Tough realization: I may suck at video games

It's a realization I've tried to avoid for a while. Every time I pick up a controller, though, the thought comes rushing back, and it becomes more difficult to dismiss each time.

It was a few nights ago, after several minutes of cursing at the TV in a semi-drunken stupor, that it hit me: I may finally suck at video games.

What? Did you think I was going to confess to being an alcoholic or something along that line? Hell no. That's a confession I'll push off for as long as possible (like when I have to explain to my neighbors why I opted not to wear pants today).

The video games issue is much more dear to me, and this realization actually carries a great amount of emotion with it.

I've been an avid gamer since Christmas Day, 1996. I forget most dates and anniversaries, but not this one, because it was the day I received my first video game console -- a Nintendo 64. When I tore off the gift wrapping and laid eyes on it for the first time, I did not fathom the degree this gaming system would change my life. As it turns out, video games would become the most significant source of joy in my life.

While other kids played sports, I played Super Smash Bros., Mario Tennis and NFL Blitz. I lacked athleticism. My brain was always my strongest organ, making me gifted in thought-processing, which is vital in most video games.

While other teenagers were out getting drunk, stoned or laid, I slaughtered aliens and killed terrorists in games like Halo and Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare.

Most of my peers in high school socialized by going to parties or dances, while I would put on a headset and "pwnd n00bs" and "teabagged" enemies with my friends over Xbox Live. This was all while we shared good laughs and fond memories from other video games and previous online gaming sessions.

These times were great for me, but life progresses, and we must keep up with it.

I went off to college for five years, earned my degree and got a job at a newspaper. As simplistic as I made those life events sound, they involved copious hours of work and mounds of stress. In most cases, I had to set my Xbox, PlayStation or N64 aside and dig into my work. I go back and think how gaming could have aided me in my most stressful moments, but I simply lacked the time to live both in a fantasy world and advance myself in the real one.

I still turn to gaming as a method of stress relief to this day, but being inconsistent with it compared to when I was a child and teenager has made me rusty. Because of this, gaming has become more frustrating than entertaining.

This is most apparent when I play online shooting games. I recently purchased Battlefield 4 for my Xbox 360, hoping that I would reinstate my title as "That guy who must've hacked the game in order to be so good."

What I found out was, if I were an actual soldier, I would've died in boot camp while trying to do push-ups. In some of the rounds, I managed to stay above a 1.00 kill ratio (equal kills and deaths). As time progressed, that ratio kept getting lower and lower until the number of my virtual bodies could fill Arlington Cemetery -- twice.

These games are meant to alleviate stress for me, and yet I found myself dropping more F-bombs than enemies. The only thing that was going up was my blood pressure.

I've been trying to find answers for this recent suck streak.

Perhaps the deciding factor in many of the rounds was my blood-alcohol level. I notice my gaming suffers when I drink, only because I'm more focused on not falling out of my chair than my kill totals.

But my online gaming performance has suffered even when I'm sober, and that's the saddening part.

In Call of Duty 4, I would end some rounds with a 35-2 kill-death score. In Battlefield, that score is usually inverted.

Some may argue Battlefield is a game that's harder to grasp because it more closely resembles actual combat than Call of Duty, which has been called an "arcade shooter," meaning the physics are slightly fudged ("Slightly fudged" is a nice way of saying you can jump from a three-story building and manage to jog laps around the map).

But having played recent Call of Duty games like Black Ops II online, I can say I end up with similar, poor results.

The question comes to my mind: Are games getting harder, or am I just getting worse?

I noticed I have a harder time seeing enemies on the screen, whereas I used to snipe a gamer across an entire map with relative ease. I know my eyesight has gotten worse over the past few years, and I seldom wear glasses to compensate for this.

My reflexes have also deteriorated. There are instances where I will have been shot about three times and not realize what's going on until my character is on the ground in a pool of his own blood.

Another factor is that I lack the patience to sit down and try to get better at these games anymore. In high school, it was common for me to dedicate six to eight hours a day playing online games to hone my skills. Today, I play fewer than two hours at a time, if that. After three or four games of a bad streak, I tend to turn the console off and turn my attention to another activity.

Maybe it's a result of aging, but one lesson I've learned is there's no reason to engage in something that only frustrates when there are so many other priorities to attend to. I live in my own apartment now with my girlfriend, which means I'm caught up in cooking or cleaning most of the time. I also have my full-time job, which eats up a good portion of my time. When I'm outside of work, I either spend the time with Cassidy, go shopping or complain on one of my blogs.

My gaming slump should not be a cause for alarm, but it is to me. As a person who has prided himself in being a gamer since a young age, I'm starting to realize I'm becoming more of an adult. Gaming cannot play a huge role in my life as it used to because there are so many other important tasks at hand.

My biggest fear is losing gaming entirely. I dread the thought of being a dad one day who goes to buy a video game for his boys and asks the store clerk, "Do you know if my kids will enjoy this 'My Little Pony: The Rainbow Warriors' game?"

I see parents like that in GameStop all the time, and they make me want to throw up: not just because of their obvious lack of gaming knowledge, but also because they have no idea what they're buying for their children.

The best example stems from a recent discussion I had with the worker installing my cable and Internet in my apartment. He mentioned that his kids game. He also stated that his sons, ages 13, 10 and 8, all play Grand Theft Auto V.

For those of you not familiar with Grand Theft Auto V, here is a synopsis of the game: drugs, whores, liquor, murder, sex, more drugs, more whores, more liquor and more murder. The cable guy told me how he is not a fan of his kids playing violent, vulgar games.

I asked, "Hopefully the 8-year-old isn't playing it, right?" He gave me a half-grin, a nervous chuckle and a look of shame.

But he asserted, "I told them, if I hear any vulgar language on that game, I'm taking it away." I assume the man is legally deaf, because in Grand Theft Auto V, every other word is f#@*.

I dropped the conversation after that, mostly because I refused to be the reason this guy went home that night and beat his kids for playing a graphic game he unknowingly bought despite the giant "M for mature" rating on the cover. But I digress, as usual.

What I'm trying to say is I can slowly feel myself disconnecting from video games and the culture that surrounds it. It's this same culture I've embraced since first grade. It's this same culture that gave me a way to connect with people even though I lacked athleticism and social skills. It's this same culture that has gotten me through stressful, difficult times in my life that I otherwise may not have been able to handle.

I know I can still game even if I suck at it, but the point of gaming is to have fun. If you take the fun out of it, all you're left with is a sad excuse of a human being shouting obscenities at an inanimate object. That would be known as a psychopath, which is something the little leprechaun and his talking pet unicorn suggest I'm not.

Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts

On Friday, I went to the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts (also known as "Arts Fest" or "That whole week I was blacked out" for Penn Staters).

The State College festival features about 300 vendors from across Pennsylvania and the United States. The event attracts so many people that it has gained significant sponsors over the years, including PNC Bank and The New York Times.

As for myself, I go for the art, but always leave disappointed. The artwork is phenomenal, but the prices make me cringe. The cheapest piece I found went for $45. That is tolerable, but the painting was about the size of a postcard. Something that size can hold its own only in a bathroom or a kitchen pantry. Any larger room would make the piece virtually invisible. 

The most expensive artwork I saw was an oil canvas painting -- tagged at $14,000. I know Penn State has some rich alumni, but that is the price of a small endowment for the elite, or the purchase of a car for those of modest means. 

Fortunately, the festival is free. Otherwise, I think many people, including myself, would find something better to do than gaze at artwork they can never hope to purchase.

I felt slightly out of place at the festival after I realized I'm too poor to afford anything of such beauty. 

There was one display, however, that made my visit worthwhile (and it was free).

Greg Glenn of San Luis Obispo, California, made a sand
"illustration" based off The Rhinoceros by artist James Christensen
at the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts in State College.

In a small park not far from campus was a man making a sand sculpture. His name is Greg Glenn, an artist from San Luis Obispo, California. 

Glenn said he travels across the United States with his family to various art festivals and makes sand sculptures. The piece he made in State College was inspired by a painting by artist James C. Christensen titled The Rhinoceros. The sculpture consisted of 25 tons of masonry sand, Glenn said. 

Out of every display I saw that day, Glenn's was attracting the most attention. Groups of 15 people or more would gather for minutes at a time to watch as he worked.

"And on the Eighth Day, He did say, 'Let there be sand and
YOLO T-shirts.'"

I've seen good sand sculptures before, like the Jesus sculpture in Ocean City, Maryland. But Glenn's piece, by far, contained more detail than any of the sculptures I've come across. 

What also captivated me was Glenn's spirit. Based off the brief conversation I had with him, it seemed as though Glenn is an easy-going person just looking to express his work and entertain his guests. 

To me, that's the true beauty of art -- not so much the piece itself, but the passion that goes into making it beautiful. The other artists at the festival possess similar passion, sure, but it gets spoiled when they put a price tag with three, four or five figures on it. 

I understand people need to make a living, but the best art will always be by the people doing it out of love instead of financial gain.

Defying the odds: The world's most awesome grasshopper

I tried thinking of a name for this grasshopper. Based off the story I'm about to tell, I think "Rambo," "Hercules" or "Evil Knievel" will do it justice.

I'm about to tell you a touching story about a man, a car, a grasshopper and its "I don't give a damn" attitude.

I left Mountain Top on Monday to return to Altoona for work. Before I got on the interstate, I stopped for gas at a Sunoco. When I finished filling the tank and got back into the car, I noticed something odd on my driver-side mirror. It was a bright-green grasshopper, about less than an inch in length.

Had it been any other insect, like a spider, I would've crushed it into oblivion and chanted an ancient hymn to send its soul to another dimension -- just to make sure it was truly dead. Grasshoppers are different, though. I always had a fancy for them because they're harmless, and I respect their jumping capabilities. They're like the kangaroos of insects, and who doesn't love kangaroos?

I figured this grasshopper would just fall off the mirror once I started driving anyway. So I started my drive and forgot about it.

Once in a while, though, I would get bored and look at the mirror and see the grasshopper holding steady. The only parts of its body that appeared to be out of control were its antennae. They waved furiously in the wind of the moving car, but the grasshopper showed no discomfort or worry.

I kept checking on the grasshopper for the next two hours of the trip until I decided to stop at a gas station near State College to take a break. I figured this would be the grasshopper's chance to depart, since it could escape without combating 70 mph winds. I left the car, went inside for about 10 minutes and returned -- and sure enough, that little bugger was still chilling out on the mirror. It was then that I began to ponder the grasshopper's motive for such a dangerous trip.

Was it in search of food elsewhere? Did it decide to carpool for migration this year? Was it performing reconnaissance for the rest of its colony back in Mountain Top? Did it possess a deadly virus that it planned to release in Altoona, thus starting a biological apocalypse that would allow grasshoppers to become the dominant species on Earth? Do I need psychological help? Whatever the reason, my curiosity was greater now than it was before.

I needed to see if this tiny insect would make it all the way to a destination almost two-and-a-half hours from its home while combating almost hurricane-strength winds. I realized I could be dooming humanity in the process, but I told myself that my destiny was now merged with this grasshopper. Plus, if I aided him in his journey, maybe he'd spare my family and me in the upcoming Insectmageddon. I returned to the interstate to finish the trip and possibly the human race.

Along the way, I encountered what I thought would be the grasshopper's doom. Several tall and dark thunderhead clouds covered I-99 near Tyrone, about twenty minutes from Altoona. I figured it was only a matter of time before the rain started. For the first time this whole trip, I grew concerned for my little green companion. He found a way to defy high-speed winds, sure, but rain was another story.

I sped up the car in the hope that I could out-drive the storms. Then it began.

Huge drops, coincidentally the size of a grasshopper, began to pound my windshield. This was it, I thought. My eyes switched continually switched between the clouds ahead of me and the grasshopper. I seemed to be more worried than the insect, however. He continued to sit there with a calm demeanor and a look as if saying: "Don't worry, bro. I've got this."

Luckily, the storm was brief, and almost no water made it to the mirror. We made it through the storm clouds. The sky opened up, and it became sunny again. It would be this way for the rest of the trip. At that point, I realized the little guy was going to make it.

Sure enough, I pulled into the parking lot of the newspaper, and after almost three hours of traveling, the grasshopper remained. I went inside for our 5:20 meeting and came out later to grab something from my car. The grasshopper was still there, and he refrained from eliminating humanity -- for the time being. I came back a few hours later, and this time, to my disappointment, the grasshopper finally left. I'm hoping that, since I'm still around to write this, the grasshopper spared me. Whatever the reason was for this grasshopper's journey -- sinister or otherwise -- he left me in a positive state of mind.

I don't know why this experience made me so happy. I'm sure grasshoppers and other insects manage to cling to vehicles and travel for long distances all the time. In most of the occurrences, though, we probably don't see them. They tend to hide in spots less obvious than on a mirror. That's what made this example extraordinary to me. Sure, the mirror blocked out most of the wind -- making it one of the safest spots for the grasshopper to travel. Regardless, had it moved too close to the edge, that small insect would've been swept away before I could blink.

Instead, it sat there and hardly moved the whole trip. It remained calm and refused to flinch when I would open or close the door. I'm trying to imagine myself clinging to the roof of a car for three hours. At some point, I would fall off because of the blustering wind or because I passed out from pure terror. I think the latter is what made this grasshopper so impressive. It showed resilience and perseverance that many humans don't possess. Some people are afraid of riding in a car at all. Try to tell them, "Oh hey, you'll be clinging to the door today while we drive for three hours."

What this little bug showed me was how it choose to brave uncertainty. It had no knowledge of what it would be up against or where it was going. It just decided to tag along for the ride. It could have jumped off any time it wanted, especially when I stopped my car near State College. But it stayed instead -- for whatever reason, I will never understand. This experience will always stick with me just because of how peculiar and inspiring it was.

It's hilarious that something as little as a grasshopper can make such a huge impact on my day.

Relay For Life of Central Blair

Hundreds of volunteers came together to participate in the Relay For Life of Central Blair at Mansion Field in Altoona from June 6-7.

I decided to take some pictures while I was walking for the Altoona Mirror / EZ to Use team at 2 a.m. Saturday. They're images of the Luminaria bags that form the word "Imagine" on the bleachers. Each Luminaria represents a person who has been affected by cancer or someone who is participating in the Relay For Life. You can click on any of the pictures to enlarge them.

Below these pictures is also a story I wrote for the Mirror about 8-year-old Ryder McDermitt, a five-year leukemia survivor. If you have the time, take a few minutes to read it. It's one of the more heartwarming stories I've gotten to write.

Boy knocks cancer out of the park

By Brian Yermal Jr.

byermal@altoonamirror.com

Ryder McDermitt, 8, of Duncansville prepares to throw a baseball
to his mother. Ryder has been cancer-free for five years after
he was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia at
18 months old.

DUNCANSVILLE – The biggest concerns in 8-year-old Ryder McDermitt’s life right now are doing homework and winning baseball games.

Those tasks, however, are not as daunting as the challenge he was up against when he was just an infant – surviving pediatric cancer.

Ryder was diagnosed with acute myeloid leukemia – a cancer that affects the health of blood cells – at 18 months old in June 2007. He said he was too young to remember having cancer or the treatments he underwent, but Ryder’s mother, Karrie, easily recalls her concerns.

“The survival, if it was curable at that point, that was our basic concern, and how long he had,” she said. “After everything was done, we were worried about the side effects.”

Ryder has now lived cancer-free for five years, but that didn’t come without intensive treatment.

Ryder was fortunate because he went through most of it with relative ease, Karrie said. He went through six rounds of chemotherapy at Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh.

Ryder did well and was actually smiling through the first five rounds, though he did struggle with energy, Karrie said.

His leukemia went into remission for a few months but then relapsed shortly after. The sixth round of chemo hit him harder, Karrie said. He was sick more often and was heavily sedated on morphine, she said.

Doctors had to take Ryder’s treatment further and give him radiation for his entire body with the exception of his head for five days. The chemo and radiation helped, but it wasn’t stopping the leukemia.

Ryder’s last step was to receive a cord blood transplant, a procedure which involves using cord blood – found in umbilical cords or placentas of newborn babies – that contains hematopoietic cells that can produce healthy blood cells, according to the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. Finding a match for the procedure is difficult, Karrie said, but doctors were able to find a perfect match for Ryder from an anonymous donor.

The cord blood transplant was a success, and Ryder has been cancer-free since Oct. 17, 2008.

There is a chance Ryder’s leukemia can relapse, but Karrie said after five years of being cancer-free, that percentage has dropped to about 20 percent. Ryder gets checkups by an oncologist every six months, and at the most recent visit, the doctors didn’t find any troubling signs.

“No news was good news,” Karrie said.

Ryder had some side effects from his treatments. At first, his bones were brittle, which required him to take calcium. He has cataracts in both eyes, but those are treatable in the future with surgery, Karrie said. His muscles tend to get sore, which is why Ryder stays involved with sports to keep his muscles stretched, she said.

Seeing Ryder now, he doesn’t look like a child who dealt with cancer, chemo and radiation. He is active and can’t sit still for more than a few seconds without finding a way to preoccupy himself. During an interview with his mother, Ryder dribbled and kicked a soccer ball around. Afterward, he played catch with Karrie in the backyard to practice before a baseball game that evening.

Baseball is one of Ryder’s favorite sports. When he gets older, Ryder said he would like to be one of two things: a “baseball guy” or a U.S. Navy Seal.

“I like the Navy Seals because I’m a good diver, and those guys are mainly the ones that hide in the bushes and that … and I like doing that,” he said.

He also looks forward to participating in this year’s Relay For Life of Central Blair, along with his team, Ryder The Fighter. The name comes from Ryder’s fight with cancer, his grandmother said, in addition to his aggressiveness in sports, according to Ryder.

Ryder’s favorite activities at the relay are water balloon fights and dodgeball.

“I like to play dodgeball, oh my gosh!” he added.

Karrie is more than pleased with Ryder’s progress in the past five years. She said that, looking back when he was first diagnosed, she never imagined Ryder would be as healthy as he is today. Ryder’s example of survival has given Karrie the confidence to tell other families facing a similar situation that there is hope for them.

“Although it’s very scary right now, there’s so many more things that [families] can come across that [doctors] can help cure for these types of cancer,” she said. “The rates have went up with success.”

New look, same great blog taste!

Good news, everyone!

My blogging life recently has been like my aspirations to be a professional athlete -- nonexistent.

But that's going to change -- the blog part, anyway.

Over the past few days, I've been rethinking my approach to what I blog and how it's posted. Last year, I was proud to roll out a "miniseries" on "Welcome to Yermoslavia" called "Manifest Destiny (Pa.)" that chronicled my trips around central and western Pennsylvania. While I really enjoyed the concept, it didn't seem to fit on a blog where I also wrote about first-world problems such as living without Internet for a weekend or whether or not to attend Mass.

After consideration, I decided to separate the two. The original "Welcome to Yermoslavia" blog has been transformed into the newly minted "Manifest Destiny (PA)." This blog will feature only posts related to the Manifest Destiny series.

In addition, I decided to expand the blog's reach from border to border. I will be working on posts for places of interest in the eastern part of the state now, too, which will truly encompass the glory that is Pennsylvania. I also revamped the design a bit to accommodate the makeover. You should check it out here: manifestdestinypa.blogspot.com.

The new blog is actually the old blog, which doesn't sound confusing at all. Because the Manifest Destiny posts were loaded with pictures, it was easier to copy and paste the other posts (mostly text) into a different blog. So the new blog is the old "Welcome to Yermoslavia." I'll give you three lines of empty space to digest that.



Are you good? If not, oh well. I'm a busy man now, so I don't have the time to wait and explain stuff thoroughly like a good writer should.

I'm also considering a third blog that will contain all my best clips from The Daily Collegian, The Daily Times and the Altoona Mirror, though I've got enough going on for the time being.

I had a hard enough time maintaining one blog, so two or three should be enough to send me over the edge. With the new formatting, however, I believe I can provide something even better. My blogs have more purpose than ever before. Granted, "Welcome to Yermoslavia" still contains crappy NHL playoff predictions and crappy advice to college graduates, but I feel as though I'm providing entertainment to somebody, somewhere (Here's to you, Aunt Elaine).

Why must temptation be so tempting?

     Every year, I give up something for Lent.  It's not because I'm ultra religious and feel I'll rot in Hell for not doing so.  I also don't remember anywhere in the Bible where it said how Jesus cast that one dude's soul to the fiery underworld for taking bliss in a double Whopper on a Friday.  Anyway, I decide to sacrifice one thing I enjoy for almost five weeks because -- why not?

     I see the period of Lent as a psychological challenge, which is one portion of its purpose.  We, as Catholics, are supposed to re-enact Jesus's suffering in the desert when he was tempted by Satan after the former was deprived of food and water for days on end.  It's slightly difficult for me to pull off that same feat since it's 30 degrees outside right now, and I don't have the money for airfare to travel to the Sahara at the moment.  I guess a McDonald's filet o'fish once a week will have to make due for now, but in past years, I raised the ante a tad when it came to Lent.

     While working at Grotto Pizza one year, I gave up pizza for Lent.  I was baking pizza four times a week and wasn't allowed to eat meat on the fifth.  In short:  It sucked.  I made it, however, and felt a great pride within myself that usually happens only when I pull off drinking a Sprite in under a minute without getting hiccups.

     Another year, I worked in the Carone's deli, where I had access to some of the best lunch meat around.  So what did I do?  Why not give up lunch meat that year.  Once again, I made it the five weeks.  Coincidentally, Carone's also saved $2,645.87 in deli costs that month.

     One of the toughest by far was last year, however.  Instead of giving up meat only on Fridays, I decided to become a vegetarian for five weeks.  I still ate seafood and fish, which somehow doesn't count as meat according to the Pope and Red Lobster.

     I was never more miserable during Lent.  I love eating meat as much as Taylor Swift enjoys writing songs about how crappy it is to have every man on the planet at her disposal and still never manage to make a relationship work.  To this day, I don't understand how people can live off lettuce and carrots alone without having a cyanide pill nearby for comfort.

     When Easter day arrived, and I could consume half the animal kingdom in one meal, I never felt happier about myself.  Being able to gorge myself in trans fat and grease once more was part of my satisfaction, but it was the sense of pride I gained from making it to that point that put a smile on my soon-to-be acne-ridden face.  I knew I wasn't getting a free pass to Heaven or absolving that sin of stealing a piece of candy in the fourth grade, but I proved to myself that I could beat temptation down until it was a bloody pulp.

     This year, I wasn't sure what to give up.  It wasn't until 11:45 p.m. before Ash Wednesday that I was holding a glass of Jagermeister and Monster and thinking, "Why am I drinking on a Tuesday anyway?"  There was the answer in my hand.  Fifteen minutes later, I agreed on no liquor for five weeks.  I like the occasional drink, and I figured it wouldn't be too hard to surrender.  I had this.

     It's Thursday night, and I could do many unmentionable things for a Yuengling right about now.  While watching Law & Order: SVU with Cassidy on Valentine's Day, I had the urge to pour two glasses of wine to celebrate almost six months of partnership.  Whoops, can't do that.  During one episode, three of the detectives stopped by a bar and drank some cold ones with talk of murder.  My lips puckered at the sight of beer, minus the murder.

     I had speculations during my last semester in State College when I would drink every night and think: "Jeez, maybe I have a problem.  Meh, this beer will take care of that."  These past two days are making me consider a checkup on my liver at the next doctor's appointment.  I'm going to stick by my creed, and all the alcohol jokes aside, I look forward to claiming another victory over temptation.

     I've still got a long journey ahead of me that will involve great will power and many boxes of Kleenex to wipe the tears away every time I see that Budweiser ad with the Clydesdale and think, "That's so sad ... the poor horse can't drink, too."

     Over many years of Lent, I've discovered many things about myself.  I am able to beat temptation, which is what Lent is supposed to be all about.  I feel great when I do make it the entire Lenten season because of self-satisfaction.  Finally, if all else fails, and I turn out to be a terrible person in life, doing this Lent deal might look good on my resume for Heaven.  I'll drink to any of these points -- but that'll have to wait till April.  And yes, Most Interesting Man In The World, I will stay thirsty, my friend.

To THONers: Be proud, but don't be obnoxious

     Another 46 hours.  Another THON.  Another $12,374,034.46 raised by Penn State students for pediatric cancer care and research.  And additionally, another set of social media updates involving people going about the meaning of charity in the wrong way.

     Before I get a wave of anger directed at me for being a THON troll, I want to say congratulations to Penn State for raising the money it did.  The Four Diamonds Fund, where the money raised for THON goes to help children sick with pediatric cancer, is a wonderful entity.

     Knowing the money goes to the Hershey Medical Center is a comforting thought to me.  I had to attend the medical center from ages 5 to 10 for bee allergy shots, and I can say the staff in Hershey is one of the kindest and professional groups of nurses and doctors I ever met.

     What I can't -- can't, can't, can't (major emphasis on can't) tolerate are the individuals who, after the total is revealed, go straight to social media to state how awesome and better they are for raising a ton of money for THON.

     Let's go straight to the examples.  I saw this one a few times in a similar context:

     "I nominate @penn_state @THON's $12.3 million for pediatric cancer as a @SportsCenter top ten play. #SCtop10"

     What this refers to is Sports Center's coverage of Penn State during the Jerry Sandusky sex abuse case.  Many Penn State students and alumni were upset with how the sports network -- in addition to many other news media outlets -- handled coverage of the case.

     I'm not going to argue with how the media reported the case, but I will say Penn State's reputation and integrity were dealt a major blow from the former assistant football coach's actions with young boys over multiple years.

     Naturally, Penn Staters want to find ways to redeem their school's image after this, and I don't see anything wrong with that.  THON, however, has its motto emblazoned on banners everywhere:  FOR THE KIDS.  It should be kept at that.  How is Sports Center including THON in its Top Ten Plays benefiting children?  It could, in a sense, raise awareness to THON to a larger crowd, but that's about it.  I don't see Sports Center coming out and saying, "Penn State's THON completely erases anything we said regarding the Jerry Sandusky sex abuse case, and everything Penn State is officially awesome from here on out."

     The only reason some people want Sports Center to cover this is for publicity -- to make our school look better in the light of everything that happened concerning Sandusky, but exploiting the money raised for the Four Diamonds Fund and for cancer patients as a way to make Penn State look better is malicious.  Also, why would Sports Center cover this?  THON has nothing to do with sports other than some of the athletes who make guest appearances.  If Sports Center covers pediatric cancer, then I would also suggest it gets this story covered.

     The only way I can see THON being considered for Sports Center is if the event is a contest.  THON isn't supposed to be a contest, but over the years I've seen people who almost treat it that way, like this post here:

     "My school just raised $12,374,034.46 for pediatric cancer.  Try to brag about your school and I'll laugh #FTK"

     Okay, so Penn State University is pretty cool for raising a ton of money.  I respect that.  Every other school is now inferior because they didn't do the same?  PSU's Alma Mater includes the words, "May no act of ours bring us shame."  This tweet makes me feel ashamed to the point that I feel someone should hit me for this person's cockiness just because I went to school at State.

     Let's break this down.  First, he states how much money Penn State raised for a cause. Kudos to Penn State.  Then, he goes out and says he will make a student from another school feel like shit because they didn't raise $12.3 million.  Finally, the guy has the nads to slap a "For The Kids" hashtag at the end.  How is laughing at another educational institution going to help kids with pediatric cancer?  How is boasting about how much money was raised going to make that kid who is deathly ill feel better?

     I see a post like this from several people every THON weekend.  All I can say is: "Congrats, pat yourself on the back.  Oh, by the way, you have some crap hanging out of that butt hole you call your mouth."  How often do you see someone from the United Way post: "Just raised x-amount of dollars for a local community.  Suck it, everyone else!"  Chances are, you don't.  Apparently raising a large amount of money permits you to have a huge ego and demean others, though.

     Charity is a "benevolent" act, not a contest of how much bigger your penis is than the guy's next to you.  Posts like these also seem to suggest that Penn State is the only school who does charity like THON.  One reporter from The Daily Collegian did a story a short time back about how other schools have started their own THONs.  These schools don't raise as much money, but they're still doing it for a good cause.

     Penn State shouldn't go bragging about how superior its THON is compared to others since the former has a few advantages.  First, Penn State has had since 1977 to perfect the THON organization.  Most other schools have held their fundraisers for no longer than two to three years.

     Second, Penn State has a student population of almost 100,000 students.  The community college down the road from me doesn't exactly have the man power to raise $12.3 million right away.  Penn State also has the largest alumni association in the world with about 550,000 living members.  If every one of those people combined were to donate one $20 bill a piece today, they would raise $13 million total for THON right now.  No other school could even come close to matching that in its first two years if it tried.

     Does this give Penn Staters the right to belittle other schools for their incompetence?  Absolutely not.  As for you, random THON boaster, did you happen to forget what happened over the past 15 years in Penn State locker rooms and showers?  Because I bet you weren't laughing when you and the rest of the world found that little detail out.  Try to brag about your school in that light, and I will laugh.

     To finish this up:

     A summary of several tweets:  "How about that for [Penn State] culture?"

     What people were trying to get at here was similar to the last argument -- THON is what Penn State's culture is truly about, and all the other stuff about child abuse or football culture doesn't.

     Um, yeah, it kind of still does.

     One good thing doesn't fix a multitude of wrongs.  Jerry Sandusky's assistance to wayward children and the creation of the Second Mile foundation didn't deter from the fact he sexually abused a handful of defenseless children.  Joe Paterno's 409 wins and his contributions to Penn State do not overshadow the fact he may have had a hand in covering up Sandusky's wrongdoings alongside other high-level members of the sports faculty.

     Raising $12.3 million for pediatric cancer does not delete all the wrongdoing that happened behind closed doors over the past 15 years, the students who made the whole student body look like a joke by running a muck in the streets, or the more than 200 alcohol arrests made every year for State Patty's Day just one weekend after THON wraps up.

     Penn State should be proud of THON, but once more, we have people treating it as a publicity stunt over a philanthropy.  Maybe I'm being a little too harsh on these people.  Many of them are dancers who busted their physical limitations, stood out in the cold to raise money and dedicated several hours of free time to help THON.  As for me, I sat in my home all this weekend and didn't do squat.  More power to these people.

     At the same time, philanthropy isn't a Penn State football game.  When we score big in THON, we're not supposed to berate the opposing team as we do after a touchdown.  We're not supposed to laugh at the haters after the game.  We aren't meant to tout how great our season record is.

     Instead, we should be thinking about all the children who will benefit from this money raised.  We should take comfort in knowing another child will have the chance to live a full life when, years ago, their chance was nothing more than a small percentage on a medical record.

     I'm not telling THONers to be silent about their accomplishments this past year.  Be proud of what you did, for how much money you raised and all the lives you have impacted, but don't be obnoxious about it.

     Don't chalk it up as another win for Penn State.  Don't think of it as a permanent marker that will smudge out all the bad of the past one-and-a-half decades.  Don't forget what "For The Kids" means.  Don't substitute anything else in replacement of "kids."

     Finally, remember one thing:  You HELPED to raise $12.3 million.  Have you forgotten about all those people who dropped spare change and bills into your cans outside of the local Walmart?  Have you forgotten the thousands of donors who anonymously donated money?  Also, do you see these donors bragging on Twitter:  "Donated 50 cents to THON this year.  What did you do today, everyone else who didn't?"  They did it for charity -- not for redemption or publicity.

     Remember everything you did to reach this moment, cherish it and take pride in it.  Everyone will know how much money you raised tomorrow.  There's no need for you to beat that fact into everyone until they end up in the ER.  I will end this post with the words of friends of mine:  Stay classy, Penn State.