At the stroke of twelve on a crisp mid-October night, madness ensues–the fanatical screams of blue-blooded partisans comingle with the metronomic thump of leather on a freshly waxed hardwood floor…

College hoops is in the air and just in the nick of time, babyyyy! Having endured the most boring World Series in recent memory (told you so) and the inauspicious debut of the “new” NHL, many are restless for a more adventurous journey in sport. The road to the 2006 Final Four will be long and arduous, ending in April in Indianapolis in what will surely be (because it always is) the most closely contested and nailbiting finish to any sport in America.

For Number 3 son and me, tis the season to don our Duke Blue Devil apparel and head up the local extension chapter of the Cameron Crazies. Along with the rest of the rowdy and raucous blue-clad Dukies, we jump in unison, chant insults and hexes at opposing players and raise our hands in anticipation of yet another J.J. Redick long distance trey (whoosh!). In our best broken Shakespeare we join our voices with the Blue Devil Nation: “Cry Havoc, and let slip the Devils of Duke!” [...]

Finally, after four days of media feeding frenzy, at least a few columnists (Michael Wilbon, Ted Miller and Paul Campos) are speaking some sense. Good for them.

Fisher DeBerry, head football coach at the US Air Force Academy has gone and done it again. First there was that little “I Belong to Team Jesus” banner hanging in his office that got him into hot water. Now he’s enduring the gauntlet of the national media after making what many judge to be the racially insensitive remark that African American athletes can “run very well.”

He said this on Tuesday in the wake of his team’s 48-10 loss to TCU and has been paying for it ever since with several rounds of apologies and clarifications. He has now been officially reprimanded by the Air Force Academy Superintendent, but it does appear that he will keep his job.

Now I know what all this is about. I grew up in and still live in the South and I was around when Jimmy “the Greek” Snyder committed his infamous racial faux pas. It’s about racial stereotypes and assuming that a person has a certain characteristic or skill simply because of the amount of melanin in their skin. This type of thinking can of course lead to misunderstandings and misjudgments which in some cases can be dangerous. Point granted.

But still, there are several things about this incident that bother me. Can we all simply take a collective deep breath and think critically for a moment? [...]

Lestat must be spinning in his coffin right about now. His creator, author Anne Rice, has driven a stake through his heart and turned away from her trademark chronicles of angst-ridden vampires wandering the earth in search of redemption. Having rediscovered her Christian faith, she now turns her attention and writing prowess toward the Redeemer himself.

Rice’s new novel, the first in a forthcoming trilogy on the life of Christ, is set for release November 1st and is entitled Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt. Her subject is the 7-year-old Jesus as he relates in his own words the struggle to balance the usual travails of childhood with a growing awareness that he’s “just a little different” than the other kids on the block.

As usual, Rice has apparently done her homework. She has spent several years sifting through scripture, New Testament scholarly treatises, early church writings, films such as The Passion of the Christ and other novels such as the Left Behind series. Mix it all together and add a sprinkling of noncanonical apocrypha, and what emerges is a provocative story that will surely light the fires of both the imagination as well as many fundamentalist Christian book burning parties.

Rice returned to Christianity and her childhood Roman Catholic faith in 1998 after nearly dying from a diabetic coma. [...]

Since that fateful day that I began baring my innermost soul in Ocular Fusion, the reader need only refer to my rambling, incoherent posts and personal blog profile to uncover some of the more sordid details of my life.

One personal feature that is not apparent, however, is what I look like. I figured at first that keeping my face concealed would add a sort of J.D. Salinger style mystique that would be good for business. But an incident at work last week convinced me that, for better or worse, I need to uveil my mug to the world.

I look like Larry.

Or so said one of my patients last week when I sat down to begin his exam. At first I thought, ‘Larry, Larry…Larry who? Is this a mutual aquaintance, the janitor perhaps, or maybe the guy who fries up all that tasty fish across the street at Captain D’s?’

Noticing my confusion, my patient said, “You know…Larry!”

Oh, that Larry.

My patient was of course referring to the Larry, Larry Fine, who for years starred along with Moe and Curley in the comedy series The Three Stooges.

How apropos, I thought. Larry was usually the straight man, the sole sane stooge amid all the mayhem. Here I am, the veritable Voice of Reason, rising above the seesaw fray that is the blogosphere. Yes, Larry indeed!

My patient interrupted my hopeful reverie. “It’s the receding hairline and all the bushy curls in back,” he explained.

At that moment, I felt as if Moe himself had hauled off and slapped me in the face.

Now this is a variation of a scene that occurs with regularity when I examine a patient who hasn’t seen me in a while. Many times there is no brake pedal between the thought that forms and the words that spew. Their greeting often goes something like this: “Hey doc, good to see ya! Ya know, it looks like you’ve put on a few pounds since the last time I saw you.”

In those situations, there is usually a vast gulf between what I’m thinking and what I actually say. [...]

Yet another indication that President Bush may actually care about black people, contrary to what is popularly alleged, has turned up in the news. On Wednesday, the President held a lunchtime tete-a-tete with pop’s most famous human rights and AIDS crusader frontman Bono of the megagroup U2. Picking up where they left off at the G8 summit in July, the two discussed various topics including African AIDs relief, malaria control and world poverty.

Never short of chutzpah in the presence of world leaders, Bono has actually been very complimentary of Bush lately. In a Rolling Stone Magazine interview set to hit newstands today, Bono praises the POTUS for his administration’s $15 billion dollar outlay for African AIDS relief, much of which is being used to purchase and distribute needed anti-retroviral drugs. This is in contrast to the Clinton administration’s $300 million. As you might recall, that disparity was enough to even get Richard Gere’s attention.

What an odd pair–a self described evangelical whose “iPod One” is full of George Jones and Alan Jackson, working together with a self-described “loud-mouthed Irish rock star” whose Christian faith is nothing if not unorthodox. Is this a cynical photo-op designed to prop up sagging opinion polls, or perhaps a sign of the “breaking-in” reign of Christ that so many are hoping for? You be the judge.

As for Bono, when it comes to a listening ear for his pleas, maybe he really has found what he’s looking for.

I know two or three of you are waiting with bated breath to read what I’m going to say after the demise of my beloved Cardinals last night. I was hoping that if we were destined to lose that we would at least avoid going “quietly into that good night.” Alas, we went not with a “bang,” but a “whimper.”

A hat tip to the Astros pitching staff who tamed the mighty Cardinal bats and also to the rally-squelching 2nd base umpire in last night’s game who somehow saw the “phantom tag”–you guys make a great team. I really do wish Houston the best, but I just want you to know that it’s hard for me to think of your team without thinking of the guy pictured to the right.

Now that I’ve released all my bile, let’s move on to other matters. As many of you know, the bulldozers are firing up as I write, preparing to finish off the remainder of the old Busch Stadium to make room for the new Cardinals Field. This is creating a unique opportunity for Redbirds fans to add to their collections of Cardinal’s memorabilia as practically everything from stadium seats to urinals are up for sale. [...]

Whenever I hear the name “Wilma” usually two things pop into my mind: my mom’s friend in Virginia and Fred Flintstone’s longsuffering wife.

That may soon change. This morning, Hurricane Wilma, the third Category 5 storm to form this season is now churning her way toward the Gulf. She is presently the second strongest storm to have ever formed in the Atlantic Basin and by this weekend will likely pose a “significant threat” to southern Florida.
One wonders if there is not some diabolical mind out there who has created a weather machine and is bent on destroying us. If this one makes landfall as expected, it will once again test our resolve and resources to the extreme.

Everyone together now: Dear God, please tell Wilma to get lost.

My wife and I were discussing this and other weighty matters during a rare dinner out sans kids. We considered the prospects of running away together to some “safe” place where nothing much (especially hurricanes) ever happens. [...]

Albert Pujols rescued the St. Louis Cardinals from the brink of elimination a few moments ago with a dramatic 9th inning, two-out, three run shot off of Brad Lidge to give the Cardinals a come from behind 5-4 win and keep alive their hopes in the NLCS. In the process, he kept alive America’s hopes of not having to suffer through the most boring World Series in MLB history (‘Stros v. Chisox).

It’s back to the comfortable confines of Busch Stadium now (scheduled for demolition after the final out this year) and, God willing, some more Cardinal heroics.

I say “God willing” because it appears that, despite my fears expressed earlier, God has dumped the Angels and may be looking for a team to sponsor. [...]

Ever since the First Council of Nicaea, Christians have been getting together to hash things out. Now that the blogosphere has taken the Christian world by storm, it was only a matter of time before the first God Blog Convention was convened.

Although I’m enjoying reading all kinds of blogs and especially connecting with other Christians and reading their thoughts, I’m a little skeptical about some of the extravagent claims I’m reading. When it comes to the blogosphere’s potential for ushering in a new era in Chrisitianity, I frankly don’t think ol’ Johann Gutenberg needs to be watching his back. [...]

Sometimes we Church of Christ folks, bless our hearts, can be more boring than a piece of dry toast. Now for those of you who aren’t from these parts, in the South we routinely use the phrase “Bless his/her/their heart” immediately prior to a critical comment in order to cushion the blow and make it more respectable. Around here forthrightness is considered to be, at worst, the 8th Deadly Sin, and at best, rude. Even my wife, a no-nonsense “Show Me” from Missouri, is now peppering her conversations with the magic words. But I digress.

Despite our penchant for plainness, one look around the news does turn up a couple of Restorationists who are making names for themselves. [...]

Here’s a blast from the past. About five years ago, I published this story in Optometric Management, one of our trade rags that I contribute to now and then. “Mr. Skinner,” if you’re still out there driving that John Deere, keep on truckin’, but watch out for that…doh!…never mind.

——————————————————————————–

It seemed he’d helped me more than I’d helped him.

Mr. Skinner kept his independence through difficult circumstances. He was legally blind but he refused to let that take away his freedom of living.

Recently, he came to my office for his annual exam. The familiar tapping sound and a glimpse of his red-tipped cane made me recognize him immediately. He smiled and moved toward the exam chair, his head moving from side to side like a beacon scanning the night sky. [...]

In a curious case of life imitating art, my old high school friend Eric Ferguson has decided to borrow a few pages from one of my favorite movies in his bid to unseat incumbent Republican Allen Dudley in the Ninth District race for the Virginia House of Delegates.

It’s an interesting time to be a conservative Democrat in Southwest Virginia. The fine, salt of the earth folks there don’t care much for either Blue State, tree-hugging progressives or button-down, country club Republicans. So, what’s a good conservative Democrat to do? Why you fashion yourself the “Pro Guns, Pro People” candidate and conjure up the ghosts of FDR and “Giv’em Hell” Harry Truman of course!

Eric is hoping to whip the “Ol’ Timey Democrats” of the Ninth District into a voting frenzy by giving them what they want: guns, Blue Grass music (including an appearance by Dr. Ralph “O Death” Stanley), lots of NASCAR, but most importantly, the memories of simpler times and “Happy Days”–and the hope that maybe it could be that way again.

It appears the strategy may be working. Inside sources (my mom and sister) tell me that the local high school auditorium was filled to overflowing for the Stanley concert and that practically every piece of yard art in Franklin County has been papered over with “Ferguson for Delegate” signs.

Eric is a fine guy who will do a great job if elected, and I wish him the best. I do have one gripe to relay to my old friend, though. I know that Ben “Cooter” Jones and the General Lee were a big hit with the folks back home, but you left out one very important individual. Where’s the midget with the broom?

Many dream of a corner office with a great view. I don’t exactly have a stunning view from my office window, but when I look into the eye–the “window” of the body–I behold a sight which still leaves me breathless: a reddish-orange ocean and crisscrossing canals of branching blood vessels delivering and returning their life-giving load.

On a day when scripture may seem a little arcane, my prayers dry and stale and everyone (including me) possessed of the devil himself, God often whispers to me, through the beauty of this intricate organ of sight, “Peace, be still. Everything’s gonna be awwwright now.” No, I don’t see secret messages inscribed in the retina (although I did once hear a story of an ophthalmology resident who laser-tatooed a patient’s retina with his initials…urban legend maybe? Let’s hope so).It’s just that the view calms and settles me, reminding me that a God who could create such an efficient and complex “camera”(and whether it was in an instant or over millions of years, I frankly don’t care) must be larger than my particular crisis du jour.

I suspect I will speak often of eyes and vision in this blog, and of the analogue of “spiritual” vision about which scripture has much to say. My favorite miracles are, no surprise, Jesus’ healing of the blind (especially the times when he spat on the ground and made mud–the origin of the old toast “here’s mud in your eye” perhaps?). In the Sermon on the Mount, Christ spoke of the eye as the “lamp of the body” and of the light that filled a person when his eyes were “good.” True physically and even more so spiritually. Indeed, the ability to see beyond the mere material (even to see God in the material) and discern the First Things of life is a gift as precious as physical sight itself.

So, forgive me if I wax eloquently about eyes. When you have an office with a view like mine, you just can’t help it.