The best stories I've read about Dean Smith

fsamuels/Flickr

A lot has been written about North Carolina basketball coach Dean Smith in the days since he died. I'm sure much more will be written in the coming days and weeks.

I wanted to use this space to share some of my favorite stories about the great man, Coach Smith. I've struggled to put words to his death, so I'm going to let others do it for me.

Let's start with my colleague Scott Fowler, who wrote this piece about the kiss Michael Jordan put on Dean Smith's head when the 1957 and 1982 national championship teams were honored a few years back. (I was at that game, standing in the risers.)

It was sweet and perfect, the sort of thing a parent will do to a well-loved child just before something big is about to happen. In this case it was the younger Jordan, towering over his beloved coach.

-Fowler: Michael Jordan’s kiss symbolized all Dean Smith meant (Charlotte Observer)

Charles P. Pierce is one of my favorite writers and stories like this one are the reason why. Pierce, who's known for writing so fast and so well, writes about politics and sports. I recommend reading everything he writes.

He was very much an eccentric in his own way, and had his best days before the game was so homogenized and commercialized that the eccentricity was bled out of it. He coached at the same time as Bob Knight at Indiana, and Abe Lemons at Texas, and McGuire at Marquette. It was a game for poets then, not for the slick salesmen of the modern era. Some of them were beat poets, and some of them wrote epics. I always thought of Smith as one of those all-American craftsmen-poets — Longfellow, maybe, or Edgar Lee Masters. His lines were always perfectly metered. Lord, how his game always rhymed.

-Dean Smith: 1931-2015 (Grantland)

Adam Lucas has a habit of leaving Tar Heels fans sitting in a puddle of their own tears with his columns. This one is no different.

About a year ago, I was at the Smith Center on a typical weekday afternoon. A customized van was parked in the first parking space outside the basketball office, and I knew. As I walked into the basketball office, Dean Smith came out, being pushed in a wheelchair, a Carolina hat on his head.

It was awful, and it makes my eyes moisten even now to think about it. It was not at all the way I wanted to think about him. And I would like to admit something to you now: from then on, when I saw that van, I would sometimes take a different path into the building, because I wanted my Dean Smith to be the one I remembered. I wanted my Dean Smith to be the one who I mentioned my daughter’s name to on exactly one occasion, and six months later when passing me in the parking lot, he recalled it perfectly and asked how she was doing.

 That’s my Dean Smith and I wanted that to be everyone’s Dean Smith. I don’t want today’s students to think of him as old or sick. Understand this: this man could do anything. This man could coach and this man could help integrate a town or a league and this man changed the lives of hundreds of teenagers who played for him plus thousands of the rest of us who lived vicariously through their exploits.

-Lucas: The Stories Are True (GoHeels.com)

This final story is the only one of the bunch written before Dean's death. Tommy Tomlinson, a longtime columnist at the Charlotte Observer, wrote about Dean Smith nearly a year ago, focusing on the dementia that robbed him of his memory late in life.

Here is the special cruelty of it: The connector has become disconnected. The man who held the family together has broken off and drifted away. He is a ghost in clothes, dimmed by a disease that has no cure. Even the people closest to him sometimes slip into the past tense: Coach Smith was. They can't help it. They honor him with what amounts to an open-ended eulogy. At the same time, they keep looking for a crack in the curtains. They do what people do when faced with the longest goodbye. They do the best they can.

-Precious Memories (ESPN.com)

If you have suggestions for other great Dean Smith stories, let me know.

Why I stopped being a Duke student: An update on Coursera

I'm a college dropout. Well, maybe not. Definitely a Coursera dropout.

Turns out that a free online class takes up way more time than I expected, and way more than I was willing to devote to something that -- in the end -- would earn me a piece of paper.

I started taking a Coursera class a few months ago called "Sports and Society" taught by Duke professor Orin Starn. The class seemed like something I would enjoy and could use in my work.

I made it two weeks out of seven.

The course listing says the class should require 3-5 hours of work each week. There were about four video lectures a week, each lasting 10-15 minutes, along with a reading assignment. (The one I read took about 30 minutes.) After completing those, students were supposed to complete a homework assignment and take a quiz.

Two things kept me from finishing the course:

1) The subject matter wasn't interesting enough or presented in an appealing way. The lectures were videos of Starn talking to a camera with the occasional photo thrown in. The lessons were also basic, which I should have expected in a free introductory course. Of course, the lectures may have gotten more interesting after I stopped.

Which brings me to ...

2) My lack of dedication to a voluntary class. Grades and money are great motivators. I didn't pay for the course, so I didn't worry about wasting money. And I wasn't going to get a grade, so I didn't worry if I finished assignments/quizzes after deadline. Eventually, I didn't worry about finishing assignments/quizzes period.

A bright spot: I was impressed by the discussion boards. I expected the discussions to be overwhelming with so many students. But, aside from the "Who are you and where are you from?" thread, none of the topics got too out of hand. People added smart and well-thought-out comments. I started two threads that received decent response, including one from the professor.

I'm not giving up on Coursera. I see an opportunity to find a class that interests me enough to stick with it. I think the important part will be findi -- *

---

*I couldn't even finish a Coursera blog post. Oh well.

"Homeland" comes to the Observer; Why I'll never be an actor

The view of "Homeland" from my desk.

The Charlotte Observer newsroom turned into the set of Showtime TV show "Homeland" for about 12 hours May 28.

The show, which is filmed in Charlotte and surrounding areas, used the newsroom to film one scene for the upcoming season. Claire Danes was in it. I could have reached out and touched her, but I didn't. Probably a good move.

Here's what I learned.

• It takes a village. This scene lasted about two or three minutes. About 100 people were in and out of the newsroom all day, setting the scene, lugging in camera equipment, rigging lighting and feeding the cast and crew. In addition to the three main actors in the scene, there were a couple of dozen extras posing as journalists walking through the room, ruining my chance to make a cameo.

• Slow and steady wins the Emmy. The set up and filming of this scene took way longer than I would have imagined. Some of the crew arrived at 8 a.m. to set up the props. They were there until at least 8 p.m. taking everything down.
  
  The crew completely remodeled four desks in the newsroom with fake books, mementos and folders. They brought in new computer equipment and had a fake news feed going through the TVs.
  
  The actors arrived around 2:30 p.m., did a couple of rehearsals and then kept shooting the same short scene until well after 6 p.m., when I left. 

• I know nothing about my own workplace. We have these numbers sticking out of the ceiling at the Observer. A crew member asked me what they were for, and were they related to the sprinkler system? I had no idea. (They were.) I think he felt a little bad for calling me out, but I didn't care. Now I know that sprinkler 70F has my back. 

• TV is magic. Midway through shooting, I watched one take and thought, "Man, our newsroom looks shabby. How are they going to make this look good?" Then I caught a glimpse of the monitor the director was watching. It looked great. The magic of television. 

• They work hard for the money, but love it. I sit right by the door of to the newsroom so I had the chance to talk to some of the crew members during downtime. One, who is from Charlotte and had been with the show for about a week, said they started at 5 a.m. and would be going until well into the night. And that's a normal day.
  
  You could tell he was tired, but he also talked about how fun and exciting the job was and how passionate the crew is about it. All the crew members seemed to be enjoying the work and were friendly to all of the nosy journalists.
  
  Acting also isn't easy. I can't imagine how hard it is to say the same lines and do the same movements so many times in a row. They shot the scene from six or seven different angles, which meant running through it dozens of times. It was impressive how consistent Claire Danes was. Which brings me to my last bullet ... 

• Danes is a superb curser. And consistent. Without giving away too much of the plot, Claire Danes character, Carrie Mathieson, yells at people in this scene. If you've watched the show, you know that comes with some cursing.
  
  Danes really knows how to accentuate her F-bombs and bull----s. I couldn't hear much of the dialogue from my position in the newsroom, but I heard those.
  
  I was also amazed by how consistent she curses. Her final line in the scene (I think I can tell you this without giving anything away) is "This is bullshit! You know that, right?" I swear she said it the exact same way at least 50 times. That's when I realized I could never be an actor. My cursing is too inconsistent.

How I became a Duke student

I've crossed over to The Dark Side: I'm a Duke student. Well, kinda.

In a fit of boredom at 1:35 a.m. Sunday, I signed up for my first Coursera class, "Sports and Society." Coursera is a website that offers massive open online courses (MOOCs) taught by professors from universities around the world.

Anyone can sign up for the course for free. It's taught with recorded video lectures, online discussion boards and Google Hangouts. It doesn't count for college credit, but you get a certificate of completion (yipee!). I've read about MOOCs and have wanted to try one. When I looked through the course listing, "Sports and Society" seemed like something that would both interest me and possibly help with my work.

Orin Starn, a professor and chair of the Department of Cultural Anthropology at Duke, teaches the class. Starn also recently wrote a book about Tiger Woods. It's listed as optional reading.

From the course description:

"Sports play a giant role in contemporary society worldwide. But few of us pause to think about the larger questions of money, politics, race, sex, culture, and commercialization that surround sports everywhere. This course draws on the tools of anthropology, sociology, history, and other disciplines to give you new perspectives on the games we watch and play. We will focus on both popular sports like soccer (or “football,” as anyone outside America calls it), basketball, and baseball, and also lesser-known ones like mountain-climbing and fishing. Special guests will include former major league baseball player and ESPN commentator Doug Glanville; leading sports journalist Selena Roberts; and sports studies experts David Andrews, Grant Farred, and Katya Wesolowski. You will never watch or think about sports in the same way again."

Seems interesting enough. And it's free, so it can't hurt. The class starts April 30 and is seven weeks long, with regular readings and homework assignments in addition to the video lectures and guest speakers.

I will post any interesting things I come across on the blog. I'm mostly interested in seeing just how these things work. If I like it, maybe I'll also become a Stanford student. Or a Johns Hopkins student. I'm gonna make Momma so proud.

"There is no great writing ..."

Writing a long story can be stressful. It can take a while. Just when you think you're done, there's another question to ask or fact to check. But it's all worth it when you open the newspaper one morning and see your work in print.

It never gets old.

My story about Bryan Moore ran on the front of the Charlotte Observer sports page Sunday. It's the story of a local kid who has made it to one of the top junior hockey leagues in the country. He's the first Charlotte player to do it. The league he's in produces many first round NHL draft picks each year. A teammate he was close to was drafted No. 3 overall last year.

I heard about the story in September. I didn't talk to Bryan for the first time until December. Soon after, I talked to his dad, his mom and a former Charlotte Checkers player that Bryan has known since he was a stick boy for the Charlotte minor league hockey team.

I wrote my first draft sometime after Christmas. I would completely rewrite it at least twice more. I rewrote or rearranged sections many more times.

I talked to Bryan on the phone four different times and asked him other questions via text. I talked to his mom three times. I think I asked the same question about 40 times.

But each new interview and revision made the story better. For that, I have my editors to thank.

To me, this one of the hardest lessons for a writer to learn. In high school and college, I would write a paper or an article at the last second, never look over it and get a good grade. I thought everything I wrote was good the first time around. No need to go back and change anything.

So when an editor tells me to go back and rework an article, it's hard. I feel like I did a bad job. But that's not it. It's part of the process. You write, you edit, write again, revise, rewrite, rework, edit and then, finally, publish.

There's a quote I read that sums it up best. I recently used it in a presentation to high school students interested in journalism. I hope they were listening.

"There is no great writing. Only rewriting."

Read the story on the Observer website here.

[The Corey Project] Wake up call

It's hard to believe that it's been more than eight months since I got married.

That was about the same time I put "The Corey Project" on hold.

My gym attendance has slumped.  I haven't run more than two-and-a-half miles since the wedding, and even that has been rare. The occasional "splurge" on tacos, burgers and pizza (and beer) has happened more frequently.

This picture was taken around when
I was at my smallest, March 2012.

I can't see much of a difference in how I look. Maybe a little rounder in places, but I expected that. My clothes still fit more or less the same. Sometimes it just takes a little extra tugging to button the pants.

A couple of weeks ago, it was especially hard to button a pair of pants. My shirt felt a little snug around the middle. I decided to weigh myself, see the extent of the damage. I hadn't done that in months.

My scale tracks your weight, showing how much you've gained or lost since the last time you got on it. I held down the corner until my last saved weight popped up: "179."

To be fair, that was some time before the wedding. I had weighed myself since -- though not recently -- and was in the 180s, but I didn't want to save that. I liked the look of 179.

I knew I was more than that. I expected it. But I didn't expect this. The three little lines bounced up and down on the display and a number popped up: "205."

Twenty-six pounds.

I felt like I had been punched in the stomach. I couldn't believe it. I hadn't weighed more than 200 pounds since May 2011. I made a little promise to myself that I wouldn't go back to that. But here I am. Back.

I'm not happy about it, but I think it's exactly the kick in the pants that I needed. A week since that weigh in, I've dropped a pound. Not much, but the needle is moving in the right direction.

But I'm not motivated to run and 40-minute round trip to the gym is frustrating. I need to mix it up. So Courtney and I bought "Insanity." We started Sunday. If the first two workouts are any indication, my body is going to be sore for 60 straight days.

We took all our "before" measurements (see mine in the image below). We will remeasure every two weeks when we do the fitness test. I know it's going to be tough, but tough is what I need.

The Corey Project resumes.

Note: I know the weight below is higher than the weights mentioned above. I took the above measurements in the morning, before I ate. The one below was in the afternoon after a big Sunday brunch.

My initial measurements

On being Southern ... ish

Sometimes I wish I was more Southern. I'm not sure that's common, but there it is.

I was born in Cary, which is about as far from Southern as you can get in North Carolina. (Charlotte is probably a close second.) If you've heard of Cary, you've heard of its nickname: Central Area for Relocated Yankees. And it's true.

Sitting just west of Raleigh, the "Town" of Cary is the seventh largest city in the state, thanks to technology jobs coming to SAS and Research Triangle Park. It's a great place to grow up; It's not the South.

My family is from the South. My mom grew up in Greensboro. My dad grew up in Roanoke Rapids. The Inscoes came from England and settled in southern Virginia, into northeast North Carolina.

My parents don't have strong accents, though. At least none that I notice. I don't think I have much of an accent either.

Sure, it comes out sometimes in the "yessirs" and "ma'ams" and the "y'alls." I can fake one pretty well. But when I travel to the mountains or down East, I realize I've got nothin'.

I love my barbecue (Eastern style, please). I grew up on NASCAR and love football. I'll take some liver puddin' for breakfast and a hot dog with chili and slaw for lunch and some fried chicken for dinner. I'll take some bourbon for a nightcap.

I've always liked bluegrass and can even appreciate some country music.

But I've never been hunting. I've only fished a handful of times. I grew up in a townhouse less than a mile from the Cary Towne Center mall. I've never lived more than a couple of miles from a WalMart or Harris Teeter.

I never did yard work until I moved into my current house. I guess yard work isn't a distinctly Southern thing, but it feels un-Southern to not do it growing up.

I hear and read stories about the South and Southern culture and I want to connect to it. (This post was inspired by reading "All Over but the Shoutin'" by Rick Bragg.) I want to feel like it's my heritage he or she is talking about. And I guess, somewhere higher on my family tree, it is my heritage. But it doesn't feel like it.

I feel like I'm stuck in the middle somewhere. My granddad ("Paw Paw") grew up in a small town on N.C./Virginia border. He's definitely Southern. My dad grew up in the same small town and lives Down East in Wilson. He's Southern.

Me? The Cary-ite turned Charlottean via Chapel Hill? I'm Southern ... ish.

"Inscoe? Where's that from?"

Three generations of the Inscoes.

I have an unusual last name. I love it. It's so much easier to make user names and emails when you have a last name (and a first name, for that matter) that not many others do.

When you have an unusual last name, everyone asks where it's from. I've never really known. Polish? Dutch? Sure, sounds good.

A couple years ago, I got curious. I started searching the internet, learning whatever I could about the name without paying a genealogy site. I eventually found someone who claimed to have mapped the Inscoe name. He sent me the file and I promptly forgot about it.

Around Christmas, I was talking with my dad about his side of the family. It got me thinking about that file. I found it in my email and opened the 1,111-page file.

Control+F: "Walter Franklin." There was my great-grandfather. Listed below him was my grandfather, Walter Jr. Listed below him was my dad, Douglas. And below him, me.

I had no idea that the tree included our branch. It traced my family back 12 generations, to John Inscoe (Inskow) in 1620s England.

So there's my answer.

I learned several other things about my ancestors:

• There are more spellings of Inscoe than I imagined, such as: Insco, Inskow, Inscow and Enscho. 
• The tree goes back to John Inscoe (Inscow), who was born about 1627 in the county of Staffordshire, England. 
• My branch of the family came to America around 1697, when Edward Jone Inscoe (Inskow) came over as an indentured servant to a Colonel Covington. 
• We settled in Virginia. My branch moved to Franklin County, N.C., then to Halifax County, N.C., where my grandfather and father both grew up. 
• I have an ancestor named Augustus. That should absolutely be the name of my first-born son. 

Here's an abridged look at my family tree: 

• John Inscoe (Inscow), born 1627 in England. Married Alice Unk (meaning unknown) around 1646. Had six children: Alice, John (Jone), Joseph, Bartholomew, Joan and Edward. 
• John (Jone) Inscoe (Inskow), born 1651 in England. Died 1673 in England. Married Mary Unk around 1672 and she died in 1673. They had one child: Edward Jone Inscoe (Inskow). 
• Edward Jone Inscoe (Inskow), born May 9, 1673 in England. Died around 1730 in King George County, Va. Came to America as an indentured servant in around 1697. Married Mary Dugsdale around 1698 in Virginia. They had three children: Abner, John and James. 
• Abner Inscoe was born in 1701 in Hanover Parish, King George County, Va. He died around 1760 in Essex County, Va. He married Martha Unk around 1725 in Lynchburg, Va. They had five children: James (Wasard), Mary, Marthey, Martha and Rueben.
• James (Wasard) Inscoe was born in 1726 in Essex County, Va. He died after 1800 in Newberry Park, S.C. He married Esther Unk in 1756 in Lynchburg, Va. They had six children: William, John, James, Jinny, Hannah and Keziah. 
• William Inscoe (Insco) was born April 10, 1756 in Essex County, Va. He died in 1840 in Franklin County, N.C. He married Honor Unk around 1780 in Mecklenburg County, Va. They had four children: Matha, William Henry, Mary and Samuel.
• William Henry Insco (Inscoe) was born Sept. 4, 1784 in Mecklenburg County, Va. He died Aug. 19, 1860 in Franklin County, N.C. He married Nancy Andrews April 21, 1812. They did work and had 13 (13!!) children: Winifred (Winny), Sally, William, James, Lucy, Daniel, Augustus, Emerline (Emily), Samuel, Norfleet, Henry, Armistead and William Joseph. 
• Augustus Insco was born Jan. 19, 1822, in Franklin County, N.C. He died Nov. 29, 1861 in Perry's Mill, Franklin County, N.C. He married Nancy Swanson Dec. 28, 1847. They had six children: Joseph Oliver, David Stewart (DS), Nancy Elezzetta, John Randolph (JR), Luziny and Havana (Holvania). 
• David Stewart (DS) Inscoe was born Jan. 9, 1850 in Perry's Mill, Franklin County, N.C. He died May 7, 1912 in Franklin County. He married Nancy Elizabeth Nelms Oct. 27, 1876. They had 10 children: Minnie Ida, Annie Elizabeth, James Peter, Henry Kearney, Mary Masgdaline, Joseph M., Charles Colombus, Walter Franklin, Iley Ptiscilla and William V. 
• Walter Franklin Insco was born June 4, 1892 in Sandy Creek, Franklin County, N.C. He died July 8, 1967 in Roanoke Rapids, Halifax County, N.C. He married Dora Alice Smith in 1917. They had five children: William (Willie), Arthur (Oscar), Claude, Dora Dean and Walter Franklin Jr.
• Walter Franklin Inscoe, Jr., was born June 9, 1927 in Roanoke Rapids, Halifax County, N.C. He married Mildred Dare Hasty around 1946. He is still alive. Mildred died Dec. 9, 2007. They had one son: Douglas Emery Inscoe. 
• Douglas Emery Inscoe was born Jan. 12, 1960. He married Elizabeth Jane Hubbard. They had two children: Corey Franklin (that's me!) and Madison Jane. 

A big thanks to Kurt Inscoe Hahn, who is the one that sent me this genealogy. I can't even imagine the work that's gone into this.

On why I'm becoming a Panthers fan

The Panthers never seemed to catch on in Cary. Don't believe me? Go watch football at a Cary sports bar on Sunday afternoon. You'll see Steelers jerseys, Redskins jerseys and Giants jerseys. No Panthers jerseys. Except for maybe one guy watching the game on a corner screen at the bar.

Maybe it's because Cary (and the surrounding area) is filled with transplants, who have stronger ties to teams in other cities.

Whatever the reason, that's part of the reason why I was never a Panthers fan growing up. Not to say I ignored the team. I had one of those Panthers fake uniforms (Kerry Collins, I believe) complete with Styrofoam shoulder pads and a plastic helmet. I still have a Sam Mills jersey in a closet somewhere.

Growing up, though, I was a Dolphins fan, like my dad. I had multiple Dan Marino jerseys. That lasted until Super Bowl XXIV.

I was looking for a new team. The Dolphins weren't doing it for me. I always picked a team to root for in the Super Bowl, and the Tennessee Titans seemed as good a choice as any. They were new. They were in a neighboring state. They had pretty blue colors (yes, that mattered to me).

Then they came within one yard of tying the Rams at the end of the game, with Kevin Dyson stretching his arm out, trying to reach the end zone and coming up just short.

I was sold.

For the 12 years since I've been a Titans fan. I've never lived in Tennessee. I'd only visited the state twice before my wife moved to Memphis to teach for two years. It wasn't until 2010 that I saw the Titans play a regular season football game in person in Nashville. They haven't sniffed the Super Bowl since I've started pulling for them.

People always ask me why I pull for them, and I tell them the story of watching the Super Bowl. But it's getting harder to justify.

I moved to Charlotte in 2009 after I graduated from college. Here, the Panthers are everything, and it makes sense. You go to a sports bar here and you may see jerseys for other teams, but the loudest cheers come when the Panthers do well.

I read about the Panthers all the time in the Observer. I maybe read one story a month about the Titans in the Tennessean. I'm pretty sure I can name more Panthers players than I can Titans players. It's a chore to find a place that is playing the Titans game each Sunday. The Panthers are always on local TV, every week, no matter what time they play.

It's gotten hard to be a Titans fan.

Most fans would power through that, team loyalty overcoming the inconvenience. But here's the thing: I was never really that loyal to the Titans. I pulled for them, sure. I own the jerseys. But that's about it. They win? Yay. They lose? Eh. I love football too much to be the passive fan that I've become.

That's why I've decided to switch my allegiances to the Panthers, even though they're going through one of the worst stretches in the franchise's history.

I went to my first regular season Panthers game a few weeks ago. It was cold, the stadium was half full and the Panthers blew an 11-point fourth quarter lead to lose in overtime to the Buccaneers. I had a blast.

There's something special about rooting for (and griping about) the hometown team. You're all in the same boat. It's the same thing I enjoy about the Olympics and the World Cup: Almost everyone is pulling for the same team. You share in the joys of victory and the frustration of mediocrity.

The Panthers are my team. I'll be in Bank of America Stadium Sunday to watch them play the Falcons, wearing the one Panthers shirt I own. They'll probably lose. But when they do, I'll get to walk out grumbling with the rest of the fans instead of being the only one in the bar that cares that the Titans won. Or lost.

Plus, I still get to wear a pretty shade of blue.

A story unlike any I've told before

Jim Mueller. Charlotte Observer photo by Robert Lahser.

The chance to write a story like this doesn't come around often for a high school sports writer. I guess I got lucky.

Every year I send out an email to the athletic directors of the schools I cover. It's generic, just asking them to give their coaches my email for story ideas. Many don't respond, but I always end up with a few good ideas. This time, I learned about an incredible story. 

It's about Jim Mueller. He's 43. He is a first year boys' soccer coach at Butler High after moving to Pineville from Chicago this summer. And about six years ago he was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's disease. 

Mueller and his wife, Michelle, were kind enough to open up to me about their story. I met with them at their apartment, saw Jim lead a practice with his team at Butler and saw him coach several games. The Muellers are an inspiring family. 

There's so much more I wanted to put in this story. It could have gone 5,000 more words, but I'm happy with the finished product. And I'm honored I could tell Jim Mueller's story. 

Jim Mueller writes his plan for Butler High boys’ soccer practices – what he wants to say, detailed descriptions of the drills to run – into a large notebook, which he references throughout practice.

On the sidelines during games, Mueller takes notes in a pocket-sized notebook about everything from how the referees are calling the game to what formation to run.

Mueller, whose Butler team has gone from the bottom of the Southwestern 4A to a No. 15 ranking in the state 4A poll, may be the most organized soccer coach in the area.

That’s because Mueller, 43, has to be. He has early-onset Alzheimer’s.

Diagnosed at 36, he is one of 5.4 million Americans with the disease. Only 4 percent are under age 65.

Read the rest of the story here. 

What I did at the Democratic National Convention

I temporarily left my duties as a high school sports writer for the first week of September to help the Charlotte Observer cover the Democratic National Convention in Charlotte.

It was crazy and fun. Some might even say it was crazy fun. But more than anything, it was a lot of work.

I'm not going to even pretend I did as much as some of my colleagues, but I was still amazed at what I accomplished in five days. So I decided to write it down.

Here, in Storify form, is what I did during the DNC. 

(Warning: It is really freakin' long.)

An open letter to IKEA

I thought about writing a long ranting post about the service Courtney and I received at the Charlotte IKEA in July. Instead, I'm going to repost here the letter that I wrote to IKEA Corporate and also copied to the Charlotte store.

IKEA Customer Service
420 Alan Wood Rd.
 Conshohocken, PA 19428

To Whom it May Concern,

I meant to send this letter much earlier, but I’ve been busy getting married and moving into a new house this summer. That is what made the poor customer service I received at the Charlotte IKEA store so frustrating.

My new wife and I went to IKEA July 7, 2012, to buy a new bedside table and desk for our house. We found the table and found a desk we liked, but it was out of stock. We were told to come back later that week after a new shipment came in. On Monday, July 9, my wife called the store, where the system told her there were 19 desks in stock. We drove the 45 minutes to the IKEA only to find no desks in the bin. After talking to several employees, we realized that the desks were in the store, but on a wrapped pallet several shelves higher. We also learned about your store policy that doesn’t allow forklifts on the floor during operating hours.

While that policy is frustrating, we understand it. But we also didn’t feel that it was right for us to have to either make the long drive out to the store again the next day or wait around for several hours to pick it up after closing when we were told the desk was in stock. Eventually, a member of the store’s HR department (her name escapes us now) offered to ship us the desk, the next day, telling us it would arrive within the week. We agreed.

We paid for the desk that day, kept the receipt and gave the HR worker our physical address and email address so that she could send us the tracking number of the packages so we knew when to expect them. Nearly a week went by and we had no email and no package.

We spent the next week playing phone tag with the store’s HR department. We would call them during normal operating hours and be forced to leave a voicemail. At one point, we were asked to “confirm” our address and which desk we wanted. I take that to mean whatever employee we worked with lost all of our information. Finally, more than two weeks after “buying” the desk, someone at the store left us a voicemail saying the package had shipped and gave us the tracking number.

The desk arrived and was thankfully unharmed. But, again, it arrived more than two weeks after it was purchased. If we hadn’t been persistent, I doubt the desk would have arrived at all even though it had been paid for in full.

We both shop and IKEA regularly and have had overwhelmingly positive experiences. That’s part of the reason we were so appalled by the service we received with our last purchase.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

Sincerely,

Corey and Courtney Inscoe

@ESPN and how media outlets shouldn't do Twitter

I've used this space before to bash ESPN. I even think that they are ruining modern sportswriting. (I can't find that blog post for some reason, but it happened.)

But ESPN gets some things right. And, for most people, it is the first place to go for sports news.

So I was surprised at first when I saw the "Worldwide Leader" posting things like this on its Twitter account, @espn.

@jpmontoya Are #42 fans the best ever? Have them apply to the #HallofFans & be enshrined in history to prove it -> bit.ly/HallOfFans
— ESPN (@espn) July 24, 2012

So apparently ESPN set up some sort of goofy Fan Hall of Fame. (I'm not going to link to it here out of principle.) That's cool and all. And as a media outlet on Twitter, you should use the medium to publicize it. I get it. But this?

@kaseykahne Are #5 fans the best ever? Have them apply to the #HallofFans & be enshrined in history to prove it -> bit.ly/HallOfFans
— ESPN (@espn) July 24, 2012

@keselowski Are #2 fans the best ever? Have them apply to the #HallofFans & be enshrined in history to prove it -> bit.ly/HallOfFans
— ESPN (@espn) July 24, 2012

@JeffGordonWeb Are #24 fans the best ever? Have them apply to the #HallofFans & be enshrined in history to prove it -> bit.ly/HallOfFans
— ESPN (@espn) July 24, 2012

@espn sent seven tweets in a row with that exact same wording to the Twitter accounts of seven different NASCAR drivers in a span of 37 minutes Monday. Earlier in the day, the account sent a spurt of the same message to other NASCAR drivers. Last week I saw the same message sent to college team and Major League Soccer team twitter accounts.

That's not something a "Worldwide Leader" media Twitter account should be doing. That's the kind of crap you see from a bad middle-aged realtor who heard that Twitter would boost sales and has no freakin' clue how to use it. Who runs this account?

It annoyed me so much that I unfollowed. I know I'm a drop in the bucket, but I really, really hope they read this @ message:

Do your job, @espn. Tweet about sports. Don't pander to athletes for your stupid Fan Hall of Fame or whatever.
— Corey Inscoe (@CoreyInscoe) July 23, 2012

[Tuesday Guilty Pleasure] "24"

I debated whether this qualifies as a guilty pleasure. I'm sure about the guilty part, but I can't say for sure that watching the "hit" Fox television show "24" brings me pleasure. I watch it anyway.

I remember watching one or two seasons of the show when it first aired. I remember liking it. So when I saw that all eight seasons were on Netflix Instant Play, I couldn't resist.

After three seasons and three episodes, I've concluded that this is a frustrating and pointless show, but I can't stop watching.

Never before have I yelled at a TV show alone in my living room. Never before have I hoped for the deaths of non-evil main characters and then cheered out loud when they are finally taken out. Never before have I laughed out loud when a main character is gravely injured.

All of those things have happened in just 75 episodes.

I cheered when they killed Jack's wife near the end of season one. She was helpless and whiny. How did Jack fall for that?

I cheered when they killed the president's ex-wife, Sherry Palmer, in season three, about three seasons too late, in my opinion. She was constantly backstabbing David Palmer, but he kept asking her back. And that voice ... don't even get me started on the voice.

Now if they would only do something about Kim Bauer. She does nothing but whine (like her mother), get herself in trouble and make Jack worry about her. In season two, she was never even a part of the main terrorist story line. She just kept doing dumb stuff to make Jack have to bail her butt out. (I'm happy to note that, other than an off-hand reference, she has not been a part of season four. Fingers crossed.)

I don't think I've seen another TV show with so many unlikeable characters, especially female characters. I don't know who writes this show, but I'm willing to bet money that it's not a woman. The female roles are all some version of these two stereotypes: conniving b**** or helpless damsel. Some are both at times.

Never mind that the plot requires some serious suspension of disbelief. Running around and shooting people after getting tortured and having your heart stop for several minutes? Come on, Jack.

The show takes itself so seriously when it is so utterly absurd. Yet I keep watching. And keep hoping that Kim will catch one in the chest.

To the guy who brought me water when I passed out

Dear Kind Sir, 

I don't know your name, I never saw your face and I barely remember your voice. Hell, if Courtney didn't vouch for you I might even doubt your existence. But you know who you are. 

You saw a slightly overweight guy wander away from his girlfriend, stagger, bump into a handful of people and collapse on the grass, right near the Southern Comfort slushie machine at the Beale Street Music Festival in Memphis. You could have, like so many around you, assumed that I was just another idiot who couldn't hold his liquor. Maybe you did. But you came over anyway. 

You didn't know that I had been pleasantly buzzed, yet far from drunk, when my right foot started to sting and itch. You didn't see when I rubbed at my foot or hear when I told Courtney. You didn't notice as the itch spread from my foot to my hand, then my chest and finally my neck and head. All you saw was that I collapsed. 

You bought me a $3 bottle of water. I tried to pay you back for it. Or at least I think I tried, I'm not really sure. Either way, you didn't take it. And when Courtney had to find her friends and bring them to me, you stayed and watched me. I'm sure that was fun.

You summoned the paramedics who, wrongly, assumed I was another drunk idiot. You helped make sure that, despite passing out, I managed to not lose my wallet, cell phone, watch, class ring and a key to Courtney's house. 

You did all this, and I don't know who you are. 

I just wanted to tell you that I am fine. They did a lot of tests at the hospital and everything came back negative. I've felt better over the past few days, except for on my arms where I was pricked eight times because the nurses struggled to get blood out of me. I want to tell you that it was confirmed that I wasn't just a drunken idiot. I had an allergic reaction to something. My guess: ant bites. 

Chances are you'll never read this blog, but I wanted to put this on the internet and give you a fighting chance to find it. 

To the guy who brought me water when I passed out: Thank you for being an awesome human being. 

P.S. I hope you enjoyed Girl Talk, because I sure as hell didn't get to see him .... 

P.P.S. Many thanks also go out to Courtney, who I yelled at to "stop touching me" several times while on the ground. And to her roommate, who was the collector of my things on the scene and came with Courtney to the hospital. You two are also pretty awesome human beings. 

[Tuesday Guilty Pleasure] IS BACK (maybe)

Longtime readers of my blogs (read: my mom*) will remember a series of posts I used to do called "Tuesday Guilty Pleasure." Like most series I have started, it petered out after a while.

I guess I'm not good at commitment. At least not when it comes to my blog.

I even broke out the old logo!

Anyway, the idea of TGP was to embarrass myself on a weekly basis with something from pop culture (usually a song) that I absolutely love that I really, really shouldn't. It started with Britney Spears and went downhill from there (click here for a full list, still on the old Noise Bazaar blog).

Well, faithful readers, TGP is back. Well, at least once. No promises on how long it will continue. (I mean honestly, it's late Tuesday night and I'm just now sitting down to write it. What is wrong with me?)

This week's guilty pleasure: "Call Me Maybe."



I realize that most of my guilty pleasures are girl pop songs. I'm not sure what that says about me. But this may be the best bubble gum pop song I have heard in a long time. I guarantee this thing will be stuck in your head all day at work. I look forward to the Twitter hate mail for that.

I listened to this song five times in a row once. I chair danced each time. I listened to it three times while writing this post.

The video is even cute, if you can hang on until the end.

The only thing that weirds me out a bit is that Carly Rae Jepsen is 26 and she's apparently tight with The Bieber. This song is a bit to high school-y for a 26-year-old woman, but whatever. It's still catchy.

Speaking of Biebs, you can see a video of him and other teeny-boppers I don't know lip syncing the song. The only reason I found that was because of a contest between the UNC and Duke girls' lacrosse teams where people voted for which video of "Call Me Maybe" they liked better. Ah, the black hole that is YouTube.

This post has gone on entirely too long. I'm up to four listens now. See you next Tuesday. Maybe.

*I'm pretty sure my mom doesn't even read my blog. This is a test. 

[The Corey Project] It's not the 13 miles that get you; it's the last .1

This seems like a fitting end to The Corey Project series.

If you've been following me on Twitter or Facebook for the past three months, you've probably been annoyed with my Runkeeper postings and running rants. That's because after 12 weeks of training, I ran in the Charlotte RaceFest half marathon in the SouthPark area April 14. 

It was my first organized race of any length, outside of my one year of track in high school. (Yes, I ran track in high school.) My goal was to run all 13.1 miles. I didn't accomplish that, but I'm still proud of finishing the race. 

Before starting the training, my longest run was four miles and I had only done that twice. I considered three miles a "long weekend run." The idea of running five miles during the second week terrified me. Now I can run five and six miles without too much trouble. 

The training went really well well until my 10-mile long weekend run. Whether it was mental or physical, I struggled with every training run more than 10 miles. My long runs for the last four weeks were really, really bad, which is why I was worried about the actual race. If I couldn't run 10 miles straight in a training run, how was I supposed to run 13 on race day? 

That's why, despite not completing my goal of running the whole thing, I'm happy with my finish. 

The weather was perfect: sunny but cool all morning.I started out running a 10-minute mile pace, slower than I normally do but it felt good. I made it nine miles without stopping, except for a quick pause to grab a cup of Gatorade at mile eight. 

After nine miles, things started to go downhill. Actually, uphill. The end of the course winds through the very hilly Foxcroft neighborhood. My legs were exhausted by that point and I had to walk on the first big hill after the nine-mile mark. For the last four miles, I alternated walking and running. I ran the last mile to finish strong. 

I finished the half marathon in two hours and 28 minutes, slower than I would have liked but still respectable. It averages out to about an 11:30 mile pace, including the walking. I was tired after, but felt good. 

I don't plan on running half marathons often, but I would like to go through training again and run an entire race. The best thing that came from my training is the ability to run for longer distances. I hope to keep going on three- and four-mile runs during the week and saving longer, five- or six-mile runs, for the weekends. I also want to improve my speed so that when I decide to train for another half, I will be at a faster pace and will be ahead of where I was when I started training for this one. 

I never expected to run a half marathon. At the beginning of The Corey Project, I hated running. I still don't love it, but it has become a part of my life. 

Since starting The Corey Project about a year and a half ago, I've lost about 65 pounds. I would still like to lose a little more, but I couldn't be happier with my progress. 

I will continue to update my fitness progress here, though posts won't come as frequently as they did at the beginning. Thanks to everyone that has supported me and offered advice during my project and my half marathon training. I couldn't have done it without you guys. 

Non non-fiction: How much does truth matter in storytelling?

Be forewarned: This post will ramble, is made up of thoughts off the top of my head and will likely provide more questions than answers.

A couple of weeks ago, I learned about two things that happened about five years apart but deal with the same basic topic: how much does truth matter? Or, in strictly literary terms (which is mostly what we're dealing with here): when does fiction become nonfiction?

Let's start back in 2007. I found this article from The New Republic about author/storyteller David Sedaris. If you don't know Sedaris, he's the author of many books of short, supposedly true, and mostly funny stories about his family, growing up in Raleigh, his adventures during and after college and dealing with his homosexuality. His books are usually labeled "nonfiction."

I've read two of Sedaris' books - Naked and Me Talk Pretty One Day - and loved both.  I'm willing to give some license to a memoir when it's about a time many years earlier. The dialogue isn't going to be exact and the timeline of events may not be perfect.  But some of the stories seemed too good to be true.

Apparently Alex Heard at The New Republic thought the same thing. Heard went back and researched many of the stories and found that a good number were, at least, greatly exaggerated (read the article for specific examples).

Heard confronted Sedaris about it. Here's what he said.

"... he certainly doesn't see himself as a journalist. In interviews, he's groaned about the time Esquire sent him to cover life at a morgue in Phoenix. The problem: He had to restrict himself to what actually happened. "I couldn't exaggerate at all," he told an interviewer. "It gave me a whole new appreciation for people who can honestly tell the truth, because people just didn't always say what I wanted them to." For Sedaris, it's all about telling "good stories." During our conversation, he told me he wouldn't care a bit if he found out that Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes was written by "some guy in Montana who made the whole thing up," because the tale he spins is so beautiful.  

"OK, but last time I checked, you're supposed to call that fiction. Sedaris honestly doesn't see the difference, and his audience isn't complaining. Should that be good enough for the rest of us?"

To be clear, Heard and I are not comparing Sedaris to a James Frey or Jayson Blair. I still like Sedaris' work. He's a wonderful writer and storyteller. But now that I know some of his stories are, at minimum, bending the truth, I'm going to wonder about it with each story I read.

So my question is: Should these books be nonfiction? Does it change the stories if they are marked as fiction? If the reader goes in thinking the stories are real, does it change how he/she enjoys or understands them?

The same day, I heard a slightly different example of the same problem. The NPR radio show This American Life devoted an entire episode earlier this year to a story about factories in China that manufacture Apple products like iPads and iPhones. The story was adapted from a one-man show by Mike Daisey called "The Agony and Ecstasy of Steve Jobs."

To sum it up, the story talked about poor labor conditions in these factories, where workers were being overworked, hurt and exposed to dangerous chemicals. Daisey went to China and interviewed workers. He supposedly did his research. It's obvious that this is a subject he cares deeply about.

A few weeks later, TAL retracted the episode citing "numerous fabrications." The show devoted another hour to finding out the truth by talking to Daisey's translator and Daisey himself.

(Both of these episodes are online and worth a listen.)

Daisey claimed in his show to see things first-hand that he didn't. It's not to say they didn't happen, but it was hearsay. Host Ira Glass said in the retraction show that the show's staff stressed to Daisey that they were fact-checking this story as if it were a piece of journalism. The fact checking fell short when Daisey lied about his translator and the show's producers were not able to get in touch with her to corroborate his story. Another NPR producer found her and his interview with her can be found on the retraction episode.

The points Glass spends much of the show harping on with Daisey may seem minor, but his point is that when a piece is being presented journalistically it can't have any fabrications. Fabrications, no matter how small, undermine the journalistic credibility of the entire piece.

But Daisey isn't a journalist and never claimed to be, which is what he uses as his defense. He's trying to tell his audience what is happening in the factories in an engaging way. Sometimes that means stretching the truth or lying about seeing something.

Daisey runs into trouble when he repeats some of these claims in news interviews and later apologizes for the way the story was presented.

The fact is that much of his story is true and it's an important issue. It was easily the most popular episode TAL has had in a while. So do the fabrications take away from the story as a whole? Would his story had been weaker if instead of saying he saw things he said he heard about them? At what point do those small fabrications tarnish the whole story? How will the revelation of the fabrications affect the way the show is received in the future?

How much does the truth matter in these situations?

I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

Corey's Nuggets of Wisdom

Someone thought it was a good idea for me to talk to a journalism class at Queens University of Charlotte last week. Scary, right? Even more scary: my first contact with the professor was when she emailed me to tell me I misspelled her son's name in a football story I wrote.

Anyway, I ended up essentially teaching a class on profile writing, going through the process of how I find ideas, prep for interviews, conduct interviews and write.

It went pretty well, I think. No one fell asleep.

Since I only had one chance to talk to these kids, I wanted to also share random bits of knowledge that I've picked up in my 2+ short years on the job. I called them "Corey's Nuggets of Wisdom." Seriously. I printed out a sheet of paper with that in bold and underlined at the top of the page. It ended up getting copied and passed out to the class.

It's nothing earth-shattering, but I thought I would share. There are nine. I'm sure there are some I forgot. Is there something you would add? Throw it in the comments and I'll update it.

Corey’s Nuggets of Wisdom 

1. Read. A lot. 
1. The best way to become a better writer is to read other writers and see what they do that you like and don’t like. 
2. Write. A lot. 
1. Practice, whether it’s just for yourself or on a blog. 
2. Always have a notebook and pen with you. 
3. Be versatile. 
1.  Journalism is changing and jobs are scarcer. Rise to the top by being able to do more: write, take pictures, design, shoot video. 
2. You don’t have to be an expert, but have some knowledge and be open to it. 
4. Get to know -- and love -- new technology. 
1. Learn about blogging, Twitter, Facebook, Google+. 
5.  Build your brand. 
1. What comes up when you Google your name? 
2.  Make sure it’s something that represents you. 
3. Buy a URL, use your real name on social media and blogs. 
6. If you get an opportunity to cover something, take it. 
1.  Don’t be scared of new experiences. You might learn something new. 
2. Plus, bosses might start to give you the good assignments. 
7. Respond to emails/tweets/calls immediately. 
1. If someone compliments your work, thank them. 
2.  If they recommend an idea -- even if it’s the worst -- thank them. 
3. If they hate your work, respond. Usually they don’t expect you to, so they might end up liking you before it’s all over. 
8.  Own up to your mistakes. 
1. If you did something wrong, apologize and correct it. Don’t try to blame someone else or make excuses. 
9.  Spend as much time -- or more -- out of the office than you do in. 
1.  It’s much harder to find stories at your desk.

The saddest promotion ever. Thanks, Bobcats

Just before tip off at the Bobcats game. Taken by Sergio Tovar.

I went to a Charlotte Bobcats game on Monday night. The reason I went tells you everything you need to know about the Bobcats exercise in futility this season.

There are the injuries, of course. There are the 15 straight losses, often by at least 20 points. There's the pathetically low attendance for most games.

Yet there's nothing quite as sad as the promotion that gave me the opportunity to go to the Bobcats game Monday night.

A friend and colleague went to a Bobcats game on Jan. 28. During the fourth quarter of that game, they announced this promotion: If the Bobcats make a three-point basket in that quarter, everyone gets free tickets to Monday's game against the Philadelphia 76ers.

I'm going to repeat that: if the Bobcats managed to make one three-pointer in the entire fourth quarter, everyone got free tickets. It didn't have to be a certain player, didn't have to be shot from a certain point on the court. And it wasn't that you got a voucher for a discounted ticket, the box office handed you free tickets.

That says three things to me:

1. The Bobcats are so pathetic that there's a legitimate chance the team won't make a three-point basket in 12 minutes. 
2. The attendance was so pathetic at that game that the Bobcats knew they had enough tickets to another game for everyone there. 
3. The ticket sales were so pathetic for Monday's game that there was plenty of room to accommodate everyone. 

That just reeks of desperation. 

You might be thinking, "The game must have been pretty packed Monday, right?" 

Ha. Wrong. 

If everyone at the game brought a friend, it still wouldn't have been full. (See photo.)

Here's the kicker: I had fun. It was a good game. The Cats ended up losing by nine, but they were close most of the game, even getting within one possession several times in the second half. It was frustrating to watch them blow chances, but it was nice to watch a competitive game. 

Time Warner Cable Arena is a great venue (except for the $8 beer). We were on the top row of the upper level and they weren't bad seats. The halftime entertainment was a little weird, but funny. And it's nice see people gathering uptown.

I want to be a Bobcats fan. Every year I try. It's just hard to be a fan of a team that struggles this much. Charlotteans may be mad about the way the Hornets left and may not like the way the new stadium was  built, but if the Bobcats can manage some degree of respectability people will come out. (Saturday's game against the Clippers was legitimately sold out, from what I've heard.)

Charlotte can support and fall in love with a new NBA team, but something has to change. Someday, that promotion won't be possible. Maybe we will look back on it and laugh. 

Right now, though, I think the Bobcats would finish third in the ACC. At best.