Aaron’s iFAQ #7: The Heretofore Untold Origin of J-Bird

Mrs. Bootleg & I are helping J w/campaign posters for his ASB vice president bid. They rejected my "BIRD IS THE WORD" slogan, so I resigned.

— Aaron Cameron (@ThatBootlegGuy) April 16, 2017

Our 13-year-old son Jalen starts 8th grade this week as one of the proverbial big men on the middle school campus. It’s bittersweet, to be sure, but, Mrs. Bootleg and I couldn’t be more proud of him. Jalen is an honor student and involved in ASB. He’s participated in leadership conferences and has the confidence to speak in front of his peers for oral projects. He’s a wonderful young man…who will always be our little boy.

If you’ve previously visited these lightly-read blog parts, you MIGHT have heard that little boy’s story before. Most of it can be found here. TL;DR? Really?! Fine…for the lazy goddam millennials among you: Jalen was born nine weeks premature, he spent five weeks in the neo-natal intensive care unit and most of his first year strapped to a bulky – ostensibly portable – heart monitor.

Jalen’s early physiological challenges extended to both his motor and speech functions. He didn’t start crawling until nine months. He didn’t start walking until 16 months. And, by the time his second birthday came around, his vocabulary remained exceedingly limited. These developmental delays led us to enroll Jalen in occupational and speech therapy.

(Believe it or not, there was a time when Mrs. Bootleg and I wished Jalen would talk MORE.)

Sometime in the middle of all this, I took Jalen to the zoo on my off-Friday. It had rained overnight and the early morning parking lot was filled with flocks of seagulls looking for worms, snails and whatever else might be served at the invertebrate breakfast buffet. As I unloaded most of the contents of my car into the ostentatious covered wagon that doubled as my son’s stroller, Jalen pointed out towards the Hitchcockian scene and said, “bird!”

This was Jalen’s first word in the non-mama/dada division, so I responded with the appropriate level of parental restraint. First, I frantically called Mrs. Bootleg at work to see if Jalen would repeat his monosyllabic utterance. When that failed, I expeditiously wheeled him to the flamingo exhibit – foolishly hoping he’d make the aviary association between a traditional bird and an ostrich/giraffe/pastel mash-up. When THAT failed, I simply dedicated the rest of my waking hours – every damn Morris day – to getting my boy to say it again.

If you’re a parent, you’re probably familiar with the path we travelled. Whenever we were out and about, I’d see a bird and melodramatically gesture towards it. Hoping to apprehend the attention of a toddler, I’d exclaim, “Bird! Bird! Jalen, bird!” My wife and I had been using “J” as an affectionate appellation since the day he was born, so it wasn’t long before my bleating became “J, bird! J, bird!”

And, it stuck.

From 1976, when the Atlanta Braves briefly allowed players to wear nicknames on their jerseys. This guy has the same nickname as Jalen and MY MIND IS BLOWN.

A post shared by Aaron Cameron (@that_bootleg_guy) on May 2, 2016 at 9:59am PDT

Years later, I found this picture of Atlanta Braves infielder Jerry Royster! The original J-Bird! Black baseball tradition! Jalen carries on this not-at-all exaggerated African-American legacy with equal parts pride and indifference!

Player introductions at All Star Saturday. My son drops his nickname. For marketing & merchandising opportunities, I presume.

A post shared by Aaron Cameron (@that_bootleg_guy) on Jun 20, 2015 at 2:04pm PDT

With Major League Baseball’s profitable/puerile “Players’ Weekend” jerseys on deck for the weekend, I’m reminded of a time when nicknames meant something MORE than money. I’m also reminded of two nicknames for Jalen that thankfully didn’t stick.

J started playing catcher for the first time as a 9-year-old. I was manager of his team and an incredibly kind and patient dad named Jason was an assistant coach. Late in one game, J threw out consecutive attempted base stealers at third to get us out of the inning. Coach Jason had taken J under his wing and gave him a lot of lessons on the position, so he was understandably excited. Perhaps, too excited?

Jason: “Wow! Those were two GREAT throws, Jalen!”

J: “Thanks, coach.”

Jason: “You should change your last name to ‘Cannon’!”

J: “Jalen…Cannon? JALEN CANNON! Dad! Coach said I should change my…”

Me: “I heard him, J.”

J: “Jalen Cannon! Jalen “The Cannon” Cameron! Say it like you’re announcing it, dad!”

Me: “No.”

A few years later, I was picking up Jalen from school. He had a pretty bad migraine and was trying to sleep it off in the nurse’s room. As I signed J out, one of his teachers approached me in the office.

Her: “I’m sorry to hear about his migraines. We just think the world of JB.”

Me: “Who?”

Her: “Oh…aren’t you JB’s father?”

Me: “You mean Jalen? Jalen Cameron?”

==

Me: “Why in the world does your teacher call you, ‘JB’?”

J: “It’s short for ‘J-Bird’.”

Me: “That’s [possible expletive] ridiculous.”

J: *mumbles something about ‘swag’*

Me: “What?”

J: “Dad, my head really hurts.”

Me: “We’ll talk about this later.”

We love you, J-Bird.

J with a bases clearing triple. Listen closely for my calm, measured reaction. #nbd

A post shared by Aaron Cameron (@that_bootleg_guy) on Apr 30, 2017 at 6:04pm PDT

How Well Do You Know Jalen?

February 7th is/was my son's seventh birthday. I thought I'd commemorate the occasion on this lightly-read blog by dusting off my "quiz" crutch infrequent feature.

The concept worked well when I asked How Well Do You Remember My Wedding? and How Well Do You Know Mrs. Bootleg? The obvious problem with a Jalen quiz -- one that I inexplicably didn't realize until I was two hours and just a few questions into writing it -- is that all of you know Jalen.

And, I cannot articulate how awesome that is.

That's also why I couldn't get this post up on the day of Jalen's actual birthday. I originally intended for 20 questions. But, when I couldn't come up with enough moments/anecdotes that I'd never shared with TBG readers; I dropped the bar to 15 questions...then, 12 questions...and finally settled on 10 questions just before midnight.

Begin!

(1) Jalen's middle name is:

(a) Henderson -- after his dad's all-time favorite Oakland A's player, Rickey Henderson.
(b) Stewart -- after his dad's all-time favorite Oakland A's pitcher, Dave Stewart.
(c) Hayes -- after his dad's all-time favorite Oakland Raiders defensive player, Lester Hayes.
(d) Marcus -- after his dad's all-time favorite Oakland Los Angeles Raiders offensive player, Marcus Allen.
(e) Wait...where's "none of the above"? Does Mrs. Bootleg know about this?

(2) How much did Jalen weigh when he was born?

(a) Three pounds, one ounce.
(b) Five pounds, two ounces.
(c) Seven pounds, three ounces.
(d) Nine pounds, four ounces.
(e) Eleven...oh, come on. His mom is 4'8".

(3) Which of these events DIDN'T happen on the day Mrs. Bootleg came home from the hospital?

(a) Mrs. Bootleg went outdoors for the first time in two weeks.
(b) Mrs. Bootleg openly wept when someone inadvertently cut in front of her while in line at the pharmacy.
(c) Mrs. Bootleg sobbed uncontrollably at her Valentine's Day card "from Jalen".
(d) Aaron was bitten in the hand by a small mouse that the family cat brought into the house.

(4) Which one of these harmless accidents happened on daddy's vigilant watch?

(a) Three-month-old Jalen was riding my shoulders when the top of his head clipped the top of the open garage door.
(b) Six-month-old Jalen rolled off the couch and through a glass panel on our coffee table while I was changing his diaper.
(c) Five-year-old Jalen split his forehead on the open front door during a spontaneous game of "living room dodge ball"...with me.
(d) All of the above.

(5) Mrs. Bootleg religiously watches all of the following TV shows. Which one does she regularly watch with an excited Jalen?

(a) Grey's Anatomy
(b) Desperate Housewives
(c) Mystery Diagnosis
(d) The Real Housewives of Atlanta
(e) Any music video featuring Drake

(6) For years, I was able to elicit uncontrollable laughter from Jalen -- and the stink-eye from my wife -- by singing some of the hook from which one of these children's songs?

(a) My Name Is -- Eminem
(b) Ms. New Booty -- Bubba Sparxxx feat. The Ying-Yang Twins
(c) Shake It Fast -- Mystikal
(d) Drop It Like It's Hot -- Snoop Dogg feat. Pharrell
(e) Make 'Em Say Uhh -- Master P

(7) Which live-action comic book movie gave Jalen his first legitimate "wake up at 1:00 AM" nightmare?

(a) Spider-Man 3
(b) Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer
(c) The Dark Knight
(d) Batman Begins

(8) Recently, while watching the 1989 comedy Major League (on edited, commercial television...I swear!), Jalen asked me which one of the following questions?

(a) "Why are [the Cleveland Indians] wearing throwback uniforms?"
(b) "Is that his mom?" (In the final scene where Tom Berenger and Rene Russo embrace on field.)
(c) "How come [the Cleveland Indians] have so many brown players?"
(d) "Who do you think is going to win the game?" (During...every...baseball...scene.)

(9) Until recently, how did Jalen regularly refer to his favorite salty snack -- Doritos?

(a) "Burritos"
(b) "Triangle Chips"
(c) "Nacho Cheez-Its"
(d) "Taco Crackers"

(10) Last year, Jalen was the only African-American in his kindergarten class. What role did he perform in their Martin Luther King, Jr. play?

(a) Martin Luther King
(b) Malcolm X
(c) Jesse Jackson
(d) The director of the play


Happy birthday, Jalen! If you're reading this, it's time for the "they grow up SO fast" photo inserts.

Answers: 1(a); 2(a); 3(c); 4(d); 5(c); 6(b); 7(b); 8(b); 9(c); 10(d)

Aaron's iFAQ #6: What the F Does "Bootleg" Mean?

J writes:

Hey Aaron! You have no idea how much time I've spent reading your archives since I first found your blog. I have to confess that I don't get the "Bootleg" nickname. For as long as I've known you I've never heard it and I've heard you refer to yourself by at least two dozen nicknames that you've given yourself over the years :) Give my love to [Mrs. Bootleg] and Jalen!

HA~! By printing your e-mail, I'm opening myself up to a small wave of verbal abuse from those who've known me longest. Sadly, none of my own nicknames ever stuck and you people simply fell back on "Cam" (fine); "AC" (meh…) or "AJ" (which I hate…).

Anyways, there's been a bit of an uptick in new readers 'round these parts and I've gotten a few variations of this same question, so why not dust off the "iFAQ" tag?

"Bootleg" was simply the shortened title of my weekly music column that first ran on 411mania.com and then moved to Inside Pulse.com. I've told the story so much that even I'm sick of it, so here's the short version:

I started writing CD reviews for 411 in December 2002. A few months later, the Friday music column opened up and I jumped at the chance. The first Friday Music News Bootleg ran in February 2003. I've linked to it before, but it's such an awful, awful piece of pandering dreck, that I'll leave to you to find it on your own.

(Fun fact: The original concept for the column was to feature the top five music news stories of the week – countdown style. The original column title was to be "I Got 5 on It". Of course, "original" is probably not the right word to use there.)

Back in the "caveman days" of this decade, AOL was the most popular IM vehicle and one night a random reader started a conversation with me – even though he had no idea who I was:

Reader: Why do I have you on my buddy list?

Me: Uh…

Reader: Do you write for 411?

Me: Yep.

Reader: You're that bootleg guy, right?

For some reason, that tickled me to no end and I immediately lifted it – and capitalized it – for my own use.

Hey, whaddaya want from me? I never said the "i" in "iFAQ" stood for "interesting".

Aaron's iFAQ #5: What Won't Aaron Eat?

J.C. writes:

Hey Bootleg Guy

[That Mexican Guy] turned me on to your blog and I just wanted to say how much I enjoy it. Having never met you, I'll have to take your word that the "current weight" that accompanies your food reviews is the truth. Is there anything you won't eat?

Welcome! I (heart) new readers. And, for what it's worth, the "how much do you REALLY weigh?" question ranks a distant third behind the "why don't you write about music anymore" inquiry and "do a radio version of the baseball broadcasters series" demand.

Anyways, the "current weight" is always accurate and up-to-date. I peaked at 190 lbs. on New Year's Day 2007, got down to 163 lbs. late last year and have settled in between 165-170 lbs. Biggest sacrifices? I stopped drinking three beers every night after dinner and gave up ginormously greasy lunches. "Is there anything I won't eat?" You bet'cha:

(1) Eggs cooked any way other than "scrambled" or "omelet": The morning of my wedding, my groomsmen and I got breakfast at a regional chain restaurant. One of my boys ordered a stack of pancakes with eggs, over-easy. He proceeded to dunk forkfuls of pancake into the runny yolk of his eggs. To this day, the image sickens me.

(2) Fruit-based pies that ain't apple: The slimy, phlegmy texture of boysenberry pie or cherry cheesecake has never done it for me. Canned fruit topping is an abomination of nature, but the religious right would rather protest cloning and gay marriage.

(3) Sour phallic symbols: Funny thing about me – I wouldn't turn down a hot dog topped with relish. I'm marginally OK with pickle slices if they sneak onto a hamburger I've ordered. But, the notion of eating a whole pickle is just…gross. I f*****g love real deli sandwiches (yeah, yeah…"there are no real delis in California! Brooklyn, WHAT! New York, stand up!") and, for the life of me, I'll never know what a whole pickle adds to the experience.

(4) …and speaking of deli meats.: Whenever I tell someone that I really don't like pastrami or corned beef, their response is ALWAYS the same: "You've never had GOOD pastrami or corned beef." For years, I fell for this pro-beef propaganda, before realizing that turkey – with a bacon chaser – is the money meat for big ass sandwiches.

(5) Blue collar beer: Gotta tread carefully here. So, Mrs. Bootleg has these friends. Nice couple, good people, the wife is blazin'. The problem isn't the cheap beer they serve at barbecues, birthday parties and other assorted functions. It's that it always comes in a can. Pour it in a glass and I'll pound away with the rest of the functioning drunkards. In a can, I just can't. (See what I did there?)

(6) Not a fan of the "dark meat": Once a week, every week for the 20 years I lived with my parents, chicken was served for dinner. Back then, there were only two ways humans knew how to cook it: fried or barbecued. True to the infamous Chris Rock bit, my dad got the big piece (breast). My brother always got the other breast. My mom took the two wings, which left me with a two-piece mix n' match of legs and thighs. The first thing that then-Girlfriend Bootleg ever cooked for me was baked boneless, skinless chicken breasts and I never looked back. True story: I once went to Popeye's and ordered a 12-piece box, all white meat. They had to bring the manager over figure out how to ring up the order. Is this really that unusual?

(7) The "salad" that shouldn't be: My mother also served up carrot-raisin salad, usually as an accompaniment to chicken night. I will never comprehend this concoction. An unholy union of fruit and vegetable – it's sweet like a dessert would be, yet lacks the inherent deliciousness of any dessert. Similarly, it brings none of a salad's awesomeness (blue cheese dressing, bacon bits and/or greasy croutons) to the table. THIS is why I moved out of my parents' house. Well, this and the need for privacy during sex. Those were the top two reasons.

(8) Chitlins, chicken gizzards, neck bones and ox tail: Black people…it's 2009. Quit eatin' the entire animal.

(9) Breaking news: liver and Brussels sprouts: The great thing is that Mrs. Bootleg loves liver. She made it often for her last boyfriend before she met me. Once I brought my light-skinned, house Negro sensibilities into her life, she had to give it up. Now ask me if I've ever given up anything I like for her? Nope!

As for Brussels sprouts, I hadn't touched 'em since I was 10. A few years ago, I went to the VIP opening of Stone Brewing's restaurant and was offered a serving of fried garlic Brussels sprouts. "I don't like Brussels sprouts", I told the server. "You'll LOVE these", he responded. "They're especially made for people who DON'T like them." So, I popped on in my mouth. Then, popped it right back out. When garlic and grease can't save it…

(10) Chicken Noodle Soup: I blame the fact that the only chicken noodle soup I ever knew came in a Campbell's can, swimming in that salty piss-colored broth. Consequently, when the soup mood strikes me, I'm prone to go with any other offering. Yes, most of them start with "cream of" or end in "chowder". I'd also include split pea, tomato and anything else no one over the age of eight would ever order. This just sealed the deal.

Rickey Henderson (Aaron's iFAQ #4)

I have no recollection of the first time I saw Rickey Henderson play.

I do know that it wasn't on June 24, 1979 – the day of his Major League debut when he went 2 for 4 with a stolen base. Nor was at anytime during the 1980 season, when he finished 10th in the AL MVP balloting (.303 BA/.420 OBP/100 SB) behind – among others – four future Hall of Famers.

It might've been in 1981. I'd pledged my sports loyalties to all things Oakland after the Raiders won Super Bowl XV. I spent the rest of second grade calling myself an A's fan. Although, that was the year that our family moved to North Carolina due to my dad's military service. Those were the dark ages of fandom when the three hour time difference meant games played on the West Coast weren't covered in the "news-paper" until 36 hours after the final out.

I do remember watching Rickey Henderson in 1982.

That was the year he broke Lou Brock's single season stolen base record. For the time, it was pretty big news, which is to say it merited a mention during the three minutes allotted to sports at the end of our local news broadcast. There was also a segment on it at the top(!) of This Week in Baseball.

I'd only see Rickey Henderson sporadically for the rest of his first run with the A's. He always seemed to be in All-Star Games, so we had a standing summer date with an agreement to cross paths one or two other times each year – always on Saturday afternoons or Monday nights. Thankfully, he had someone send me a recent picture at the start of each season.

I didn't see enough of him to be too torn up over the trade that sent Rickey Henderson to New York at the end of the 1984 season. Plus, by now, the Los Angeles Raiders had won another Super Bowl and were on television six to seven times more than the A's. 25 years later, who knew that would be the apex of my Raiders fandom?

Ironically, even though Rickey Henderson was closer to me geographically, I lost touch with the guy. I very vaguely remember highlights and soundbites of Don Mattingly's monster 1985 season, but it would be years later before resource sites like baseball-reference.com came along to show that Donnie Baseball stole the MVP Award from, of all people, Rickey Henderson.

By the start of the 1986 season, my family had moved back to Southern California. With the California Angels playing less than an hour away, I finally had a chance to see A's games with relative regularity. This was the balanced schedule era, so each team played a pair of home and a pair of road series against everyone else in the league. Six to eight A's games on TV!

In 1988, my A's won 104 games and the American League pennant. Rickey Henderson couldn't have been farther from my mind. These A's were all about The Bash Brothers, Dave Stewart and Dennis Eckersley. Besides, who needed Rickey when left field was in the capable hands of Luis Polonia and Stan Javier?

I do remember where I was when the A's reacquired Rickey Henderson in June 1989. M'man Smitty and I were at my house playing some old school Nintendo when our friend JP called with the news – on a landline, no less. Of course, none of us could trust JP as far as we could throw him, so we sought independent verification from our local NBC affiliate/liberal media elitists.

It was true!

Two months later, the A's played the Angels in Anaheim for first place in the American League West. On August 11, 1989, I finally got to see Rickey in person. He went 0 for 5, but the A's won 5-0 in front of 61,696 fans. Rickey hit .294/.425/.438 with the A's after a sluggish start of the season with New York. In the playoffs, he won the ALCS MVP with an eight stolen bases performance that was his coming out party on the national stage.

The following year, Rickey Henderson transcended to superstar status (.325/439/.577) and pretty much cemented himself as my all-time favorite player. The 1988-92 A's team played with a rock-star cockiness that endeared them to no one. So, it was quite the exclusive club (outside of Alameda County) for those of us who thought Rickey could do no wrong.

And, even when Rickey DID do wrong, I couldn't stay mad at him for long. In 1991, he went to war with the A's front office over his contract. He was beginning the second year of a four year deal, which he signed the offseason before baseball's salary structure shot through the stratosphere. Uh, for the first time. Uh, in the 1990s.

Rickey came to camp late, moped through spring training and famously quipped, "If they're going to pay me like [light-hitting teammate] Mike Gallego, then I'll play like Mike Gallego." Then, Rickey went 2 for 4 on Opening Day with two runs scored and a stolen base. He always had a way of making things right, again.

Unfortunately, whatever goodwill Rickey had accumulated with the media after returning to Oakland had been emptied out during his salary dispute. On May 1, 1991, Rickey broke Lou Brock's career stolen base record. But, the oft-reported out-of-context "news" from that event is Rickey's "I (pause) am the greatest of all time" soundbite. You know he DID say a few other things!

"It took a long time, huh? [Pause for cheers] First of all, I would like to thank God for giving me the opportunity. I want to thank the Haas family, the Oakland organization, the city of Oakland, and all you beautiful fans for supporting me. [Pause for cheers] Most of all, I'd like to thank my mom, my friends, and loved ones for their support. I want to give my appreciation to Tom Trebelhorn and the late Billy Martin. Billy Martin was a great manager. He was a great friend to me. I love you, Billy. I wish you were here. [Pause for cheers] Lou Brock was the symbol of great base stealing. But today, I'm the greatest of all time. Thank you."

Ultimately, those A's team underachieved and by 1993 they were an old, unwatchable lot. Rickey was traded to Toronto in a deal I applauded at the time. He'd get another crack at a World Series ring, while the A's would finally begin the rebuilding process. Fun fact: before Joe Carter walked-off into highlight reel history, Rickey opened the bottom of the ninth with a walk.

The 1994 strike took a lot of the luster off of Rickey's third tour of duty in Oakland and by 1995 – while living on my own and without cable television or an internet connection – it was right back to the Rickey-free days from a decade earlier.

It's weird how the two biggest Rickey-related transactions indirectly involved some of my best friends. On December 29, 1995, I was hanging out with a guy we all call "Thai" when news broke that Rickey had signed a free agent contract with the San Diego Padres. San Diego! My adopted hometown as of three months earlier!

With my strike-related malaise lifted, during the 1996 season, I was able to see more of my favorite player on TV than ever before. I only managed to catch one game at Qualcomm Stadium, though. And, unfortunately, it was on September 13. "Unfortunate" because by then, the Padres had acquired a grotesquely "swollen" version of Greg Vaughn and relegated Rickey to the role of revolving fourth outfielder.

Oh, and on the way to the ballpark, we heard that Tupac had died. Rickey struck out as a pinch-hitter. Kind of a bummer day all around, y'know?

Rickey would play for five different teams from 1997-2000, including an underwhelming fourth stop through Oakland in 1998. And, speaking of the A's, they were on their way to getting good again after nearly a decade-long lull. However, that didn't diminish my excitement when Rickey signed with the Padres near the end of spring training 2001.

With more disposable income since Rickey's last stint in "America's Finest City", the future Mrs. Bootleg and I caught him live several times. For the most part, it was a depressing experience. Rickey looked…old. And, not in that comical Otis Nixon way, either.

A five-week 14-for-104 (.135!) slump had Rickey's average at .209 on June 15. He could still reach base a very good clip, but only because he could no longer catch up to good fastballs or consistently make contact with even average breaking pitches. He'd foul-off his way into 3-2 counts, then keep the bat on his shoulder and hope the umpire would give him the call on reputation alone.

Then, a funny thing happened on the way to the glue factory. Rickey got hot. OK, it wasn't Rickey hot, but from September 1 until the end of the season, he hit .278/.398/.444 and stole nine bags in ten attempts.

The Padres returned from their final road trip of the season with Rickey one run behind Ty Cobb's all-time career record. I couldn't find anyone to go with me to the game on October 3, so I bought an $8 nose-bleed seat and watched Rickey tie the mark on a Ryan Klesko RBI double. I had two tickets for the following afternoon, but my friend bailed at the last second. Mrs. Bootleg couldn't get away from work, so it was just me.

Rickey homered in the bottom of the third inning to enter the record books. Again. A few days later, on the final day of the season, I was there with Mrs. Bootleg and a small army of friends as we watched Tony Gwynn's final game Rickey's 3,000th hit.

I'd prefer not to remember Rickey's mediocre runs through Boston and Los Angeles in 2002-2003. And, as far as I'm concerned his stints with the Independent League Newark Bears and San Diego Surf Dawgs – much like his two months with the hated Angels in 1997 – never, ever happened.

Rickey Henderson isn't just my all-time favorite player…he's the last favorite player I'll ever have. I'm too damn cynical (and too damn old) to get attached to anyone on my A's today. Last year, my four-year-old son determined his favorite A's were Bobby Crosby, Emil Brown and Eric Patterson. It just so happens that they were three of my least favorite A's on the 2008 team.

I'm inclined to let Jalen slide, though. As I said, he's only four. But, in a few years, I expect him to have perfected the "favorite player" selection process.

Just like his old man.

Aaron's iFAQ #3

"Have you ever been fired from a job?"

Wow, what a timely question! This month just so happens to be the 10th anniversary of my dismissal from my first paid post-college gig.

But, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

In the fall of 1997, I was finishing up the greatest individual year in academic history. I'd taken four units during the abbreviated winter session, seventeen units in the spring, seven units during the summer and, for dessert, thirteen units for fall.

As a degree in marketing was within reach, I spent the last few months of '97 sending out dozens of résumés – while finding new and inventive ways to ensure each job interview was worse than the last.

There was the interview with an office supply company. I met with two of their regional managers and nerves got the best of me. It might've lasted 15 minutes and I'm pretty sure I rambled on for about 14 of 'em. I literally heard them laughing out loud the second I left their office and closed the door behind me. I didn't get the job.

I interviewed for a media relations position a few weeks later. The first words out of the interviewer's mouth were, "I don't think you're qualified for this position, but I'm open to changing my mind." I didn't get that job.

Sometime after that, I flew up to San Francisco to meet with a finance company. I spoke with the guy who would've been my immediate manager and killed it. He insisted that I talk to his boss and I was even more awesome. They showed me where I'd be sitting "if" I got the job and told me all about their Friday Happy Hours and Saturday softball league. Then, I met with the president of the company. "We don't normally do this all in one day", I was told, "But, we'd really like him to meet you."

Three minutes later, by my guess, I was heading back to San Francisco International Airport. I didn't get that job. BTW, here's some unsolicited interviewing advice: When the president of a company asks you define something (let's say, "marketing"), then tries to correct you midway through your explanation, let him. And, don't try to correct him. They don't teach you that in college, kids.

By now, it was early December and my last final was on the 14th. I was facing the prospect of real unemployment and I'm not talking about the acceptable kind that's inherent in the word "student". So, I interviewed with a company called Blue Data.

They were a small outfit (maybe 10 people, total) that specialized in something called "data mining". I was told that I'd be working in sales – business-to-business cold calling, with the requisite ridiculously low base and 4% commission.

I absolutely did NOT want to work in sales or telemarketing, but they offered me the job right there on the spot. This was all phenomenally humbling, as I'd gotten every job I'd ever interviewed for to that point. Admittedly, we're not talking CEO or anything, but I vividly remember popping off to anyone who'd listen, "Just get me an interview…" Now, in an inexpensive and ill-fitting wool suit, I was reduced to sweaty-backed desperation. I got the job.

After my first two sales calls, I knew I had made a horrible, horrible mistake.

Sales requires a uniquely nuanced personality…someone who won't take "no" for an answer and can sell (natural element) to (something/someone who lives near natural element). It also helps if you don't tear up when a lead hangs up on you.

So, for the next seven weeks, I surfed the internet, made fake sales calls to my pager's voice mail and tagged along on everyone else's on-site presentations "just to get my feet wet". I had been called on the carpet once or twice and told to close a sale, but they were in no hurry to fire me and I was in no hurry to restart the sh*tty interviewing process all over.

Then, in early February, I decided that I'd had enough. I brought the want ads and a stack of online job listings into work on Monday, with the intent to send out resumes all day, every day, until I was out of there.

Now, why does my computer say: "ACCESS DENIED. CAMERON_AJ IS NOT A REGISTERED USER"?

I immediately knew that the jig was, as they say, up. But, why didn't they just call me sometime between Friday night and Monday morning to tell that I was sh*t-canned?

My manager was at his desk, so, of course, I feigned ignorance. He told me to sit tight until the owner got in. And, I would've took my medicine like a man, if my manager hadn't condescendingly gestured to the stack on my desk and said, "Why don't you read your little paper for awhile?"

The nerve! Sure, I was essentially stealing money from a small start-up company for a few weeks, but (1) it wasn't that much money and (2) that didn't justify being mean to me. So, I quit. OK, so it was the ol' "you can't fire me, I quit" kind of quitting, but let's not pick nits.

A short time later, I got a call from the owner – a genuinely nice old man who retired from IBM, cashed in a mountain of stock to start the company and gave me a chance when no one else would – to let me know "this wasn't working out". He never used the words "fired" or "letting you go" or "sh*t-canned". He even thanked me for the seven weeks and wished me well.

To this day, I still don't know why I was…well, why I don't work there anymore.

I mean, I know why, but I was never officially told. Best guess is that my manager got my phone records, saw about a thousand outgoing calls to (619) 904-7612 and put two and two together. Although, only an idiot would've needed the second "two".

Aaron's iFAQ #2

"What's up with your Raiders and why come they don't get the Oakland love that you give the A's?"

This ridiculous story officially "broke" over the weekend, but it's been rumored in the local press going back to October/November.

Not that the opinion of a Raiders fan from San Diego – who doesn't even infrequently attend games either down here or up north – matters much, but if team owner Al Davis forces Oakland head coach Lane Kiffin out the door, I'm done.

And, by "done", I mean "done" until Al Davis no longer owns the team.

And, by "no longer owns the team", I mean that I'm now rooting for Al Davis to…

Jesus, how'd it get to this point?

Once upon a time, the Raiders were the only team I followed with any passion. In the early/mid 1980s, my dad was stationed on the east coast. This was well before sports became a 24/7 news cycle, accessible across dozens of electronic, print and broadcast media.

The Raiders were one of the "it" teams – part of a rotation that, at the time, included the San Francisco 49ers, Chicago Bears, Miami Dolphins and Washington Redskins. Conversely, my Oakland A's could only be seen when one of them was represented at the All-Star Game (hey, Bill Caudill!) or with an "(n)" next to their game in the morning paper.

Those Raiders teams won a Super Bowl in 1984 and were the marquee AFC team with televised games all the time. However, in late 1985, everything changed.

My family moved back to California just before the end of the '85 regular season. It was then that I learned all about the NFL's blackout rules. Y'see, the Raiders played in the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum – an outdated, archaic facility that was built with the intention of honoring World War I vets and holding the 1932 Olympics.

Capacity was north of 90,000 and while the Raiders were drawing well enough, I was often reduced to listening to the late Bill King call their games on the radio. Even in that pre-HD age of picture tubes and only 80 cable channels, going from TV to radio was like a bullet train back to the slave days.

That '85 team was arguably as strong as their championship 1983 team. RB Marcus Allen won the MVP award that year and the Raiders won their last six games en route to the AFC's #2 seed. A match-up between the Raiders and Dan Marino's (4,000+ yards passing, 30 TDs) Dolphins seemed inevitable in the AFC Championship…until the New England Patriots waltzed into town and ended the Raiders' season.

In 1986, the team lost four straight to end the season and missed the playoffs – highlighted by an excruciating loss to the Eagles at home, when Allen fumbled deep in the red zone in overtime, which Philly returned for a touchdown. The following week, the Raiders dropped a 37-0 stinkbomb on Monday night in Seattle (a game my boy, Vig, remembers with mocking clarity).

While still a fan of the team, it was brutal to follow them through scratchy AM radio and infrequent game highlights on the 11PM Sunday night local news.

Then, things got weird.

The Raiders pushed head coach Tom Flores upstairs and hired a young Mike Shanahan to helm the squad in 1988. He finished 8-8 in his first year with an aging, injury-riddled outfit that at least boasted an exciting young core (RB Bo Jackson, QB Steve Beuerlein, WR Tim Brown, DE Howie Long and DE Greg Townsend).

Then, four games into the '89 season, Al Davis fired Shanahan and hired former Raider Art Shell – the first Black coach in league history.

Shell was a pleasant enough guy, but a terrible, terrible coach. He got an extended media pass due to (1) the soft local press corps and (2) that whole "first Black coach in league history" thing. His strategic shortcomings were further handicapped by Al Davis' bizarre, inexplicable feuds with his own players.

After showing some promise in a starting role in 1988-89, Beuerlein was benched – at Davis' direction – for the entire 1990 season for reasons that have never been explained. That Raiders team did make it to the AFC Championship game, but QB Jay Schroeder would never have another decent season in the NFL. Beuerlein was traded to Dallas in 1991.

Around the same time, Davis began an embarrassing one-sided feud with future Hall of Fame RB Marcus Allen. As the washed-up remains of Roger Craig and Eric Dickerson led the Raiders in rushing in 1991 and 1992, the Raiders finished a combined 16-16 with a healthy Allen averaging about 290 yards and just 65 carries in each of the two seasons.

Cutting off his nose to spite his fans has become a f*cking art form for ol' Al.

He idiotically opened the vault for non-talents Desmond Howard and Larry Brown just because they each lucked into a Super Bowl MVP award.

He signed the notoriously self-serving, coach-killing QB Jeff George in attempt to bring back the vaunted "vertical game" approach – which went extinct for a reason in the early '80s.

He fired/traded head coach Jon Gruden after four seasons at .500 or better.

And, we haven't even touched on Davis' unapologetic embracing of the Los Angeles gang element during his stay in Southern California, the ruinously shady deal that brought the team back to Oakland while fiscally crippling the city's infrastructure or his brazen employment of open steroid abusers like Bill Romanowski and Dana Stubblefield.

I think I've put up with a lot in more than 25 years of following this team. But, if Al Davis forces out the one guy who can bring respectability back to what's become an absolute laughingstock of a franchise – and in exchange for Dennis Green, no less – I'm out.

Anyone know how to add "obituaries" to an RSS feed?

Aaron's iFAQ #1

"How does a guy born and raised in Southern California become a fan of Northern Californian sports teams?"

I was never aware that there were rules for sports team loyalty until about 10 years ago. Seriously.

After graduating from college and joining the work force, the average age of my day-to-day peer group went from 20-something to 40-something. Growing up in the '80s and '90s, all my friends were Chicago Bulls fans or San Francisco 49ers fans or Dallas Cowboys fans. And, not because they were born in Illinois, Half Moon Bay or Fort Worth…it was because those teams won and front-runners trump all amongst the young.

By the time I joined the Unnamed Defense Contractor, I was working with people who'd set up decades worth of roots in San Diego and often asked, "Do you still have family up in the Bay Area?"

When I'd respond that I was born in Long Beach and had never lived in or around Oakland, they were incredulous. "You should be a Dodgers fan!", "You should be a Lakers fan!"…this was always followed up by the question that opened this post.

Here's your damn answer.

My sports fanaticism wasn't handed down from my father. Pops was from a small town in Georgia and only ended up in California because of the military. He watched football and basketball, but never had any attachment to any team. But, in 1980 (yes, I'm 76-years-old) the Pittsburgh Steelers were one of the early prototypes of the NFL teams that would transcend sports and become entertainment/pop culture fixtures.

Terry Bradshaw and the Steel Curtain Defense. Mean Joe Greene and that Coke commercial. The Steelers were superstars and I vaguely remember watching moments of them laying my "hometown" Los Angeles Rams to waste in Super Bowl XIV. The Rams! Warren Beatty's Rams! The Steelers beat 'em!

Several months later, the 1980-81 NFL season began and I very clearly remember plopping down in front of the family TV (the one with the "Jaws 2" Topps stickers on the side) to watch the Steelers and Oakland Raiders play on the October 20th edition of Monday Night Football.

(I can't take credit for remembering the date. I knew it was a Monday night in 1980. This website took care of the rest.)

Anyways, I watched the whole game and the Raiders won 45-34.

I don't remember much from the ensuing two months, until I caught the Raiders in a playoff game. They won again. Then, they won the following week and the week after that – advancing to Super Bowl XV in New Orleans to meet the Philadelphia Eagles.

Whenever I watch the Raiders, they win. Easy enough for an eight-year-old to understand. I watched Oakland's annihilation of the Eagles at my grandparents' house and, from that point on, all things Oakland had my allegiance.

A few months later, I came across this goofy logo (the early '80s were a rough time for marketing departments, I assume) and discovered that Oakland had a baseball team! If only I'd realized that the Golden State Warriors played there, I'd have had a basketball team, too. To make up for this omission in loyalty, I got in on the ground floor with these guys in 1983.

Of course, things got a little screwy when the Raiders moved to Southern California. They'd win another Super Bowl in 1984 and cement themselves as the team I'd never stop loving…until the A's overtook them on my pro sports preferential pecking order. In 1995, the Raiders moved back to Oakland, which – belatedly – was one of the primary reasons that the A's are now trying to leave Oakland.

And, I still live in San Diego.

Hope this clears things up.