Hopkins Lacrosse Faces A Watershed Moment in 2010 Season

It seems that all too often in recent years members of the Johns Hopkins Men’s Lacrosse Team have found themselves in the same uncomfortable position they are in today. Tonight, the Blue Jays look at a primetime matchup with the Syracuse Orange at Homewood Field, the first such nighttime showdown in Baltimore for the two teams. Hopkins is good at beating the top guns in the league, particularly when they are the underdogs. While still ranked by the NCAA, Hopkins has dropped two of their last three games. To understand the position the Jays are in, it is necessary to look back and review the team’s performance earlier in the season.

Steven Boyle has certainly taken charge of his team, both in scoring and in electrifying his fellow players. He sent a strong message in the season opener, and with a career-high six goals, made clear his intentions for his senior season. He also racked up two assists, and helped the team in holding opponent Manhattan scoreless for over fifty-four minutes. At the half, the Jays led 7-0 and it took only a minute and a half of the third quarter for them to tack on two additional goals. Johns Hopkins dominated shooting, groundballs, and faceoffs, as Matt Dolente pulled in an impressive 7/9 faceoffs.

The next game proved similarly impressive for Hopkins. Against Delaware, the Jays charged on a 9-1 scoring run. Boyle again made headlines for the team, combining with Kyle Wharton for a spectacular eleven goals and six assists. Additional scores for Boyle, assisted by senior Michael Kimmel, garnered the win for coach Dave Pietramala and his squad. With 12 saves, goalie Mike Gvozden’s performance helped Hopkins contain Delaware’s offense.

The following weekend, Hopkins hosted Siena at a blustery Homewood Field. That Sunday afternoon, the Jays barely crawled out of a hole, and Michael Kimmel scored in the final minute to hand Hopkins the narrow 8-7 victory. After Siena scored the first goal, the Jays refused to quit and the game remained tight until the very end. Some weaknesses, however, were made visible in Hopkins’s victory. It became even more apparent that the team risks running on a very two-dimensional game, those two dimensions being Mike Kimmel and Steven Boyle. Additionally, the Blue Jays defense did not play effectively in transition, and although Hopkins proved strong on extra-man opportunities, their defense’s performance was troubling.

These troubles would only be exacerbated the following weekend. On a glorious Saturday afternoon, the Jays stepped onto a field following an impressive Maryland overtime win over Duke at the Konica Minolta Face-Off Classic. On national television, the Jays hoped to make an impression. They did just that, but it was not the impression they wanted to leave. Again, the crowd at M&T Bank Stadium witnessed an overtime game, but this time Hopkins dropped the game, falling 11-10 to Princeton. Although Kyle Wharton, Tom Duerr, and Boys’ Latin Graduate Chris Boland made waves for the first time this season, their efforts were not enough. Princeton held Hopkins scoreless for nearly twenty minutes as the halftime break approached. The Tigers were unable to hold the ball at the end of the game, and the Jays had countless opportunities to score, but were unable to do so. When Princeton won the first face-off in overtime, it would only take one, as the Tigers’ Jack McBride charged down the field, firing an assist to teammate MacKenzie for the post-regulation victory. While the loss was Hopkins’s first defeat of the season, it became clear that the Jays had a lot to improve upon. They would need to clean up their game for UMBC.

They did, indeed, clean up their game for UMBC. Four Blue Jays registered hat tricks, and the defense held the Retrievers to one goal in the game’s final twenty minutes. Steven Boyle again led the team with three goals and four assists, and Kimmel scored key back-to-back goals to spark an impressive scoring run. In the second half, the game settled after a first half that saw 14 goals and seven assists.

The next game would be a completely different story. Despite a third quarter comeback for the Jays, Hofstra closed the game on a 6-0 run and refused to budge an inch. Boyle had two goals and an assist, but little support was provided by his teammates. Pietramala pulled Gvozden.

Tonight, the Blue Jays face a series of familiar dynamics. They are playing historic rival Syracuse. The two teams are consistently the most successful in the league, and produce not only the most skilled players, but also the most exciting head-to-head matchups. At home, the Jays are an impressive 64-9 under Coach Pietramala. Additionally, Hopkins holds the league’s number one shooting percentage, at nearly thirty three percent. The team’s wont of innovation, however is concerning. They continue to rely on Boyle (29 pts) and Kimmel (20 pts.)

It will be difficult for them to charge back after the loss to Hofstra. They must focus on ball-handling and transition defense. In recent years, Hopkins has suffered numerous blows and has fallen into multi-game losing streaks. Tonight may be a watershed moment in the season, as the Jays decide whether or not they will again fall into a losing rut. They will certainly need to improve their support for Gvozden and Kyle Wharton and Chris Boland must step forward and put numbers on the scoreboard. If Hopkins can successfully feed off the sold-out crowd at Homewood, expand their horizons beyond Boyle and Kimmel, and be smart with the ball, they can limit dangerous transition situations and should be able to come away with a mark in the win column.

Maryland-Duke Rivalry, 2010: Better Than Tobacco Road?

Notice: I have been working on an independent research paper that totals near 40 pages. As a result, I have been unable to post as frequently as I would have liked.

Maryland takes Houston’s hand as it prepares to dance tonight on the nation’s largest stage. But recently, the Terps, before losing to Georgia Tech in the ACC Tournament, upstaged the Duke Blue Devils in an all too familiar Maryland-Duke clash at the Comcast Center. The Devils, who are the NCAA tournament’s overall No. 1 seed this March, have always had trouble with the Terrapins when they are on the road.

In College Park, tickets to the big game were not easy to come by. It was senior day for ACC Player of the Year Greivis Vasquez, the fiery Venezuelan who knows all the buttons to push in order to get under other players’ skin. Vasquez is also explosive on the court, and a good game for him usually means a good one for the team. A bad one? Well, that goes the same way. Vasquez commands attention from television audiences and cameras. He commands respect from those he plays against and those he leads. He has assumed responsibility for charging the huddle and boosting team morale. He is as close as college basketball will get to having a Ray Lewis or an Ed Reed in the locker room.

Students camped in tents for nights to get a chance at some tickets. One pre-law student offered a voucher for hours of his future legal services to anyone willing to offer him a ticket. The Terrapin Underground, and college basketball Black Market, I’m sure, were thriving. Fans who did receive tickets, and those who watched from home or local sports bars, were not disappointed.

Senior Eric Hayes started off the scoring, giving Maryland the early lead. The Blue Devils, however, refused to quit. They dominated offensive and defensive rebounding, putting up huge numbers that, despite their weak shooting, kept them in the game early. Brian Zoubek, the 7’1” Duke senior assumed his traditional thug role, playing dirty in a way only Hines Ward could match. Regardless, Vasquez, too, started off strong, putting up a 1.000 average from the stripe and making a three-point shot to electrify the yellow-clad crowd.

The Terps began to face foul trouble early. Landon Milbourne made a three but was promptly charged with his second foul in the first four minutes of the game. Perhaps the Terrapins came out a little too fired up, a little to reckless and impulsive? The Terrapins nevertheless were off to a good start. Then, an unanticipated delay threatened to halt the Terps’ momentum, as the basket netting tore and had to be replaced.

Maryland maintained its composure, and Hayes again fired up the team, charging back from the break with an impressive left hook underneath the basket. Vasquez soon drew a charge call. He was trying to compete with Zoubeck, and took the competition a little too far. This time, the referee did not look the other way. The Terps’ poor rebounding continued, and combined with shooting woes, Maryland relinquished its impressive lead over the Devils, who climbed back into the game heading down the home stretch of the first half.

Duke senior Jon Scheyer channeled his inner J.J. Reddick (a man whom none of us in Maryland like to think fondly upon) and stepped up to the free throw line, shooting 89% for the game. Zoubeck dominated the glass. Things were turning quickly from good to bad to worse. Duke had four opportunities to make a shot, rebounding again, and again, and again, and…again, until a foul was called. Meanwhile, the Terps could simply not make a shot.

Finally, Jordan Williams made what could have been a momentum changing play. He rejected a shot by Scheyer and the Terps turned the ball down the court with a huge numbers advantage. Somehow, they found a way to mess that opportunity up too. But Cliff Tucker, the hero of this season’s earlier Georgia Tech buzzer-beater victory, refused to let the ship sink. He jammed the ball through the basket. Again, Maryland missed the opportunity to seize back momentum of the game. After making a good rebound, the Terps forced the ball and failed to score on the turnover. Sean Mosely took an unadvisable three, and his teammates joined in with their own impatient or ill-considered ball handling. The Terps were not playing smart; they were literally throwing the game away. Scheyer and Vasquez exchanged threes. Mosely and Williams missed rebounding opportunities. Another three for Scheyer. Another Duke rebound.

But then, Greivis turned it on. He got his head in the game. When Vasquez is tuned in, his concentration is evident to all who watch. So too, is his skill elevated to another level. He made a magical two pointer. An impossible shot. It left the Comcast Center trembling with earsplitting noise. If they had been given time to think, fans would have questioned how in the hell that shot went in. Vasquez went on to finish strong, shooting 5 for 5 from the line. He made two key shots at the end of the game, elevating his point total to 19 and carrying the Maryland Terrapins to an unlikely victory. Unlikely, that is, to all who read the pregame statistics or watched ESPN. Maryland fans, on the other hand, have come to expect the annual upsets over UNC and Duke when the Heels and Devils come to play in College Park. Things looked bad throughout the game, particularly during the last eight or so minutes of the first half. No, not bad. Terrible.

But Maryland fulfilled its duty to its fans. On senior night, when it really mattered, the Terps rose to the challenge. Down the stretch, they made the baskets they needed to make and stopped the shots they needed to stop. Under Maryland legend Juan Dixon’s watchful gaze, his successors did not disappoint, at least when it comes to the numbers in the scoring box. And somehow, when the buzzer went off, Maryland had, again, outlasted the big, bad ACC rival. Testudo the turtle proved dependable and loyal for another season, and rewarded Maryland fans for their loyalty, for their sleepless nights (literally), and for the head pats. Maryland defeated the Blue Devils 79 to 72. Tonight, the Terrapins will have to channel the electricity of Comcast Center, thousands of miles away in Washington State. Will they be able to keep it going on the West Coast, in front of millions of eyes, or will they let their decision-making go and impulsively run like a bull in a china shop, into early retirement?

It is likely that their egos may get the best of them. With Gary Williams named ACC Coach of the Year, and Vasquez named Player of the Year, they could have their heads in the clouds, far, far away from the basketball net. Or their early exit from the conference tournament could prove to be a much-needed dose of humility. We shall certainly hope for the second. We will also hope that the Terps are not too excited. Often, their toughest opponents are themselves, and maintaining mental composure and clarity has been difficult. If the Terrapins are able to play smart, their skill certainly exceeds that of Houston, and they should be able to pass onto the round of thirty-two. Then again, nothing is certain. Most would say the Duke Blue Devils are a stronger team than the Maryland Terrapins, and for most of last month’s game at Comcast Center, they played like the stronger team. But numbers in boxes don’t always tell the full story. We hope for tonight that they do.

Creative Piece: Overheard at Panera Bread #3

To my right- about two o’clock:

“He came out 1969, September!

See he’s black;

He’s been black ever since!”

“Let me see”

“See. He’s black.

And let me show you what else. Move! See, that still counts!

He’s not being white--

See, that’s wolverine’s son.”

A Boy. Age: Unknown. Twelve?

Weight: A little above average.

The spread: in front of him, Chicken Salad. Giant Cinnamon Roll. Some yellow soda- Mountain Dew? Baguette on the side.

Amendment. Salad: gone. Baguette: only the crust. Cinnamon roll: way gone. Even the flakes. Clean plate.

He knocks the soda over- good thing there’s a lid. Dad glances over horrified.

Finally the boy rights the cup.

“1972!”

“Yeah see they didn’t have it before..”

“Dad! Don’t blame them!

Storm, storm—she was a female – she was black…

Black Panther- he’s African American- he’s king of the country _____.

(I miss it; Maconda? Something.)

Oh yeah, and the Hulk. He’s green. Yeah I gotta find another one.

Oh yeah! Dad! There’s actually a guy named Thunderbird and he was black.”

“Something about the benchmarks needs to be in here— ”

(Dad’s distracted. He’s teaching a lesson. Or something. He doesn’t hear the boy)

“Dad, in your face!”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Dad, when was Wolverine’s first appearance?!”

“I have no idea. I didn’t read the comics..”

“Just guess.”

“1980.”

“Dad! What team was he on?! Dad!? It starts with an X!”

“Come on, I have to finish up here. The benchmarks…”

“X Men! Oh yeah, and Dad,

Don’t confuse these two- they’re not the same; they’re twins.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

To the left (eleven o’clock?):

A boy learns manners—

“Which muffin do you want?

Chocolate chip?

Say ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you very much.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

I walk to the bathroom—

Overhear a woman

Rude.

Complaining about the size of soup bowls.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Another girl, blonde, skinny jeans, oversized bag and boyfriend.

She’s standing in the bakery line,

“Is there, like, a half thing with, like, a salad, and, like, a soup?”

“Yeah, it’s over in that line.” Stupid.

While I listen, I’m totally judging her. Shit.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Dad! Can I use your laptop now?”

[Guess he’s done marveling at Marvel.]

Yeah, you know what, but there are files on there. Don’t close out of any of them.”

“What?”

Another day I sat at this same table. And listened to sorority girls talk about their boyfriends. Some graphic stuff.

But the next time it was a woman talking about church. Her daughter’s rehearsal dinner.

A crapshoot of conversations.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Refreshing the coffee. A new brew. Push a chair in, move a table here. Busy bees mill around in green aprons, wiping floors. The honey they produce, no one tastes. And those who taste, taste without comment.

Everything empties out before the dinner rush.

Just a woman and a Cinnamon Crunch bagel.

A young couple on a date- the cynical me:

Psh, do people even go on dates anymore? Sometimes I don’t believe that boys have hearts. And they definitely don’t go on dates. But elsewhere they do. Maybe?

Two kids on their skateboards--

Middle school, I can tell.

Oh god. The worst days.

But these may be the cool kids- the ones who make others’ lives hell. Or their lives could be hell, made so by cooler kids. Who’s to know?

Clash, silverware.

People actually clean up after themselves here?

Look to make sure.

Nope-

Should have known. It was one worker bee, green apron, brown visor,

Cleaning up somebody else’s mess.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Behind me I hear a woman reviewing SAT problems with some kids.

One wears a Penn sweatshirt- does he want to go there?

My friend got deferred from there.

But maybe this kid knows something we don’t know.

(photo credit: adherants.com)

Baltimore Ravens Defeat Pittsburgh Steelers

Like Taking Candy From a Fat Kid,

it Takes a Little Luck

This was no small feat. It wasn't even supposed to happen. But somehow, the Ravens sneaked one from right under the nose of the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Because I like to focus on the mundane and irrelevant, we begin with the pre-game troop greeting. I suppose this is customary, as much tradition as Faith Hill's ritual "I've been waitin' all day" song that my dad loves so much. Anyways, CBS was playing to the racial stereotypes. After showing a white soldier (of Italian descent?) waving his Terrible Towel, and ripping his camo open Superman-style to reveal what was probably a Hines Ward jersey, the camera cuts to the Ravens fan. An African-American. Not to be picky, or politically incorrect, but it struck me that there must have been some method to the network's editing that night- later, while showing black Dennis Dixon's family on camera, they would pump "We Are Family" through the speakers. It may not have been a conscious decision, but to me, these two things combined seemed inappropriate, although maybe I was just looking for something to criticize.

There was, of course, a larger problem with this troop greeting, which goes as follows- all of the pictured soldiers but that one woman were Steelers fans. To make a fully joking point, [because I have the utmost respect for our troops] I was thinking, "where are the standards for the United States Armed Forces?!" (In actuality, all troops are great people, regardless of their unfortunate upbringings that may have led to faulty choices for sporting allegiances.)

And, before we get to the game, we were stopped another time. This time, it was to "admire" Hines Ward's "charm," "class" and fake-white smile. I am sorry but I just do not buy it, and was glad to know that his NFL peers recently agreed with me, voting him the "dirtiest player in the NFL" in a Sports Illustrated poll. (Of course, we in Baltimore may be forced to reassess this title, after Brady Quinn's dirty, cheap chop-block on a Mr. Terrell Suggs. Thanks to this classless hit, Mr. T-Sizzle did not suit up last night.)

And the Ravens begin the game. Things are looking.... different! And unnaturally good! A 3 and out. Then Willis comes in as the Ravens drive down the field. Haloti Ngata joins the offensive line to complete the Mc-Mansion package, and on a second effort, McGahee scores his 8th TD (6th rushing) of the season. That's what I'm talking about, Willis.

But McGahee would not be the only graduate of "The U" to come up big against the Steelers. Tavares Gooden started making tackles early, and arguably had his best game of the season. Then, the Ravens let Mr. Dixon run. And run. And run. Like Forrest Gump or something! Luckily, a holding call on Mendenhall negated the 31 yd jaunt.

A number of good signs. Jarrett Johnson staring daggers at Hines Ward. Chris Carr holding on to the ball. Chris Carr and Lardarius Webb running decent kick returns. Ladarius Webb making tackles. Yes the Nicchols State grad did what no other Ravens CB or Safety seems able to do. Bring people down. But Foxworth would miss costly tackles as the night wore on. So, too, would Ray Lewis, and even Ed Reed. No one is perfect, but unfortunately it seems like a miraculous feat whenever the Ravens do make a good tackle. Credit goes to Chris Carr for avoiding the temptation of a pass interference call late in the game, but none to Mark Clayton, who made it his business to rack up costly penalties, drop balls, and take up space. (Space, that I think would be better filled, at least temporarily, by newly acquired Mr. Tyree, if not just to remind Mark Clayton he has to work for a living.)

Arguably, both teams are better than their 6-5 records would indicate. Unfortunately, both teams have suffered fourth-quarter collapses, psychological meltdowns, and countless injuries. But last night's game was the fully bruising, bang-up, battle royale it is perennially promised to be.

Another good sign was that until the Ravens' final drive of the game, the play-calling on the offensive side seemed to be much more inventive and varied than it has been in past weeks. Finally, Cam Cameron, the expert, decided to listen to the radio callers, and analysts, and teachers, and firefighters, and guys from Dundalk, and little kids, that have been calling for Le'Ron McClain's number all season long. Ozzie Newsome does not make many stupid decisions, but in addition to numerous other lapses this past off-season, his dismissal of Lorenzo Neal, the fullback, was not advisable. As a result, McClain has been stuck at halfback and hardly had a handoff all season. As last year's leading rusher, McClain was a welcome name returning to Cris Collinsworth's commentary.

Other bad signs? Time management. The Ravens last drive of the game was inexplicably horrendous. Part of this equation was the same old story; penalties. After the Steelers received a costly pass interference call, the Ravens, then within Billy Cundiff's proclaimed field goal range, must have decided the gift too generous. Clayton handed it right back. To be blunt, he put a stupid, ineffective hit on the Steelers, and pushed the Ravens back out of FG range. This see-saw pattern would repeat as the Ravens again advanced, and were again pushed back, this time due to Joe Flacco's exemplary play in the pocket. 5 Sacks in the game - one stat tells a story. And so Cundiff was rushed on, as time expired, and his kick just did not have the distance. Overtime.

Steelers win the toss. It's over. Or is it? Somehow, the Ravens would hold them and force a punt. Then, some terrible offensive-coordination and the Ravens were punting right on back. But it was a story of the unknowns last night, from Pittsburgh's Dennis Dixon stepping up for the concussed Ben Roethlisberger to a Mr. Paul Kruger. The big guy, who had played in just three games all season, anticipated Dixon's next pass, and somehow launched his large frame into the air, coming down with the interception, and even more impressive, running it back to put the Ravens at about the Pittsburgh 35. What a moment.

It looked like the Ravens might once again be cooked, but Ray Rice, dependable as ever, took charge and led his team down to the Red Zone. And then close enough for what should have been an easy TD. The Ravens did not get that, but set up a close-range field goal. Cundiff, we already see, likes to make things interesting, and the ball drifted far right, barely nestling itself between the goalposts. Two arms up. It's good. The game slid by the Steelers by the same margin Cundiff's kick was good.

And, of course, I have no reservations in giving all the accolades (or 99% of them?) to Derrick Mason, because that is just an unbiased and objective fact, and I do not play favorites at all. What a great touchdown pass, and at a key moment. Derrick Mason is a playmaker, and gave Baltimore the extra cushion and confidence they needed, heading into the lockeroom.

(Photo credit: Baltimore Sun)

Creative Piece: Overheard at Panera Bread #2

A man and

a girlfriend?

Maybe.

They talk about her ex. Then

"So Sheila Dixon's on trial.."

"Yeah, I think she knew what she was doing,

stealing those gift cards."

Me too, me too.

Then the guy says,

"I got fired."

Qualify that.

"I'm going to be fired."

"How do you know?!"

"Last one hired, first one fired.

That's me."

Recessions, cut-

backs.

"I just know it."

She suggests he hunt in another county-

always the solution- isn't it?

Look somewhere else.

He is a firefighter.

He's also an asshole.

But maybe he has a right to be.

"No way out."

Didn't go to college, he's young

He says something crude-

incendiary.

I turn around. He catches me.

"Hey, you! Yeah, girl with the

white polo-

fancy laptop!"

[oh God

I must look so privileged

careless

self-righteous]

I face him again

"Yeah, you--

What the fuck are you looking at?"

Is it cursing if we just borrow someone else's words?

Words are Simmering embers, Glowing, Burning-

one less person to put them out. Pour on some gasoline.

Creative Piece: Overheard at Panera Bread #1

Two girls and

an aunt-

or godmother? A writer.

"Your editor is harsh."

"Yes, he is. He wants my book to be good."

Later the girls say

they want to write too.

"Oh, girls, I know

you can write about two girls

who write a broadway show

and leave it on a table in a coffee shop.

And someone steals it!"

"No, no, no! That's already a movie!"

"Yeah, 'Big Fat Liar,'" the other interjects

(I love that movie, too)

"See, I'm sorry I didn't know that.

Okay then. Scratch that."

Minutes later-

"What would you do if you had that much money?"

They'd buy a circus, a whirling magical menagerie

of animals.

Candy colored stripes and flowing manes.

"I'd buy a car!"

"A car?! What?!

You can't even drive!"

"So?"

Long black sleek hair-

mommy-brushed.

Walking L.L.Bean Kids catalogue,

Walking smile.

Wonder.

photo: Arita S. (flickr)

Sophomore Slump: Joe Flacco's Woes Continue Following Loss to Division Rival Bengals

The Ravens appear to be stuck in a rut. Last week may have been a fluke, or an anomaly, but it definitely didn't fit the jigsaw puzzle John Harbaugh & Co. seem to be piecing together this fall. Carson Palmer and the Cincinnati Bengals started the game where they left off earlier this seasons, with two quick completions in the air. Then, the Ravens defensive line faltered, uncharacteristically, letting Cedric Benson go, and relying on Dawan Landry and Dominique Foxworth to make the tackle in some sort of sick role reversal. Terrell Suggs delivered some good pressure on Palmer to force a 3rd & 10, but soon the referees came to the rescue, nearly as dependable as a Disney Prince Charming when it comes to saving the other team. They granted Cincy a questionable timeout after originally calling a delay of game, and then allowed Cincinnati to start another play well after the clock struck zero.

At this time, the Bengals no longer needed the officials' help. Chad Johnson- I refuse to call him by his "legally changed" name and give him that satisfaction- may not know his Spanish very well but he sure knew how to make a bunch of fools out of our secondary today-- not that that's much of a secret. Johnson won his team a first down and then got the Bengals within inches of a second consecutive one on the next play. Cedric Benson got the Bengals inside the 10, and one begins to wonder whether the defense, of all units, could be the Ravens' Achilles Heel this season. But not to worry, the offense's later performance would quell all such rumors and concerns. The defense is definitely still the stronger unit.

Carson Palmer polished off a 12 play, 73 yd drive with a touchdown pass to Caldwell. It was as if Palmer was a boy scout, alone in the wilderness. He was that alone and unpressured. When the Baltimore offense took the field, things would just get worse. Tank Johnson dropped Ray Rice for a loss of yards, and despite Rice's talent and effort, this would become a pattern for the game. Derrick Mason also showed some versatility. No one was expecting Mason to have to play corner, knocking passes out of the actual corner's hands to avoid interceptions, as Flacco's passes sailed this way and that and whichever way Mason was not. A spark- fumble recovery! But no, Dawan Landry racked up another penalty. The Bengals continued to drive, and the Ravens allowed Palmer, the self-proclaimed slow kid, to slide in for a first down.

Just at this time, Johnson (Ochocinco) warmed up and put on an instructional video on how to catch- a video Kelly Washington, Derrick Mason, Mark Clayton, and their fellow WRs might just want to order off infomercial. Johnson made a series of spectacularly acrobatic catches. Fabian Washington took care of earning Baltimore its league-leading 7th pass interference call of the season. Lavernius Coles then escaped the great Ed Reed. We should have known it was over then. From the 2 yd line, Cedric Benson ran train on the Ravens defensive line, missing key starter Haloti Ngata, and waltzed into the endzone to give the Bengals a two touchdown lead. Viewers found themselves in anguish and disbelief- could it still really be the 1st Quarter?

Another penalty- this must be a typo- really? A costly penalty? No way. Yes, penalty on the Ravens receiving team backed them up again. Sam Koch was the face of the Ravens, and either he or Palmer was always on the field.

Because a backup's backup- a fully incompetent one at that- at secondary is not bad enough, Fabian Washington got injured. The Ravens turned to Chris Carr. I hate to break it to them but overextending this youngster is not the route to success. Carr already had too much to do. From here on, things quickly slipped downhill. Trevor Pryce took an inadvertent friendly fire hit and went out limping. But wait! A silver lining? Webb went in for Carr for Washington. And- he made a tackle!

Then I began looking for any possible distraction from the game. Ray Lewis's beard caught my eye. I am thinking that maybe he has decided, "hey the rest of this team's let themselves go, why not me?" Then, a Georgia Tech yellowjacket frustrated and angered me as never before. Tight End Foschi was a pest that just kept immunizing itself against the Ravens' coverage.

Soon, Derrick Mason was resembling the Ravens' secondary in more than one way, meaning that the actual Bengals' secondary actually caught the ball for a completion, I mean interception, from Joe Flacco.

By the time Ray Rice decided to take things into his own hands and score, it was far too late. Then the same story. Steve Hauschka misses. Should have kept Stover. Baltimore's on fire. Players dropping like flies. Then another near pick. Then a sack. And another. And.. another? Three?! Yes. The Bengals' unsportsmanlike conduct penalty at the end of the game was indicative of their dirty play and their team's less than spotless record. But at the same time, it was indicative of the entire game. The penalty ultimately cost them nothing, nor did any of their other mistakes, due to the Ravens' substantially longer list of screw-ups, penalties, and missed opportunities. So the game came to a fitting end, and the Ravens hobbled bloody, battered, and, yes, beaten into the locker room. Are they settling for .500? I thought that was a standard held only for the Orioles..

photo credit [WR Derrick Mason playing DEFENSE?]: Baltimore Sun

My Sister's Circle: Tutoring at Dallas Nicholas Elementary in Baltimore City

"I Did All My Homework Already.. In Class"


Yesterday I took a trip downtown. Not to Fell's Point. Not to Hampden. Or Federal Hill. Or the National Aquarium. I went to Dallas Nicholas Elementary School down on E. 21st street. There's something happening there. Girls with dazzling smiles. Flashing grins. Tremendous talent. Back in 2000, Dallas principal Irma Johnson started a program. The program grew, and today My Sister's Circle volunteers reach out to girls in more than forty local schools. These girls are selected by their teachers because they show intellect, talent, and promise. Our school works with fifth grade girls specifically, in hopes of helping them enter private and charter schools in sixth grade. Last year, one program member was granted a full-scholarship to the prestigious Calvert School in North Baltimore, which she is attending this fall.

As we walked into Dallas, one could not help but notice the striking disparities between these girls' school and our own. Dilapidated, out-dated, falling apart. Dirt streaked windows, barred doors, dusty floors. Worn wooden furniture in the front office. One is definitely not in private school anymore. At Dallas, you have to press an intercom button to be admitted and sign in at the desk as a safety precaution. Winding your ways down the dank halls, illuminated by a few sparse, faltering fluorescent lighting fixtures, you catch sight of little girls peering around corners, walking in single file lines. There's the straggler, the little one whose white polo is too big for her little frame, and who stops, filled with curiosity, as you pass. She's never seen you before? What are you doing here?

In the classroom, packed with boxes, old art supplies, and dusty toys, we sit at miniature tables, in chairs with broken legs, and teach. Really, we just help with some mechanics, remind them how to do division or to multiply by 12 to get "x" by itself. They teach us. There was the little girl with big, round, chocolate eyes standing in the corner playing house and washing dishes in the little play-sink. She watches us. "What's your name?" No answer. "Do you have a sister in this program." She just blinks back at you. No one is looking for her, no one seems to be troubled by her presence. She's just there, under the radar, quietly playing make believe by herself. She stands in the corner while her imagination runs wild. She's in a kitchen. She's a grown-up. She's pretending she has a simple, domesticated life, one of those ones moms usually complain about.

The little girl entertains herself with the wooden kitchen set for the duration of the tutoring session. You never learn her name or her business. The other girls file in, but four are missing. No one knows where they are. Doesn't that trouble anyone? Did they go home? Are they wandering the halls or out in the street? No one made sure they came to their tutoring program?

One girl has her homework all done already. She sits and cracks jokes while the others flip through their binders and settle down to spelling homework. One can already tell she is the class clown. A little heavy set, but bubbling and happy. The girls know all the spelling words. They know the definitions. Value. This week it's the "ue" words. Soon the others finish, and we play games. One tells us her nickname is Randy Moss, and so to include the other girl, we name her Ray Lewis. Randy Moss says she got her name because whenever they play football with the boys at recess she always catches the ball. Her dad takes her downtown to watch the Ravens every sunday. She and her friend both live in the county. They went trick-or-treating there last weekend. One went to her cousin's house. He had a haunted house in his basement.

The girls say they like Miley Cyrus, just like the privileged Lower School girls at my school do. One tells me I have the same color hair as Hannah Montana. Another says she hates "Party in the U.S.A." We go to look for the other girls but they are nowhere to be found. Brianna swears they were all in school today. Brianna also tells us about their skating field trip this Friday. She's never been before. She's excited. She doesn't even need help with her homework, it turns out. It's funny because 90% of the time they don't. They're pretty self-sufficient. When we leave, we promise more time for games and singing next week. They polish off the left-over Halloween candy we brought them. Brianna tells us she didn't get nearly enough last week, and, plus, she had to share with her brothers and sisters.

We walk out to the parking lot, turn on our iPods, and drive back. Through Charles Village. College students amble, sit at cafes, drink lattes in cable knit sweaters, and pore over chemistry books, cramming for their tests. Back through North Baltimore. The houses get bigger, the communities more sheltered. More gates. More white-washed walls, and wooden shutters, and manicured lawns. City parks turn to professionally clipped lawns. Roses grow up lattices. BMWs in the driveway. Soon enough, Dallas has been left in the dust. So long. See you next Wednesday..

Bryn Mawr Field Hockey: Defeating the Undefeated

Last Sunday, a disappointingly small, but dedicated group of fans got to witness a spectacular comeback, a miracle victory for the field hockey team. They became conference champions, as they took down the two-time defending champions, the team who was as of yet undefeated, and to whom they had lost twice. By all accounts, this season should have been a transitional year for our team. With few upperclassmen and numerous freshmen joining the Varsity squad, none, except perhaps the members of the actual team, expected such success. To be sure, very few members of the team ever envisioned taking back the crown come November 1.

But proving that hard work pays off, the girls did just that. With a rejuvenated student section in attendance at big games, capes, gold paint, and creative cheers to boot, field hockey charged into Sunday's finals, and then, quite literally, stole the title from under their opponents' noses, knocking in a goal during a climactic second overtime period. All season, the team drilled hard, staying for late practices, running, thinking about the playoffs. Senior captains worked to welcome and include the freshmen, and these youngsters fast became an integral part of the team. Numerous underclassmen racked up goals, steals, and saves, and experienced seniors helped make them even smarter players.

The parents coordinated team dinners and the players decorated shirts for one another, put notes in players' mailboxes, made inside jokes. The team became a family. Furthermore, the team was hungry to prove local newspapers, college recruiters, and conference administrators wrong. Inspired by a former players' severe illness, the team came together and played for her, literally throwing themselves this way and that. Countless bruises, injuries to the mouth, two broken thumbs, a black eye, and 12 stitches later, the team emerged- not beaten.

As they dogpiled at in front of the goal, girls collapsed to the ground sobbing with disbelief at what they had accomplished. The only ones more disbelieving than these champions were the runners-up, who perhaps had underestimated the talent and persistence, but also the intangible strengths, of the team they had just lost to. It was a happy ending, then, one brought about by a miraculous string of goal-line stands, skillful stickwork, and timely luck. Mostly, however, this team proved that Dumbledore is always right; love is always the most powerful force. The girls harnessed this love and converted it into an unforgettable championship that will be remembered long after the dust accumulates on the crystal trophy.

Gilman Volleyball: Better Than Friday Night Lights

I don't live in Texas. I probably never will. But that doesn't mean I can't appreciate great high school sporting events when I see them. There's something magical, enchanting even, about seeing your school win a championship. There's something a little crazy about being in classes with, standing in line with, and going to parties with people you idolize once they're out on the field, or the court, or the ice.

This fall, play at the Gilman has been disappointing. The football team did not live up to the hype and lost an especially painful homecoming game. The soccer team suffered key injuries. But for all the disappointment, there was a silver lining. The volleyball team put on a spectacularly riveting show, one that lifted our spirits, and entertained its audience with theatrics and drama that Spielberg could not have directed better. And their success was so unexpected, at least to those of us unfamiliar to the team. With so many seniors graduating from last year's team of conference champions, this year was supposed to be a rebuilding year. But volleyball took everyone by surprise, and took the court by storm, setting, passing, blocking, and acing their way into the conference finals and the hearts of all who watched. Led by a team of strong, dedicated, and inspiring veterans, underclassmen followed the lead of those invested and passionate players, channeling not only their skills on the court but their energy. Returning coach Neil Gabbey once again led the team to success, and strengthened his bonds with players, as well as fostering new bonds with incoming players. Both the team's hard work, and its cohesiveness, allowed for communication and a dedication to the game that was undoubtedly an important factor in Gilman's success.

Their season was one of those little things that make high school worth enduring. To not even attend the school and yet be so fully captivated by, so enamored with, this team speaks volumes about what the group accomplished. They made their fall sports season a memorable one, they gave people something to look forward to on Wednesday afternoons, to talk trash about, to lose their voices for, and reason to paint their bodies unnatural hues of grey and blue. Heated arguments with referees that made Ron Winter look good. Obnoxious opposing teams. Chokes. Line judges. Missed calls. Make-up calls. Coaches out of their seats. Deafening noise. Authentic World War II air raid sirens. Trashcan drums. Cheers (and jeers) that put the Cameron Crazies to shame.

The Spirit Committee and cheering section made nearly as great a contribution as did the actual team. Referees frequently tried to silence this group, but to no effect. The passion and dedication and pride exhibited by those in the student section was in and of itself something to be in awe of. And the small, tight knit community, the familiar brown interior of the old gym, and the stained, scratched hardwood floors, made the experience all the more personal. Everything one could want in a high school experience, he got in coming to these volleyball games. The soul. The comradeship. The ups and downs and smiles and tears. The fist pumps and the temper tantrums. The boy from your English class who gets jammed on one play and comes back with a kill so powerful that you momentarily lose sight of the ball. Volleyball inspired in us the range of emotions that are a part of human life.

Literally, volleyball was fun. But then again, it's always fun to see a team that wins. For me, it was less about the team and more about the grace and precision and finesse of the sport, the sounds from the sidelines- and the bench. The sweat running down your forehead because you are packed like sardines among hundreds of other spectators in an old, poorly ventilated gymnasium. It was about the parents' mutters and prayers and sharp inhalations as their sons served. Students dancing. Girls holding hands in anticipation, collectively holding their breath, as the server sets the ball in motion. Volleyball was an art that rewarded all the senses, appealed to the most primal and most refined of emotions and instincts simultaneously. Volleyball brought my friends and me closer together. It took our minds off of Early Decision applications, and AP Statistics tests and gossip, and we momentarily lived, suspended in the moment, forgetting the long hours of history homework that awaited us that night.

We watched the games together, riding the emotional roller coaster with the team and bonding with one another. We formed bonds with parents, faculty- everyone else as long as he was rooting for the right team. We watched our friends on the team learn from one another and trust one another. We watched their acrobatics and watched as their tempers flared. Their elation after pulling out a fantastic semifinal victory.
Although Gilman lost to Calvert Hall in the MIAA Conference finals, they accomplished so much more than earning a letter jacket or their names on a cup. They accomplished something great both for themselves and their surrounding community. It was a good run, and all who watched were glad to come along for the ride.

Volleyball was comfortingly simple- although sometimes the refs didn't seem to understand the simplest of rules- it was a refuge for all of us. It was that high school experience you never want to end, the one you'll remember for years to come. Amongst the followers of the traditionally popular football and soccer teams, volleyball drew crowds just as large, and certainly louder. Volleyball delivered a lift (a legal one) to our spirits and reminded me of just exactly why we put up with these four years.

Ravens Fall to Vikings on Another Missed Field Goal: Yes, Brett, They Missed It..

So it appears that the Baltimore Ravens are up to their old tricks. Or, rather, their old sloppy game of football. From top-down and bottom-up, the Ravens have made bad decisions over the course of the season, and particularly during Sunday's game against the Minnesota Vikings, that have been rather costly. The front office failed to make a move on resigning Matt Stover, and now he's off in Indianapolis, playing for "the dolts." Worse still, we signed David Tyree last week, when we really need a cornerback. Any cornerback. Our secondary's performances are difficult to watch. The Ravens really should be kicking themselves, literally, this week, after the secondary failed, again, (Mike Preston of The Baltimore Sun gave the unit an "F,") and Steve Houschka missed the game winning field goal from 44 yards out with 0:02 remaining on the clock. Houschka may be younger, fresher, stronger, and even generally more consistent than Stover is in his old age, but Stover had the experience and knowledge to make a game winning kick in a must-win game played in a dome. There is no doubt that Stover is a "clutch" player, as much as Adam Vinateri during the Patriots' Lombardi Trophy reign or as David Ortiz was for the Red Sox in the 2004 ALCS. Stover was also, surely, the quiet leader of the team. While more outspoken players like Ray, Ed Reed, and Bart Scott certainly got most of the limelight for their inspirational roles, I think Stover played a key role as a cornerstone for the team, a solidly dependable old-timer. Matt Stover, who came with the Browns team when it became the Baltimore Ravens, more than anyone, save perhaps Jonathon Ogden, was the face of the franchise. And incidentally, it seems that the Ravens are suffering from a poorly-timed identity crisis.

Until the fourth quarter, offensive production was nearly as miserable as was watching the Ravens defense collapse repeatedly. Derrick Mason dropped passes that were probably just as crucial as the drops Mark Clayton made in previous games. McGahee's production was nonexistent, and Le'Ron McClain did not make big plays. In fact, McClain has yet to have a big game this season, something that is much needed and long overdue. Ray Rice continued to churn, but with a weak offensive line, there is not much he can do. Since Jared Gaither's injury, first round draft pick Michael Oher has moved across the field to play tackle. I don't know if this move, or the relatively tame Minnesota crowd was the reason for his problems, but regardless, Oher was called for numerous costly false starts. If the stars, Reed, McClain, and Oher, aren't producing, what are we to expect from rookies and less skilled players?

More bad news: it looks like Samari Rolle is not coming back any time soon. So for now, the Ravens will have to work with their oh so promising cornerbacks. Talk show hosts and fans are off speculating about whether Baltimore should acquire T.O. I love T.O., unlike most people, so it pains me to say this is one problem that T.O. cannot solve. Unless he has a hidden talent for playing excellent pass coverage. (I'm sure he already plays better than Frank Walker, though.) So the Ravens go into the bye week strapped to a slowly deflating balloon.

But there was something eerily familiar about the Ravens game this past Sunday. Coming up just short because they dug their hole too deep. Too little, too late. Settling for field goals (although missing them is a relatively new, and rather troubling, trend.) Ray Lewis playing the secondary better than the actual safeties and cornerbacks. We won't even talk about Joe Flacco. Conservative play calling. Unimaginative play calling. Bad attitudes and worse penalties. The Ravens have forgotten who they were on their way to being, and unless they wake up from this amnesia, John Harbaugh & Co. will be watching round one of the playoffs from their couches, and Baltimore fans may not even bother turning on the TV.

Creative Piece: Games

inspired by David Mitchell's "Black Swan Green"

So I talked about the Game of Life-

You win by getting your little car to the end of the road of life first- but being two players at once is no fun.

Contestants have to guess a missing word- they win crap prizes,

Praying to scoop the kitty from Free Parking, Hugo’s already got hotels on Mayfair and Park Lane.

The scores climb high as rugby scores. One game can last hours, until the last-but-one kid goes home. And then the games are more like battles.

The cost of winning is so high that it would have been better if you’d never bothered,

Winning needs luck and bravery.

Talking with some people’s like moving up higher screens of a computer game,

My strategy collapsed and I didn’t even clear the first screen. A plastic disc floats on a cushion of air- but you need another human.

Spectators voted with their grins.

Operation’s this game where you take out bones from a patient’s body- war games’re extinct now. We played winner stays on.

Swerving, eddying, and ramming Score-Less-Than-20-With-3-Darts-and-Pick-Any-Prize! Grand Master of the Helter Skelter, tonight I leaned into the curves.

One crucial song tips the disco over,

Ain’t no TV here. I’m fishin’, I am.What was the name of that game when we were kids? Where the first one to catch up with the other won?

photo: alibubba (flickr)

Bruce Springsteen Visits Baltimore: Meet the New Boss, Same as the Old Boss

The irony is that another band that shared his 1970s spotlight, and not the Grand Master of words himself, was the one to make this statement, a proclamation that is so simple, but so true. The New Boss has not changed at all, or at least when it really matters. Bruce Springsteen is, still, The Boss. Tickets for his November 20 show at First Mariner Arena (or FDIC arena, as my dad calls it) in Baltimore sold out in a mere 20 minutes last Friday, a period fifteen minutes shorter than that which it took to sell out Miley Cyrus. Some things are better left unchanged.

Since 1972, Bruce and the E Street Band have been turning words into magic, weaving tales of the American Dream, of youth, of change. In Robert Santelli's compelling and beautifully edited coffee table book, "Greetings from E Street," he captures the essence of the band in a single quotation, taken from Springsteen himself. "I want you to put your hands together, your arms together, your asses together for the houserocking, pants dropping, brain-shocking, earthquaking, booty-shaking, viagra-taking, lovemaking, sexifying, electrifying, women shrieking, grown men crying, legendary E Street Band!" So okay, The Who may have put things more succinctly in their line, but as usual, Bruce captures the movement, the emotion, the power of the moment.

But the point is, the magic never dies, and coming off what I previously proclaimed the "best year ever," Bruce seems to be in store for the best consecutive years ever. After a bewitching Super Bowl performance, and a successful new album, Springsteen & Co. have hit the road on tour. They've sold out everywhere. They've sold out quickly. Chris Christie, the Republican candidate for governor of New Jersey, has done more than endorse his fellow Jerseyman. Apparently, he's attended 120 E Street Concerts, too. In fact, Christie is expected to belt out "Thunder Road" with thousands of other devotees this very night, during The Boss's concert at the Meadowlands. Not that Chris Christie's fandom dictates a good year, but anyone should feel good who has one man go to 120 of his concerts. Still waiting on Obama to invite the band to the White House, though- they did provide the soundtrack for his historical presidential campaign.

After their nineties hiatus, luckily the band came to their senses, or more like Bruce came to his, and reunited in 1999 after nearly a decade of being split up. And now, after 30 years, Bruce is returning to Baltimore, after he seemingly "went out for a ride and never came back." It seems preposterous that he has only played in the city once before (when he opened for Chicago in the 1970s), especially when "Hungry Heart" mentions beloved Charm City in its first line. And anyone attending the groundbreaking Nov 20 concert is in for a delightful show, as the band plans to play its "Born to Run" album in entirety.

Last week Bruce turned the big 6-0 and while no one has announced how he spent the night, I'm sure he spent it well. And two nights before, at a show in Iowa, the band led its captive audience in a rendition of "Happy Birthday." Imagine, Clarence singing you "Happy Birthday!" But E Street's expanding its label. The band was recently nominated for four Emmys, and now has developed a line of, might I say, fashion forward apparel. But that's not all, you can drink out of Bruce mugs, write your root canal appt. on a Bruce calendar, and even deck your kids out in Bruce (that is, if you're bringing your children up the right way, as mine did.) So, judging by Bruce's sheer mastery of all he attempts, I'd wager that if he wishes to pursue the fashion design/marketing track, he could soon make a mean joke of Anna Wintour, if he wanted to.

If only I had satellite radio in my car. He has his own channel. So what is it that makes this music so universal, so emotive, so beautiful? Is it that Bruce's clairvoyant mind allows him to approach subjects we all understand with an innate ability, one that we mortals don't have, to express deeper truths about these subjects? Is it the emotion and heat his music creates? Or is it something far more elementary? Maybe it is all these things, and for each person, something different resonates with them whether it be the form, the intonations, the pauses, the lyrics, or maybe just the man singing the words or that cool saxophone player?

Bruce and the band make things change. Literally, their music is used for political campaigns running on platforms of change. But more than this, they remind us of people we love, places we've been, things we've felt. The lyrics and the men behind them restore our faith in humanity, and listening to them, it is clear that their expressions are so genuine, so sincere, that they are significantly more beautiful, and more meaningful than the words that spew from other artists' mouths. They are not the only ones to discover this key to humanity, but they are some of the men who have done so most effectively.

The band uses a unique consciousness, captures those quintessential and transformative moments in our lives. It speaks of dreams, American pride, exceptionalism, values. It speaks to persistence and resolve, of struggle and of overcoming challenges. Their music is American, but even more so, their music is human, in the same way that the most essential parts of the American ethos actually reflect mankind on a whole. Thus, the band has received worldwide renown, respect, and patronage. The band speaks to unity. Most of all, nearly every song speaks of love. Making love, falling in love, keeping love, losing your grip on it, but refusing to lose it for good. Unconditional love that brings boy and girl, parent and child, Americans, people at bus stops, citizens of the world, couples on the Jersey Shore together. Love beneath the stars, in cars, and on endless summer nights. Love is that universal language, the metric system of emotions that everyone understands. Love is that aforementioned magic that never dies. Bruce and the E Street Band know this, and that is the key to being legend. The legendary E Street Band. 'Heroes get remembered, but legends never die.'

photo courtesy t.klick @ flickr.com

Creative Piece: Thunder Road Revisited

It's Thunder Road revisited

the radio plays

we know for whom Roy Orbison sings

and where there's thunder,

there's lightning

But spells break.

Pretend that it's forever dark.

It came and went

illuminating.

It thrust me in and out

of yellow blue grey black white

white hot.

stone cold. white hot.

Take shelter in a gazebo, by a school

with red brick buildings.

But I'll be the last to find the famed four leaf clover,

The storms always pass when we want them to stay.

And the clouds roll on from this town full of losers,

pulling out of here to win.

Hampden Restaurant Review: Rocket to Venus

A piece exposing Rocket to Venus's greatness is long overdue and well-deserved. While The Baltimore Sun and other local publications still have yet to pick up on Hampden's rising star, my family is definitely very aware of, and thankful for, Rocket's innovative and plentiful offerings. Located near the corner of 34th St and Chestnut, Rocket to Venus is nestled among Hampden's row houses, rather than situated on the neighborhood's main stretch, alongside other great eateries, like Cafe Hon and Golden West Cafe. Perhaps the more obscure location has contributed to its relative obscurity. This same factor, however, allows the establishment to retain its retro-quirky feel, and to cater mainly to locals and regulars. It also keeps the lines down, and I have never once had to wait for a table.

Outside, bikers can park the motorcycles and head into the bar for a drink, or they can sit on the outside patio and socialize while they sit at umbrellad tables and take a smoke. Rocket to Venus is open seven days a week and serves lunch/ brunch starting at 12 pm Sundays. The bar has an ongoing trivia contest and Rocket to Venus also hosts other weekly events like movie nights and bingos. The clientele is as eclectic as the menu, and the wait staff is at once individual and uniformly clad in skinny jeans, dark monochromes and rock & roll t-shirts. They're hip and servers give off an air of edgy self-confidence, but do not make diners feel unwelcome or uncomfortable. Local art, available for purchase, adorns the walls and is rotated constantly.

Of course, as at all good restaurants, the food is the best part. Rocket serves slider-style hamburgers, called wimpies, and also offers tofu ("sloppy jo-fu") and falafel wimpies. Who else could make falafel so appealing that it would tempt my 13 year old brother to try it, and then become his "usual" order? In addition to creative naming, Rocket masters one of my favorite foods of all time; brussels sprouts. In fact, my mom has said that we are probably the "only family that fights over brussels sprouts," but if more families ordered the balsamic roasted sprouts from Rocket to Venus, I am sure that would not be the case. I could easily eat three or four servings of these vegetables, but have to refrain in order to sample some of the menu's other offerings.

My mom always seems to go for the Banh-Mi, a vietnamese sandwich complete with pate, pickled daikon, mint aioli, and veggies. My dad likes the Andouille, Shrimp & Grits, although he tries to mix it up each time we come to Rocket to Venus. To accompany my brussels sprouts, I usually order the Rocket to Venus house salad and either a half-pound of steamed shrimp (with Old Bay) or mussels in a white wine sauce. The cheese plates make great appetizers, and my parents rave about the wine selection. In fact, my father raves about everything. He loves the servers, the counterculture-esque vibe, the unconventionality of the diners, decor, and menu. It has fast become THE family restaurant, and is currently Hampden's best kept secret.

Rocket to Venus certainly finishes strong, offering the famous Dangerously Delicious pies, featured on Food Network, and baked, literally, down the street, on its simple but unique desert menu. To top this, one can order a deep-fried PB&J complete with a scoop (or two) of vanilla ice cream, as well as caramel and chocolate sauces. I've seen people share this, but to me, it's really more of a one-person kinda dish. Regardless, you will either not want to leave or come back the next day, which is sure to be a good omen for Rocket to Venus's entrepreneurial future, not that the owners care about that stuff. They're just in it for the fun. And the food.