Twentysomething in Buffalo

Starting a New Trend

This past March I joined the BAC for Women in Depew. Since then, I have been running on the treadmill and at Losson Park pretty steadily all summer.

Still determined to improve my former partying ways, I thought a healthy hobby would be to get into running 5K events around the area. So on Sept. 11 a friend and I participated in our very first 5K run at Como Park in Lancaster to support the troops overseas, remember 9/11 and do something a little more productive than pajamas and boxed wine.

I'm not your average runner. I showed up to the race with makeup on, a brand-new outfit, and my nails painted, but when I looked around the park there were no "average runners." Ages ranged from 10 to 65. There were families running together, couples, friends, some serious long-distance runners and some people there for their usual evening stroll.

Usually when I go for a jog I am constantly stopping and starting to catch my breath. This wasn't the usual jog. At first I didn't want to stop, and I really didn't pace myself because I would get competitive when people would pass me. I got over that real quickly when we reached our first check-point. I was convinced we had to be at the 2-mile marker but given a swift reality check when I realized I was only through the first mile.

My final time was 34 minutes, which I thought was a pretty good pace for my first run. And it wasn't as rigorous as I had anticipated. Although, echoing in the back of my head throughout the entire race were the sarcastic and motivating words of wisdom from my father: "Whatever you do, don't finish last." -- ha ha dad.

Well I didn't finish last, but it didn't matter. Crossing that finish line was something that a year ago I never thought I would do. Not because I couldn't, but because I really didn't care. But, I have to admit, it was so rewarding and I felt great afterward. I'm already scanning the Web for the next one to participate in.

It was pretty clear that I was a 5K-rookie. I'm not really sure what to eat before a race, how to prepare for one, and I could really use some tips on how to improve.

Any suggestions?

--- Kelly Boquard

Horse play

One of my co-workers was discussing the bets he placed before Saturday's Belmont Stakes and it captured my interest. By no means am I an avid horse racing follower (I was stunned to learn Big Brown was flown to Baltimore for the Preakness -- who knew there were planes for horses?), but I have to say out of nowhere the sport is quickly growing on me.

Move over silly little pools that include drawing names out of hat. Bring on exactas, trifectas, wheels.

At first I vowed to join my co-worker in making an OTB stop prior to next year's Triple Crown events, but then I remembered I still have major races like August's Travers Stakes and October's Breeders' Cup to work with.

Then it dawned on me that Fort Erie Race Track is a bridge crossing away. Minimal research indicated that parking and admission are free. I have not been there in years, but how can you pass up a stogy resting between the lips, an ice-cold beer in one hand and a horse racing program (which I will have to learn how to read) in the other?

Aside from Fort Erie, our region also offers harness racing at Buffalo Raceway on the Fairgrounds and later at Batavia Downs.

Count me in for a couple trips to the track this summer. Anyone else share the same sentiment, which I surmise is not necessarily common among twentysomethings?

---Geoff Nason

Theory about Marshawn

Like many Bills fans, my heart sunk when I heard Buffalo role model Marshawn Lynch may have been involved in a hit-and-run. I went into denial mode. There is simply no way Marshawn could have been in that car. The only hit-and-run Lynch has ever been guilty of is on linebackers.

But then I did a little research, and the results were startling. Just look at this
YouTube video  of Lynch driving with one hand and making sloppy turns as innocent bystanders are forced to dive out of his path. Clearly, putting Lynch behind the wheel is a recipe for disaster. The Bills should have assigned him a personal chauffeur the day he was drafted.

Further research only supported my theory that Lynch is the culprit. This video evidence displays the running back's affection for Buffalo night life. He says Applebee's lets him pour his own drinks, but he never mentions what is in those drinks. Watch him closely as he plays the racing game at Dave and Busters - his eyes aren't even on the road. Who will the children look up to now?

Still, something just doesn't add up. First off, Applebee's isn't open till 3:30 a.m., when the woman was hit,  and Dave and Busters isn't near Chippewa. So, what could Lynch possibly be doing downtown on a Friday night? Clearly that is not something he would be interested in.

This is the scenario I envision most likely occurred:

Lynch is at home studying his playbook. He has an early morning workout, so he's about to call it a night when his phone rings. On the other end, one of Lynch's friends is calling to say he is stranded at SOHO and really needs a ride home. Lynch is a good guy, but he has to get to bed. So, it only makes sense for him to lend his keys to a member of his posse. We all know where the story goes from there.

Looking at the clues of this mystery, I am confident Lynch's name will be cleared. In fact, he'll view it as a learning experience and use it to rush for 2,000 yards this season.

Andrew Rafferty
News Intern

Go Penguins!

My family and I moved to Buffalo 14 years ago, when I was 7 years old. Before that (except for a two-year stint in Boston), we lived in Pittsburgh, where the rest of our family remains. I have absolutely loved growing up here, and the people here have truly turned into my family. All that aside, I have to take a minute to brag, and then beg.

My beloved Pittsburgh Penguins are in the Stanley Cup Finals. I know, I know -- I've lived here for two-thirds of my life, I should get over it -- but I can't shake the black and gold.

Last night's game 5 of the series between the Pens and the Detroit Red Wings was some of the best hockey I've seen in a long time. It was fast, desperate, passionate hockey, and with a triple overtime, it was the kind we don't see too often.

The Penguins are clearly the underdog in this series, as anyone who knows anything about hockey will tell you. But we have to give them credit for last night -- that was a hell of a battle, and after a heart-stopping 110 minutes I couldn't have been more excited to see them  get to game 6. Now if they can only manage to win the next two games, the Cup could be theirs.

That's where you come in. This amazing hockey town has more passion for the Sabres than it knows what to do with, and I'm begging you to lend your support to the Penguins for the next  few days. While I can't call myself an avid Buffalo sports fan, when your teams aren't playing Pittsburgh, I promise I'm wishing them the best (and I love the Ryan Miller energy drink commercial as much as the rest of you).

So, as the Sabres are resting up for next season, don't watch the finals indifferently; grab a case of Rolling Rock and cheer on your neighbors from the Steel City! Besides, doesn't Detroit have enough Stanley Cups already?

- Stephanie Schomer
    News Intern

Softball in the on-deck circle?

I was disappointed earlier this month when inquiring about my former town baseball team to see if I could rejoin it. I found out that the team, and league it played in, are now defunct.

You see, I am just not ready to dive into softball yet. I know there are plenty of fast-pitch leagues out there and even some slow-pitch ones sound competitive, but at 25 I still think -- falsely, I suppose -- there is something left in the tank and cannot bring myself to do it.

My old town baseball team would have been a nice fit because I work an erratic schedule, and I work nights. I would have been able to at least make it to weekend afternoon games at home. Besides, these were guys I had played with for some time before working in northern New York the past couple of years.

I know there are plenty of muny leagues around, but I'm skeptical about offering my part-time services to a team. Showing up every now and then is an inconvenience to the rest of the squad.

Should I just break down and join a softball team with people I know who would be OK with that arrangement? I don't see that happening, but maybe after a summer of no baseball I could bring myself to do that next year.

I am sure there are a bunch of you out there with softball tales, so feel free to weigh in and convince me to cross over.

---Geoff Nason

A Touchy Subject

Famed hockey goaltender Patrick Roy recently made headlines after his 18-year-old son Jonathan instigated two separate and brutal brawls during the playoffs of the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League. The catch? Though he denies it, the elder Roy is now facing speculation that he not only supported his son's fights, but encouraged them.

Where do you draw the line with parental involvement in youth sports? It's a topic I hold close to heart since I wrote my senior thesis on the subject this past year, and despite extensive research and numerous interviews with local coaches, refs and parents, I still don't know the answer.

While most parents will argue that they truly have their child's best interests at heart when they sign Little Johnny or Suzie up for little league, I've seen too many reported incidents of overzealous parents becoming over-involved at youth games to the point where they become a violent embarrassment.

I'll admit: I am a little biased when it comes to the issue; my dad has been coaching kids for the better part of 30 years, and has always emphasized the idea that having fun and developing fundamental skills takes front seat over tallying up the scoreboard. I happily realize there are some truly wonderful parents who provide nothing but encouragement, support and best wishes for their young athletes.

The problem is, it seems a lot of kids these days aren't being allowed to play sports without constantly hearing a parent whisper "advice" into their ear, or worse, yell at an opposing parent or unsuspecting referee.

As a twentysomething who used to be a competitive swimmer in my pre-teen years, I look back on my early sports days without remembering pushy parents, overly-strict coaches and competitive teammates. I would be mortified if my mom or dad ever got into a yelling match with another parent, or if they tossed out nasty remarks to a competitor.

All I remember is swimming IM after IM, practicing flip-turn after flip-turn, ultimately shriveling into a raisin after hours in the pool. At the end of the day, I reeked of chlorine because I - not my parents, or my friends, or my coaches - but because I loved it.

I wonder how many kids these days are participating in a sport because they really love it, or because they're afraid of how others will react if they don't love it enough?

Have you ever experienced violence at a youth game, as a player or as a parent?

- Molly Hirschbeck

INSANITY CAUSED BY SOMETHING IN THE MONTH OF MARCH! CATCH IT!

Today has got to be the greatest day in sports. Why? MARCH FREAKIN' MADNESS, BABY!

My favorite sport is baseball, I bleed Bills Blue & Red and Sabres Blue & Gold, but there is no sporting event that gets me excited like the NCAA tournament. I mean, watch this video and TELL me you didn't get goosebumps at least 11 times.

Add to that yesterday's ludicrous (I mean LUDACRIS) comeback by the Sabres, and you'll understand why I am currently sitting at my desk, twitching with excitement.

So I'm going to be following the tournament all day, via the Internet, and after work beelining it for the nearest bar (I'm in Amherst...any suggestions? COME DRINK WITH ME!) to catch up on the action.

On a no-money wagering sidenote, I've got Pitt going to my Elite Eight and Kansas winning it all - I seem to do this every year, as I always place those teams further than they deserve (Though Kansas, this year, is TRUTH). There are two reasons for this: 1) I used to live in Pittsburgh and 2) William S. Burroughs retired to Lawrence, KS.

As for the Sabres' win last night - they're like that old crazy girlfriend: They were crazy and unreliable, but it was those inspired moments of insanity that made you love them...and make it easy to go back. I'm a sucker.

Sabres' Rock.

"I'm just glad he's alive."

Last night, as we made our way home from HSBC Arena, we listened as radio commentators attempted to describe what had happened at the Sabres game.

Although they did their best, the same phrases inevitably surfaced time and again. Blood. Gushing. Squirting. Pumping. Everywhere. Stable Condition. Malarchuk. 

But I think there was only one word that really explained it: terrifying.

I was up in the 300 level right above where Zednik fell. For those up top, the collision wasn't anything out of the ordinary; a couple of guys went down, and play quickly continued as the puck was rocketed into the opposite end.

White to Red.

At first, the crowd around me gasped-a bloody nose? Torn up knuckles? Did he punch someone? But after that first few drops, everyone realized this wasn't a small injury. Although it probably only took Zednik 10 seconds to skate over to his bench, it seemed like it took minutes. It was coming too fast, too much, too dark. My hand remained glued to my mouth as people began to cry out, mothers covering their kids eyes, men standing up, some shuffling out exits.  For the next 15 minutes, we all stood in relative silence, with only hushed whispers echoing through the Arena. One man in our section came back to report that security was blocking off exits and bathrooms because so many people were passing out.

Only when it was announced that Zednik was in stable condition did the audience actually breathe. A standing ovation broke the silence, and looking back, I'm proud of how classy Buffalo was in handling the situation. Even though the game  resumed, the last nine minutes were a blur. A goal was scored, a penalty issued, but both the crowd and the players remained visibly shaken and uncharacteristically subdued.

My heart broke as we were leaving.  As we were riding down the escalators after the game, a 10-year-old young boy holding his dad's hand, looked up and asked, "Dad, do you think I should tell Mom about Zednik?" When it was clear his father was at a loss for words, the boy simply offered, "I'm just glad he's alive."

I think we all were.

Where you there or watching on TV? What was running through your mind?

-- Molly Hirschbeck

HBO Segment: A well-deserved slap in the face

I am a huge fan of tailgating and the Buffalo Bills. But as I have expressed before, I think there are too many people that cross the line with their tasteless antics and obnoxious attitudes.

Did anyone notice that most of the footage of Buffalo was of either someone falling over or vomiting? Is this really the image we want to portray?

I am no saint on Sunday mornings at the Ralph, but seeing one girl bare her chest for a stadium full of chanting fans and another double-fisting bottles of Crown Royal was like watching a commercial for "Girls Gone Wild."

I don't blame the Buffalo fans; I think they are loyal and inspiring. Instead, I blame the individuals who seem to miss the point of tailgating. I recall one Washington fan ranting incoherently about being some sort of head of a drinking club. I couldn't help but blurt out, "are you kidding me?" Was an initiation process and binge-drinking etiquette his idea of having goals in life?

I have only really experienced horrendous behavior at the game a few times, but it seems like there are many others out there who are just fed up with it.

What do you think?

- Kelly Boquard

Rehabilitating Major League Baseball

Last night while out with friends, I got into a conversation about the New York Yankees (one of my absolute favorite topics) with a Boston Red Sox fan. There is very little that BoSox and Bombers fans agree on, but I found myself focusing more on the total mess the sport is in.

  I am disappointed, disgusted, disgruntled, and discouraged at just how disgraceful some of these "professional" athletes are. Not only do I think steroid use is equivalent to cheating, I also think most of these players are spoiled brats.

A few years ago, I got wrapped into the hysteria of Jose Canseco's book "Juiced." The book was a page-turner, and I recommend it to any baseball fan. Reading the list of Major League players recently named in the Mitchell Report felt like deja vu.

Looking at players like Gary Sheffield, Jason Giambi and Barry Bonds, they might as well have "steroids" tattooed to their forehead. But Eric Gagne? Roger Clemens? David Justice? What a let down!

I also am fed up with the whining. After his antics during the World Series, I look at A-Rod like a money-hungry, selfish baby. His performance on "60 Minutes" with Katie Couric should be nominated for an Oscar.

It seems like the entire sport could use rehab.

Even though I feel like totally giving up on Major League Baseball, I look at players like Ichiro Suzuki, David Wright, Jorge Posada, and my personal favorite, Hideki Matsui, and I realize that maybe there is some light at the end of the tunnel, or at least some players out there who rely on actual talent and love of game over paychecks and publicity.

- Kelly Boquard