Offseason menu

The Tar Heels fell in the College World Series last night for the third consecutive year. The Carolina offseason began this morning. Here are a few cartoons that might interest you Carolina fans in these dog days of summer. All credits go to The News & Observer's Grey Blackwell.

The last part of the Butch Davis cartoon is not appropriate for children under the age of 30.

Butch Davis needs more victory bell: http://videos.newsobserver.com/index.php?a=player&id=1736386

Coach K and Roy in commercials: http://videos.newsobserver.com/index.php?a=player&id=1736109

Ripping on Billy Packer: http://videos.newsobserver.com/index.php?a=player&id=1782183

The Incredible Roy: http://videos.newsobserver.com/index.php?a=player&id=1804909

Whitewater

My girlfriend organized a trip with friends to the U.S. National Whitewater Center. I pictured lazy rivers and inner tubes before we got to the facility, which was the site of the Beijing Olympic trials a month ago. I underestimated.

We sat for an accelerated course on whitewater safety when we arrived. The instructor was brief and informative.

"Do not stand up in the rapids because your foot could get stuck and you'll be doing underwater push ups," he said. He seemed mostly disinterested. I was extremely interested in how to avoid things like underwater push ups.

Most of his stuff concerned what to do if you fell out of the raft. A friend told me that not many rafters fall out of the boat, so not catching his shtick was probably OK. I signed the waiver of liability with something less than confidence.

We put on our equipment and met our raft guide. He was the guy who did quite well at summer camp 15 years ago. He was the one who water skied while I fumbled with the drawstring of my swim trunks. I was a skinny kid. I still am. He was tanned and said "dude" a lot.

He led us through exercises in calm water. We learned the "all forward" command, the "all back" command and the all-important "all in" command. He then led us down our first run. I was positioned in the front of the raft, and the guide sits in back. I could not hear any of his soft-spoken commands when we hit the rapids nor benefit from seeing my raft mates. Nearly everyone else heard him easily and thought I had, at best, slow reflexes. Or a suicide mission. Or a dangerous sense of humor. I was also the tallest person in the raft, which was kinder to those with lower centers of gravity.

I got nervous quick, leaning toward the middle of the raft even without the all-in command. Every time I turned around for reassurance after a good soaking, the guide dude led the laughter. He recommended I take smaller strokes.

"Come on," I wanted to say. "I'm big. I'm long-limbed. I can't hear anything." I couldn't say it. I was the unwitting entertainment.

The guide dude communicated a plan to collide with a wall on a certain rapid. I squinted my eyes at the approaching rapid. I saw lots of walls.

"When we are approaching the wall," I politely asked, "could you say something like 'wall'?"

Laughter. Ouch. Any of those walls could contain the bullet.

We missed the wall altogether. In my elation, however, I allegedly missed an "all in" command. I flew out of the boat. I remember sloshing around for a couple seconds and plunging down a rapid head first. They told us not to do that, but I'm such a damn showboat. The guide dude rescued me with a rope.

"Cool?" he asked with a raised hand. Both my shoes were gone. I dove headfirst toward possible death minutes earlier, but I also knew that my response to his gesture would define our relationship and the rest of the experience. Could the drawstring kid make peace with the outdoor sleuth?

"Cool," I said awkwardly quick.

"Dude," he said, grinning and shaking his head. I think he meant he was glad I was OK.

The guide dude fell out later, and I would like to think he tumbled on purpose. The dude handshake had solidified our status as unequal friends in secret pursuit of equal aspiration and, more importantly, appearance.

Or maybe he just fell out and picked on me the whole time.

http://photos.usnwc.org/gallery/5202307_VmJW2#315683185_vMbKi

Toots

My girlfriend and I have dated for 18 months. Recently I noticed that I toot around her more than ever before. We thought back to how we handled these situations previously and outlined a five-step evolution for courtship toots.

Step one: Subconscious toot restraint.
The human body does not allow itself to toot when close to unfamiliar company. This involuntary restraint condenses a man's toots to moments of solitude.

Step two: Conscious toot restraint.
The human body ceases to conceal toots from conscious thought prior to release. The human brain senses the toots. However, the brain is not conscious of the existence of step one, so the man is convinced that he has tactfully concealed toots since the beginning.

Step three: Tooting downwind.
The man maintains the awareness of step two but surrenders the will to hold it until social isolation. This change usually takes the form of tooting in another room or, in fewer instances, lifting the distant cheek and letting go. Step progression could retard to step two if the partner detects these secret toots. In lesser men, toot detection in step three could result in a jump to step five.

Step four: Fair warning.
The man is familiar enough to the woman so that she can understand he toots. The man gives a courtesy warning a few seconds before the release. The woman may or may not move but appreciates the prior gesture.

Step five: Unfair warning.
The man and woman are so familiar that the man releases toots without warning. The man issues a post-toot declaration of fault. The woman generally prefers step four to step five.

What happened in Cherokee will not stay in Cherokee

My girlfriend and I ventured to the gambling capital of the Old North State for a holiday weekend of outdoor fun. I wanted to shit in the woods like Bill Bryson. I never did.

We settled at Jellystone Park, a family resort with a costumed Yogi that rides through camp in the back of a pickup truck surrounded by children. We stayed in a sleeper cabin that wore the label "bear bones." Actually, the cabin had cable television and air conditioning.

Saturday morning we went to a bear zoo that advertised itself as "the best in town." Bear viewing is in high supply in Cherokee. We fed black, cinnamon, asiatic and grizzly bears while some of them performed for our half-rotten apples. A couple clumsy kids couldn't keep their food in their trays, so we stuck around picking up scraps for an hour.

Saturday afternoon we hit the casino, which happens to suck because it has no poker room. The blackjack minimum was set at $15. Saddened, we spent $10 on video poker and left. The weekend would have to be defined by outdoor adventure.

Our cabin neighbors were father-and-son bikers from Macon, Ga. They, of course, were more seasoned campers than us.

"You shit in the woods yet?" the son asked Saturday night after I had explained my hope for the weekend the night before. The truth was that I hadn't had a bowel movement at all despite some earnest effort. I made a mental note to pick up some fiber bars at the nearby Food Lion. We cooked well despite not rounding out the food groups. We set our own campfires, which were always smokier than our neighbors'. We ate s'mores and turkey dogs. I was fine with it; my body was not. Grant and his father were friendly and humorous until more bikers, who were cooler than us, showed up.

"Where's your bike?" a grimy biker asked me.

"I have a four-wheeler," I said without bringing attention to my Accord directly behind him. I shirked back into my cabin to watch three consecutive episodes of Law and Order.

The bikers recommended that we spend the next day at the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Motorists wait along the 11-mile auto tour to watch the park's famous elk step into grassy clearings. That was fun until I realized that waiting for elk is an incredibly slow process. We got restless and walked through the mountain's three century-old buildings: a well-preserved wooden house, a two-classroom schoolhouse and a church with an enormous Bible and working bell.

I have only one regret from the weekend. We passed a mechanical bull every time we drove to and from the town. I promise to write about my elimination of that regret reasonably soon.