Vegas

This was the fist time I was ever on a plane. Back in those days the planes were big , really big. I remember our seats facing each other, sort of the way it's pictured when you see the inside of Air Force 1. Landing in Vegas was surreal, the strip ,the hotels, all in the middle of a desert. Who could of envisioned that. We stayed at the Tropicana Hotel, which at the time was one of the best hotels on the strip, who cared where we stayed, we were in Vegas baby!!! My brother, Sammy and me were in one room, and my father and mom stayed in another, as things turned out that was a good thing. Two 16 year old maniacs and my 12 year old brother, who was constantly being thrown out of the casino for paying the slot machines. Sammy and I were smart enough to have a lookout while the other one pulled the one arm bandit. We didn't get thrown out of the casino, but I think after 4 days the security guards got wise to our plans and by the last day they were on us. One night as we were going into our room we noticed a lot of noise coming from one of the room at the end of the hallway, we looked down and one of the people in the room was calling us to come down. So Sammy and I looked at each other and said "PARTY" LET'S GO!!!. As we entered the room we noticed this room was a lot different that our room. First it had a living room with couches, other rooms inside this room, a bar and many, many pretty girls all over these guys. Sammy and I grew up in the Bronx and were pretty street smart, we put two and two together real fast and came to the conclusion everyone reading this would......say no more. All the guys in the room looked like business types and one of them even showed me a check written to him for 200,000 dollars. Remember this is 1971, 200,000 dollars was like a million today. It was more zero's that I ever saw on a check. The guys offered us what ever we wanted. We stayed awhile thanked the guys for their hospitably and when to our room to discuss what just happened. At age 16 you could imagine what was going through our minds. That same night my father had tickets to the see Bobby Darin, a well known Vegas entertainer, his famous song was "Mac the Knife", but before the show we had to eat. My father told us we were going to the Bacchanal Room in Ceasers Palace. Ok.??...we didn't know the difference between the Bacchanal Room or any other room at this point in our lives. We got in the cab and drove to Ceasers Palace. As we entered the gates it was as if we were transported back in time to the Roman ages. Ornate fountains, Roman Guards, and women dressed in "I Dream of Jeannie" costumes....man this is going to be good!!! We we entered the restaurant, I thought we made a wrong turn because the restaurant had a summing pool in the middle of it with more "I Dream of Jeannie" girls serving the customers. At 16 years of age, I thought I died and went to heaven, to this day I still look at pictures of this place. Sammy kept telling me this is unbelievable, they served us a seven course meal which include wine and beer. I guess my father thought this night would be my growing up night, my entrance to adulthood, my experience into adulthood. So he let me and Sammy partake in the beverages that were on the table. This was great food, wine, beer and women dressed like Barbara Eden,( one of my all time favorites). What could get better than this. I stuffed myself and drank to a point of feeling no pain. That's when it all turned bad. During the cab ride over to the Bobby Darin show I developed a headache that I thought was going to split my head open. We entered the theater and my father must of greased the head waiter and got the best seat for the show, dead center 3 rows back. By this time my head was hurting so bad that I just wanted to lay down and die, so I put my head on the table to try to alleviate the pain. What I didn't know was that Bobby Darin had an opening act. A it turned out the opening act was a Chinese Drum Troop with about 1,000 drummers banging drums like maniacs. My head was splitting before this, you could imaging how it felt when they started to bang the drums. This was the most excruciating pain I have ever felt up to this point in my life. I had to get out of there, but NO!!! My father made sure I was going to me a man and if a man drinks to much, it is his responsibility to deal with it, and he made sure I dealt with it. I felt that I was trapped in that booth for 100 hours. My mother and Father went to see Bobby Darin and they were going to stay until the last song. This became torture after the first hour. He kept asking me if I needed anymore to drink and the more he asked the more nauseous I got. It was a miracle I didn't throw up that night...or did I? We went back to the Hotel about 2:00AM and I couldn't wait to get into the bed. I woke up about 4:00AM and as I entered the bathroom, I felt something very slimy under my feet. Somebody puked and I couldn't remember if it was me or not, then it dawned on me that Sammy was drinking too. He puked all over the bathroom. Even the maids were cursing at him. We packed our bags and headed home. My life's education continued.........

As sophomore season began we had a coaching change, Mike Dorney replaced John Houlihan, which was a good thing because Mike Dorney was also the gym teacher and he was fond of his football players and gave us preferential treatment( if there was such a thing at The Mount.) My mentor Hugh Glassey was still our other coach and that gave me the edge at wide receiver. As the football season began we stared to win some games and I think we won our first 3 games. We had championship dreams. The QB Kevin and I were clicking on all cylinders we were scoring at will and our defense was holding teams down. Sophomore year was also a tough year, we had to take Geometry (who in the heck was going to use this), Spanish (it was a good thing our kicker George Girata was in that class that year or we all would of failed Spanish. We developed this code when we had to take a test. I am not going to reveal the code because it probably is still in use at The Mount. We were always on edge when George would be absent, we prayed that Brother wouldn't throw a pop quiz at us or we would all be screwed. This was he same year, Sammy DePaolo's, (my best friend to this day), step-brother Stevie was caught in the library by Brother (No one knew his real name so we just called him Brother Library) copying phony draft cards, he got thrown out of school. That also put a crimp in the cash flow of my friend so we had to find alternate avenues of revenue. We always had this entrepreneurial side to us in high school. Money was hard to come by so sometimes we had to improvise to stay ahead. I had to survive on two dollars a day. That was my allowance. That would buy you two hot dogs, french fries, something to drink and a snack. During this time of our lives and with this type of diet you could imagine how many pimples we had on our faces. Stridex, Clearsil, Alcohol could not hold back the onslaught of acne. Our only saving grace was that there were no girls in or school or this would of been a fate worse that death. As the football season wore on we lost a few games and and won a few more , I think we wound up at 5-3, not the championship we envisioned but better that last year. As the school year continued we started to prepare for finals. Right after the year ended my family was going to take a trip to Vegas and I invited Sammy to come, but there was one hitch, Sammy needed at least 65 on the Math regents. If he didn't get that mark or better he was headed to summer school and no Vegas for Sammy. I remember taking that final in The Mount's Gym. It was about 100 degrees in that place and we had a lot riding on this test. If Sammy didn't pass I would of got stuck going with my parents and little brother, that would be no fun. The test ended and we meet outside and I asked Sammy how he did, he told me it didn't look good....no Elvis. no Follies Berger, no jackpots. We were only 15 at the time but we had visions of gambling, girls, and money in our heads. We had to wait a week before Mr. Ciola would mark the test. To make matters worse, Sammy wasn't Mr. Ciolo's favorite student, if you get my drift. That was the longest week of our lives . Finally Sammy was notified that he got a 64 and 1/2. What the heck did that mean ? By the rules Ciola had to give him a 65......Viva Las Vegas......Viva Las Vegas......Viva, Viva, Las Vegas!!!!!!!.

Our first year we weren't very good, I think we won 3 games and lost 5, even though I wasn't aware of it, this was the year I grew up as a man. I felt that the people I respected, my coaches, counted on me to do a job and help our team to win games. When we won it seemed to please the coaches immensely, but when we lost, it was like someone died. The games were on Saturday and the feeling of loss would last until Wednesday. If you had a good game some of the Brothers would tell you good game and some of the guys that came to the game would give you a pat on the back. That would hold you over until the following Saturday. Kevin (QB) and I clicked we would score a least one touchdown per game and sometimes two but we still had a losing record. We played hard, real hard but couldn't it done. The first season was disappointing but it was building personality and character that I would need later in life. The Mount was a tough school. Academically we were right there with the best, some of our Alumni have gone on to do great things. In my graduating class we had the Director of the Mayo Clinic, Dr. Robert Ficalora, President of Universal Studio's Louis Feola, lawyers, doctors, civil servants were the norm. The school produced , for the most part, quality individuals. But a few students ,of the graduating class, are no longer with us, Pete Denti, Bobby DeCaro, Stephen Rossback, who I tried to help when I was a police officer, but succumbed to drugs. Time continues and some of us live long lives and some of us don't, but what is important is what you did with the time when you are here. It's 1968 many of the graduating class went on to fight in the Vietnam war, the Jets were about to become a contender and the Yankees were terrible. When you are 13 a day seemed like an eternity in school, the brothers were tough but I had a few regular teachers who I remember. One of which was Mr. Frank Burke. Mr. Burke was my freshman year history teacher, he was a former police officer, who at times still thought he was a cop. He took a boring subject, and always made it interesting with stories from his days in the N.Y.P.D. If you had his class after lunch, and were secluding candy in your sport jacket, he would put you against the wall and search you for the contraband (candy) and then he would eat it in front of you. You didn't want to fall asleep in his class because he was deadly with the board eraser. He would throw that eraser and hit you dead on, no mater where you sat you were a target for Mr. Burke. The chalk would get all over your sport jacket and everyone in the school would know you fell asleep in Mr. Burke's class. Later in my life I would work with both his sons in the N.Y.P.D, Kevin and Tim Burke. He was a good teacher and was always around after school when we would practice. He may have had an influence on me becoming a N.Y.P.D. police officer. Al Joseph was another teacher who was a bulldog looking guy, he also doubled as the bus monitor for the 3:30 Club, of which I was never a member of. I remember that Al Joseph was a tough guy who didn't take any crap from any of us. I remember that we couldn't talk to each other between periods he would wait until we were all in our classrooms and everything would be nice and quiet and he would pull out his snot rag and blow into it, the sound he made was similar to a fog horn, it was one of the funniest sounds that could come out of a human being, but remember we couldn't laugh or we would get a beating or worse JUG and miss football practice. Freshman year would go by without a hitch, 1 year down three to go.

Over the summer I received a letter from the Mount. It read, "If you want to play football you must attend the practices on the dates designated". Oh Boy!! Here we go. I was on my way to my dream. As I said in the previous blog. These practices were brutal. The first week passed and I started to notice that we had some kids that had some talent. It was going to take a lot of work to be able to make this team. I had to get noticed, I didn't just want to make this team , I wanted to be a starter. I distinctly remember the first time I was noticed by our coaches. We were running this drill where the quarterbacks would throw to the receivers as we stood in two lines. We were running a pattern called a post, it was already evident that a kid named Kevin O'Neill was emerging as our starting quarterback. As I ran down the field , under the watchful eye of my coaches, I was coming out of my break and the ball was thrown, Kevin was usually a accurate QB, but this time the ball was going to be high. I leaped in the air and snatched the ball out of the air with one hand. As my feet hit the ground I over heard my head coach tell the other coach, "See what I mean." Those words were my confirmation that I was going in the right direction. I was going to make the team. Now I had to start. Each day Kevin and I would work on our pass patterns and we began to click. The day came when we had to cut some of the people on the team. The day the cut list was posted my heart was in my mouth. As we gathered around the board in the locker room, I searched for my name. I was relieved when I noticed my name was not on the list. I was still in the running to make the team. Finally, after 3 weeks of practice with no equipment, we were assigned to get our pads and helmet. Our QB Kevin O'Neill's name was called, next was our tight end, Aldo Nastasi, next was Robert Tunney our guard, and then after all that work all that sweat all that pain my name was called. It was as if I won the lottery. Getting our equipment first could only mean one thing. I was going to start. I was the opening day wide receive for our team. As our first year in high school began we all amassed in the (quadrangle) school yard. I noticed many faces I didn't recognize. We instantly formed clicks, all the kids that attended the Mount St. Michael's grammar school huddled together, the others were mulling about. Some of the people who survived the football practices were also bonding together. We weren't a team yet but it was starting to happen. At the Mount we had to carry all our books in a school bag, sort of a large bowling bag looking contraption, the bag weighed about 20 lbs. On this particular day Mike Schlitte decide to prank Joe Capalbo. This was an ongoing feud that started way back in their grammar school and would continue, apparently, throughout high school. So every morning one would dump the others books all over the ground and force the other to be late for class. One problem, if you were late back then, you would get JUG. That means you would have to stay after school and sit in a room for a designated amount of time. This would be problematic for our team because if you got JUG you would miss a part of the after school practice. One day the pranking got to a breaking point when Schlitte dumped a can of creamed corn in Capalbo's school bag. The fight was on, somehow we broke it up before the brothers had to, because that infraction would get you a beating from one of them and jug on top of that. After this incident we started to tone down our before school activities. Football as the one thing that kept me and everyone on the team straight. We never wanted to failed any of our academic courses because we wanted to play football, this was our driving force.

Unfortunately at this time, my martial arts training abruptly ended. At least I still had a father I could play catch with, but this didn't sit well with me so I sought other outlets. In 1969 my high school football career was taking off at Mount St. Michael Academy in the Bronx. We had a bad freshman team 3Wins 5Losses if my memory serves me well, but I felt there was some light at the end of the tunnel. In August of 1969, on a dusty field, on the campus of Mt. St. Michael, I met a man who would become my football coach for the next two years, his name was Hugh Glassey. Coach Glassey was a stocky guy, fullback type who played for the Mount in the late 60's. When he graduated he went on to play for American University. When his playing days were done he came back to his high school Alma mater, to coach a bunch of kids from all walks of life. Unknowingly this man would become my mentor throughout high school and to this day I speak about him in glowing terms. These were my formative years. I needed encouragement, motivation, and direction to become the best football player I could become. Coach Glassey became that man. The first day of practice the temperature was over 90 degrees and the field was a dust bowl. Back in those days, all coaches had a thing about giving you water breaks, somehow they thought if they withheld water from you it was going to make you tougher. No one back then knew anything about heat stroke, or maybe it just didn't exist? We used to practice 3 hours in the morning and three hours in the afternoon. The first day 150 freshman tried out for the team. The sessions were brutal; we were constantly running up and down the field, and if the coach blew the whistle we were to hit the ground and get back up as fast as possible. By the end of the first session we were covered with dirt and sweat from head to toe. The heat was brutal, and the coaches were relentless calling us pigs and cry babies and other names that I can't say since this blog is rated PG-13. I would guess, after the morning session, we lost about 15 freshmen of the 150 that started. We took showers and ate a packed lunch usually peanut butter and jelly, and prepared for the afternoon session. The temperature must have risen 10 degrees. It was probably close to 100 degrees by noon. The second session began. More running, more up downs, more push-ups, we didn't even see a football that day. As I was standing there , covered with sweat and dirt , I thought no one is going to show up tomorrow, we're not going to have a team. What idiot, other than myself of course, would show up tomorrow to get abused like this all over again. Nobody could be that stupid . I envisioned my dreams of playing professional football would be doomed just like my karate career. I just knew no one would be crazy enough to go through this abuse two days in a row, would they? I seriously thought that these coaches were trying to kill us on that first day. I dragged my 120 lbs. body into the locker room, took a shower, dressed and waited for the 16 bus to take me home. Hey! All you kids out there, "mommy" or "daddy" didn't drive you anywhere back then since there was only one car in the family and Dad had to use that for work. The next day my 13 year old body was aching, I got up to experience this torture all over again. I met some of the guys in the locker room as I dressed for practice. To my astonishment 80 kids of the 150 kids that stared with us, showed up the next day. The punishment on this day was triple compared to the first day. Maybe these coaches thought more people would quit the second day , I don't know but these coaches wanted you to quit. They didn't want to cut anyone; we would be cut through attrition. My academic life at the Mount actually started 2 years prior to this in 7th grade. We had a club football team and we played the other 7th grade team. They were the "smart" 7th grade class, but as I found , when we hit the field, we had the athletes, not that we were dumb but they took classes like French and advanced Math, big deal, we wanted to crush these smart guys. The game wasn't played until some time in December and game day was freezing. I remember waiting in the lobby of the building waiting for everyone to show up because it was just to freakin' cold outside. I was sick that week and I had to beg my father to take me to the game, I couldn't let my teammates down. My best friend to this day, Sammy DePaolo, played linebacker and guard, Peter Denti, played linebacker and running back ( he is also responsible for one of my nine concussions, more on that later). Kevin Clarke, who later became an Inspector in the NYPD and later the Police Commissioner in Baltimore was one of our speed guys, George Ennis plugged up the middle on defense, Randy Rifelli was one of our cornerbacks, and others Frank Palese, Tommy Vaccariello, Sammy Tomanelli, Guy Alaimo, Frank Cara was our quarterback, all played in that first game. The score was something like 77-0 in our favor. I think at one point during the game they wanted to quit, but we wouldn't let them. When school resumed on Monday we "thought" we had bragging rights, but little did we know, some of the Brothers got wind of the beating we gave the other 7th grade and they weren't happy. Especially when half the grade didn't show up, on Monday, because of the pain they were in from the beating on Saturady. When a Marist Brother isn't happy with something someones getting a beating. Oh I forgot to tell you....back then, in 1967 they could beat the crap out of in school. They would use such dangerous instruments as a 300 page text book, a college ring turned backwards so that the stone would protrude when they "whacked" you in the back of the head, (that little trick would intensify the strike.) They would whip that belt, they had wrapped around their waist, under their Brotherly garb, and put that belt, better know as "the strap", places you don't even want to know about. They would wield that little torture device like a cowboy trying to rope a calf at the rodeo. Getting back to the story, our class "7-1" would get a punishment assignment, for beating we gave class 7-2. This was the second insidious way the Brothers would torture you, psychological warfare. They made us write the entire Declaration of Independence. Does anyone know how long the Declaration of Independence is ? Well it took the next entire weekend to do and when we turned the report in on Monday, the brothers didn't even look at it. They threw it in the garbage , right in front of us! What made the situation worse is that they told us we couldn't play the other grade ever again. Another obstacle in my quest to become a professional football player. Attending an all boys school in 67' was a interesting experience, we had a bunch of kids who knew how to think on our feet, unlike today. It was like having 30 brothers talking to you everyday. So after our hands got uncramped from all that writing we did , we decided that we could combine the kids from each class to make a super team and play other schools in the area. We had tryouts for our super team the following weekend. The Brothers' thought it was a good idea for us to have some sort supervision. That way no one would be killed, so Brother Dominic was assigned to "watch" us. This wasn't a big deal for the Brothers since they lived on campus. We knew Brother Dominic didn'y know anything about football but we didn't care. So we held our first tryout, this didn't go well because class 7-1 didn't want any of class 7-2 on the team so we started to systematically destroy anyone on class 7-2 if anyone survived we would accept them on our team. The survivors were ,Victor Minei, our center, Randy Ciciola, Vinny Bocchino and a few others that escape my memory. We finally had a team, now we had to practice. I think in my first or second practice, I received my second concussion of my career. The first was when I was about 9 when I was pretending to be a soldier and I decided to climb on my grandmothers clothes line. You guys remember those things , right? Well, I was transversing this line which was about 20 feet long. I had my arms and legs wrapped around this line and I was going to make it all the way across line until ....UTT OHH ! I felt the clothes line snapping and the next thing I knew I was headed for the concrete. If anybody has ever experienced falling on concrete from a height of about 4 feet you know what came next. All my air was pushed out through my mouth and for the first time in my life I could not get any air back in. I thought this was odd, I'm drowning and I'm not in any water ? What the hell were those little birds and twinkling stars that I was seeing in front of my eye balls. I though my 9 year old life was over. I laid there on this summer day, in the back of my grandmothers garden apartment in Yonkers, thinking I was dying. What else could it be I couldn't breath, couldn't see straight and I couldn't move. As I rolled on my side some of my bodily functions started to work again. Thank you God for saving my little life. I promised that I would never do that again...... yeah right! Getting back to the second concussion. Like I said.... we were having these practices and we were playing against each other. I remember catching a ball and someone wrapping my legs but I was still standing trying to break free, when all of a sudden I was struck like a bolt of lightning. My teammate, buddy, friend, and classmate Peter Denti hit me like I was his mortal enemy. When I came to I saw the sky spinning and some of my teammates and Brother Dominic over me, I though he was giving me my last rites, what did I know he wasn't authorized to perform this priestly duty. I was just glad he was there. Now I was in a predicament! If I didn't get up I would instantly become a wimp, which in 7th grade, in a all boys school, was a death sentence. Or I would rise to my feet and walk it off, like Dick Butkus would do, and continue to practice. So I did the later, not knowing what effects it would have in my later life. But who cared about that I wanted to play football and be known as the guy who took Peter Denti's hardest hit and lived to tell about it. We had a good team, we would play other schools from the area and crowned ourselves the best 7th grade team in the Bronx. This would continue through the 8th Grade and became the nucleus of our freshmen football team.

As my karate training progressed my father took an interest in Master Ryan's class. It may have had something to do with me using all the ice in the ice cube tray's after each class, or the new way I was walking, with a slight limp. Anyway, he became a little curious. After about three months, he said, "You know what?, I think I am going to come to karate today and see what you are doing." Utt..... Ooh !!! I knew this wasn't going to be so good. You see, my Dad wasn't the mellow type, quite the opposite. He was a self professed tough guy from the Bronx, with more that a few street fights under his belt. I just had a gut feeling that this was going to be an interruption in my goal of being a lethal weapon. Just as I predicted, we entered the school. My father asked Master Ryan if he could see what was going on behind the mysterious beaded curtain. Master Ryan looked at my father with a scowl, it was as if my father said bad about his mother. Oh Boy, this isn't going well I thought.... was my father crazy or something? Did he really ask to get a glimpse into the inner sanctum? Master Ryan face once again distorted and he began his transformation into the devil Lucifer. "No one but my students goes in there!" he stated firmly to my father. As I stood there I could see that my father wasn't comprehending English at the time, and started to walk into the training area. At this time in my young life, I knew two things for sure, my father didn't have any intentions of becoming student, and two this was going to turn out real bad. At this point I am going to freeze the story because this was a pivotal point in my life. Three options were present at this time, my father was going to die, Master Ryan was going to die, which was highly unlikely, do to the fact Master Ryan, just a couple of months previous to this, had received an award, at the Aaron Banks "Oriental World of Self Defense" show, as the "Deadliest Man Alive. " (This event was held at Madison Square Garden with all of the greatest martial artists performing and was attended by 16,000 spectators, more about that show in upcoming blogs), or more important, after killing my father he was going to kill me! I used to like watching western movies as I was growing up. My favorites were "The Lone Ranger", Roy Rodgers, and Hop-Along Cassidy. This situation had all the drama of the showdown at the "OK Corral." But before any punches or kicks were thrown, I noticed the two of them in some sort of negotiation. I couldn't hear what was going on but I knew from previous experience with my family there was a deal being struck. You see my father comes from Little Italy in the Bronx, and grew up with guys that had these strange names, like "Harry the Horse", "Sonny", "Frankie the Fish" etc.... I know the adults reading this get what I'm talking about, but the kids are just going to say Huh?. Let them discover this part of American history on their own. Still to this day I don't know what transpired but I knew my kung fu fighting days were over.......for now.Technorati Profile

I practically ate that karate book my mother bought for me. I was sure that the next time I practiced I would be ready for anything. Little did I know, how wrong I would be. My second class started the same as the last. Master Ryan bellowed "Line Up." I got in line with all the rest of the students wearing my new uniform with a fresh Kungoshai Patch. The last beating I got was a distant memory. We lined up, and Master Ryan came down the line. "Ha! Ha!" I thought, "He wasn't going to get me this time!" I was prepared, I was protected, I was wearing my cup! As I prepared for the shot to my most private of parts, he suddenly changed his angle of approach and, Wham! I took this shot right in the solar plexus. Not being able to catch my breath I thought, "This sucks, I read that whole book, and I still can't defend myself. What a waste of time. " As I stood their doubled over in pain, I figured..... "I'm going to need an ambulance to take me to (what was then called) Miseracordia Hospital." It was located on 233rd Street in the Bronx. They changed the name a while back to Our Lady of Mercy. I guess the name of the hospital sounded too much like the word misery or miserable. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't bring my worst enemy to that hospital. Anyway, by the time I recovered from the pain, Master Ryan had made his way down the line to the other students. They were all standing perfectly still after getting their "hello" punch. I didn't get it. Maybe he felt bad after he hit me? Maybe he got tired after expending all his energy on my body? I didn't know, heck I was only sixteen at the time, what did I know. "Spread out" he commanded. I looked up and I realized that Master Ryan looked just like a popular DJ at the time, Wolfman Jack. Could it be that they were the same guy? Sorry guys , I was trying to take my mind off the pain that was just inflicted on me. Many questions raced through my young mind. I was a bit confused. Will I be killed.... learning how to defend myself from being killed? HUH? Maybe this karate, kung fu, self defense master doesn't like me or maybe this is a test. I knew that Caine from the TV show "Kung Fu" was tested by his teachers. "That's it," I thought, "this is the 108 man 'Chamber of Death.' I will survive this test. " The class continued, and like last class 100's of push-ups, sit-ups, leg raisers, and then came another bit of torture, the stretching. I don't know about you, but I am not the most flexible guy in the world. We maneuvered ourselves into a split position, and it was my misfortune to have Eddy Goodwin directly in front of me. Eddy was this kid with amazing talent and flexibility. He was just sitting on the floor in a full split and it looked so comfortable that I swear he could've had breakfast, lunch, and dinner, in that position. I looked up to see where Master Ryan was, and to my dismay he was heading my way. With my legs out in front of me in a V position, Master Ryan must've thought I was resting from the previous exercises and decided I wasn't stretching properly so he gave me a little help....again this 230 lb man sat on my back to help me get closer to the floor, just like Eddy. Thanks Eddy!!!! As my body was trying to resist ripping every muscle in my groin the phone rang. I was hoping it was my mother, calling to tell me that I had to come home because of some family emergency, anything to get out of this situation. No such luck, there was a clock in the room but you didn't want to get caught looking at it; the classes lasted 1hour and 30 minutes. I estimated I had about 45 minutes to survive my second class. Sparring was next and just like the first class I got my butt handed to me. I got home and my mom asked me where I've been and I told her, "karate class" and she said, " Why are you doing that for?" How could she understand that I was becoming a human weapon. The story continues.........