage of nice comforting breezes. However, once the first bit of pollen is seen, she is not happy because this means she has to wait until pollen season ends in a few weeks to be able to open windows. By then, it’s starting to warm up too much to enjoy the pleasant springtime breezes.

Keeping windows open during pollen season is to invite yellow dust to make itself at home on the couch, chairs, tabletops, carpet, floors et al.

The stuff is indiscriminate; it cares not a bit that when it comes into your home uninvited; it’s like the obnoxious cousin, Randy Quaid in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation who comes to visit with wife and kids disrupting family plans and is in no hurry to leave.

As much as we despise the hated yellow powder, the Internet has discovered and shares a number of reasons why we should give it some love.

Believe it or not, pine pollen has health benefits with research suggesting pine pollen has antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties. It contains a natural anti-depressant that stimulates dopamine levels in the brain.

Wait, here’s more. Pine pollen can help reduce cholesterol levels and improve cardiovascular health. Here’s a good one; pine pollen is especially beneficial for men because it contains high levels of testosterone. It can bolster your immunity to anti-aging as well as reducing fatigue, regulating metabolism, lowering blood pressure and protects the liver.

It can be used for the topical treatment of eczema, psoriasis, seborrheic dermatitis and other dry, itchy, flaky or inflamed skin conditions.

These research sources are suggesting that maybe we should give pine pollen more love because of all its benefits instead of treating it like a bad case of the flu.

As for me, it’s just too hard to create pleasant pictures in my mind of all the nice things this stuff can do while it’s coating my car, my driveway, my porch with that obnoxious yellow dust.

Even with all these good things pine pollen can do, I still don’t like it.

Contact Glynn at glynnharris37@aol.com

---

Because we are in the middle of high school and college baseball season and because desperate times call for desperate measures, I am having to name myself Infield Fly Rule Sheriff for north Louisiana and maybe even for east Texas.

This is effective immediately. No time to waste …

The Infield Fly Rule can make you look crazier than a road lizard, more foolish than the guy who botched the one-car funeral procession. Not knowing this rule has caused more Walk of Shames than beer.

We’ve witnessed it mangled twice last week.

Once, a defender’s mistake cost his team a run. The other time, a baserunner ran his team out of an inning.

This happens more often than you’d think. And when it does, it looks like a prison break.

“An infield fly is a fair ball — not including a line drive nor an attempted bunt — which can be caught by an infielder with ordinary effort, when first and second, or first, second and third bases are occupied, before two are out.”

Once the umpire declares “Infield Fly!” and/or points to the sky, the batter is out and all force plays are removed, regardless of whether the ball is caught.

This is to protect defenseless runners: an infielder in this situation could drop the ball on purpose and then turn an easy double play.

The rule sounds tricky but it’s not once you ponder it for a moment. And the moment to ponder is not when the Infield Fly Rule has been declared. It’s now, while no bullets are flying and all is quiet on the western front. 

So, the examples from last week:

Runners first and second, one out, fly to infield’s right side. Infield Fly is declared. Fielder misses the ball, and the runner on second, safe as grandma’s banana pudding secret recipe, semi-panics and takes off for third. The throw from the second baseman, who’s recovered the ball, is in plenty of time — BUT the third baseman doesn’t tag the runner. Steps on the bag thinking there was a force. But the force is off once Infield Fly is declared. The runner, who was surprised as anyone by his good fortune, then scored on a two-out base hit.

In the other example, runners were on first and second, one out, their team trailing by a run, eighth inning. Big Moment. Infield Fly is declared on a very high pop behind first; it hits the fielder’s glove and drops maybe three feet from him and — the runner on second bolted toward third as if propelled from a cannon. Easy throw to the third baseman, who makes the tag, end of that half inning and end of threat.

Makes your heart hurt.

So it is my suggestion that each team designate an Infield Fly Rule Captain. Or it could be Infield Fly Rule Sergeant-at-Arms or Infield Fly Rule Flavor of the Day/Ringmaster/Man About Town. Whatev. The point is, when the Infield Fly Rule is in effect as noted above, that appointed Infield Fly Rule Specialist is yelling to the baserunners, “HOLD YOUR BASE, FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING DECENT AND GOOD, DO NOT MOVE!”

Whether the fielder catches the fly or not, you are safe. Batter up.

Now if you are a fielder — this will take some practice and communication and work and your coach will have to agree — you almost always “have” to let the ball drop. The batter will be out anyway, the runners probably won’t know the rule or will panic, and you can double one up. If the runners don’t move and the ball doesn’t drop and take a wild bounce, no problem. Ball back to pitcher. Batter up.

And if you forget all that, it’s OK. The important thing is that you find and read “Mitch and the Infield Fly Rule,” an essay by the master of the art, the late and great Mississippian Willie Morris.

In it, when Morris taught a class in the American Novel as writer-in-residence at Ole Miss in the 1980s, a “willowy, full-breasted blond Chi Omega” called Mitch, 21 and a straight-A student, “tall and slender and lithesome, wry and irreverent and whimsical,” stands in class one day, recites the Infield Fly Rule in its entirety and finishes by saying, to her wide-eyed classmates in the cataclysmic quietness of the large amphitheater classroom and with a throaty Bacall voice, “I always thought it a fine rule.”

Contact Teddy at teddy@latech.edu

---

ALEXANDRIA — It’s about time for former Byrd High golfer Philip Barbaree Jr. to win his first professional golf tournament, and he couldn’t ask for a better place to do so than a couple hours down I-49.

Barbaree, a former LSU standout, is one of about 140 golfers who will be competing in the All Pro Tour’s Coke/Dr. Pepper Open this week in Alexandria at the Links on the Bayou, the site of one of his great triumphs as an amateur. Ten years ago, he won the Louisiana Junior Amateur Championship at the Links by six strokes with a record 54-hole total of 197, which is 19-under-par.

The following year, he earned two more impressive crowns, winning the U.S. Junior Amateur Championship at Colleton River Plantation Club in Bluffton, S.C., and the American Junior Golf Association Rolex Tournament of Champions at the Crosswater Course in Sunriver, Ore.

Barbaree’s hometown of Shreveport is about 125 miles north of Alexandria. The two cities are connected by the Red River and Interstate 49, and Philip feels a warm connection to Alexandria, which he visited often as a youth when his grandparents, Marion and Jane Chaney, lived here. They have since moved to Shreveport.

Since turning pro in 2021, Philip is hunting for that elusive tournament title. The 25-year-old finished 14^th on the APT Tour’s money-winning list last year with almost $21,000 in earnings, so it’s not as if he has struggled as a pro.

“There are a lot of good players on this tour and in this event,” he said in a phone interview. “It’s about playing good at the right time. I’m still going at it. I think I’m on the right track. I’ve been playing well. I think good things are up ahead.”

Philip’s best finish as a pro was a second-place tie in the Southwest Kansas Pro-Am last August. He has since added the experience from a couple of Tour qualifying schools, including one that took him across Europe to Italy and Spain. Further confidence has come from his almost two years of working with PGA teaching pro Chad Darby, who works at the David Toms 265 Academy in Shreveport.

“He’s been great for my game and my attitude,” Barbaree said, noting Darby can keep things simple and is always willing to help when asked.

Barbaree’s best friend is fellow Shreveport native and former LSU teammate Sam Burns, whose golf résumé includes five PGA Tour championships and a Ryder Cup victory.

“I talk to him weekly, if not daily,” said Philip. “He’s always encouraging and helpful. Whenever we’re in town at the same time, we’ll play and see how our games match up. It’s great to see what he’s done and how successful he’s been.”

So how do their games match up?

“On any given day,” Barbaree said, “I can beat him and he can beat me.”

The obvious takeaway from that, Philip said, is Burns plays better more consistently.

“Consistency and repeatability, that’s what I need to work on,” said Barbaree.

Alexandria is a good fit to hone those virtues.

“It’s always great coming back to Alexandria, where I spent a lot of time, and I know the course well,” he said.

The APT tournament kicks off today with the Robby Rogenmoser Shootout with 10 two-man teams in scramble and alternate shot competition for seven holes, with one amateur and one pro on each team. Tuesday is the Walker GMC Pro-Am, with four-man teams — three amateurs and one pro on each team. The 54-hole competition amongst the pros runs Wednesday through Saturday.

Manna House of Alexandria is again partnering with the APT to present the tournament, which has a total purse of $130,000 and will raise money for the local soup kitchen.

Barbaree, who has qualified for two PGA Tour events, including the 2018 U.S. Open, nine  PGA Tour Canada events and five Korn Ferry Tour events, is itching to return to a town and course he likes as much as Marvel movies and seize a breakthrough victory as a pro.

“At the end of the tournament,” he said, “I want to be sitting with the (championship) trophy.”

Not to mention $20,000 in prize money. 

---

Hunting wild turkeys in spring has always been my favorite thing to do in the realm of hunting. It started for me in 1992 when on my very first time to hunt turkeys, I was able to take a fine gobbler on a guided hunt in Alabama and I was immediately hooked.

With the age factor along with joints that no longer function as they should, I have had to give up the sport I love and rely on memories of special hunts. With that in mind, here’s memories of my most special turkey hunt, as shared some time ago, when I was still actively chasing gobblers. 

This is the time of year when guys and gals of my ilk crawl out of warm beds early mornings to head for the woods. Granted, no hunting season is open now and we’re not out there to circumvent the law; we’re going out to “listen,” as you’ll overhear us talking about what we did on early pre-spring mornings. We’re going out to “listen” for a gobbler.

Season was still a few weeks away, but there’s something about getting to hear a gobbler sound off from his roost tree that gets the juices flowing and serves to fire us up for what we hope to hear opening morning. 

Not only is it possible to locate where gobblers are roosting, you can also find tracks, droppings, strut marks and such to find where birds are hanging out. Such was the case for me on March 19, 2008 when I stumbled upon the mother lode of turkeys.

After an early morning of listening for a gobbler when the woods were silent, I drove up to a well site back in the woods on my hunting club. I didn’t need to hear a gobbler that morning; when I rounded the curve leading to the well site, I saw turkeys – a whole bunch of turkeys including several strutting gobblers. When they saw me, they took off but no problem; I knew where I’d be set up on opening morning.

The next afternoon, I set up my ground blind in a thicket next to the well site, and cleared brush so I could see the area where the turkeys had gathered the day before.

Granted, it was hard to sleep that night as my mind kept running back to what I had seen two days prior.

March 21 was opening day and I arrived at my blind well before daylight. I decided to sweeten the pot by placing “Pretty Boy,” my strutting tom decoy, on the well site with a submissive hen crouching in front of the tom. Then I waited for daylight with high expectations of what I hoped would happen.

Once the eastern sky began to illuminate the woods and the cardinals and barred owls began their morning chorus, I heard a gobble from the woods directly in front of where I sat.

Waiting a couple of minutes, I stroked a few sweet yelps on my slate call and was greeted with an immediate gobble. Then I just sat back and waited to see what would happen next.

In less than 10 minutes, I saw a white head pop up on the far edge of the well site 100 yards away. Then another head and then a third head as three gobblers began looking for the “hen” they thought they’d heard.

What happened next was what turkey hunters dream about; all three gobblers spied Pretty Boy and the little hen and it became a foot race to see who could get there first to chase away what they envisioned to be a gobbler that had invaded their territory. 

One gobbler won the race and immediately attacked the fake gobbler, sending him careening off the stake where I had placed him. All three proceeded to give the fake a thrashing like I’d never seen with a chorus of clinks and rattles as their beaks and spurs pummeled the hard plastic.

One of the gobblers separated from the other two, I got a bead on him and dropped him. I expected the other two to hightail it when I shot but no; they jumped on the flopping bird I had shot and began pecking and spurring their fallen cohort unmercifully.

I could have easily taken both the other gobblers but I had my limit for the day and all I could do was sit back and enjoy the show until a vehicle approached and they scattered.

Spring turkey hunting can be disappointing but it can provide thrills and excitement, the likes of which I never experienced before or since that special morning in the turkey woods.

Contact Glynn at glynnharris37@aol.com

---

You sports fans know we’re in the Crossover Season. Lots of moving parts. 

In the pros, baseball is in spring training, the NFL is in trade/arbitration/free agency/pass-the-blame offseason, and the NBA is nearing the start of its third trimester.

Yawn…

Then there is college, where campuses might not have enough fans to go around.

Tennis.

Track and field.

Softball and baseball.

Bowling. 

For some, beach volleyball. (We see you waving goodbye, Pac-12.)

Golf, for sure.

And in the Cucumber States, pickle ball. (Well, maybe one day …) 

But Crossover Season has just one Real Season, one that counts, and everybody who’s ever been in a gymnasium knows that.

It’s college basketball. Until March Madness is over, it’s tough to make more than a token investment in anything else. 

The men’s tournament started with eight teams in 1939 and grew with television, to 16 teams in 1951, to 64 in 1985, and eventually 67 games and 68 teams, from the First Four to the Final Four.

The women’s game and ultimately the tournament began to grow in the early 1980s. Check this out: the first Division 1 NCAA women’s champion defeated Cheyney State, 76-62, in 1982 in The Scope in Norfolk, Va. That would have been Louisiana Tech. Hometown team Old Dominion had been upset in the East Regional Semifinals, so the announced sellout crowd of 9,000-plus, thanks to corporate locals buying bunches of tickets, was a bit smaller than that.

TV ratings — CBS televised the title game as part of their contract with the men’s tournament — were miniscule. Still, the ball was rolling, and the Lady Techsters were the bunch that first kicked it down the road.

So Tech won the first one.

And the most recent Division I NCAA women’s champion, if memory serves, is LSU, a 102-85 winner over Iowa in the highest scoring final in the tournament’s history. That game was played before an announced crowd of 19,842 — and most of them were actually there — in the American Airlines Center in Dallas. ESPN viewership was nearly 10 million, a 100 percent increase over the year before.

Good times. 

So now the March action is twice the fun for those who are fans of both sports. If you are a fan of only one, that’s enough. That’s how good this tournament-times-two is.

I have not, as a writer, covered an NCAA Tournament beginning-to-end in a hard-to-believe 34 years. So when I write about things that happened in the mid-1980s, let’s say, it would be like me, back then, writing about the tournament as it was in the early-1950s.

In other words, names I’d type today about those 1980s times — names like Loyola Marymount, Bobby Cremins, Bucknell, St. Bonaventure, Bob Knight and Dick Tarrant — would be like me going back 30-plus years then and typing Canisius and Bradley and Clarence Iba and Slats Gill, Phil Woolpert and Adolph Rupp and a youngish John Wooden. Bill Russell and B.H. Born.

Go much further back and you’re talking peach baskets and a jump ball after every made basket.

Time is the great mystery. 

Things change. But that Thursday and Friday the first week of the tournament, four games in one day at each site, that’s the best Daily Double of the year. 

And always the surprises, in a tournament that’s proven timeless.

Contact Teddy at teddy@latech.edu

---

By LEE HILLER, Journal Sports 

The Shreveport-Bossier Mavericks downed the Texas 7ers 113-94 Sunday at Southwood High School and finished off their first 2024 series of home games 2-1. 

The Mavericks led the majority of Sunday’s game behind the game-high 33 points from Josh Montgomery. It was also a Maverick career best for Montgomery  who hit on 14 of his 24 shots from the field and was 3-of-7 from beyond the arc. He also collected 11 rebounds for a double-double. 

Also contributing a double-double was center Win Ross with 19 points and game-high 19 rebounds. Ross also had four of the Mavericks seven blocks in the game. Other double-digit scorers included Michael Hood and Jeff Boyd both with 14 points and Dejon Waters scored 10. Veteran point guard PJ Meyers had eight points and dished out nine assists. 

Overall the Mavericks  shot 44 percent from the field (41-93) and 42 percent from 3-point range (11-26). They collected 67 rebounds to the 7ers’ 48. 

Devin Reed led Texas (0-2) with 26 points and Franklin Aqunanne had 19 points and 20 rebounds. 

The win came after Shreveport-Bossier dropped its only game of the early season to defending champion Potawatomi 119-108 on Thursday. Boyd scored 24 points and Myers 23 in the loss to the Fire who returns their core team from a year ago while the Mavericks blend in some new faces. Meyers also had 10 assists while Ross scored nine points to go with 11 rebounds and six blocks. 

The Mavericks began the homestand with a home-opening win the previous Saturday over Wichita 115-94. 

Shreveport-Bossier is on the road to New Mexico to play league newcomer Santa Ana Thunder. 

TBL Central Standings 

Potawatomi       3-0 

S-B Mavs            3-1 

Enid                    1-1 

Santa Ana           0-0 

Texas                  1-2 

Little Rock          0-1 

Wichita               0-3 

Contact Lee at lee.hiller51@gmail.com

---

By LEE HILLER, Journal Sports

Shreveport-Bossier, the 2022 The Basketball League champions, welcome last year’s league champion Potawatomi to the Southwood High School gym tonight with a 7:05 tip. 

The Mavericks opened the season with wins at Little Rock 106-97 and at home versus Wichita 115-94 Friday and Saturday respectively. 

The Fire is 1-0 after a home-opening 136-91 win over Enid Friday. 

Last season both teams battled each other for the top-spot in the Central Conference with the Fire (21-3) finishing just ahead of the Mavericks (20-4). Potawatomi edged out Shreveport in the Conference Finals of the TBL playoffs before winning the regional finals and overall championship. 

Shreveport opened the season with a road win in Little Rock as newcomer Devon Dorsett scored 27 points to lead the way. Dorsett hit on 4-of-7 from long range while hitting 9-of-14 from the field. Veterans PJ Meyers (18 points, 7 rebounds, 7 assists) Josh Montgomery (13 points, 8 rebounds) and Win Ross (13 points, 10 rebounds) also made major contributions. 

The Mavericks returned home the following Saturday to lead start to finish in disposing of Wichita at Southwood. Montgomery had another outstanding game with 24 points, 6 rebounds and 5 assists. Returnee Tavin Cummings poured in 23 points, and also had 6 rebounds while Dorsett scored 15 points. Win Ross led nine Mavericks that had six or more rebounds with 9 and Cedric Harris collected 8. 

Overall Shreveport-Bossier shot 51 percent from the field (45-87) and 46 percent from 3-point range (13-28). 

Potawatomi had six players score in double digits in its season opening win. Ricardo Artis II and Terry Maston both had 22 points, J Simmons 19 points, Daylon Guy 18 points, 10 assists. Deshawn Munson had 11 points, 12 rebounds and 7 assists while Ruston Hayward scored 11. 

Contact Lee at leeh051@hotmail.com

---

Are you seeing it? Have you sensed it? Are you starting to get just a bit more spring in your step? If so, here’s a hint as to what is happening to put that spring in your step.

Spring. We’re on the cusp of winter giving us the ragged remains of the season, finally giving way to this beautiful enchanted season of blossoms, blooms, green grass and emerging tender green leaves.

Be assured, we are not done with winter yet. There will still be frosty mornings and chilling north winds and we still have a few weeks before we celebrate March 19 as the date spring officially arrives, on the calendar, at least.

My mom was one of those who kept an eye on the weather, especially if we have thunder in February. My calendar has two dates encircled for this year, February 10 and April 10. Mom always said that if it thunders in February, it will frost, or at least have a cold spell on that same day in April. Down through the years, I have kept up with it and although it doesn’t always frost in April on a date corresponding with the same date in February, there has just about always been a drop in temperatures within a few days of that date. 

Not all will be flowers and green grass as spring eases in. Our part of the country is blessed with millions upon millions of pine trees that provide shade for us all year long. These same pines we love for most of the year we will come to despise in a few weeks when dreaded yellow dust begins coating everything with pollen. Some complain that pine pollen causes them to start sneezing. It doesn’t. Pine pollen is not the culprit. Other plants emerging in spring that cause the sneezing and itching of eyes are rag weed and pollen from oaks and other hardwoods.

Brushing aside the pine pollen, there are so many positive things greeting us when spring weather is actually here.

This is the time of year when new birds begin showing up. The juncos, purple finches and white throated sparrows will be heading north where they’ll spend the summer nesting and rearing their families. They’ll be replaced by colorful indigo buntings, blue grosbeaks and if you’re really lucky, you might get a painted bunting to visit your feeder. There is no other bird adorned with such vibrant blue, red and bright green colors. There will also be those that stop over on their way north, the rose breasted grosbeak and Baltimore oriole along with a plethora of warblers of all description.

For the hunter, spring is an enchanted season when the wild turkey begins to make its presence known. Even now in early March, hunters are already going out early mornings to listen for a gobbler on the roost and scouting for turkey sign. Hunting season opens April 6 but scouting and listening for gobblers is going on right now.

Spring is also one of my favorite times of year for two basic reasons. I love to catch bream and I love them all crispy and fried on the platter. As water temperatures start to warm, bluegills and chinquapins will move to the shallows to fan out beds where eggs will be deposited. This is the time of year when you can catch all you care to clean in one bedding area.

Bass and crappie will also be moving onto shallow bedding areas to spawn and some real bragging sized bass and big slab crappie will be caught.

One of my favorite things I like to do in spring is to take my cup of coffee to the back porch early mornings, make sure my bird feeder is filled as I sit and sip and watch and attempt to identify birds.

I know that all sorts of bad scary stuff is going on in our country and around the world but it does a body good to push it all aside for a time to enjoy this special season the Good Lord gives us. Thank God for spring.

Contact Glynn at glynnharris37@aol.com

---

Dear Sweeter,

Time’s a funny dog, am I right?

Has it been more than 30 years since we’ve been calling you Sweeter?, when your grandboy toddlers said “Sweet Lou” and that morphed into “Sweeter”? Time flies, but the name is timeless. And fits.

So Happy Birthday, Sweeter! Sorry I missed being there. Somehow, after more than 40 years, I have wound up back on the Louisiana Tech Baseball bus, which is why I was calling you from Lake Charles and Sugar Land, Texas this week.

Bad news: I missed “Happy Birthday To You” and the cake and you wearing your goofy Happy Birthday hat the gang bought you.

Good news, we got to talk on the phone and the Bulldogs went 4-0 on the trip, swept the Battle at the Ballpark at Constellation Field in Sugar Land, and have started their season 11-0.

So far, so good.

Since you asked, yes momma, the baseball bus is the same, even after all this time:

Somebody plays the music too loud or not loud enough or the wrong music;

Somebody needs to go to the bathroom and has to run through a gauntlet of shins in the aisle to get back there;

Somebody says too many dirty words too loud;

Somebody forgot something;

Laughs and food and inside jokes.

It’s a beautiful thing. And it’s one of those things that never changes.

But thank goodness, some things do. Like, for instance:

Last year’s Tech team was more up and down than a gopher on speed. Every game was like going to meet your tough-to-read girlfriend: you didn’t know whether to bring a tank top or a windbreaker or a heavy jacket. 

Couldn’t throw a strike. Guys hurt. One missed the whole season. Missed a couple of seniors who’d graduated, and no one picked up the Accountability Stick. Most everyone had a sub-par spring …

Just one of those sports deals where few things went right and every game was like going 12 rounds with Tyson. That the program was coming off back-to-back NCAA Regionals made it more trying. 

A Pepto-Bismol season.

But maybe Tech’s time in the barrel is up. The Diamond Dogs have come into 2024, as I heard an old cowpoke say one time, “a-rippin’ and a-roarin’, a-rompin’ and a-stompin’ …”

Hard to win 11 in a row in anything in college, but especially in baseball, where the tiniest thing — passed ball, throwing to the wrong base, missed cutoff — can blow it all up.

First trip of the season, the Dogs left the Love Shack Wednesday at 11, teed it up against McNeese at 6 and, on a cold, blustery, next-to-last evening of February, beat the Cowboys 13-4. Were right on every pitch. Maybe three swings and misses.

Slept fast and got on the bus at 8 and were practicing in Sugar Land at noon. Then a 20-minute bus ride to Houston to lift weights at Rice, then finally checking into the hotel back in Sugar Land, team supper, sleep, and in the next three days, beat Army 4-0, Creighton 12-0, and Air Force 8-5. Bulldogs had been in town 72 hours before they allowed a run. 

Outscored opponents 37-9.

Is that good? I think that’s good.

It’s early but … cautious optimism. Double cautious. Super-duper cautious. Still healing up from last year’s ulcer(s).

I’ll keep you up to speed Sweeter. You’ll enjoy a game when the weather’s warmer. The crowds for this weekend’s three games against Southern Miss — Friday at 6, Saturday at 2, Sunday at 1 — should get the Love Shack heated up.

See you at the park or at the kitchen table soon. Love you. The boys say hey, and smoke ’em high and tight.

Contact Teddy at teddy@latech.edu

---

When the news broke more than a month ago that Sports Illustrated was laying off most of its workforce, that the end of the publication was apparently on hand, I re-lived the moment someone told me in the late 1990s that my childhood favorite Red Skelton had passed away.

Thought he’d died like 20 years before.

In the late-January days after the SI punchout, eulogies followed that were heartfelt and expected. They all brought back memories of getting SI in the mail on Wednesdays or Thursdays, back when I had pimples. 

Joy. Rapture. Day and weekend made. 

But I buried Sports Illustrated 25 years ago. Was grateful for it, mourned it, and let it go. Was semi-surprised to find out last month it was still alive.

It’s like what our SportsTalk friend John James Marshall said about Fair Grounds Field, once the siren song of summertime around here. More than a year ago, after the most recent attempt to clean it up, lots of people started telling it goodbye. JJ, who spent more time at SPAR Stadium and Fair Grounds Field than probably any of us, had made his peace with the death of the place years ago. What you see now from Interstate 20 is just concrete and bat poop and a feral cat palace and a solid illustration of political foot dragging. It ain’t Fair Grounds Field; that was a beautiful place that died a long time.

So was Sports Illustrated.

And it’s nobody’s fault. Not really. It’s one of those time things. 

Once it got its footing after its founding in 1954 until the late 1980s, SI was one of the great financial successes in the world of publishing. Its covers were iconic in the culture. It billed itself as the authority — and it was. Sports Illustrated was the Cleveland Browns of the 1940s, the Yankees of the ’50s and the Celtics of the ’60s.

It happened because the most influential guy in publishing then, Time Inc. founder Henry Luce, believed in it, even though he wasn’t a big sports fan. He hired a European sophisticate named Andre Laguerre to be the managing editor. And besides the best photographers, Laguerre hired the three or four best writers in each sport, gave them an expense account, and told them to let ’er rip, tater chip.

“Oh, I thought he should’ve been president,” Dan Jenkins, the magazine’s most influential writer ever, said of Laguerre. The whole thing was a perfect place-time-people deal as Jenkins and a pile of other semi-irreverent writers pumped in fastball after fastball.

But money changed the dynamic between players-coaches and writers. Suddenly it was more opportune for a millionaire forward from the Bucks to spend time with Willow Bay instead of with a writer.

Cable TV happened. Then the internet.

And long before that, the tone of the magazine began changing. Jenkins moved on to Playboy and Golf Digest because the new editors thought they knew more about college football and professional golf than he did. SI became more political, and while a fan of 15 can argue with his 75-year-old grandfather about whether Carlton or Spahn was the best lefthander, they can’t have a fair fight about all the hot-button issues the magazine began weighing in on.

Too much work and not enough play. Sports and Some Non-Sports Cultural Stuff Illustrated. (Boooooo…)

---

By BONNIE CULVERHOUSE, Webster Parish Journal

The first time Jane Sneed changed her son’s diaper, did she know he would be a Super Bowl winning cornerback with Kansas City Chiefs?

“No, I did not,” Jane said. “That was a formula that was not even generated yet.”

Not only did L’Jarius Sneed play for a Super Bowl-winning team once, he now has won two Super Bowl rings with the same team.

And his mother, a Minden resident, is becoming almost as popular. Now Jane is known in KC as “Mama Sneed.”

“With the popularity on his behalf, we don’t put ourselves out there because we know there are individuals that are not happy for you,” Jane said. “Security is everywhere we go, now. As becoming known as ‘Mama Sneed,’ the popularity is just overwhelming. I never thought that title would hit as popular as it is. I’m just his mom, but the people up there say, ‘no, you’re Mama Sneed.’”

It feels like a celebrity name to her, but even with security, Jane Sneed is still the same person … only better.

“I still have that outspokenness … the firmness,” she said. “I’m more of a people-person now than I have ever been. I get out and make myself comfortable around others.”

It’s not about being the mother of a celebrity. “I’m still an individual – I’m still me.”

When L’Jarius Sneed was a youngster, he played basketball. Between 8 and 10 years old, he played Little League football. But Jane says when he was in ninth grade, her other sons – T.Q. Sneed and the late T.Q. Harris – convinced him to play football at Minden High School, and he loved it.

“That’s when people said ‘he’s good; he’s going pro,’” she said. “And yet, we could not see it. To us, it was just playing football.”

About the same time, L’Jarius said he began to realize he had a future in the pros.

“About my junior year in high school,” he said. “I was playing both sides of the ball, and I started getting offers. That was a special year, so I took the chance.”

It paid off, first with a scholarship to play close to home at Louisiana Tech. L’Jarius did not finish his time at Tech, because the allure of professional football was calling his name.

“It’s not because anyone was coming after him,” Jane explained. “He was going in as a walk-on. The day of the (NFL) Combine, someone called and invited him. At the Combine, he worked himself out and he made it, and that’s where we are today.”

L’Jarius has been credited with more than a play or two that may have sent Kansas City to this year’s Super Bowl. Some of those plays include hitting the opposition really hard. Does Mama Sneed ever fuss at her son for how hard he hits? It was a question that made her laugh almost as hard as L’Jarius hits.

“Actually, we have talked about it after every game,” she said. “What he tells us is it’s his thrive and his drive. It’s his motivation, and whatever is happening in his life, he takes it to the field and lets it out.”

She said her son is aggressive on the field because of his work ethic.

“He goes out there knowing who he is and what he can accomplish, and that’s what makes him be that aggressive player,” she said. “He likes to get into the mind of the opponent. He lets them know he is not one they can talk noise to and get away with it.”

But, she added, “when his words catch up with his actions, that’s where you have trouble.”

L’Jarius joined his mother to hand out groceries at Mt. Calm Senior Hamlet on Lee Street in Minden Tuesday morning. The groceries were provided by Northwest Louisiana Food Bank, but Sneed missed a plane and donated his time to help Mama Sneed and be available for the community he still calls home. However, he said he loves Kansas City, too.

“I try to help the children as much as I can,” he added. “I try to do a lot with the Boys and Girls Club.”

He said it meant a lot to him to come back home and help his mother with the food project.

“We have a responsibility to these people who don’t have as much as we do,” he said.

These days, Jane attends all of L’Jarius’ home games in Kansas City. As for going on the road ….

“Well, it depends on where the games are,” she said. “I’m not into the cold weather.”

She has, however, learned to love flying because “it goes quicker.”

Jane was in Kansas City the day of the mass shooting at the Super Bowl rally on the Wednesday  following the game.

“It was very scary because at the time it started, the players were on the stage, and we saw the police running and then we heard boom, boom, boom – shots,” she said. “Everybody ducked and went to the ground. I did not see my son L’Jarius and at that time, I was in panic mode. I’m a ‘whining mama’ then. They got us out of Union Station and onto the buses that were protected from bullets so we were safe. I saw L’Jarius walking out and he got on after I did. That was the scariest time of my life.”

Since that day, two adults have been arrested and charged with two counts of felony murder and two counts of armed criminal action and unlawful use of a weapon.

Last year, Minden held its own celebration for L’Jarius, including a parade and a time for autographs and awards, all held downtown.

Plans are underway right now for another salute this Saturday, but it will be a little different from last year.

Security was upgraded last year and will be again this year.

“The mayor gave JJ a proclamation day on (Monday) March 4, but we are actually doing the celebration Saturday at 11 o’clock. There’s a parade downtown,” she said. “Afterward, we will resume with an event at the recreation center on Industrial Drive where there will be photo shootings and signings, things for the kids – a concert for everyone that’s going to be a surprise. We know who’s coming, but we’re not saying who it is yet.”

She said because of security, she likes the idea of moving everything inside a closed area.

“It makes me feel 100 percent better,” Jane said. “There will still be security for the parade, but being indoors for the rest of it … that will be easier for security to keep everyone safe.”

The public is encouraged to attend Saturday’s events. Mama Sneed will be easy to spot. She’ll be the one with the biggest smile.

---

Today’s news is often dreary and sad. Murders, drugs busts; conflicts abroad; you name it it’s all there on the six o’clock news. It’s enough to send us all scurrying behind barred windows and locked doors. The kicker, though, is a growing level of anxiety the general public feels about our own well-being.

Psychiatrists, psychologists, and therapists are seeing their business boom during the times in which we live. While these folks can often help, I have another idea I learned by watching an old man one day. Just for the sake of doing it, go fishing.

Once when my family and I were on vacation on a lake in Arkansas, we rented a cabin by a lake. Rising early one morning while the family slept, I poured a cup of coffee and stepped out of the cabin to sit on the dock and enjoy the peace of the morning.

Spying an old white-haired gentleman fishing from the dock, I moved closer. As I approached, he snapped the rod upward and momentarily, a bluegill was flouncing on the dock. He admired the fish a few seconds, unhooked it and gently slid it back into the water.

He picked up a slice of bread, pinched off piece, molded it around his hook and continued his fishing. What the old fellow was engaged in was a healthy form of therapy. He was fishing for the sheer enjoyment of the sport.

Observing this, I was reminded of a scripture passage in John 21:3 that begins, ”Simon Peter saith unto them, I go a-fishing.” Wycliff’s Bible Commentary offers regarding Peter’s announcement, “The sight of his boat and the waters of his beloved Galilee, and perhaps the necessity of keeping body and soul together, dictated his sudden announcement.”

The statement – “keeping body and soul together” smacks of therapy to me. Granted, we need more activities that serve to keep our inner selves intact during these times.

While there are more ways than fishing to soothe jangled nerves and provide salve for anxiety, fishing has been scientifically proven to be one of the most effective ways of relieving stress.

Studies have shown that one of the most effective deterrents to stress and stress-related illnesses is fishing. In an article I once read, the writer stated that it is necessary to find a safety valve enabling us from time to time to lay aside the pressures of our hemmed-in lives.

“My answer is,” wrote the author, “go fishing.”

There is a scientific reason why fishing relieves stress, he continued. He wrote of his study of the psychology of daydreams and fantasies and the ways in which one’s imagination can be put to practical use. He noted how often people who are learning to relax mentally picture scenes of nature and peaceful lakeside or oceanside settings. The calming effects of being near water were evident again and again in his clinical and experimental studies.

Scientists have fitted subjects with electro-physiological instruments to measure changes in muscle tension on the forehead. They have learned that when subjects imagine situations involving pressure or fear, the frontalis muscles tighten. As soon as they shift to imagining  scenes on a quiet lake as the warm sun emerges from the clouds, the needle on the dial drops sharply as tension is reduced.

I never finished that cup of coffee. It grew cold on the dock as I hurried back to the cabin, fetched my fishing rod and slice of bread and pulled up a chair next to the old guy.

For the next hour, I got me some real good therapy.

Contact Glynn at glynnharris37@gmail.com

---

(This is the first in a series on aging, or Getting On Up There. If you or a shriveled loved one are wondering how to get Social Security or Medicare or other things I know nothing about but need to explore, you are welcome to come along for the ride. Seems like one day you are coaching Little League and the next you are filling out complicated forms that will be some of the last forms you will ever fill out. Sobering. Will keep you in the loop every couple of months for a while — unless a vital organ vetoes that plan. Meanwhile, wrote this in 2010 when I was a spry 50. Those were the days…)

I am a half-century old. If my money math is correct, I can retire, somewhat comfortably, when I am 107.

Sweet!

By “somewhat comfortably,” I mean I’ll have to work only half-days by then.

Or teach myself how to get by without a few things. Like food.

(Air’s still free, right? Except at the gas station? Where is the gas station importing this air from that costs money?)

But that’s OK because I recently bit the prune and joined the American Association of Retired Persons, or AARP. I have the $16 cancelled check and a membership card to prove it.

Joy!

It would seem odd that a man would join a retired persons organization when that man plans to keep working for a while. But that is one of the beautiful things about AARP, besides our red, white and gray team colors and the fact that our shuffleboard squad is undefeated this season — you do not even have to be retired to join! Do you hear what I am saying, you AARP members out there with hearing aids turned up to “Say WHAT?” You don’t even have to be retired!

The AARP has been recruiting me with a vengeance for several years now. They’ve wanted me. Badly. It’s a good though unfamiliar feeling. 

First they sent random mail. “We’re keeping up with you. Good luck this year.” That sort of thing.

Then there were phone calls, first from AARP marketers, then from some of the higher-ups. I remember a particularly poignant call from one of the vice presidents on my 50^th birthday. “Boy, you are really getting UP there!” 

At first it was bothersome. But dogged sincerity won me over. A couple of guys in suits came to recruit me, to see how long it took me unravel myself and stand up straight on my way to the bathroom on any of the six trips I make there a night. They saw me take naps on Sunday afternoon, fall asleep in a drive-thru line, have trouble lifting things, like myself. 

With each limp, I impressed. You can’t coach this stuff, really. A lot of it is just natural aging ability.

Finally, there was the free swag, probably illegal, like my canvas “travel bag” that has “AARP” on the side and a pocket for cell phone, loose change, wallet, passport, contact information for my primary physician, and next of kin, dentures and Depends.

They beat me down, is what I’m saying. Made me an offer I was getting tired of refusing.

So last week, I made the call. “I’ve decided,” I said to the toll-free operator, “to take my talents to AARP.”

Somewhere, a dog barked.

So, I am in. At least until I’m out. And so far, I like it.

My Official Membership Card (in big-letter type) scans for discounts at restaurants and movies and the drugstore, and the association sends me a monthly magazine called “Geezer Illustrated.” (I’m joking! We old folk, we like to joke, we do.) It’s called “AARP The Magazine” and Harrison Ford (Indy Jones!) was on a recent cover that included stories like “Live Your Motorcycle Fantasy!” and “Your Doctor Is Stumped: Now What?”

Not bad for 16 bucks annually. Plus, online I’m kept informed on money matters and retirement issues, freeing me up for things I want to do in my never-able-to-retire state.

Anybody up for a game of shuffleboard? Or Stump the Doctor?

---

Here’s hoping your deer season was as successful as you hoped it would be. If you have been sitting down to meals of chicken-fried backstrap steaks or a tasty roast or found your breakfast of eggs tasting especially good with rounds or links of venison sausage on the side, you have for sure been successful.

If you’re anxiously waiting for a call from the taxidermist telling you the mount of your trophy is ready for pickup and hanging on the wall, pat yourself on the back; it’s been a good year for you.

You may be having withdrawal symptoms now that season is over and you really wish you get to spend just one more frosty morning in a deer stand. You’re not alone in this. Scores of hunters feel the same way.

What can deer hunters do as a form of recovery to help you get over your addiction to chasing deer? Here’s a suggestion – head for your woods and begin looking for shed antlers of the big buck you hunted all season but never showed up. Now that antlers are beginning to drop, the next several weeks offer the opportunity to locate sheds before the mice and squirrels begin gnawing on them.

Here’s what happens in the world of the deer. Buck deer drop their antlers in late winter or early spring. Soon after losing their headgear, they start growing a new set of antlers they’ll have until this time next year. This new set begins as fuzzy knobs growing on the pedicles which are located on the buck’s head between his eyes and ears. The newly formed antlers are soft and subject to damage and for this reason, bucks are shy and reclusive; they’re protective of this new growth.

A couple of months before shedding antlers, bucks use them to hook and thrash bushes, brush and small saplings and to fight other bucks to establish dominance. Bushes and bucks are in no danger of being gored and thrashed in spring and summer because he is protecting his newly forming soft antlers.

Velvet is described as “vascular skin that supplies oxygen and nutrients to the growing bone.” This amazing material causes the antler it covers to grow at an amazing rate. In fact, deer antlers grow faster than any other mammal bone. This fast rate of growth actually is a handicap to a buck because of the incredible nutritional demand on deer to re-grow antlers annually.

Once the antlers achieve their full potential for the year, usually by mid-September in our part of the world, the velvet has served its purpose and as it dries and is rubbed off on bushes by the buck, the antler bone actually dies and here’s something I read that gave me pause. What deer hunters see when that big buck comes slipping by the stand is an animal sporting a head full of dead bone.

Where should you look for the best chance to find shed antlers? If you planted a food plot prior to deer season, searching the plot or trails leading to the plot can often result in a bit of good luck when you find tines sticking up out of the grass.

Another good place to look is where a trail crosses a low fence or stream small enough for the buck to jump across. Antlers can sometimes be jarred loose when the buck lands on the other side of the fence or stream.

So for folks puzzled about deer antlers, maybe this bit of information will answer your questions.

There is a measure of excitement to hold in your hands the head gear of a big buck that will whet your appetite for what he’ll look like once hunting seasons roll around again this coming fall.

The entire process of bucks growing velvet covered delicate antlers to them becoming hardened and eventually being shed just to do it all again every year is one of nature’s most amazing and fascinating feats.

Contact Glynn at glynnharris37@gmail.com

---