Trouble at Polling Locations

Working voting sites on voting day is exhausting.

I spent Tuesday from 7:30 a.m. to noon at the Tuttle Park Recreation Center on Oakland, talking to voters.

At 7:30 there was a long line, but around eight, the place was completely dead. There was no one except the OSU Votes representative from California, an Obama front-liner from New Jersey and two other Obama canvassers. But voters slowly trickled in. One first-time voter could hardly contain his excitement that he had indeed voted for president, and his vote had gone for Mickey Mouse.

Then we got the message, around 10:30, that three counties north, electronic voting machines were recording votes for Obama as votes for Nader on the machine print-outs. Voters were urged to check their results.

The OSU Votes representatives got other texts from the Board of Elections following the electronic voting issue, some even more profound than one that cautioned us to “beware of fat fingers.”

I learned the hard way that laughing out loud at something like that will get you angry stares from every canvasser within a 50-foot radius. 

The drop-dead serious attitude of campaign season is sickening. I am aware of the issues riding on this election; the possible impact on our economy, global warming, taxes and the like, but I do not see red when it comes time to decide whom to vote for. I recognize the long-term ramifications of decisions like these, but there is Congress, the Supreme Court and our state governments that have a say in what happens too.

Voting is a privilege, something Americans living in a competitive Democracy get to take part in. Sure, it is easy to end up all voted out, but there are some great candidates this year beyond the presidential race, and some crucial changes could be made in our city council this year. Even my friend, an post office carrier who works 58 hours a week, found time to come in and vote.

“I don’t really care about what happens,” he said, “but it is my civic duty, really.”

Aussie Rules

On a humid September afternoon, there is nothing better than a game of footy. My friends recently joined a local team and decided to drag me out to their match, imploring me to write a story for the local campus paper.

This was no ordinary football game. Australian rules football is a recent development in Columbus and the fever is spreading. Members come from varying areas across Columbus, several from OSU. Chet Ridenour, 26, Coach of the Jackaroos, has a goal for the club next summer to start a local Metro League, with his own Ohio State team. “This is bigger than a couple of guys playing backyard football,” he said.

From looks alone, the sport resembles a potpourri of soccer, basketball, rugby football and ultimate Frisbee. Players score through 4 goal posts set up at either end of a field 198 by 140 yards. They kick, toss, fumble, tackle and block at an exhausting pace. Feet are usually flying in the air at some point. One poor bastard is slammed to the ground or others dance around the mark, waiting to see if he misses the catch.

Ridenour found his niche and thanks to veteran footy players, Australian rules enthusiasts, and Facebook, the team is up to 30 members and growing. His Jackaroos, slang for Australian cowboys, live by the motto, “fake it ‘til you make it,” playing for the friendly competition and training for the next local scrimmage.

The Jackaroos are not afraid to be honest when addressing the brutality of the sport, or the intricacies that lead to its appeal. “Aussie rules is the most skill full football code on earth,” said Brian Turpie, 41, umpire and veteran player. A player, on average kicks a pass of 70 yards, runs miles a game and jumps for most catches. Umpires protect players on the team from severe injury and scuffles, but the mark, or the receiver of a catch may not be so lucky. “Unlike the NFL, here you can take the runner out!” Turpie said.

But the team is about more than footy. Players consider other teammates “true blues,” reliable as battle-field comrades. Scott “Scooter” Matheson, 23, an Australian native and recent OSU graduate, said, “It’s just a good time. The same guy you’re fighting with is the same guy you’re buying a beer for afterwards.” That camaraderie traces the sport back to its Australian roots.

I spent the majority of my time with these fellows chatting with them at Byrne’s pub, downing a few lagers and dissecting offensive tactics.  Most of them giggled their way through, but others didn’t cease to amuse and tiltilate with facts about this violent but culture-laden sport.

Chris “Pig Dog” Parsley, 42, a boxing instructor, fleshed out this true blue idea further for me, “In footy you have several defender positions, and no goalie. We’re all out there looking out for one another and how we can make sure one of our guys gets the ball.” His nickname is also a result. “In context it makes sense,” he said, “I play like a dog hunting a pig!”

The Jackaroos can be found practicing Tuesdays and Thursdays at 6:30 P.M. at the Turf Fields or Beekman Park, or at Byrne’s Pub, the local Irish Tavern Thursdays after practice. Find then online at www.columbusfooty.com, or come in person to check it out and play some footy.

21–Adulthood on the Horizon

I just turned 21 on Sunday.

Despite the amazing dimensions of freedom, at the same time I feel a bit at a loss. With all of this freedom comes another slue of responsibilities–or so it seems.

But what bothers me about it is that I look at all of those and am scared, well, shit-less.

In particular, I do not recommend drinking a Green Monster or a Lemonade … or a Stoplight at a bar where the bartender has her dimples pierced with little diamond studs. Yuck.

My drivers’ license is horizontal, I can go to bars and a certain aura of respect has manifested around me. But really now, it is just another year, isn’t it? I do not recall any particular rites of passage into adulthood as a 21-year-old accept for drinking oneself under the table.

But with these new responsibilities, I suppose, I have to step up now and set up my own rules. Not to mention, buying alcohol is expensive. Setting these standards, how to start? Possibly, by first figuring out who one really is–not the characteristics, but limits and thresholds. Blacking out is not a good thing. Don’t you want to remember what happened the night before? (well, maybe in some cases, NOT)

Stop Whining About Gas.

It’s everywhere – the newspaper, TV and it’s apparent in that dent in your wallet. Gas prices have reached an all-time high. There are a few reasons why this could be. Maybe it’s because the oil hounds are wringing us dry. Or perhaps it’s because our president is using the profits to line his down-feather bed. It could be attached to the food price crisis and ethanol craze. But, most likely, they are high because they can be.

Environmentalists have made this issue a cornerstone for the “go green” campaign. I find some of the arguments pretentious, but most of them do have a good point – that gas is running out and we can’t replace it.

On May 15, motorists were encouraged via an e-mail not to buy gas as a protest against the big oil companies. Not many people followed through, as gas is a necessity in the world. The companies know this. Why else would they milk us for every cent they can?

In a recent Lantern survey, 12 percent of respondents claimed they “would buy gas no matter the cost.” I drive a gas guzzler – a 1993 Crown Victoria that struggles to get 22 miles per gallon. There is an argument for having no other option besides driving, but why not carpool?

There is too much arguing and complaining going on, and not enough doing. A few brave vigilantes have taken the big oil companies on their gambit and found an alternative route, but the rest of us whining is not going to change anything.

Lifestyle or otherwise, we can make a difference. Our economy is capitalist and our government is democratic. Without us and our money, these institutions are nothing.

But, as long as we listen to them, we’re no better off than the words they feed us or the prices they charge us. If a grocery store charged $6 for a gallon of milk, we would pay for it. So things are crappy. What are we going to do about it? I don’t expect anyone to change the world, but we do have a chance to give them a clear message.

Angry Christians

If someone is shouting, spitting in your face and gesturing wildly, I would expect one to become defensive. But there is a point when yelling back is not going to make the attacker listen.

Brother Jeb, Jed, whoever he is, decided to visit campus Monday.

In all fairness, Brother Whatever-His-Name-Was had a valid point. Yes, we are all born sinners in the eyes of the Christian religion. He had the Bible verses memorized to a T, his heart was in the right place, but the words he was using were doing more harm than good.

One student threw sticks at him. Another stood up and waved his arms back, shouting that sex before marriage was not a sin. A group of students ran by in hot dog costumes.

I felt like I was at the circus, watching the ringleader attempt to tame a bunch of lions. Amid all the chaos, what offended me most was that the true Biblical message of Christianity had been drug through the mud, beaten and hung up to dry. He never explained what the truth was. He never gave the gospel of Christianity. He only appeared as an angry bigot.

f one were to actually read Biblical scripture, they would find that the messages contained inside are focused primarily on love, faith and hope. Specifically in the first Corinthians chapter 13.

Maybe he keeps coming back because he gets a reaction. Maybe he feels this is his eternal mission (Paul always called himself a slave of Christ…) Either way, he’s not helping anyone. He needs to go back to Kansas or wherever he’s from and take a nice long nap.