Diary of a Cage Fighter (Journalist) In Training

For those who aren’t a relative, former Glandorf Elementary teacher or corrupt, inquisitve employee of the postal service, here is an electronic version of the actual Christmas letter that my parents mailed this year.

Season’s greetings to family, friends and anyone else in my parents’ address book,

As the weather invariably grows colder, our thoughts naturally turn to that old familiar birth story we’ve all heard hundreds of times. You undoubtedly know the details. The son of a carpenter, the green-sleeved child (and his fluorescent rhinoplastic nightmare) would grow from rather humble beginnings to become King Wenceslas, the most famous reindeer of all. As a monarch, he received gifts. Gold. Frankincense. Myrrh. (You’re probably thinking, all three!? Remember, these were more prosperous times). He was wrapped in swaddling clothes. Later in life he preferred less confining garments and frequently wore sandals. It’s easy to forget that our focus should be on him during this time of celebration. Ideally, every decision made in preparation for the holiday should be governed by the question of WWJD: What Would Jim Desire for Christmas?

Much like the advent wreath, the Tobe family (as I see it) consists of four candles, each one shining brightly in its own right. One of these four is unique, distinguishing itself mainly through unapologetic self-promotion and cleverly written Christmas letters. I shall provide an update on each segment of the family, starting with the eldest members and ending with the most vibrant.

Russell and Kathleen:
Mom and dad both celebrated an age-related milestone this year. To ensure that I’m well-represented under the tree come the 25th, let’s just say they look good for fifty, don’t they? Mom also doubled the size of her cooking repertoire (break AND bake, anyone?), while Dad suffered through the final year of the Charlie Weis era at Notre Dame. Dad still reminisces with a wistful glint in his eye about the Fighting Irish’s last national championship in 1988, when he was on the verge of thirty. (I’m committed at this point. What does one name his first yacht?)

Ben and Theresa:
The Schroeders celebrated a decade of married bliss and moved into their beautiful new home. This leaves two vacant guest rooms at la casa de Tobe. In order to combat Mom’s second bout of Empty Nest Syndrome, I suggest she open a “Bed and Bed,” considering breakfast for her usually consists of oatmeal and coffee. Ben also generously donated a kidney to his cousin in November. Evidently he was determined to complete his Christmas shopping early and avoid any possibility of his present being exchanged or returned.

John and *Francie (*denotes new Tobe!):
These two lovebirds tied the knot, saw Star Trek as part of an Australian honeymoon and were treated to an absolutely amazing toast at their wedding reception. The first new Tobe to make Russ and Kathy’s family picture since August of 1985, Francie was a shrewd free agent acquisition.

James Russell Tobe, Esquire:
I had an absolutely amazing year. The highlights include serving as best man for a second time, moving into an apartment with my new roommate and writing what I hope is an amusing Christmas letter. Returning to the question mentioned earlier (WWJD), Santa already knows what I hope to receive this year: the laughter and love exchanged on a late December morning in a tightly-wrapped package known as my family. They are a present I don’t deserve, but happily accept every Christmas.

Merry Christmas from the Tobes,
-Jim Tobe-

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Thinking of the clever Ghostbusters pun in the title took a lot of creative effort, so the remainder of this post will be some of my wittier Facebook status updates from the past month or so.

Jim Tobe People who are extremely inebriated tend to wear their hearts on their sleeves. In addition, they often wear their dinner on their shirts, their damaged livers as badges of honor and the patience of any sober bystander on the bottom of their shoes with each stumbling step they take.

September 11 at 2:30am

Jim Tobe is willing to enter into a Monopoloid, monogamous relationship with a special young woman. She must be willing to take Chances occasionally, access to her Community Chest must be restricted to a sole player and she must be willing to place her home (or hotel) firmly upon the soil of St. Jaymz Place.

September 17 at 11:47pm

Jim Tobe is impressed that Liquid Plumber’s purported guarantee to quickly and effectively eliminate clogs was proven valid. Guard your dancing shoes with extreme vigilance, people of the Netherlands!

September 23 at 12:21am

Jim Tobe If a tree falls during the Annual Deaf Camping Trip to the Middle of the Forest, would Alanis Morissette consider it ironic?

September 24 at 1:38am

Jim Tobe Don’t let a popular advertising campaign ruin your life, kids. R-O-L-A-I-D-S does not spell relief, at least not according to the judges of the 1996 Putnam County Spelling Bee.

September 25 at 10:21am

Jim Tobe never speaks in absolutes…with the exception of the previous sentence. He has always considered it the least he can do.

September 27 at 12:21am

Jim Tobe Self checkout is for the vain and all it requires is a reflective surface.

September 30 at 12:40am

Jim Tobe was advised during this week’s homily to remove anything that causes him to sin from his life. He has decided to first target impure thoughts. Therefore, it is with a heavy heart that he must today swear off the voluptuous, suggestive bottles of both Mrs. Butterworth and Aunt Jemima brand syrups. Sorry, ladies, but it’s strictly generic brands from this day forward.

October 1 at 1:18am

Jim Tobe would love to be Benjamin Button for a day just so he could goad someone into saying, “Hey, come on! We’re not getting any younger!” To which he would calmly reply, “Speak for yourself.”

October 17 at 8:08pm

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Jim Tobe If you’re experiencing tension, do not attempt to alleviate it by visiting a detention center. They are deceptively named, improperly spelled and extremely unlikely to provide any sort of release for several years.

August 28 at 2:03am

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Well, the walking record book most people know as Brett Favre has been reinstated by the NFL. So strike up the band and have them play their most rousing rendition of “Who Gives a Crap?”

I apologize if I sound bitter about the whole situation, but after an entire summer of drama, I was expecting a more satisfying resolution. I feel like I just endured eleven episodes of the O.C. only to watch the main character move to Alaska on the season finale. Maybe that’s not the perfect analogy….I can’t think of a city that sucks as much as the Jets do. The point is, he won’t be scoring as much, the supporting cast isn’t nearly as sexy and he doesn’t stand a chance of being as beloved or successful.

I also wish the media could have resisted the urge to use every Jet-themed pun at their disposal as a headline. Thanks to their lack of restraint, I was treated to gems like: “Jet Favre,” “Jet Setter,” “Jettisoned” and “For Jetter or Worse.” Ok, so I made up one of those. You get the point. Of course, Green Bay sports writers had their own unique perspective, as evidenced by their headline choice: “Fudge Packer.” Alright, so that’s another Jaymz original. I’m still waiting for an announcer to say “Crotchety to Cotchery” when Brett hits his new favorite target for a touchdown.

Lost in all the hysterics and hoopla is the real story. Despite reports that Brett returned for the “love of the game,” I believe I’ve determined his actual motive for coming back. Brett Favre is addicted to the rush of retirement. He can’t stop himself from walking away from the game, so he has to continue to get that fix every season. He is incapable of retiring from retiring. He loves the cake, the kind words and the nonstop media attention. I’m not criticizing the man. I can empathize with his plight. My own mother retired just this year, but couldn’t stay on the educational sidelines for long. She was promptly reinstated as a substitute teacher. I propose that the NFL institute a similar policy for gray-whiskered players like Mr. Favre.

Poor Kellen Clemens thought he was finally getting a full-time starting position. After years of education and studying lesson plans, the principal had indicated it was his time to teach. Instead, this old bastard with tenure sweeps in and usurps his position….and this elderly gentleman never takes a sick day, either.

You know, this whole teacher-quarterback analogy has forced me to rethink something. How is an organization supposed to produce results with limited resources? If the classroom leaders are not compensated properly, how will the next generation be encouraged to assume the responsibilities of this critical profession? Maybe it is wise to keep the seasoned, reliable veterans around instead of paying less for kids fresh out of college…The NFL needs to eliminate the salary cap restrictions. Otherwise, kids are going to grow up aspiring to be something else besides professional athletes, maybe even teachers….and where would we be as a society if that happens?

Well, that’s all I have for this week. Oh, and to any cynics who would dare to speculate that I started this entry back when Brett Favre was first reinstated and then proceeded to procrastinate for a couple of months, you have some nerve…albeit an accurate one.

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Some say it came from Greece. Others say Crete. Wherever it originated, it became a homicidal maniac. I always knew it was irrational, but I still can’t believe Pi killed all those people. The horrors I witnessed that day are permanently etched into my memory. As I crossed the boundary of police tape that encircled the circumference of the crime scene, a degree of remorse overwhelmed me. I could have prevented this. If only I hadn’t referred to Pi as “essentially 3.14 or 22/7.” Pi detested those labels more than anything. It went completely insane. As its mental health deteriorated, it even started talking to imaginary numbers, claiming it could recite over 100,000 digits of itself from memory…Pi carved out a final solution for x and itself by eliminating all the variables he once loved. There was just one area Pi and the Radius twins could never fully calculate: their own demented minds.

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