On Fire, but Not as Hot as Pistol

Hey World, What's happenin?

Life is good with me. I'm living the college dream right now. I'm taking classes like a legitimate D1 scholarship athlete. The light load has given me an opportunity to log so many more facebook hours, keep up with nearly every D3 basketball team in our region, and even throw up a quick blog.

I'm currently sitting in Lib and Walt's "office" across the hall from their bedroom here in the Cinco. This is where I do some of my finest multitasking. Now that's not usually my strength, but I can manage pretty well until my legs start to get numb.

So the world of Wetberg has been pretty good lately. I mean it's been GOOD. It's been real Guuuhd. School is getting going after my favorite non-religious holiday, Thanksgiving. It was nice to get home, get some rest, see family and friends, and pack on a few pounds.

Back at N-Dub, things are going pretty typical for this time of year. The team is off to a 3-2 start after falling to my man Gilby and his LAX goons last night. Prior to this, I need to give a little background on my season. I've been placed in a supporting role to help the team, so my hands have become callused from rooting on my Eagles, yelling "WET" every time a WQ member catches the ball, and holding my teammates back after a sick lay-up that gets the Erickson center on their feet.

I have gotten in a couple times this year, but managed to ruin my trillions in both my opportunities. I got greedy against my hometown Falcons and had to cast a couple deep balls before returning to my seat that thankfully still had a little warmth. I sat in shame as I thought, "What would the Shark do?". This was a feeling I didn't want back anytime soon. So a couple days later, my name gets called and for some reason a allow a few rebounds to fall into my hands. C'mon Wetberg! You're never gonna get a trillion at this point!

Finally, Yesterday came though. It was a much anticipated game. It was a reuniting of two brothers that are only separated by blood, 125 miles, a few shades of hair color, and about 100 pounds on the bench press.

This game must have been hyped up a lot because the whole town of LaCrosse was buzzing for this Monday night, early season, non-conference showdown. Okay...that's a total lie.

So we hopped off our bus in LAX with our dreams and our cardigans. (there are only a few guys that could rock a cardigan with any decency, and I don't think I'm one of them.)

I guess I lied again. Nobody had the respect to Miley to at least pull out a cardigan for the trip. That being said, we walked into the gym in typical fashion to get changed and ready for the game. We went into the gym an hour or so before the game to get some shots up. Nobody warned us we'd be playing in the dark.

I figured UW-L was ready to put up a big show. How legit would it be to warm up with basically just security lights on, then during player intros, the court just shines. I was ready to see how legit these state schools were! I was like "wow! No wonder so many of my friends go here!"

This dream just wasn't going to happen. So after warming up in the dark, tuning out the 15 fans, and listening to coach give us the keys to success, it was game time.

Now, I'm not qualified to give a post game summary of a college basketball game. I think you need a degree for that (or have license plates reading "GZIL"). So I'll just fast forward to the last 6 minutes of the game. We were trailing by about 20, and coach gives me the nod. Despite my tight legs from sitting for over an hour, I flew out of my seat. My mouth started to salivate as I saw six minutes left on the clock.

Finally the buzzer sounded, the refs signaled me in, and it was time to do my thing. It took a couple minutes to get used to the flow of the game, but at about 3 minutes, one of my teammates asked me, "You gonna get wet or what?". These words of encouragement and confidence were all I needed. (Plus a 2 1/2 hour inspirational skype chat with my boy GZ) ...no homo.

To make a long story short, I decided to go Jason McElwaine* on em. (I feel like that should be a new line in the "kobe bryant on em" song by Sho Baraka. In the last few minutes, I decided to live up to my "wetberg" nickname. I hit my first real-game 3-pointer in the year 2010, then my second, and then my third with a couple seconds left in the game. I went from lucky shot, to heating up, to "HE'S ON FIRE!". My next shot was about to be from half court with the ball torching in flames. (What's up NBA JAM for the Super Nintendo?)

These points were significant for nothing other than my confidence, making the box score look less harsh, and making my man Gilby and all his teammates have to run the next day for my most glorious scrub minutes of my career.

If you feel like you've heard a similar story, it's because you probably have. See the youtube video link below for the man who was truly "hotter than a pistol". All I can say is that I was packing Half the heat of a pistol.

* http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BzFCU7hN2yk *

Well, my lower half is almost completely numb, so I better wrap this up. J-Mac is bringing tears to my eyes.

Wetberg's World: Be inspired. Keep living the dream, and as always, Stay WET!

WETBERG

That time of year again!

Wetberg's World:

It's been far too long. Days, weeks, and months have passed and many of you have been wondering what I've been up to. Now, is there any special significance of why I'm posting my blog today for the first time in three months? Why yes. There is. Today is the first day of the season that really matters. For the last three months, I have been training, preparing, and engaging myself for this very day. It's been circled on the calendar as "Game 1". During the past three months I have been pouring hours of time and sweat into the fine establishment we like the call "the Erickson Center" at Northwestern. Many fall afternoons, I could and have been seen attempting to lift weights, chucking a few shots up, and even working on a few fundamentals that keep me from getting cut, henceforth, allowing me to live the D3 dream.

The last month has been an up and down little stretch. The practices have been competitive, but fun. We've been going hard for over 4 weeks, but now it's time to test our skills against our friends from down the road: Hamline University.

Now before we get too carried away with what's actually going to go down in tonight's game, let me take an opportunity to hand out a few pre-season awards (while it is still the pre-season)

We'll start with our seniors:
-Most likely to quote a youtube video in a pregame inspirational chat: Point Guard "LeBrian"

-Most likely to foul out of a game: J-Will

-Most likely to "get some after the game": Thomps (Don't worry NWC! He's Married! Congrats bro.)

For the Juniors:
-Least likely to Dunk: Reep

-Longest post-game phone call: Big E (Man-child)

-Most likely to be confused for a legitimate D1 Athlete: Gabriel

Sophomores:
-Most hideous no-shave November results: Grime-Master Libby

-Most likely to have a diabetic seizure: WAAALLLTTTTT

-Most likely to trip while playing D: Chit (Although, if my boy Pav from RF were playing, he'd give him a run for the money)

-Most likely to record a Trillion: Yours Truly!

Freshmen:
The Jury is still out on these guys.

Most likely to achieve 3+ foot stomps, and call out a play for someone not on our team this year (2-Steven): Coach.

Well, I gotta head to the game. Hopefully none of these guys live up to their pre-season awards except for Libby. I know for a fact he will.

Time go Wetberg on em.

Much love.

The Club can't even handle me.

Wetberg's World: What's happenin? I'll tell you. Get off.

I've been back on the holy grounds of Northwestern College for about 3 weeks now. Why 3 weeks? Class has only been going for 2! Yes, this is true. However, I have a confession to make: I made an attempt to become a two sport athlete. I wanted to live the Eric Bender dream of being an Eagle in two separate sports. (This doesn't include CC and Track, because they are basically the same thing.)
Three weeks ago today, I was moving into my dorm room and reacquainting myself with the wild memories of Moyer Hall- a place I can call home.
So yes, I was a fall athlete at NWC for 5 glorious days. What inspired this? Can't I be content in my wetness on the basketball floor...I mean...on the team?
Let's move this story back about 6 weeks when I was nice and drugged up. I had surgery on my knee. Don't judge me like that! 6 weeks of no basketball was 5 too many for me. I needed a replacement. Now, everyone who's reading this from NWC is crossing their fingers to read about I had 6 weeks of immense spiritual growth and found something everlasting to lean on. I did that sort of, but I also spent a lot of my time hitting up the twilight golf rate at the local country club. Just when I thought i couldn't get any whiter, I threw on some khaki's and a polo and marched up and down the links for a few weeks. Well...I went from average, to slightly above average, but by no means good. This inspired me to try out for the Prestigious NWC Men's Golf team.
Why in the world would I do that? I played one year of JV golf in High School. Why not compete at the D3 level? It would allow me to move in to my dorm 5 days earlier, leave the God-forsaken town of River Falls (haha jk), and treat myself to 63 free holes of golf and numerous "free" meals at the cafeteria. In your face Northwestern!
Anyways, I played consistently inconsistent and brought out the best/worst in my power slice strategy. I sprayed the ball to every fairway on the course. I played the correct fairway rarely. The only club that couldn't handle me was my 8 degree devil stick, My driver.
After the first set of cuts, I dodged under Coaches lathe and lived to die another day. That day came and the phone rang after I posted an embarrassing 99. Coach had so much sympathy in his voice. He was really pulling for me, but all I could say was thank you. Thanks for $150 of free golf, $50 of free food, and a free five days in the holy grounds we call Moyer Hall.
I did exactly what I came to do. I came, I saw, but I failed to conquer. Many memories were made on those finely trimmed fairways, but more were made in the roughs, the bunkers, and the woods. No homo.
Now the knee is supposed to be back in working order for basketball, and my miles of walking and carrying cheap golf clubs has paid off. The minute I got cut, I shook my head and said, "Basketball season begins today".
I'm in the process of learning to find my wetness again. Lord Willing, it won't take long.
It's great to be back at Northwestern though. The quartet has been reunited and all under one roof. Bed before midnight has become a thing of the past, and studying is only an option if there's nothing better to do.
That being said, I should really get some work done.
Thank you to all my faithful readers. Props to Mark Titus on his latest blog, Kimberli Wende for her new blog, my boy Lib for his brief blog updates, and Walt for his romantic love letter that I may or may not have read...aloud. I plan to get back at it soon with some shout outs and hopefully some short, but direct letters to people who have really made me shake my head.
As always, Stay Wet

-Wetberg

Cat Attack!

Hey Wetberg's World. This is kind of disappointing that I will only be throwing up 4 blogs this summer. Also, it's been far too long. I needed blogspot to send me an email reminder because I forgot my password. EWPS! Well this will be it for the summer, but you can say I've been inspired by a nice shout-out in "Bunking with Brian", and a crime of a shout-out in "The Way it is". Here's a shout-out to you lib: Get off my Junk. Now, let's all collect ourselves and please, for everyone's sake, I know this is the last one of the summer, but do not get too excited, propose to your girl, and end up lost in Las Vegas and wander around the desert all day. That's just getting a little overdone.
So like I mentioned before, life is just full of memorable events that need to be recorded for history's sake. Life can be WET for now, but some day it's going to dry up. Maybe you're drying up a little bit right now. If this is you, I'll encourage you to sit back, relax, and enjoy a laugh or two as I share a story of how bonding time with my mother went sour. Oh yeah, there's one more thing....GET WET.

I was out picking raspberries innocently at my grandma's house since she is no longer around to pick them. (RIP Grandma). Grandma lived in farm country in western Wisconsin. She has a very sketchy neighboor who was kicked out of the Navy and now hides out in a run-down house next to her. he's about 50 with wrinkly tattoed skin and 42 cats. Naturally, these cats are mangy and basically stray. As I picked berries with my mother, a crowd of 5 cats had assembled around us. I had nothing against cats. I had 4 cute kittens and 3 adult cats who just do their own thing. After about a half and hour of picking berries, one mangy cat got brave. I thought he wanted to be social. The joke was on me. He wanted to be fed. I told my mom, "this cat is giving me a weird look!" and laughed insecurely. The cat got too close for my liking, so i walked into the pushes. He followed. His eyes never broke from me. We had a connection like when you make eye contact with your crush and you look away. Then when you check back in a few seconds, they still haven't broken the stare. Then it quickly turns from cute to creepy. At this point, the cat stood about 5 feet away from me as I walked humbly back onto the grass. Just as I turned to pick a nice red berry, I saw this black, devil possessed cat take a few quick steps and pounces onto my right leg with extended claws! It made a harsh meow as I batted it away like a running back breaking a soft arm tackle. (A.K.A: the way Ryan Grant breaks my whole team's tackles when we play Madden '11) The stiff-arm was too late. The deed had been done. I felt a warm prickling on my right calf. Blood trickled from two gashes in my skin. The pain was not severe, but the result was was filled with gore. I feel for the cat. It didn't live in a good home. Still...he must pay.
So as my leg turned from pasty white to the right half of the American flag, I entered my grandma's empty house and selected my weapon of choice. My dear grandmother was an avid bird lover. She loved her bluebirds and orioles. However, there was one kind of bird that drove the bluebirds away: Sparrows. This upset my grandma for years, and she made them pay...with their lives. My sweet grandmother had pinpoint aim with her bolt action .22 caliber rifle. Grandma kept the bad birds away as well as the bad boys from her three daughters!
As I picked up the gun, I felt the hostility that my sweet grandma once held against some God-forsaken critters that over-stepped their bounds. I loaded a bullet into the gun and threw a few in my pocket just in case other mangy cats we able to pick up the scent of my new Stuart Little cologne.
It was a hot, muggy Wisconsin day, and my fuse was not very long for stray cats that wanted my blood. I went out to pick a few more berries in peace. I gave them a chance. I kept the .22 ready by my side for an emergency situation. After dropping a few more berries into the bucket, I made eye contact with that devil cat. The look in his eyes was a cocky, challenging, and threatening look. He began to pace towards me. I nodded my head and said, "Hello Kitty! Now we go!". I backpedaled away from the side of the house closest to the sketchy neighbor's house. I walked quickly and the cat followed, ready for round 2. The joke was on him. We made our way into the middle of a field of tall grass and stood about 20 feet apart from devil cat. I made the first move. I pulled out my phone and hopped onto Facebook for a quick status update. (Now, I'd probably tweet it. LanceWetberg. Holla!)(Not Wetberg...that's an account that fans like to tweet for me. The celebrity status is nice, but a little overrated)
After my post, I closed my phone. The 2-minute stand-off had ended. The evil cat slyly crept towards me, but I didn't flinch. I dared him to come closer and try to get another taste of Wetberg. You know it wouldn't taste dry!
The cat began his sprint and prepared to pounce. Like a true man, I started to backpedal, and I pulled the trigger. It wouldn't move. The safety was on, and I felt like a goose. (Rightfully so.) I quickly flipped the lever and the gun was ready. Kitty-Diablo crouched and began to run towards me. He was thinking it was dinner time, and that he's be the most popular of the 42 cats for slaying a 6 foot 4, 195 pound, division 3 player. (A trillionaire?) Yes. In your face Travie McCoy. Any way you look at it, he thought wrong. Diablo won the battle of the raspberry patch, but I won the war. Actually, I won it like the US won world war two. People will scratch their head and ask, "Really? Was that really necessary?". I'll answer that question with another question once posed by Patches O'hullihan in the movie "Dodgeball". I'm just kidding, Patches is almost as deranged as this crazy cat. To get down to it, I'll answer that question with an unquestioned response amongst the NWC Basketball crew. I'll tell all my haters: I couldn't lean him forward with the risk of getting fleas, so... The punishment fits the crime!

This all happened so fast, it gave me the strongest desire to spit out a quick blog to the Wetberg faithful. Unfortunately, I wasn't going to be near a laptop for hours, so I slid open my phone and got to work!
When it was all done, I wanted to read it to my mother as she laughed at me because I was afraid of a small kitty. I wanted to read her my work of art with the passion that my recently traumatized self had concocted, because she had been here through all the blood, sweat, and tears. So, I turned up the radio in hopes for a musical dramatic effect from the radio. This was a fail. The best that KTIS and Casting Crowns could provide me with was "The voice of truth, says do not be afraid". Wow...thanks. I guess God certainly speaks in crazy ways.

Until next time my friends, watch out for mangy, infected, delirious black cats, and as always, Stay Wet!

Wetberg

Buddy Check

What's good Wetberg's World? I'll assume not a whole lot since you haven't heard from me on this fine blog in a MONTH!I'm sure you all read the blog title and were intrigued...Was Wetberg some kind of camp counselor that conducts buddy checks every 10 minutes at the beach? You'll hear it here first: I'm not and wasn't. That'd be my boy Bri-Guy who also throws up a savage blog called "Bunking with Brian" (Holla!)

Part of my non-blogging has been attributed to my inspiration, Mark 'The Shark' Titus' retirement from the blogging community as he decided to write a book. The good news is, he's back after being drafted by the Harlem Globetrotters where he is poised to post many more trillions.

On the note of trillions...(a stat line of one minute played and zeros for the rest of the stats.)...I couldn't have recorded a trillion in our previous summer league game if I tried. We had 5 guys, and I was the most qualified to be the point guard with my measly 6'4" stature. We were big, and we were slow. Or roster was myself at the point, Walt at 2, freshmen recruits at 6'5" and 6'7", and Rob Dog. We had 5 guys, 10 lungs, and not enough oxygen. We panted our way to a 6 point loss to a solid St. Olaf team.

Back to the point of this blog. Where've I been for the last 5 weeks? Beaches? Traveling? (only on the court) Hanging out with friends? Barely...No. I've been taking a five credit chemistry class at River Falls' highest rated 4-year university in the town. A semester's worth of General Chemistry was shoved down my thoat five weeks. It was one of the most mediocre experiences of my life. It was a class of 25 students from many different walks of life. I can appreciate this. I'm all about diversity. We had a lot of cultures in there and a lot of different ages, but only one person was able to get under skin. No, I'm not a racist. I didn't even mind that my professor had some kind of crazy Russian accent. I actually preferred it because she sounded out each syllable of each word, and talked nice and slow, but kept a very peppy attitude except for the time she threw a model of an atom overhand like Todd Coffee hurls a late-game fastball for the Brewers...at a student. He deserved it though. He asked a dumb question...too stoned to think straight.

Let's get back to the guy who got under my skin.
I don't think anybody knows the true name of the guy who got under my skin, but he can be described to a T. This guy was an adult education student. I have no grudge against people who return to school. I think that's great that they're trying a new career, or getting more qualified. The only thing that grinds my gears about adult education students is the uncountable (or are they?) number of questions that they ask. Adult Ed. Students that are being trained in their field have legitimate reasons. Students in General Chemistry have little to no reason to ask a rediculous number of questions. If I had to guess, this guy, "Buddy" (as his white lab coat read), probably got fired from his old job for being the most annoying worker.

About 15 minutes into day one, Buddy's hand is waving in the air to ask a stupid question like if notes about the syllabus would be on the mid-term. Beginning then, the Math Ed. major in me flared up hard. I pulled out the back of my folder to tally the number of questions that Buddy would ask each day of class. Well 5 weeks of class went by and the results are in!

A quick background on our class will tell you that we had a 3 1/2 hour lecture on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, and a 2 1/2 hour lecture on Thursdays. Mondays we had exams, which were a guaranteed hour of silence. I was very diligent to record tally marks for any and all questions, boisterous comments, and pointless concerns.
Buddy was out to prove a point: He loves chemistry, and he is better at it than everybody in the class. We aren't even in the same generation, and we were reminded each and every day.

Here's a fun fact to paint a picture for you. Over the course of our 18 days of lectures, our class got the privilege of hearing his voice over 256 times! For you non-Math Majors, that just over 14 comments per day. That's about 4 comments per hour. (Every 15 minutes) I sat 30 feet away from him in a large lecture hall and could hear every single whisper scream as he used his years of wisdom to guide a young, confused college student.

Here's a short letter I've composed to my man Buddy,

Dear Buddy,

You probably don't know me, but I know you. That would be creepy, but every member of our class knows you. There's even a good chance that the classes next door know you. You could potentially be my father, or even grandfather. When you've got everyone in the class beat out in age by at least 30 years, you should just blend in the background because you're not the center of attention in the class. Why don't you just put in your time, get your five credits, and go become a game-show host where you can ask all the questions you want.
I'll give you some credit buddy. Of your 256 questions, there were a few that were actually pertinent to my education and helped my learning. However, you asked so many bad questions, I ran out of jokes to tell my lab partner. So not only are you looking bad, but you're making me look bad.
A couple more things: Don't show up to the first day of freshman summer chemistry in a lab coat. We get it...you're smart and a big deal, but your tool-o-meter is flashing on red right now. Also, when you wear classic rock t-shirts tucked into your jeans every day to class, it only exposes our age gap. Finally, don't go around hugging the prof and act like it's you two vs. a class of college kids. She's your professor, not your friend.
Buddy, I know I've been hard on you in this blog and letter, but know I don't hate you. Ya just grind my gears. My gears have been ground to the point of being dry.

So there's a solution for buddy, myself, and each of my 14 adoring fans,

GET WET!

Peace up. A-Town.

Wetberg's World: What's Happenin? That's probably the question exact question you have for me and the reason you clicked to read this blog. Another reason could be that you have an unhealthy addiction to the ins and outs of my life. Common side effects of this vary from as minimal as hourly update checks to literal shaking as you crave to read about the shenanigans I've been up to. Well if you've been shaking, you can soon be back in your happy place as I'm about to drop a fresh Wetberg right in your face. (Take it how you will). Pun intended.

Now, what've I been up to the last two weeks? Firstly, I've just been out here grinding. Secondly, I've been a full time student. When I'm not doing that, I'm just out doing what I do. I think that paints a real nice picture of my summer.

So on to the purpose of this entry. It is not to tell you about my obsession with the raunchy Usher song with the catchy beat from 2001. No, it's to share a story of a brotherhood that was re-united in one of the greatest cities in the Fox Valley region of Wisconsin: Appleton. (A-town....as the suburban white kids like to call it)....I was tempted to dub it one of the greatest cities in the world, but after many E. Libby reminders, we all know that Bloomington, MN takes that cake the way a little kid destroys one on his first birthday. B-Town is great. We get it. On to A-town!

It was a Thursday afternoon. I had a few hours of class under my belt and was fresh out of a doctor’s appointment telling me I'll be needing a minor surgery on my right knee. If this is the first time you've heard this, Adam Scheffner is not doing his job very well on the NFL Network. I tried calling it in to ESPN as breaking news, but they were too busy showing the same ground-out that Jim Joyce blew that cost a dude a perfect game. Atta kid Jim. I don't know the name of a single major league baseball ump, but thanks for putting yourself out there as the worst ump I've ever seen. ESPN makes some good efforts to talk you up, but then repeatedly exposes you for making the worst call of your life, then goes on to show you crying on national TV. I feel for you, but the punishment fits the crime. Sorry for the long baseball rant, but this rant has been a great transition to my trip to A-town.

My day had been average. After not caring about class, receiving the package from the doctor, and my overall disappointment with Adam Scheffner and Jim Joyce, I was ready for a bright spot in my day. 4 short hours of driving and alternating between Jay-Z, and Chris Tomlin led me to that bright spot I had been waiting for. I arrived at the baseball stadium of the Brewers minor league team: The Wisconsin Timber Rattlers.

As I approached the entrance door I saw him and began to hear a one-man round of applause. I had reunited with my good college friend, Gary who was beaming from ear to ear. Correction: this was not college Gary. This was Gary minus 17 pounds. I was so proud of him as I held him in our embracing hug. (no homo) I can't decide what I was happier about, Gary's commitment to fitness, or that I had just saved my $5 admission fee by walking in during the 3rd inning. (In your face T-Rats)

As we walked in to the stadium, I heard the chatter of 1000 baseball fans, and smelled about 2000 glasses of beer. (The T-Rat fans were either doing some serious double-fisting, or they all decided to cake on their Miller Light Cologne during pregame. The place just reeked of Wisconsin.

We got to our seats, and waiting for us were four friendly faces. Two twin girls that Gary was friends from in high school, a good guy-friend of his, and the man of the next hour, my former roommate, my current teammate, my point guard, WQ member, the grime master himself: Ellis.

It was a picture perfect night. The lights were bright. There was some quality single A minor league baseball happening. We were hanging with some good friends. Then...all of a sudden....the night got even better:

Being a minor league team, the T-Rats had to have a bunch of contest, drawings, games, and other between innings festivities. I was really bummed when I didn't win the buy one get one free coupon for a Taco Bell Crunch Wrap. (Over a $2 Value!!)

Between one of the innings, was the Bratzooka bombing. I've been to MN Twins games where they shoot T-shirts into the crowd for a lucky fan, but not the T-Rats...They were bombing foil wrapped brats! We were on our feet jumping and waving our hands like 13 year old girls at a Justin Bieber concert. Then a brat launched high into the sky. The drunks were stretching out to snag the flying brat, and I said to Ellis, "Dude this one's coming for us!" That being said, Lib removed his "White man can't jump hat.(Usually a hideous adjustable hat that was popular in the early 1990s. Now you see them at garage sales for $.50. He flaunts it backwards on the back of his head..."his swag") As the brat arched down towards us, Ellis reached his arm back well into the vacant row behind us and made a miraculous catch. Next thing we know, a camera man is in our face, and we are on the big screen. Lib and Wetberg...in HD.

With Lib as the main attraction for his incredible brat catch, I was in the secondary friend role. I did the right thing by dishing out high fives, and acting like we won the lottery. Looking back at it, I wish I had pulled a Mark Titus after winning the Big Ten Championship and just made some ridiculous faces into the camera as Thad Matta was interviewed...Class Act shark!

As we celebrated with him, an inning came an went. We watched a few more innings of baseball and eventually opted to have a big night, NWC style. So sure enough, within fifteen minutes we were hittin' the Bees! (going to Applebees for half price apps)

The girls we were with were not as Bees savvy as we had become after many trips last year. I knew which half-price appetizer I was going with before I entered the family friendly establishment. In fact, I'd like to attribute 2 pounds out of my freshman 15 to Applebees. The next 8 goes to Cafe Naz and their weird food. The final 5 pounds is split between shoppers value Ice Cream and sweets sent in care packages by loved ones of the WQ. (Thanks Claire and Barbara).

12 hot wings later, we said our goodbyes, went back to the G-Zil pad/mansion and immediately hopped on facebook. Everything just seemed so right. It felt like nearly every single night as an NWC Eagle. Moyer 5D had been reunited. After a few minutes of facebook creeping, we all decided to call it a night. We had just been apart for almost a month, and within hours, we were right back in stride.

This was just the first half of my trip though. This was Lib+Lance+Gary night. We went big. I'm going to cut this blog off here and hopefully have the next night's festivities up soon.

I hope this answers any questions of What's happenin in Wetberg's World.

Until next time my friends,

Stay wet and God Bless,

Wetberg

A Brush With Death

I was about to open this blog with a "What up blogspot?"...yeah, then I realized that I'd sound like that kid in Chapel that seemed like a huge tool when he said, "What up N-Dubya-C?" during announcements.

So I'll just open with a humble DP-ish "Hey guys". It's an honor and privilege to be here with you all. I'm so thankful for all the little things in life like sharing my thoughts and reactions with you all.

As I promised, I will be sharing with you guys about something that happened to me. (Usually this follows the phrase, "It's great to be in your beautiful country") Atta Kid Cooooach. Today, I'll be sharing about my adventure, my bromance, and my quest to earn enough man cards back to be at even par. (See previous posting).

The intention of the trip was for a spontaneous, adventurous, manly trip of the summer to make up for 9 months of separation between two bros. The plan was to canoe up the Red Cedar River in Wisconsin for a day and then float back down and get some fishing in the next day. We intended to spend the night camping on a sandbar and just have a good time.

So we hustled for a canoe (thanks D-Swin), and did an ametuer job of securing it in the bed of my dad's pickup truck. The truck wasn't made for transporting canoes, so it hung off the back a good 4 feet or so. We attempted to strap it in and prayed that it would hold. Fortunately, it did just that. After a day of planning and packing, we were all ready to go embark on this journey.

We got to the river and realized that our canoe and gear was pretty heavy. We had no intentions of doing any portaging. It was just Gilby and myself, two division three basketball players. We're not savage beasts like Bear Grylls. We may have overestimated our phisical fitness and unrealistically planned to canoe up river. (By we, I mean me.) Yep. I'm a chickenhead for that one.

So we entered the water and paddled upstream with fresh bodies and inspired intensity. After 45 minutes, I looked back and saw our entry point about 200 yards behind us. We were going nowhere fast. As perfect timing would have it, just as we were ready to give up, it began to downpour on us despite being fairly sunny out. Yaap...that made the decision easy to just paddle down river and make it a two day fishing trip. We could figure out ride arrangements to get us back to our vehicle later. With Walt not in mind, we were living in the moment. After about 45 seconds we had floated back passed our drop in point. The time flew by as I was receiving an "I told ya so" speech from my main man and power stroker from the front of the canoe.

The Red Cedar River flows in a southwestern direction. Eventually if dumps into the Mighty Mississippi. We feared that we might canoe too far and eventually be paddling through oil down in the gulf. (Too soon?) So with little to no considerations of the consequences of our actions, we began to paddle down stream. Shortly into the trip, we were getting rained on. Great start pause not. As afternoon faded into evening we began strategizing a place for us to camp for the night. We paddled slowly down the stream throwing out occasional fishing lines in hopes of landing a fish for supper. We caught fish at the rate that Reep grows facial hair. We didn't catch any. (Sorry Reep, but the attempted moustache in 'Tina was awful.)

We were losing daylight as we zig-zagged down the river, so we decided it was time to pick a spot to stay. There was a 30% chance of rain in the forecast so we thought it'd be smart to be in the woods somewhere where we'd get a little cover. Sure enough, as the darker clouds rolled in, we pull up to a gem of a camping spot. It was a nice, open grassy area with an apparent exiting place for our canoe. What a blessing right?!

We set up camp. I pitched the tent, and Gilby made a fire circle of rocks and sand. (Only YOU can prevent forest fires!) After we were set up, we gathered a bunch of wet wood from the rain and began to attempt to build an all natural fire. After a few fails we started to impatient. Gilby was making thin strips of wood using his fillet knife (the only and most vital tool we had with us). For the first time in my life, I wished I had been a boyscout. That wish was soon taken back as I realized simply watching some discovery channel would teach many of the same lessons and avoid those weird looking outfits. (No offense to any boy scouts who read Wetberg). If there are any who are, you're probably a crappy boyscout. Why would you be online reading blogs, when you could be out building fires and tying knots.

Eventually, we got a fire started and celebrated by sharing half a package of hot dogs. After eating, we threw in our lines and after a few minutes, I caught a couple fish. One was a smallmouth bass that was legit to keep. So I put it on a stringer and left it in the water for later. Mother-nature had different plans for us that night. Casting and reeling for a couple hours as the sun went down was too soft of a night. Time to get WET! Literally. That 30% chance of rain we saw may have been a misprint of 30% chance of flash flooding as we will get poured on hard for a couple hours. As we were getting soaked, we got all our food and supplies into the tent and decided to call it an early night. The tent started leaking on us and we were wet from getting cleaned up so it wasn't the most comfortable place to be in. Rain was seeping through the top of the tent, but don't worry, we had a good thick tarp on the bottom to collect all that water. No moisture was about to seep through the bottom. So we had a puddle in our tent. No big deal...we just formed barriers for the water by lifting parts of the tarp. We now had a big puddle and us sleeping in an L shape in the tent. We were pushed up against the tent walls. It couldn't be bad. At least we weren't getting more wet!

As we settled in and got comfortable (no homo), wetness became the least of our concerns. Just as I was about to enter a slumber, I felt an animal walking on the outside of our tent. It rubbed up against the tent with my high shoulder touching the other side of the tent. Yep, I was grazed by a hungry wild animal. Naturally, I jump up and start yelling and clapping as loud as possible. I was laying on my side and felt the side/bottom of the beast's torso.

We realized that in our rush for cover, we had all our food in our tent. We had a half-open package of hot dogs. I can take the blame for being the chickenhead on that one. Of course the carnivorous wild animal that brushed my shoulder was looking for an easy meal of free raw meat. Who wouldn't? What if this creature just wanted 4 or 5 hot dogs for an appetizer? Would it go for our granola bars next, or would it go for the gold and devour a couple of 6'4" division III basketball players? I strategically decided to make the animal choose one or the other. The food immediately went into a tree about 50 feet from our tent. Good choice to leave the tent minutes after having my core stroked by a wild beast? Probably not, but in an effort to regain a man-card, I didn't back down.

As we settled back into our soaking wet tent, we sat in silence as we heard a collection of animals tromping around as if they were forming a pack to attack our wolf-pack of two. We sat in fear for a couple hours with the dull fillet knife clenched in my hand.

Eventually, I settled into a light sleep, but my partner Gilby wasn't so fortunate. After a short hour or two of sleep, I was nudged by a fear-stricken best friend. There had been a horrible screeching noise. Something had just died. The beasts were on the attack! This did not help our comfort level. I was praying...hard. After hearing the ear-piercing screech, it was followed by some thumping sounds and some tearing noises. Was this a small bear, a wolf, a fox, a wild dog? We didn't know and didn't want to find out. These noises were followed by a thrashing from the river. Great...The attacker had now gone for my 14" small mouth bass that was stuck to my stringer. By now we're soaking wet, scared to death, and in no position of control. All we could do was wait it out and pray we weren't fourth-meal for some savage beast. (We later found out from a fellow Jimmy Johns worker that Bobcats are very prevalent along the Red Cedar River, and it most likely caught, killed, and ate a rabbit.)

After some inconsistent, light sleep, morning finally came. We were still alive. Praise the Lord! We stepped outside the tent and observed round footprints in the mud with the area of a Red Bull Can. (Bobcat). Also we saw many deer tracks which accounted for the crashing we thought might be bears or Lord knows what else. We began to set of a quite legitimate camp site as the sun rose. We had a clothesline, got a fire going despite the inch plus of rain, and made ourselves some breakfast. I checked the river, and the fish was still there. It must have just been having a bad dream and decided to flop around vigorously in the middle of the night. I really appreciate that. So, I filleted my fish and ate it for breakfast by cooking it over the fire on a flat river rock. (resourceful AND manly!) Nice me.

We kept the fire going and decided to do a little more fishing as our stuff began to dry out. About 10:00 a.m. a couple on the golf cart pulls up as I'm fishing and Gilby is tending to the fire:

Angry Land Owner: "What're you doing?!"
Gilby: "Uhhh..."
A.L.O.: "Yeah, Uh is right! You can't be here! This is private property! We saw the smoke and thought our whole forest was on fire!"
Gilby: "Oh okay, I'm sorry. We'll pack up and leave right now."
A.L.O #2: "How long have you guys been here?!"
(I would've loved to say we were there for like 3 weeks, but I was too flattered by the backhanded compliment of our nice camp. Plus, we were avoiding confrontation.) We said, "just the night. We'll be gone before you know it."
A.L.O.: "Yeah you will!" (duh...that's what we just said...chickenhead.) We'll be back to check on you soon. You'd better be gone!"

We didn't attempt to create a conflict by explaining ourselves, but I feel like I could've guilt tripped these selfish land-owners and made them feel like total idiots. As we packed up and left the logic of it all fell into place.

Wow...forgive us for stopping to get some cover in the midst of a severe thunderstorm. Also, how could there possibly be a forest fire hours after getting over an inch of rain? We could barely start a fire by trying as hard as we could. We even cheated and used some newspaper that we managed to keep relatively dry! This angry couple needed to get off our junk.

However, we avoided the conflict and left the scene with our tails between our legs.

We paddled a while down the stream to avoid Satan's relatives, (the landowners) made arrangements to be picked up that night, and spent the day floating down the river, stopping for some fishing in the beautiful weather. We had limited success. We caught fish like my former roommate, grows a moustache: sporatically, but over time, we totaled a few fish. By the end of the day we had 12 together-a nice round dozen.

Finally we were picked up by my life-saver brother and I was transported back to the truck to return to the river and pick up the canoe. Gilby stayed at the river in hopes of catching me in fish count. As I neared the takeout point with the truck, I received a text from Gilby saying he had snapped his pole, but not to worry, his line was still all in tact and his Rapala was safe.

We packed everything up and reflected on our eventful, unbelievable adventure. We roughed it for two days, survived a torrential downpour, had a brush with death, nearly got fined for trespassing, learned how to canoe, and caught a few fish. Most importantly, the trip served it's mission. We were just two guys and we were having a good time (**having a good time, having a good time). We got to catch up after being separated for most of the school year. Through all the ups and the downs, the triumphs of catching fish and setting up camp, and the low moments writhing in fear while soaking wet in pitch blackness, we made great memories and flared our bromance to the next level.

We needed a couple days apart because we were flirting with the level of Navy buddies that tattoo each others' names on their backsides. Now we're just back to being best friends, and rolling as a wolf-pack of two.

If you read this with any doubt, I will swear on my life that this is all truth. Also, if you don't think this is a big deal, think about where you are: You're probably sitting at a computer at your house next to a golf course. What happened on that memorable night was incredible. It's taken a couple weeks to find the strength to share this with Wetberg nation, but here it is.

This is what's happenin' in Wetberg's World:

Until next time, stay wet my brethren.

-Wetberg

**http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nt2OVAgkHBc (This will bring a joke to full circle from a couple paragraphs ago)

Getting Hard at Home

Oh man, it's great to be back here at my blogging sanctuary. It's depressing that it's been over three weeks since my last post. Don't worry, I'm not pulling a Mark Titus and quitting altogether. It's just been a little rough for a G lately. Fans are becoming giddy and harassing me on my Facebook wall. I'm being confronted at social gatherings. I feel like a mother bird who is tantalizing a nest full of baby chicks by dangling a worm an inch out of their reach. Actually, that analogy makes little to no sense, but I like the thought, so I'll keep it. I apologize to all my faithful followers who have been chomping at the bit to read my perspective of what's been going on in my life. It's been a crazy time of the year with finals, moving home, and going on a missions trip to Argentina. If you would like to read about that, I was doing some blogging at nwceagles.com. They're no Wetberg blogs! Don't get that twisted for a second, but they do give some insight to what we did for 11 days in 'Tina.

Now I'm sure many of you saw the title I put for this posting. If you go to Northwestern, you were appalled, and anyone else from River Falls or beyond got more excited than they should. NWC can take a chill pill, and everyone else can get their head out of the gutters.

Here's what's been happenin in Wetberg's World:

So now I'm back in good old RF and starting to get used to life in rural Western Wisconsin. I have the satisfaction of doing below average, but passing all my college classes this spring, so I can return to Northwestern and record a few more trillions for the Eagles. (Lord Willing). However, like my main man Walt, I live in the moment. The moment is summer and River Falls.

I've been back for about three days and I feel like I'm right back in stride. After spending the last nine months in the comfy twin cities, it has been nice to get down and dirty with life in RF. (Gutter Check). yeah...get out.

My first day back conveniently was the time that cleaning of the pig pens take place. I don't think anyone in their right mind should get excited for a task like this, but I was a little bit because I was getting that feeling of manhood that I got a taste of on Steak night (see previous post). If I were given 5 "man-cards" that could be lost or re-gained depending on the manliness of my decisions, I would be sitting at a Gentleman's 3. Usually I'm all about the triple, but not in this case. Let me illustrate a breakdown:

Day 1 of being back: 1 man card lost, 1 Man card regained.
During day one, I had to shovel fecal matter out of the pig pens. This should be a +1 right? Nothing like getting your hands dirty and doing some hard labor. So, I'll take a +1 for completing the task with no complaints. However, there was one time when I was shoveling some into the wheelbarrow, a chunk fell off and I jumped out of the way much harder than I should have. I was for some reason scared to get my 9th grade basketball shoes, that have been used for this task for two years, more dirty. Perhaps I thought some of it was going to bounce up and get on my skirt? Lord only knows. But I was and still am thoroughly embarrassed. I feel like a goose. So I broke even on the first day back. The next couple days were not so favorable.

Today especially, was a tough day. I lost two cards in one day. At this rate, I'm going to be visiting a different restroom by June. This afternoon, I decided to help my brother out and mow a couple of his lawns for him in town. They were two push-mowed lawns that took about an hour and a half between them. When I was finishing up the second lawn I wiped a little sweat off my head and prepared to gladly accept a man card along with a glass of lemonade. O for 2 on that one! When I looked at my hands, I had blisters on both thumbs from the mowers. I wouldn't say I am naturally the burliest of men, but I've only been in the cities for 9 months! I have gotten so soft! To make matters worse, I received a text after seeing my sissy hands asking me to do some babysitting! I guess when it rains, it pours. I'm dishing out cards left and right. (Anyone who knows me knows I'm not going to turn down a chance to make a quick 20 bucks!)

So here we sit at three man cards. How can I earn a couple back?! Who on T.V. is the most manliest? I'm in a huge slump, and need to get out sooner than later! Survivorman is pretty manly. Yeah, that's an understatement. He's a savage beast! Watch out bub. LW and EG are about to get our survivorman on!

The timing of this slump is a blessing in disguise because my best bud, Gilby, and I had intended on going on a canoe trip for a couple days and rough it all. We intend to sleep on sand bars and cook over a camp fire. (like real burly men). Gilby's ability to grow a red beard says enough about his manhood, so he's not trying replace and cards. I wish I could stay the same. I wish I could just be doing some general maintenance, but I'm trying to come out of a debt here. We'll be paddling upstream for a day and a half, then float back downstream and do some serious fishing. This may seem like a serious bromance, but I will call no homo, so everything is cool.

I look forward to hooking you all up with some stories of our adventure and maybe even a good fish story!

Until then,

Stay Wet! This is what's happenin in Wetberg's World!

-Wetberg (+3)

Steak Night (Wish I had a Date Night)

As I eluded in my previous post, there was more to my Saturday than what you all got the privilege of reading about. It was truly a day of being a man and doing some things that guys do.

"Doing what guys do" is a phrase that only a select few guys in River Falls is familiar with. It came to be a popular phrase when my entire lunch table was invited to a birthday party by a member of the JV basketball team well in advance of it actually happening. Some of you may be thinking three weeks or a month. You're wrong. We were invited over six months in advance. The party was to be epic. When I asked what we'd be doing at this "party" the response was similar to, "Oh man, We're just gonna do what guys do. Ya know? We're gonna throw some meat on the grill and toss the ol' pigskin around!" The Birthday Boy to be (in over 6 months) was excited beyond words.

Unfortunately, I was unable to attend this party despite the advanced notice. In fact, I think everyone was unable to attend. My reason was legit though. Northwestern College was dragging me around on tours and talks like a collared dog for Orientation week. Would've I loved to be "throwin' some meat on the grill and tossin' the ol' pigskin around? Absolutely! Who wouldn't? But no, I was getting told that I would be experiencing many changes during the upcoming year. (No, this was not the puberty talk I received last year....oops! I mean when the time came that both my parents and I had to experience the awkwardness of that conversation.) The point is, I missed out on a golden opportunity to be a man.

This didn't sit well with me in the fall, as it shouldn't with any decent person who has the stones to call himself a man. (Walt is working on it and making great strides! Gold star bud!) How was I about to fix this? Well, being the innovator I am, I thought to myself, "Why not fix two issues in one night?" What is the second issue you may ask?

I have been known to be unreasonably stingy when dealing with my money. (So why did I end up dedicating my life to paying off debt by coming to a private school to pursue an education degree? Good Question. I'm going to credit my man G-O-D with that one.) Anyways, within a couple weeks of school my roommates and close friends could smell the stench of frugality coming from my every statement and action..."Half Price Appetizers? That's half price too much for this guy."

These actions that brought/bring me so much satisfaction, brought my close friends the opposite emotion. They were bound and determined to get me to "go big" before the end of the school year. I agreed through clenched teeth and put it off as long as I could. What I agreed to was to play a round of Golf in the afternoon (like real men) and to follow that with a fine steak dinner. Through a fair amount of compromising, I negotiated a deal where we could play 9 holes of golf at a city course that only set me back $10. The real killer was the steak dinner half though. Instead of going to a classy establishment such as Outback Steakhouse, we agreed to buy the finest steaks and grill them ourselves (like real men).

And it was done. The day came, and we were about to make it happen! It was a windy day on the golf course, so our scores didn't reflect our greatest scores. However, my partner in crime through this all (Geezy/GZ) said the dumbest thing in our previous outing that I had to rekindle multiple times. He said, "Eh, the wind doesn't really affect my shot."

Are you stroking me?! Unless you hit nothing but worm-burners, the ball is BOUND to be influenced by a brisk wind! Does he have some expensive ball that is immune to wind? If so, that's cool, but I have no interest of buying one due to my severe condition of stinginess. I always look for the balls that cost me nothing. (That's what she said.) But seriously, I have no shame in adding a ball to my stash that was recently hit blindly over a hill, where the poor golfer who hit it has no idea where it landed...hmm...gopher must've eaten it!

Anyways, after our golfing excursion, it was off to the local grocer to purchase the supplies for our big night. We agreed that the menu would consist of steak, potatoes, and dessert. There is no room on a man's plate for vegetables or anything resembling the color green. We also were planning on washing this all down with the finest O'Doules (fake beer). I thought non-alcoholic beer would be legit for our dry campus, but the half of a percent of alcohol wasn't about to fly at NWC, so we settled for a drink that is more encouraged by our faith-based community: grape juice.

Upon entering the store, I was experiencing some minor shaking and butterflies in my stomach as I knew this would be the biggest grocery bill I'd run up during the year. After quickly finding our potatoes, it was selection time. Which cut of steak was right for the night? Geezy naturally went with the most expensive he could find. A 17 oz Rib-eye (approx $12). I may consider this for the day I propose to my future wife, but not for steak night. I decided to treat myself to the finest 18 oz. round steak (the worst/cheapest money can buy). This set me back a whopping $3.56. I'm glad I saved all my loose change in a cup during the year. The steak dinner fund was a classic example of saving every penny and then kissing it goodbye for a short pleasure and lifetime of memories. Some people have found different ways to learn this lesson, but to each his own: I just "went big"!

We concluded our trip by buying our favorite kind of ice cream, Cookies and Cream as well as some cake and Hershey's shell topping. Yes, I did have every intention of finishing my freshman 15 in one night. Mission accomplished. I left the store with a bill that was closing in on $10. I felt my eyes swelling and throat closing, but managed to make the swipe and get on with the glorious night we had been waiting for like a below average looking, insecure teen girl waiting to be asked to the prom. (I think you get the picture)

Geezy strapped on his flipper in one hand and blackberry in the other as he grilled our steaks like he had done it a million times. Quick note: He was an amateur, as was I. Probably the most embarrassing moment of it all was that neither of us knew how to light a lighter to get these steaks cooking. We had to call on the closest high school freshman to do the honors.

Once everything was fixed up, we enjoyed each other's company as we sat directly across from each other(No homo), gazed into each other's eyes(no homo), and talked about how glad we were that we could make it all happen(NH). DJ Walter was spitting the finest classical music that youtube had to offer. It was certainly a night to remember, a night which my vice-grip on my wallet loosened, so I could invest in a steak with the consistency of a middle aged tree. No ranch or BBQ sauce could help me endure the five minutes i spent chewing each and every bite.

The night was a tremendous experience (No homo), and we agreed to make this an annual event(No homo). It was great to practice up with the hopes of one day sharing a night like that with a very special person of the opposite gender. So until that day, it will be called, "Steak Night" (Wish I had a Date Night).

So to all the young men who read this blog: don't be afraid to share a special night with a bro(no homo). You can call it a "bromance", "man-date", or even "guy love". (See following Scrubs clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Pamgat1Wro )(No homo.)

Just one quick disclaimer: You can never call "No Homo" too many times. No homo.

Until next time my friends, Stay wet!

God Bless,

-Wetberg

WET= What Extra Teammates?

Ah...It feels good to be lounging in the living room in Moyer with thoughts of reflection, embarrassment, triumph, and satisfaction flowing through my head. It's been over a week since my last entry, and people are starting to get on my junk about throwing up a new one. You all make it seem like it'd be entertaining to hear about how I take a six and a half minute walk to my Foundations of Mathematics each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Or maybe the fact that I consistently waddle into my Calc II class in the middle of the professor's prayer to start class. (Christian School thing for those are confused right now)

As you can see, Wetberg's World has been a little dry lately...nothing overly exciting. I've been busy serving as the Public Address man for the college's baseball and softball teams. I would love to just tear into Crown College athletics and question their legitimacy as a collegiate program. (Due to the shortened games, I had to suffer through announcing two games in a row as they try to get these painful games done in one day by scheduling doubleheaders. In these games, our girls who are currently four games over .500 plaster North Central and Crown with scores of 10-0, 10-3, 22-0, and 12-3 respectively. This is painful to watch, announce, ump, and probably play for both teams. The outcome is always inevitable. One game, a team took a lead in the top of the 1st inning and the dugout makes requests for pictures to be taken of the scoreboard. Doing this is probably their only hope at fooling respectable recruits to come and play for them as they play "David vs. Goliath" in every single game.) However, out of respect to the student athletes, coaches, parents, fans, and institutions, I'll choose to discuss a different array of topics. My goal for this blog is to share my perspective of things happening in my life. It is not to demean or put down anyone. (Especially for their lack of ability to have more than 3 batters in the lineup hitting above .200)

Moving on...many of you read the title for this post and are curious to where I'm going with it. I am experiencing many of the same thoughts as my fingers dance away on my laptop keypad. Well here's a try:

Here's what's happenin in Wetberg's World:

Last time, I left my seven faithful followers on the edge of their seats with a hint that I might discuss some experiences in my next blog (this one). Yeah....I lied. I have no intention of talking about any of that garbage. Today, I've lived a day that's worth a full blog entry in itself.

As a student-athlete here at Northwestern, I choose to be more of a student during the week and an athlete on the weekends. So this morning I woke up early to hit up some Saturday morning open gym. This open gym was very typical for us. We had two recruits visiting and everyone staggered into the gym exactly at the time we agreed to meet. An hour and a half of 90% effort passes. This happened less than twelve hours ago, and I am failing to remember a single thing of the first 90% of today's open gym. Personally, it was close to being a waste of my Saturday morning. My name of Wetberg (that is slowly catching on, YES! Finally a legitimate nickname! Not Lance-the-Pants or Dumb Jew) was being used in phrases like "Hey it's okay Wetberg. Keep trying." "Sure you're shooting like a blind ra-tard, but it's cool. You'll find it." I felt ashamed that I had ever been called anything regarding the word WET. Going into the last game, I had given myself the new name of "Dry-berg". This followed with "Ice-berg". The point is, My J was trash. This was so disheartening because without my jumper, I become 6'4" and 205 pounds of wasted space on the court.

As we decided to enter our last game, I decided it was time to turn it on. What does the name WETberg mean to me? How bad did I want my name back? I wanted it back like Travie McCoy wants to be a billionaire: So Frickin Bad! So the game began, and I was being defended by a tired Walt. Now, my philosophy on when to shoot the ball is as follows: "Miss until you make, and then make until you miss". In other words, Don't not shoot. So the first possession down the floor, I cast up a three, and by some miracle, it goes in. This happens the next time down the court as well as the next. During this process, I evolved from Dry-berg to moist-berg to Wetberg once again. This wetness I had re-attained was like crack to me. I was addicted. Little did I know, I proceeded to shoot every shot for our team in the pick-up game. Our team ended up losing 21-18, mostly because of my transformation from the Sahara Desert into a full-fledged black hole. That being said, a formal apology needs to be issued to my team I was playing with.

To Reep, Ross, Josh the recruit, and one other person (I forget because they failed to attempt any shots) (Oops! Sorry) :

My fellow teammates, I would like to take this moment to apologize for my selfish play in today's final game at Open Gym. My open gym etiquette in that game was both unspeakable and unforgivable. I broke one of the cardinal unwritten rules of open gym, "Don't be THAT guy". I was him. I'm not proud of it. Did I score 16 of our 18 points? Yes. Did I make over half my shots? Yes. However, knowing that my "teammates" wasted energy running up and down the floor each time only to watch me cast up another prayer of a shot. This my friends, breaks my heart. In high school, I was awarded "Mr. Assist" at our senior banquet. This morning, I earned "Biggest Ego" and "Fastest trigger" and "Ball-Hog Grand Champion" and "Mr. Never-pass-on-an-open-look" and "Closest resemblance to an AK-47" and "Mr. Black Hole". The list of awards goes on and on...but to continue with my apology I would like to say that my performance was an embarrassment to myself,my family, my team, the wet quartet, Northwestern College, the NCCAA, John Stockton, and every person who has ever seen the movie Hosiers and understood the 5 pass per possession offensive strategy. I ask for forgiveness and for my old role as towel waver. I'd also like to have the opportunity to feel free to shoot a couple times per game, but vow to never again shoot more than 90% of my team's shots. (Thank you Ross for driving an making a lay-up for our 12th and 13th point. This saves me the embarrassment of saying I shot every single shot!)

Today, I shared the ball like an only child shares his xbox and games....he doesn't. You have to wait until he's out of town for the weekend to log a few hours of NCAA football, where Ironically i enjoy playing the quarterback and passing on EVERY play. Thanks Lib. Hope you had a fun weekend bro. Living alone for one night turned me into an animal, a savage beast. Come home. I miss you. No homo.

Now that I'm back and have gathered myself from that emotional outburst back there, I'm ready to conclude this blog entry. (I'm Sorry you all had to see that side of me). This entry is becoming long in a hurry, so I need to cut it off here. I regret the fact that I haven't been able to share the redeeming half of my day, but to that I say, "Another day, Another Dollar". Stay tuned for my next entry which will be up soon highlighting a special night with a special someone in great detail.

Is it possible to highlight something in great detail? I'll let you be the judge....a-a-and I'm the case.

So on that note, I'm out for the night. I hope I momentarily quenched your thirst for What's Happenin' in Wetberg's World.

Stay wet my friends, and don't be THAT guy at open gym that I decided to be.

Peace n Blessing ya'll,

Wetberg

P.S. Enjoy these Jim Rome Rants. Possibility for an "Open Gym Guy"?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMfqbR8Ujlk&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MfjwTtxdmac
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LeZmHhPxuI&feature=related

Where's Walter?....At Prom. WET!

Well it's closing in on 1:00 AM here on a Thursday night before a massive Calculus II test coming up in a few hours, so I figured this would be a good time to get cracking on a blog entry. I'm sitting up on Lib's heavenly temprapeudic mattress with the peaceful sounds of "Planet earth" is soothing my mind and putting me in the perfect place to slap you all in the face with what's shaping up to be a lengthy entry. It's been a long week here at NWC and around the state of Minnesota.

Here's what's been happenin in the world of Wetberg:

As I mentioned in my previous blog entry, "the cinco" (my/our NWC homestead) has been unusually quiet at times. "The cinco's" nightly honorary guest and good friend, Walt, has been very deceptive as of late. For the past month or so, Walt has been the ninth resident of the Cinco. Lately there has been a change of heart that hasn't been popular with the inhabitants of cold, messy back room. The way things had been working (very well I might add), Walt would make a daily trip in his raggedy T-Bird up to his "dorm room" and bring his necessities for the night. This beautiful system has recently been changed as trips of bringing clothes in have continued, but bringing clothes back have become less of a habit. Over a few weeks, Walt compiled a wardrobe of clothes that littered our living room. This did not sit well with our tidy non-basketball playing roommates and more importantly, our R.A. Walt received the most sugar-coated warning of "Let's get this stuff cleaned up and out by the weekend bud" (Wink)....The weekend came and the quartet had left for the night, a Friday night. (And when we leave for the night, WE AINT COMIN BACK!) Unlike Kiesha, we did not brush our teeth with a bottle of Jack, but simply stuck to our Colgate, Crest, or in my case, Shoppers Value Dollar Paste. ...Let's get back to the story though. When we returned the next day, Walt's clothes that had been "binned up" into massive tub-a-wares were missing. Walt was missing the majority of his clothes! This put him into a frenzy. He set himself up for numerous lines with poorly chosen statements such as, "Dude, I have no idea where my clothes are". The witty ones of the quartet and friendly curly haired neighbor responded with "Have you checked your pants?". Walt checked his pants at least ten times. No luck for the man who was running out of pants to check. After a rough day and a half, Walt was returned his clothes with an incentive to move out. Walt received the package....I mean message. So lately, the bat cave in the back room has been occupied by a new victim. This new visitor was another teammate who was notorious for high flying dunks and his "tuna can". Since the arrival of 'tuna can', many late night trips have been made to Cubs foods for common late night snacks of a box a fruit snacks and a jar of pickles. Tonight is the first night in a week or two where the cinco has been pleasured to have both of our prized visitors. Walt received the shaft by moving from the ever comfortable "bat cave" to the had mattress given for recruits to stay on. This however is a better solution than sleeping on our couch which is named "Chasity". The name comes for obvious reasons: There are three distinct cushions with firm, wooden bars between. This couch is a worse C-Block than a little brother plopping down next to you on the couch to enjoy the movie he so desperately wanted to see and couldn't wait to watch any of the other four nights of the 5-night rental. Long story short: We're in good company with Walt and the 'Bronze Tuna Can'.

It's now 1:45 AM, and Lib has become a victim to the Z's. I don't know how that is possible with me hacking away at the keyboard and the savage British accent illustrating a group attack of lions and a giant elephant. "Planet Earth" is an incredible addition to the sleeping experience. I can't begin to fathom the dreams that my good friend in encountering right now.

On the topic of dreams, this last weekend, I felt like I was encountering a dream. I got the opportunity to be "the good guy", help a friend out, and save a high school girl from watching her high school prom in sweat pants. (A nightmare if we are going to continue with the dream cliches). I felt like I was in one of the remix movies that was a twist between "Groundhogs Day", and that Zach Efron movie where the 30 year old burnout turns 17 again (the title of the movie) and tries to convince America that he can be a stud basketball player. Hey Zach: I wasn't fooled in High School Musical, and will continue to not look past your lack of basketball skills. You are a disgrace to the game. Confession: My only motives for that statement are because it's true as well as I would love for the BBall-Poser/Pop-Star to challenge me to a game of 1-on-1....maybe put it on MTV...No big deal. Anyways, Walt's girlfriend had brought it to my attention that she had a friend who didn't have a date for her senior prom and the deadline to buy tickets was in three days. Was I on the hot-seat? Yes. Being the softy that I am, I caved, but was most convinced by the fact that I wouldn't have to pay for hardly a thing. I had been introduced to the girl, who happened to be a very sweet girl, one time, but that was enough for me. This decision made my position on the hot seat much worse as it was the cause of my first serious discussion and DTR with the shawty I am very fond of. (Quick note: Bless her heart for being understanding of everything and putting up with me! She's a doll!) Plus, she reads and brings followers to Wetberg's World, which only encourages me to produce this onslaught of satiric stories and nonsenses in my life. Snap back to the point: I went to prom as a college freshman. Sketchy? Absolutely. Do I feel like a huge tool for doing it? A little bit....However, the feeling of helping other people, while having a good time myself was incredible. Stewartville, Minnesota had never seen and struggled to comprehend the fierce moves I was throwing down on the dance floor. During the typical array of dance music, I managed to open some eyes with an assortment of embarrassing moves combined with a thin slice of knowledge regarding commonly known dances. Stewie ran a classy prom. There wasn't a lot of "bumping and grinding" that prom is notoriously known for. I haven't the time or space to list off the the moves that were attempted on that night, but I must say that when I started jerking on the dance floor, I received some looks of amazement, confusion, as well as admiration. For this, I thank my "roommate", the grime master himself for jerking many nights with me as we got to know each other better in the fall. Overall, it was a fun experience for all. The last song played was Taylor Swift's "Today was a Fairytale". I won't go that far, but it was a lot of fun. Seeing my main man Walt letting lose on the dance floor (mostly due to his near death lack of blood sugar) was enough for me to forget that I had gotten my hand slammed in the door of the family Cutlass as well as being framed as the "face of the Stewartville Prom" by making the front page of the town's weekly newspaper for my courageous nursing home walk-through after having my fingers mashed between the cold car door and the sturdy frame of Walt's family vehicle. (A quick shout-out to my best friend Gilby: Hey bud. Thanks for making my picture from the "Stewartville Star" your facebook profile picture. I appreciate the accountability aspect that nothing I do goes unnoticed. Thank you for exposing me for all to see on Facebook Nation.....you will pay!)

Now, I am flirting with 2:30 AM, but this has been a fun entry. I feel like I've covered about half of my intended material tonight, so stay tuned for the next update featuring my thoughts on softball, a thrilling story of sheer will power and good friendship, as well as a rundown of my last two intramural draft league basketball highlights. I might just shout that one out right now. Wade Grabow= WETNESS! 7/11 from downtown was a treat from the NWC Offensive Lineman. Also, another consecutive game of tossing an alley-oop pass to my man Bri-Guy who stands two inches shorter than me, but flies in a different atmosphere. By the way, we won, but more importantly, great job on the big plays. I'll expect Eagle 7 news to be at the next IM games creating thrilling highlights for the chapel news that nobody watches anyways. It'd still be an honor to be shown on a "top 10 list" for making an assist for a middle of the road intramural basketball team. Message to kids: Shoot for the moon and settle for the broken leg you receive for attempting to jump to the moon off the roof of your house.

Speaking of Mediocrity: Mark the Shark himself put up another incredible blog recently. clubtrillion.blogspot.com I'm an avid follower and have a new meaning in life since reading Titus's words of wisdom. My goal three years from now is to be sitting in the first 30 rows at the NCCAA Division 1 National Tournament at the conclusion of my senior year. Mark: I want to be you. Love you more than you know. No homo.

That's all I have for you for now, please get up and focus your eyes on something other than this blog before you attempt to make a comment. I warned you it'd be lengthy and I am a man of my word. (except for when I say I'm going to start eating healthier tomorrow....never works.)

Thanks for being loyal readers to the 7 who are confessing followers, for those who are new: Don't be shy. I see the stats....19 hits. Watch out Titus!

That's it. Goodnight. Peace 'n Blessins Y'all.

Stay WET my friends!

-Wetberg

Hello. My name is: WETberg

Well, it's been about four days since my previous blog, and I'm starting to sense that my four followers are just gripping onto their laptops awaiting the next words of wisdom, or life changing story that will appear in my world. I've been crazy busy and have developed this new mindset that whenever I think of something funny or clever, I'm in an awkward place like calculus class and am unable to share it with my four fans who're salivating in anticipation. So before my good friends become dehydrated while refreshing the page every five minutes, I will attempt to fill you in on What's happenin' in the Word of Wetberg.


I'm sure many of you are curious about the origination of my blog name, Wetberg. In the fall, as a member of the Northwestern College basketball team had the honor and privilege of being teammates with a young man most commonly known as "Dos". Dos spiced up everything about basketball in the pre-season both on and off the court. His frequent high shrieks of, "Cookieeees!!!" during practice was an absolute treat to experience. Dos tore up the open gym circuit in the fall and had a nice beginning of the season before having to leave school for some reasons that will remain undisclosed. What did Dos mean to me? Dos was my first ethnic at Northwestern. He opened up my taste buds to fried chicken with Tobasco sauce, showed the quartet (minus lib) what it's like to be the minority in an 18+ Minneapolis nightclub, along with many other unique phrases of the inner city. As a first year college student who was fresh out of rural western Wisconsin, my head was spinning. I often had to ask, "What does that even mean?" Sometimes I just smiled and nodded if I failed to comprehend a particular phrase. Ellis however, had no trouble understanding any of these phrases as he claims to be an "uh oh Oreo". I'll let you all connect the dots there.... Anyways, one term that Dos introduced to the team was the word "WET". This term was an adjective for having a nice jump-shot in basketball. An example of the word "WET" used in a sentence would be, "That cat had a WET J tonight". This means that a person (that cat) was shooting his jumpshot well (had a wet J) tonight. As a lifelong basketball player, I have come to terms with other synonyms to this new hit phrase. Some would be "Hot", "Smooth", ...yeah, that's about it. I really don't remember what life was like without this great word.
As a member of Club Trillion on our team, I had the opportunity to encourage my teammates during all 29 of our games. I think it's fair to say that the word "WET" came out of my mouth in at least 25% of sentences. This term has been an integral part of my freshman experience. I can proudly say that I am a member of "The WET Quartet" (Ellis, Wade, Walt, and Myself).
So back to the origination of this blog name: as many of you know, my last name is not really Wetberg. (Although if this sticks, I may think about pulling a Chad Ochocinco and getting it changed.) The name Wetberg has just been destiny. The name stuck after I was called that by an unspecified drunken member of the "Stew Crew" who happens to go to a college in Calmar, IA. (What's happenin Stew Crew? See you this weekend!) From there, it became my go-to alias when ordering bag lunches from the cafeteria, simply to see if I could get away with it. I did. In your face Naz! Anyways, the name is beginning to stick, and I feel very blessed. I haven't been so fortunate or keen of some of my other nicknames while growing up. (RF Basketball team: You know what I'm talking about). Another day, another dollar on that story.

This was a rather short post, but stay tuned for an update on why the Cinco (my place of residency) has been so lonely lately as well as updates from the weekend.

It's been real folk. Please stay wet.

God Bless,

Wetberg

Taking it to the Next Level

Last Fall, towards the beginning of our basketball season, our team participated in a Seminar put on by a man named Rick Rassier. Rick taught messages of teamwork, communication, and pushed us to take everything we do in life to the next level. I believe his goal for us was to push each other to do our best so we could succeed as a team. Last night, things were taken to the next level. Before you all jump to conclusion on what that may entail, I'll just tell you to stop. I'm not, and never want to be THAT blogger. WWTB= What Would Titus Blog? This is what I ask myself: if Mark 'The Shark' Titus lived life as a member of Club Trillion at THE Northwestern College of St. Paul (myself), WWTB? Needless to say, last night was OC (out of Control/ Outta Control). Here's what's Happenin:

As I mentioned in my first inaugural post last night, I was witnessing the preliminary rounds of a classic and potentially memorable "Phone Game" (See previous post). Last night, I was sharing my life and What was Happenin in the World of Wetberg (my blog) when I heard from the living room, "Phone game!" This was followed by Walt's , "C'mon Dude! Dude! C'mon Man!" I responded with a smile, a shoulder shrug, and returned to spitting truth. A few moments later, "Phone Game" became personal. Often times, I am an innocent bystander amidst the chaos, but tonight I was a Victim. My "good friend Gary" swiftly swiped my cell phone off of my desk and raced into the living room to show off his prize to his hero, his idol, his everything: The Grime-master himself: Ellis Libby. This display of poking the bear put a smile on Ellis's face. Over the course of our freshman year, Gary has assimilated into Ellis 2.0. This nickname has not been brought out, but Gary's nightly prayers of BECOMING Ellis are soon to be answered...Anyways...I gave him no initial response as I had nothing to hide on my phone, but most importantly, I am extremely incapable of multitasking. Women have their struggles, and as a man, this is one I have the burden of bearing each and every day of my life...After the completion of my first blog entry, I was in a good mood. It felt good to release all of my emotions into cyber space where no one, but the people in the room would likely read. (I am hoping that this will change. Nobody knew about Mark Titus's Blog his freshman year... if we all do survive 2012, we look forward to an outburst of comments and countless random facebook friend requests as the popularity of this blog ravishes.) Back to the main point... My phone was taken. I was ready to retrieve it, but wasn't about to do so in the fashion of whimpering and complaining like my good friend Walt, who has the cahones the size of skittles. I promptly seized my target: Gary. I politely confronted him and inquired the where-abouts of my cell. He decided to continue to poke the bear (me) by asking frustrating questions such as "Did I check my Pants". I responded with, "Of course. There is nothing in my pants!" I had been played. My previous state of joy from blogging was quickly fading into anguish. I decided to turn up the heat and thing got a touch physical. I regret to report on this part of the story. In no way am I proud of the following actions, or do I think they are permitted in a healthy friendship. Needless to say, Gary went from standing by my side, to facedown on the ground. He continued his insubordination, so I had to result to an elementary practice of the Wedgie. I didn't like giving it as much as he didn't like taking it (that's not what she said). When I was done being the playground bully I hoped I would never be, I got up, helped my brother up, and noticed that my good friend left me a souvineer of crimson on my nice tan carpet. Being the good guy that I am, I helped him to clean up his mess, and proceeded to ask the follow up question of where my phone was. Quick note: It was still not in my pants. With the adrenaline of a blood spill on my mind, I regressed to the level of the antagonizers. I sought revenge. I lunged for his Cell phone in an attempt to secure come leverage, but was only able to grip the strap of his recently purchased soft case. With my rage-filled adrenaline tug, but case ripped. Now, not only was I down a phone, I was about to be $20 lighter to buy him a new one. The game continued and i was given numerous hints such as "It's hot" and "It's cold". I checked every appliance (hot and cold) on my floor. This was all done in vain. No luck. The time to go to the Vespers worship service had arrived and the girl I would love to date someday is waiting for us and views the chaotic events from a distance. My embarassment increased tenfold. I now looked like a huge tool infront of the girl I liked. Eventually, I had to just drop the fact that I wasn't about to get my phone back soon. Throughout the night, Gary's signature line included the following, "You will Pay!". I certainly did, but for what? Oh yeah....blogging, being an innocent bystander, doing my thing. The phrase that nice guys always lose is true. Just ask Jake from the Bachelor. He got stuck with a hideous, Horse-faced girl from Florida (his own fault....chickenhead)...that is besides the point, but it's nice to be able to relate. The night concluded with me attending the worship service, and returning a changed man. I returned his ipod and continuously "high-roaded" him with every cliched Statement that came to my head. I came back with my tail between my legs, apologizing for all the wrong I had done him. I had snapped, but been repaired. I experienced MATCHLESS GRACE at this worship and was very convicted that it took me 15 minutes without a phone to snap when Jesus Chirst was brutally tortured and made fun of. One week after Easter, I had the balls to get heated over a friendly night of "Phone game". This was the most embarrasing thing of my night, (next to the time I called Sarah a horse in Walt's car). That's a story for another day though.... The night ended with me receiving my phone back by stopping my fighting. Sometimes we bang heads and it only causes us to bleed. Tonight I learned a valuable lesson: I learned to take it to the next level. Welcome to the high road! I'm sure it won't be long before I knocked off of my "High Horse" as some refer to the life I live, but until that day comes,

Stay Wet my friends.

This is What's happenin in Wetberg's World.

God Bless,

Wetberg

P.S. I apologize for my failure to indent and use the paragraphing skills that I payed way more than i shoud've to learn about in the fall semester.

Now we go!

After becoming an avid blog reader, I've been inspired to throw in my 2 cents to the blogging community. Some the greats I've been following are Mark 'the Shark' Titus, Ellis Libby, G-Zil. I've also heard good things about Gilbert Arenas's blogging skills on sportscenter, but after seeing where blogging and gun ownership has gotten him, I've decided to turn the other cheek to his shortcomings.

Anyways, I'm hoping this will be the start to greatness:

It's spring time at NWC and things are really heating up. According to next year's Basketball captain Aaron Reep, NWC is notorious for the eruption of "spring flings". Since we are treated like elementary kids, a strict co-ed visiting hours law is in place, causing an unspeakable number of homeschoolers walking around, holding hands, and sharing blankets out on the lawn. My feelings about this are bittersweet. Part of me is not proud that I have conformed to the Northwestern "norm" or followed a Northwestern "trend", but the reality is, that I met a really sweet girl in the Process. I've enjoyed many nights getting to know this new girl and think it has great potential for a relationship. I'll keep you posted as things progress. All I know is today she met my parents (conveniently on the same day we purchased a new puppy). This made for a cute introduction with no pressure. Today, we did a minimal amount of studying and a good amount of dog petting and practicing for Tomorrow's Intramural softball game for Team "Oops".

The Westberg family as I mentioned before purchased an 8-week old baby collie. This comes after the unfortunate departure of our previous collie, Misty, who was my "Happy 9th birthday present". (RIP Misty). Now as we know, all dogs go to Heaven, so Misty will be able to float on cloud 9 with other domesticated animals with Pokemon names such as "Ash", "Brock", and "Gary". The new puppy is named Mac, which I like to call Big-Mac, much like the popular McDonalds Artery Clogger. I'm excited to make many memories with this new pup, and I await the day that Ellis Libby comes to my house to do his "dog-whispering" with Big-Mac.

It's Sunday night, and a hot "Phone game" is currently in session. Phone game usually consists of the Grimey one taking Walt's phone and playing an inspired game of Keep-away as Walt becomes more and more flustered yelling, "Dude! Dude! C'mon Dude! Hey Man! C'mon!" After reviewing the conversation log with Julie-Bear, Lib eventually returns the phone so Walt can continue to get his text-per-minute rate back up with Jules.

Tonight, Vespers time is approaching. This is always a good time of worshiping the Lord in the land of the Sinners: Bethel University. Tonight will be the second double date for Walt and I. Tonight, Wade will be joining his new Salsa-dancing, Burrito Eating, soccer playing princess from Chaska, MN.

Well, the Lord (as well as our dates) are calling.

Look forward to the Next blog update soon. Stay Wet!

God Bless,

-Wetberg.