Huffin’ and puffin’ in Kearney

Today your girthy scribe is slogging his way through a once-a-year experience.

Thank goodness because, for me, once-annual is about all I can manage.

The state cross country championship at Kearney Country Club is that to which I refer. Sports Editor Ken Kush and I left early this morning to shoot photos (both of us) and get interviews (Ken) with our area runners and their coaches.

Sounds easy enough, right? Sure it does. Just stroll around a pooh-bah golf course, acres of lush grass beneath my feet and manicured trees overhead, shooting photos as the kids run by.

Here’s the rub. I cannot make myself shoot the meet the way some others of my profession do it, which is to set up at the finish line and never move during any of the eight races (Classes A, B, C and D x 2 for boys and girls).

Oh no, I have three or four different places that have been hand selected over the years to provide different backgrounds, different light and, as a result, different looks. The finish line is fine, but I just can’t get excited about this photo looking the same as the last one and the next one. Plus everything is back-lit from that spot anyway.

So I bounce around. Have you ever been deep into the Kearney Country Club golf course? No.? Then perhaps you do not appreciate the continually rolling up-and-down of the terrain.

Two of my chosen lurking spots are up on top, another is at the finish line which is basically way down in a hole.

Most years we have kids in six of the eight races and that adds up to a whole lot of up and down, round and round for these old legs which are, by the way, 130 years old. Don’t laugh ‘til you do the math. I’m 65 years old. I have two legs. Sixty-five x 2 = 130 any way you figure.

This year, as it turns out, our runners are all concentrated in Class B and Class D. That means four races instead of six. This is good for two reasons … (1) less wear and tear on a used-up old carcass and (2) we can hit the road for home much earlier this year than normal. That, in turn, is good for two reasons … (1) we have a bit more time to process all those cross country photos and stories before Ken and I (2) race off to a football game apiece.

But pooped out of not, this still beats the h-e-double-toothpicks out of all the real jobs I’ve had.



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Falling down on the job (and everywhere else)

By Steve Moseley

Some people drive buses, others build locomotives. I fall down.

Yes, I’m rapidly becoming ‘the fall guy’ and evidence supports the designation.

I don’t want to be a fall guy, but it seems the choice is not mine. I am a victim of flawed genetics, you see. The older my father got the more frequent and damaging his falls became.

The most recent proof of my status in the category of Finest Flailing Falls came Thursday in Lincoln at Woods Park. I was there to cover York in state tennis. Taking a tumble was like an added benefit, except in reverse.

The inside corner where two sidewalks meet did not have turf like the rest of the area, but rather was home to a nasty hole … into which I promptly stepped because that’s like, you know, what I do and stuff.

I’m sure those around me considered this a spectacular plunge to earth from a height of 6 feet and 4 inches.

Today (Friday morning) I find myself: (1) doing anything to avoid even one cough (ribs), (2) busily growing a big patch of brand new skin (right knee) and (3) treating a reinjured body part (left shoulder’s now-resprained rotator cuff) with ibuprofen by the handful.

Thanks from me to the three Lexington tennis players who peeled me from the concrete and helped me to stand up again, and to the over concerned but wonderful lady who came a runnin’ to check me out.

She, unlike yours truly, stepped in zero holes.

This is far from the first time I’ve flopped both privately and very publically.

A few years ago while vacationing with friends in Kennebunk, Maine, I was done in by some stairs onto the patio. The steps were not appropriate to my size 14 shoes and down I went. A $1500 lens lay about me in several pieces after that one.

Then came the cross country meet at the Aurora Country Club a few years back. That time the left side of my right foot barely caught the sidewalk, which was much higher than the adjacent ground. That time tiny Liesl Lucas was there, gamely offering to help me up. I declined her kind offer lest there be two of us on the limp instead of just one.

I wasn’t deceased. Camera was.

About this time the insurance company that covers my photo gear apparently decided it had seen enough. In one letter from those folks my annual premium on that coverage doubled and a $500 deductible was inserted where, before, there had been none.

Scattered between the Big 3, which is those two and Thursday’s tumble there have been others which, through no lack of trying on my part, ended less ignominiously.

This time at least the camera seems to have survived, albeit with lacerations I fear may never heal.

Tuesday I gave blood at the City Auditorium again. I’m a regular. Knowing my history, for years now I’ve insisted the itty-bitty, gray-haired lady volunteer whose duty is to ‘help’ me to the sandwich table swear on her grandkids that, should I begin to fall, she will abandon me to my fate and flee for her life.

So the story about me and falling down is a sad one (at least to me, probably funny to everyone else). Worse, obviously it’s not yet over.

The one and only good thing about this latest nosedive? At least, in the presence of all those kids, I valiantly fought back my natural inclination in such situations to beller out a string of profanity on the way to crash landing on the concrete.

Not that I can remember anyway. Only those three Minuteman runners (and about 20 other people standing around) know for sure whether I did or didn’t and I’m not about to ask.

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The crazy critters of Henry Doorly Zoo

What we have here are some critter pictures I took with a Nikon point and shoot today at the zoo in Omaha.



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Huskers vs Texas and Miami

Terrific volleyball match followed by an electric football game. What’s not to like about being a photo-type guy.


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Bull wrecks at the HD Hogan Memorial

There are many ways to get off a bucking bull, most of them painful. Here are just a few from the HD Hogan Memorial at Junction Motor Speedway in McCool Junction on Saturday, Sept. 13. If it looks like some of these riders are kids it’s because they are. Mini bull contestants ranged down to 6 years old. We even have a brave young girl here, can you find her? Mini bulls aren’t any calmer than the big boys, they’re just bred to be smaller when full grown.


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Husker (just barely) beat McNeese (Whew!)

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