Author Archives: kzmclain

What’s There to Eat?

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The other day my niece Maggie asked me if my grandkids were fussy eaters. She had heard me talk in the past about how Kaiya in particular has very specific tastes in food. Pizza and buttered noodles with parmesan cheese are about it. Well, and most things sweet. The rest of my grandkids have much broader palates. But they ALL like most things sweet!

Kaiya and Mylee enjoy a popsicle on their front porch.

Kaiya and Mylee enjoy a popsicle on their front porch.

I have always been told – and therefore believed – that if you cook with your kids or grandkids, they will develop a love of lots of different foods. I can assure you that this is not necessarily true. Kaiya loves to cook with me, but unless it’s something sweet, she will turn up her nose at the idea of eating the final result. Once she helped me make lasagna. Under my watchful eye, she carefully layered the tomato sauce, the meat, the noodles and the cheese. When we sat down to dinner, she wouldn’t even consider tasting it.

“Buttered noodles with cheese, please,” she will ask for every time.

It’s interesting watching kids develop their tastes in food. For example, while certainly not a fussy eater, 7-year-old Maggie Faith has a decided distaste for pizza. It’s about the only thing she will turn her nose up 100 percent of the time. Not Kaiya….

kaiya and huge slice

Dagny loves most kinds of meat, but will turn up her nose at fish or seafood of any sort. On the other hand, her brother Alastair, while certainly a meat eater, will choose fish or seafood every time if given the opportunity.

Joseph enjoyed a cinnamon donut during our visit to Vermont.

Joseph enjoyed a cinnamon donut during our visit to Vermont.

I think most of my grandkids eat some sort of sandwich for lunch. Even Kaiya will eat (or at least take a bite or two of) a Nutella sandwich. Mylee is the exception. Her lunch? Raw fish (sashimi) kept fresh in an ice pack in her lunch box. I’ll bet no one wants to trade for her lunch. I would, however.

I honestly don’t remember not liking anything my mom cooked. There were certainly no short orders taken or given. We ate what she cooked, as I think did most of my friends. It was a different time. There were things I liked less well – I could have lived a long time without a bite of pork roast – but most things were delicious.

A few weeks ago, Court and the kids came to our house to watch a Bronco game and then stay for dinner afterwards. As we watched the game, I shredded a mound of Swiss cheese to use in the macaroni and cheese that my grandmother used to make us. As I shredded the cheese, both Kaiya and Mylee kept coming up to me and stealing handfuls of the cheese. I didn’t blame them. We used to do the same thing when my mother would make Swiss Macs. In fact, she took to hiding the plate full of cheese in the cupboard so we couldn’t eat it all.

Dagny and her friend Brynn loved them a milkshake as we celebrated D's birthday.

Dagny and her friend Brynn loved them a milkshake as we celebrated D’s birthday.

Later that night, I offered them some of the prepared Swiss macs, and they both were aghast. Heavens no! Yuck.

“Seriously?” I asked them. “You love noodles and cheese, and this is the Swiss cheese you guys couldn’t stop eating earlier today.”

It didn’t matter because they were not going to even give it a try.

What did they have for dinner? Buttered noodles with parmesan cheese. Sigh.

Jingles

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The other day I was making a gourmet lunch of hot dogs and Cheetos. Sure, some French person somewhere in Paris was eating a Croque Monsieur or Madame sandwich while sitting on a park bench outside of the Louvre, but I don’t envy him or her because I LOVE HOT DOGS.

There. I’ve said it. In fact, one of my favorite lunch treats is the buck fifty special at Costco that features a foot-long hot dog or polish sausage and a Diet Pepsi. A buck fifty. Considerably less expensive than your Croque Monsieur, monsieur!

Anyway, I had spent good money on the weenies. I don’t go for the generic brand. No Siree Bob. I put out good money to get all-beef Oscar Mayer weiners because that’s the kind that Bill used to eat at his favorite hot dog joint on the South Side of Chicago. (I know, but that is not a typo. His favorite hot dog place didn’t serve Vienna Beef hot diggities. It was Oscar Mayer all the way.)

All this is to say that our lunch fare got us to talking about advertising jingles through the years. And Oscar Mayer had two of the very best. C’mon Baby Boomers. You can sing them with me….

I wish I were an Oscar Mayer weiner
That is what I’d truly like to be-e-e
‘Cause if I were an Oscar Mayer weiner
Everyone would be in love with me.

That catchy tune aired in the mid-60s. It is not to be confused with the equally catchy

My bologna has a first name, It’s O-S-C-A-R
My bologna has a second name, it’s M-A-Y-E-R
Oh, I love to eat it every day
And if you ask me why, I’ll say
‘Cause Oscar Mayer has a way with B-O-L-O-G-N-A.

I am not ashamed to tell you that to this day I never ever misspell bologna. Of course I’ve probably only had to spell it out five times in my life and three of those five are in this blog post. Still….who couldn’t love this symbol of fine hot dog eating everywhere….

I took this photo of the Weinermobile outside of our neighborhood Walmart.

I took this photo of the Weinermobile outside of our neighborhood Walmart.

Another famous jingle that also featured hot dogs was offered by Armour Meats, also in the mid-60s.  Remember?

Hot dogs. Armour hot dogs.
What kind of kids eat Armour hot dogs?
Fat kids, skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks.
Tough kids, sissy kids even kids with chicken pox
love hot dogs, Armour hot dogs.
The dogs kids love to bite.

We must not have been too concerned with political correctness in the 60s. Maybe we were too worried about where all the flowers had gone. Because I can’t imagine a commercial today that would talk about fat kids during which they would feature a plump girl biting into a hot dog. And sissy kids? Wouldn’t happen.

But of course, catchy advertising jingles weren’t limited to hot dogs. Who can forget two-all-beef-patties-special-sauce-lettuce-cheese-pickles-onions-on-a-sesame-seed bun? Or hold the pickles hold the lettuce, special orders don’t upset us?

And after all of those hamburgers and hot dogs, you needed plop,plop, fizz, fizz, oh what a relief it is. And the next morning, once your stomach was settled, remember that the best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup. But perhaps the one easiest to remember was this: Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, and so forth. Meow Mix cat food.

All this made me think about a movie I recently watched on Netflix called The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio, starring Julianne Moore. It was an interesting movie based on a true story of a woman who helped support her family of 10 kids by winning a variety of prizes – some monetary, some less helpful – for writing advertising jingles in the 1950s. Apparently companies used to hold contests to find the best jingles. I recommend the movie.

It makes me a bit sad that nowadays there are no jingles, only pop music as the background to commercials aimed at the 18-40 demographic. But just remember, when you say Bud, you’ve said it all.

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Saturday Smile: Goblins and Whatnot

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I know that Halloween was a whole week ago and we are now focused on Christmas (seemingly forgetting about Thanksgiving in between unless it has something to do with whether or not your favorite store is opened or closed).

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Nevertheless, seeing my grands dressed up for trick-or-treating is what made me smile this past week.

Here they are…..

Kaiya is Skelita Calaveris from Monster High.

Kaiya Skelita 2015

Mylee is Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Leonardo.

Mylee Leonardo 2015

Cole is Clark Kent in the process of becoming Superman (and eating Rolos).

Cole Clark Kent 2015

The McLains are a scary group. From left…Alastair is a so-called “bad guy” (his real costume included a hood and mask), Uncle Allen is Uncle Allen, Addie is a sunny-side up egg, Dagny is Carmen Miranda, Aunt Julie is the Queen of Hearts, and Maggie Faith is a spider-witch (wouldn’t want to meet one of those on a dark night).

Mclains halloween 2015

And in Vermont, Lauren is a witch, Joseph is Cilan from Pokemon, and Heather and Micah are construction workers, complete with a truck.

Hibbert McLains 2015

Lots of fun and lots of candy.

Have a good weekend.

Friday Book Whimsy: Agatha Christie’s The Monogram Murders: The New Hercule Poirot Mystery

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imgresThe newest thing seems to be authors taking over the writing of popular mystery series after the original author dies. Ace Atkins continued Robert B. Parker’s Spenser series. More recently author Kyle Mills continued the iconic Mitch Rapp series originated by the late Vince Flynn. It is my understanding that these authors have continued the series with the deceased author’s family’s permission.

I wasn’t aware, however, that there was a new Hercule Poirot book. SERIOUSLY?????

I was amused to find out very recently about Sophie Hannah’s new addition to mystery writer extraordinaire Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot series. The reason for my amusement was that it has been said that by the later books, Christie was sick and tired of the somewhat annoying little Belgian detective. She is to have said “he was a detestable, bombastic, tiresome, egocentric little creep.

But he was a detestable, bombastic, tiresome, egocentric little creep who I absolutely ADORED. As did many others. So I shouldn’t have been surprise to see this addition.

Since Christie famously killed off the detective in her final Poirot offering Curtain: Poirot’s Last Case, I wasn’t sure how Hannah was going to handle the new Poirot mystery. As it turns out, it is not subsequent to Curtain. Instead, it is just folded into his earlier life.

Hercule Poirot as portrayed by David Suchet in the wonderful PBS long-running series.

Hercule Poirot as portrayed by David Suchet in the wonderful PBS long-running series.

I was excited when I first began reading The Monogram Murders, though slightly apprehensive about another author besides Christie presenting Poirot, both in his appearance and actions, and by how the mystery would unfold. As much as I read mysteries, I admit I was rarely able to figure out the murderer in any of Christie’s books. Cheers to Dame Christie.

I started out optimistically, but I’m afraid I was soon disappointed. As hard as Hannah worked at presenting a reasonable imitation of the famous detective, it’s not surprising that she fell just short of success. Poirot did things in this book that he simply wouldn’t have done. It is hard to put my finger on what I mean, but if you are a fan of Poirot, you will understand. So then he was simply a detestable little creep.

Poirot has a new sidekick in this mystery, a Scotland Yard detective named Catchpool, and he is certainly no Arthur Hastings. I found him to be both unlikable and quite inept. It’s true Captain Hastings was not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but you couldn’t help but like him. Poirot and Catchpool worked together to solve the mystery of the murder of three people from the same small English village who share a dastardly secret.

I found the ending particularly unsatisfactory. One of Christie’s many strengths was that she could wrap it all up so satisfactorily, and all of the clues she sneakily placed throughout the book suddenly made sense. Hannah was not successful in this effort. The ending was frankly, terrifically confusing and chaotic. I found myself skimming the last confusing chapters because by that point I didn’t care who killed whom.

I’m thinking this might be the last attempt at adding to Hercule Poirot’s legacy.

Here is a link to the book.

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Thursday Thoughts

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Cutting Back
beebleberriesSince we arrived on Saturday, Bill has been busy getting this and that in order. He vowed to not undertake any projects that would take the entire just-over-two-weeks that we are going to be here, but man, that fellow has a hard time staying still. Thus far he has trimmed back lots of bushes (including that infernal acacia tree in our front yard about which I blogged). He has an ongoing battle with that particular tree, with the tree, I’m afraid, mostly coming out the victor. It’s pretty, but it goes from little yellow puffballs that eventually fall on the ground to little brown pods that eventually fall on the ground. Do you see a pattern here? And to top it off, the tree is covered with thorns, making for a difficult trim. But in addition to landscape maintenance, he has fixed a toilet as well as worked on our washing machine. In the meantime, as he works, I sit and read.

Pizza Pizza
It took nearly three full days, but Bill finally got his Oregano’s Pizza on Tuesday. It’s probably his second favorite pizza place, after Fox’s Pizza in Chicago. We drove to Chandler to visit Bec, and enjoyed a glass of wine and a cigar (well, Bill alone enjoyed the cigar) on her patio before we all went to her neighborhood Oregano’s. A big salad that we split three ways and a ginormous thin-crust with sausage and capicola. We didn’t eat it all, but I’m embarrassed by just how little we took home. Yum.

Speaking of Pizza….
I recently read an article that spoke on research being done linking carbs to dopamine production. As you may or may not know, Parkinson’s is the result of the brain’s decreased production of dopamine. According to the research, eating carbs results in an increase in dopamine (which is related to feelings of reward and pleasure). I don’t necessarily take articles about research results very seriously because I theorize that there is alleged research to support nearly any hypothesis. However, it certainly could have something to do with Bill’s love of pizza, no? He seriously could eat pizza for every meal, and nearly did when he was single.

Brrrrr
The so-called “cold front” about which the Arizona weather people fretted did, in fact, come through. The front resulted in highs yesterday of that hovered in the mid-60s. It rained intermittently, and whether or not you would be rained upon depended on where you were located. My sister Bec who lives in Chandler texted me in the morning to tell me she had been sitting on her patio enjoying her morning coffee when it started to rain. I looked outside only to see blue skies. The rain, however, did appear eventually. It was a nice change of pace. The windows were open and a cool breeze kept the house comfortable. I made a pot of ham and bean soup because it seemed appropriate. And, while I laugh at the excitement about weather conditions here in Arizona, I’m reminded that the entire state isn’t necessarily like here. In fact, they got snow in Flagstaff yesterday.

More Reluctant Traveler
One thing I didn’t mention in yesterday’s post about our off-interstate travels as we drove to Arizona is that on Saturday, rather than taking I-40, we got off in Grants, NM, and took a series of two-lane highways that eventually led us to Mesa. It was a tad bit slower, but very pretty. Part of our drive took us through the Malpais Indian Reservation….

malpais reservation

Ciao.

Reluctant Traveler: Happy Turquoise Trails to You

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Bill and I have made the drive between Phoenix and Denver approximately a million times. Well, I’m exaggerating, but it has been very, very many times. For the most part we have not deviated from the quickest route. Oh, it’s true once in a while we have taken I-40 all the way to Flagstaff and come in from the west if the weather is iffy. But most of the time we take I-25 south to I-40, get off I-40 in Holbrook, AZ, and take a couple of state highways that bring us right down into Mesa almost directly to our house.  It’s a pretty drive and we know it like the back of our hands.

But a couple of months ago I read a light-weight mystery called Sister Eve: Private Eye, by Lynne Hinton. I didn’t review the book because frankly I didn’t like it much. It had so much potential – a Catholic nun investigating murders; seemed like it could write itself. But it simply didn’t read well, or at least not to me. Since it’s a series, I might try the next one to see if the author got any better.

Anyhoo, one thing I did like about the Sister Eve book is that it took place in an area of New Mexico about which I was unfamiliar. The good sister lived in Madrid, New Mexico, a town on New Mexico State Highway 14, which runs basically between Santa Fe and Albuquerque. This highway is referred to as the Turquoise Trail because from as early as 900 A.D., the Pueblo people mined turquoise, that beautiful blue-green stone which screams SOUTHWEST. (See how I indicated screaming by capitalizing the letters? Sometimes my cleverness astounds even me.) There are several little tiny communities along that trail, but Bill and I stopped in only one – Madrid. We stopped because it was the community with which I was familiar from the book, but also because it was just so darn cute.

madrid nm

Madrid (which apparently is pronounced with the accent on the first syllable as emphasized over and over by Sister Eve) sits at about the middle of the Turquoise Trail. Though turquoise was probably mined there at one time, the bulk of what was pulled out of the mountains surrounding Madrid was coal, and lots of it. No more, of course. In fact, the town sat nearly vacant after the coal market went away, and the Wall Street Journal advertised the whole town for sale for $250,000 in 1954. Dang, I wish my dad had bought it. I could be mayor.

As I mentioned, there are a number of towns on the Turquoise Trail, but the day that Bill and I traveled that lonesome road (and it was, indeed, lonesome), it was raining and not conducive to exploration on foot. We did park our car and enter one jewelry store where I bought a couple of pairs of turquoise earrings (when in Rome……) for a great price. There were only a few people in the store, and at one point the lone salesman left to go look for a box for another customer, leaving me to peruse the earrings. It made me laugh, however, because the earrings were sitting out in the open, as was much of the jewelry. He was gone for quite some time, so had I been an evil-minded crook, I could now own 20 or 30 sets of turquoise earrings, a handful of rings, and enough necklaces to look like an African princess. You’ve gotta love the trusting souls of Small Town America.

jewelry counter madrid nm (2)

As we left the little store (which does a much better job with its jewelry than it does its coffee – just sayin’), Bill made friends with the store’s greeter, a friendly metal one-piece mariachi band.

metal statue madrid nm

Since the scenic Turquoise Trail bypass took only a little bit longer than the normal drive from Santa Fe to Albuquerque, I recommend a detour if you’re ever in the area. I definitely want to go back some day when the skies are as blue as the turquoise jewelry!

This post linked to the GRAND Social

Haters Gonna Hate, Hate, Hate, Hate

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I feel the earth move under my feet
I feel the sky tumbling down
I feel my heart start to trembling
Whenever you’re around. – Carole King and James Taylor

searchBill and I returned to our home in Mesa, AZ, on Saturday night and are busily getting settled in for a couple of weeks, at which time we will return to Denver for the holidays.

Sunday night, during a break in the Broncos/Patriots game, I took the opportunity to take a quick shower. At some point, something happened. I wasn’t really concentrating, but I felt like the earth shook very briefly. It sort of passed through my mind that something weird just took place, like an earthquake? Nah. That thought went away and never returned. Because, well, we’re in Arizona, not California.

Yesterday morning I got a text message from my niece Maggie. Did you feel the earthquake? the text said. Suddenly it all came back to me. I immediately called her.

“Was there really an earthquake?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she assured me.

“What time?” I asked.

“Around 11:30 at night,” she replied.

Well, I was pretty sure I was sound asleep at 11:30 and wouldn’t have felt anything, or would have recalled it if I did. Still, I was pretty sure I had felt something earlier in the evening.

Later I discovered that there had actually been three small earthquakes – the one I apparently felt at 8:45ish, and another two somewhere between 11:30 and midnight. I wasn’t losing my mind. Well, arguably I am losing my mind, but at least not about feeling an earthquake.

I have never before felt the earth move under my feet; in fact, have only listened to the song by Carole King. Perhaps if you live somewhere in California, particularly near San Francisco, when you feel unexpected movement under your feet, you recognize right away that you are experiencing an earthquake. When you are from Colorado and you feel the earth move under your feet, you think you shouldn’t have had that second glass of wine or maybe you are getting too excited about the Broncos game.

Weather is a big deal here in Arizona. The earthquakes, though small (3.2, 4.0, and 4.1 – small enough to sound a bit like college GPAs) were the talk of the news people here in the Phoenix metro area, second only to Taylor Swift getting sued by someone for allegedly stealing the lyrics to Shake it Off. Here in Arizona, we don’t worry too much about a Russian plane crashing midair, at least not when Taylor Swift is being sued. Arizona has its priorities. She led the local NBC affiliate’s 5 o’clock news program. Sigh.

No matter, because both the earthquakes and Ms. Swift were quickly forgotten when the weather folks realized a cold front was heading this way. I promise you I’m not kidding when I tell you that the meteorologists are up in arms about the imminent cold weather. That’s the word they use – cold. It will be in the 60s. Remember, however, they are coming from a summer of 110 degree days. Sixty degrees feels cold. It’s all relative.

In the meantime, I am awaiting the aftershocks of the earthquake. It goes without mentioning that I am also bracing myself for the aftershocks of the Taylor Swift situation should the singer/songwriter be determined to be a lyrics thief.

The Importance of Being Important

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O when the saints go marching in
When the saints go marching in
O Lord I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in. – Author unknown, but song made famous by Louis Armstrong

There comes a point in everyone’s life – at least everyone over the age of 55 or 60 – when you start asking yourself, how did I get to be this age and just what have I accomplished in my life. For me, it hit quite early – somewhere in the neighborhood of 30. There were probably a lot of reasons for this, not the least of which was that I was going through profound marriage difficulties that ultimately resulted in divorce. Nothing makes you feel like a great success more than a divorce. I’m being sarcastic.

For others, it may be when you turn 40, or maybe 50. Here I am, you might say, 50 years old and I’m still not a millionaire. Or I still haven’t gotten my MBA. Or there is no Corvette in my garage. Or I don’t have a garage.

When you think about it, however, it’s all about how you measure success.

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The Forerunners of Christ with Saints and Martyrs, a painting by Fra Angelico, 15th century.

Yesterday was November 1, and Catholics (and probably some other religions) celebrated All Saints Day. For Catholics, it’s a holy day of obligation, meaning we are supposed to attend Mass, no matter on what day of the week it falls. In a most unsaintly way, I am always glad when it falls on a Sunday, thereby killing two birds with one stone. Shame on me.  It’s probably likely there will never be the word “saint” before my name.

I don’t know if it was because it was All Saints Day or if it was in the regular church reading cycle, but yesterday’s gospel was from Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount as told by St. Matthew.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Jesus went on to say, “Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven.

Jesus’ testimony to the crowd, and therefore to us, isn’t anything new. A few weeks ago he told his disciples that in order to get to heaven, we have to have the faith of children. This time he reminds us that people with simple faith and simple needs will be first in line to greet St. Peter.

Gospel readings such as this one remind me how complicated Christian people sometimes make our faith. We get caught up in political righteousness when it seems to me really all God expects of us is to have a simple and pure faith in him and kindness to others. Love God and love one another. I found our priest’s homily meaningful. He said that while we all measure success by how much money we have or how successful we are in our professional lives, or even how successful our children are, in reality the Beatitudes are Jesus’ blueprint for success. Boom.

It’s not complicated. And it wasn’t complicated for most of the saints. They modeled their lives after Jesus, and now we should model our lives after them.

I’ll try, as long as I don’t have to live off locusts and honey like St. John the Baptist.

ReinieBy the way, When the Saints Come Marching In was played at my father’s funeral, partially because he was a fan of Louis Armstrong, but mostly because he was one of those saints that marched right in!

Saturday Smile: She’s Counting the Days

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A number of things made me smile this week.

Mylee 2015The night Kaiya and Mylee had their sleepover, they were in their pajamas and were playing while Bill and I watched a football game on television. Out of nowhere, Mylee said, “Nana, I get your chair when you’re dead.” Boom. Trust me; it’s not that great a chair so I hope she’s not counting on it any time soon.

The other day I got a text message from the husband of one of my best friends to give me some information. We don’t typically text; in fact, the message came to my cell phone displaying only a phone number so it took some detective work to figure out who it was from. By detective work, I mean a series of back and forth text messages to learn the texter’s identity. Anyway, the next morning I noticed I had another message from my friend’s husband, who, by the way, is a truck driver. It said I spent the night at the Walmart in Huron. Love you. Now, trust me when I tell you that I didn’t suspect a secret love had been professed. In fact, I knew exactly what had happened. I just didn’t quite know how to handle it. So I did nothing. Later that day, I got a third message from my friend’s husband.It said Sorry about the earlier text. Would you maybe tell my wife that I love her more.

Finally, a photo of Alastair as he prepared to play his first rugby game. Yikes. He’s 10! Thank goodness he has the mouthpiece at least.

Alastair rugby

Have a great weekend.

 

Friday Book Whimsy: Hangman’s Game: A Nick Gallow Mystery

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searchAs much as I love mystery stories, I try to limit the number that I review. I avoid reviews of mysteries mostly because each book is often part of a series, and so I am reluctant to review only one of the books. I’m making an exception with Hangman’s Game primarily because it is a debut novel, though the fact that it is called A Nick Gallow Mystery leads me to assume that the author, Bill Syken, intends to make it a series.

I hope so.

Nick Gallow is a punter for the fictitious NFL team the Philadelphia Sentinels. He is a somewhat disgruntled punter. He was originally a college quarterback but was injured in a way that precluded him from continuing as a QB. At the urging and with the assistance of his football coach father, he reinvents himself as a punter, a role he has played for five years with the Sentinels.

One night, following dinner with his agent and the brand new and highly-paid Sentinels rookie, a drive-by shooting results in the rookie being killed and the agent being seriously injured. Gallow is the only witness, and he didn’t see a lot. All fingers are pointed at a self-absorbed and arrogant Sentinels linebacker as the killer, but Gallow doesn’t think so, and sets out to find out.

The author is a long-time sportswriter and editor with Sports Illustrated, and so his descriptions of the BUSINESS of football are believable. As an avid football fan, I enjoyed getting a pretty honest picture of what it’s like to be a punter – basically the low man on the totem pole that consists of plenty of prima donnas.

Reviewers have said that the reader doesn’t need to be a football fan to enjoy the book, but I’m not certain I entirely agree with this assessment. It is a very good mystery, but part of what I enjoyed about the book was the element surrounding professional football.

With that caveat, I recommend the novel, and look forward to the next Nick Gallow mystery.

Here is a link to the book.

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