Keith Darrell Burnett

As the vast worldwide readership that is Darrell's Yakimania, already knows, I am quite fond of my name--Darrell Keith Smart. One of the happiest days of my life occurred about 3 years ago when Darcee called to tell me that she was going to name one of her twins after me--Keith Darrell Burnett. To say I was thrilled is an understatement of epic proportions. In contrast, one of the worst days of my life was last Tuesday, the day Darcee called to tell me Keith had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. Wednesday and Thursday were progressively worse, with seemingly more bleak news from each specialist with whom Darcee and Brent consulted. Thursday night, however, was a very special night, with a turn for the better. We rallied as a family (The Burnetts and the Smarts), had a special prayer and gave Priesthood blessings to Keith, Brent and Darcee. Collectively, we felt at peace. Whatever the outcome we felt that things were in God's Hands; we however, would continue to be hopeful and prayerful.

As a family, we were overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude over the outpouring and expressions of concern and love from family members, friends, and in some cases almost total strangers. Our Stake President, President Grow, called me earlier today (before the good news from the neurosurgeon) and asked, "How are you doing?" My response? "We feel blessed President. We have felt the love of so many that we are truly overwhelmed." During this period of time, each of us commented that we felt the unmistakable love of our Savior. Regardless of the outcome, we felt that He cared about us and heard our prayers.

As many of you know, our family has endured a number of tragic and premature deaths. We have desperately hoped for a miracle in this instance, and to be spared yet another tragedy. We know that not every prayer is answered how we might choose. Darcee was promised in her Patriarchal blessing that she would be blessed to raise very "choice spirits." Keith certainly qualifies as "choice" beyond measure and has fulfilled that prophecy. We still do not know all that we will have to endure in regards to Keith's cancer, but we feel as though our immediate prayers have been answered. After reviewing the post-surgical MRI, the neurosurgeons reported a much more optimistic assessment of Keith's surgery. For more details please see Darcee's post on the burnettgazette.blogspot.com.

We truly appreciated the fasting and prayers offered on behalf of Keith and our family. The words "Thank You" seem entirely inadequate to describe our profound gratitude for your thoughts, prayers and words of concern and encouragement. Regardless, Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! We have truly been blessed just to be surrounded by amazing people who have shared our burden and helped lift our load. So again, Thank You!

We know that Keith has a long way to go. He is far from "out of the woods." We, however, are encouraged and hopeful. We feel at peace with whatever happens. As long as there is hope, we will continue to exercise every particle of faith that we can muster and leave the rest in God's Hands.

50th Birthday Wrestling Video

Several years ago on my 50th birthday Shea and I wrestled and both took second place in the Prosser Freestyle tournament. I can't find the finals video, which is too bad because I got choked out twice and lost. The last time I woke up and thought I was in the hospital. I couldn't figure out where I was until someone told me it was my birthday. My response? "Well if it's my birthday, I'm supposed to be wrestling...so where am I?" Some young kid: "Dude, it's your birthday! You're on wrestling mat!" Me: "Really? I thought I was in a hospital."

The sad thing is that I had beat that wrestler the last 4 times I had wrestled him. Oh well. It was a pretty cool 50th birthday party regardless. I was planning on wrestling until my 55th birthday, but after seeing me on video and how ponderous I have become, I'm tempted to quit--Today!

A Giant of a Man!

For young men trying to leave their mark on life, there’s something about creating memories that they can brag about as old men. I don’t know that Scott Pierce and I qualify as old men yet, but the following story certainly qualifies as one of those events, which only occur because of the wild enthusiasm and naive optimism of youth.

Scott was my roommate in college and one of my best friends in life. He was amazingly athletic. He had all the physical tools to play football--size, strength, speed and agility. Not surprisingly, Scott received a scholarship to play football at Ricks. He played tight end both before and after his mission. Scott had the athletic ability to do just about any sport. In high school he chose to play football, basketball and threw the discus in track.

During the Christmas break following our missions, we were invited to snowmobile with his fiancee, Coya Hillam and her family in Island Park, Idaho. I realized there was a freestyle wrestling tournament with an opportunity to wrestle in the open division in nearby Idaho Falls the same weekend. I proposed to Scott that we wrestle in the tournament on our way to the Hillam’s cabin. Scott seemed doubtful about my proposal.

“This is crazy. I haven’t wrestled since junior high school.”

“Yea, but you’re the man! You’re a total specimen. You’re the kind of athlete that could know almost nothing and still win matches.”

“I don’t know man. This seems kind of crazy. Do you think they’ll be anyone good in this tournament?”

“Doubtful. The Heavyweight class is always an easy weight class. There will probably be a couple of soft ‘has been’ former high school wrestlers. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t know. It seems a little crazy.”

“Listen, life’s short. When we’re old men, don’t you want to have something really cool to talk about?! This is a real chance to hang it all out and do something crazy.”

In the end, Scott agreed. He weighed about 220 lbs. back in 1978, which placed him in the Heavyweight division. This was in the day before the weight restriction of 275lbs for heavyweight wrestlers. It was not uncommon to see heavyweight wrestlers in excess of 400 lbs.

Upon arrival we heard rumor that a representative wrestler from USA Wrestling would be present to conduct a pre-match clinic to review the new freestyle rules. I was thrilled to learn that we would get to meet and talk with Olympian Jimmy Jackson, a former 3x NCAA Champion from Oklahoma State University. Jackson was a massive man—standing 6’6” and weighing 375lbs when he was in shape. Jackson had wrestled in the 1976 Montreal Olympics and it was clear that he was not in shape when we met him in 1978--he was clearly well over 400lbs.

What none of us knew at the outset was that Jackson intended to wrestle in the open division as a heavyweight wrestler. Upon hearing this, I was ecstatic to see him wrestle; Scott less so. "What if I draw him my first match?" He asked. "What are the chances of that? Brother, that's just fear talking. Besides you're the man!" I assured him. As luck would have it, Scott, in fact, drew Jackson his first match. I tried to convince Scott that he had a chance. I lied. I reviewed with him an arm drag and explained that he might be able to use his superior speed to get behind Jackson. (Scott was very quick.) I told Scott that Jackson was clearly out of shape and that he might be able to take him down. Again, I lied.

The time for the match came. Scott had diligently drilled the arm drag technique that I had shown him. He was primed and ready. He stepped out onto the mat. I was yelling encouraging words—not really believing anything I was saying. Jackson looked ginormous. Scott? Well, he looked like a shrimp, even though he was a very athletic 6’2” and 220lbs. To say this match was representative of "David and Goliath" would be an understatement. The whistle blew. The crowd was shocked—Scott exhibited cat-like speed and flawlessly executed the arm drag we had drilled. It was amazing. Everyone in the gym gasped. "Who is this undersized white guy on the verge of taking down a world class wrestler twice his size?!" Scott got beyond Jackson; however, no sooner had he done so he realized he was matched against something akin to a Grizzly bear. He could barely wrap his arms around Jackson. His eyes became the size of saucers when he realized there was no way that he could take Jackson to the mat despite taking his back. “Take him down! Take him down!” I screamed. “Lift him off the mat! What are you waiting for?!” He tried in vain to lift Jackson off his feet. Nothing. Jackson was squatting and moving his hips down and away. In this position he was simply too massive to lift. Suddenly, Jackson reached behind him and with one paw pulled Scott in front of him like he was a rag doll. Jackson then put Scott in a double-over throw position. Now I was fearful for my friend's safety. What had I done?! Jackson executed a world class back suplay landing with all of his weight on Scott’s chest. It was beautiful! I have never seen such a behemoth of a man move so gracefully. It was poetry on the mat. (Sorry Scott.)

Now this maneuver would have likely dispatched a mere mortal man, but Scott somehow survived. He fought valiantly for almost a minute. It was only after Jackson’s massive 400lb+ frame completed buried Scott and his limbs were no longer moving, that the official called a presumptive pin. I use the word "presumptive" because the official could not confirm whether Scott’s shoulders were pinned to the mat. Scott was completely buried beneath the mass of human flesh that was Jimmy Jackson. He nevertheless mercifully called an end to the match based exclusively upon the fact that Scott was no longer moving.

Since this match, Scott has alleged that I provided expert coaching during the match. This assertion is false. I was mostly laughing hysterically. I wanted to provide aid and comfort to my friend in need, but in the end all I could do was laugh. Every detail of this story is accurate. If Scott disputes it, I can only assume it’s because his lost consciousness sometime during the match.

Regardless of how one remembers the details of this match, on one cold December day back in 1978 a "giant of a man", my good friend Scott Pierce (despite being undersized, outclassed and under-skilled) courageously took on a Olympian that looked more like a Grizzly bear and survived; and now has a story worthy of the ages. Thank you Scott for having the courage to attempt the impossible and for allowing me to share in this experience!

Is Choking Your Opponent REALLY Illegal?

Occasionally, while wrestling a tough opponent in college I was known to slip in a little choke in an attempt to convince my opponent that I was not some chump to be trifled with. Although I was never penalized for this, I was clearly caught in the act in the picture above which appeared in the school newspaper following a very tough match with UofU's Dave Millay. I can't say that my "little choking" turned the match in my favor, but I'm pretty sure it didn't hurt my chances of winning either. I have never thought of this "minor infraction" of the rules as unethical...that is until last year, when one of our young high school wrestlers was at my house watching a UFC fight and noticed this picture in my den, and asked:



"Hey coach, isn't choking in wrestling illegal?"

"Yep."

"Aren't you choking your opponent in that picture?"

"Yep"

"Isnt' that illegal?'

"Yep."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"Because Millay was a very tough wrestler, and I had to be tougher."

"Isn't that cheating? I thought you were an honest person?"



Silence... Ouch! (Mental note to self: This wrestler needs to be punished for certain next year for asking smart-alecky questions and openly challenging one of his coaches.)



"Good question. However, I'm pretty sure that choking your opponent in wrestling is only slightly illegal. It's not like taking steroids, is it?"



More silence. Double ouch! As I reflected further about this conversation, the following thoughts passed through my brain: Clearly steroids are illegal from a criminal standpoint. Choking your opponent?...Well it's a mere violation of the rules. It's not like choking is a crime--at least it's not a crime if you're on a wrestlng mat when you choke someone! Conclusion: choking is not a criminal assault if you are on a wrestling mat. Okay, I'm comfortable with this distinction: Choke someone on a wrestling mat and you might win an important match. Perfect! Choke someone on the street and you go to jail. Stupid! Another note to self: Make sure all choking occurs on a wrestling mat. Somehow all of this made sense to me as I initially worked through this ethical question, although now as I speak the words, my logic feels a little strained. What do you think?



So...I decided to seek some enlightenment from my Vast World Wide Readership. The question is really rather simple: Is it ethical to choke your opponent while wrestling? Yes or No?



The following rhetorical questions might help guide your thinking:

-Isnt' this akin to fouling your opponent in basketball until the official starts calling the foul?

-Is it similar to trying to time the starting gun in track to get the jump on your opponent?

-Isn't it similar to an offensive lineman holding to protect his quarterback?

-What if it's a really important match and choking will help you win?

-Is it unethical if it's just a little choke?

-Is any degree of choking unfair?

-Does it matter how long you choke your opponent?

-If it only causes pain and your opponent doesn't start to pass out, is that acceptable?

-Does it matter how many times you choke your opponent?

-Or how hard to you choke him?

-Does the degree to which you feel malice (or not) factor in to how culpable you are?

-Is choking per se cheating, in the same way taking Steroids is considered cheating?

-What if you feel no shame or guilt when you choke someone? Doesn't sin require a recognition that you are doing something wrong? If you don't recognize it as unethical, is it?



Please weigh in on this most interesting ethical question on the poll at the top of my blog.

And to think there are those who say Wrestling is a barbaric sport with no gentlemanly thought. Ha!

Below are newspaper pictures of me wrestling Nebraska's captain Billy Selmon and BYU's Matt Bake. You will note that I am wrestling cleanly (at least in the pictures) and still managed to win both of these matches.

A Tiger in My Pocket

Ever since I accidentally tossed my first flip-cell-phone out the car window while trying to answer it one hot summer day, I have become convinced that some very real and tangible animus exists between me and my communication devices. The worldwide readership that follows Darrell's Yakimania undoubtedly already knows that I was kicked out of the AV class in fifth grade, apparently for "disrespecting school property"--whatever that means (As if inanimate objects possessed the sensitivity that require respect!). Regardless, over my lifetime I have struggled with certain aspects of technology. Now mind you, I am not technologically impaired. I use communication devices and tools (computers, cell phones, email, text messaging, etc.), it's just that I don't really love technology. More importantly, I'm convinced that it hates me.

For a number of years, I have been accused of the criminal offense of "butt-dialing" my friends. Recently, I acquired a "smart phone" (the Droid). It truly is a masterpiece of technology. I can access (and respond) to emails remotely. I can look smart in Gospel Doctrine Class, by accessing my scriptures, the lesson manual and lots of impressive extraciricular material. In short, I can appear to be much smarter than I really am, which is something I have been aiming for since about the 3rd grade. The phone that I acquired, however, is not only "smart" it is also "smart-alecky" and seems to possess a mind of its own. While climbing Mt. Rainier this past summer I dropped my phone against a rock and cracked the face. Following my disrespectful treatment of this technological device, the phone seemed to develop a bit of an attitude. Yes, my cell phone seems to have developed a "Gremlin-like" personality that is characterized by spite, revenge and a meanness that borders on evil. I swear I am not making any of this up. I will be no where near my cell phone and it will randomly dial people from my contact list. For example, one recent morning (very early) it dialed Bucky Burnett while he was on his honeymoon. Seriously! It dials people that I most definitely have no interest in talking to, and at times, it even dials people who I am trying to avoid. In the past week I have dialed an old college roommate (whom I have not spoken to in years), the Kennewick Washington Mission President (who knew I was even authorized to have his number!) and various other sundry persons with whom I have zero desire to talk. The only way I can accurately describe this phenomenon is that it's like having a Tiger in my pocket, that refuses to be tamed and frequently lashes out to harm me.

So, if you receive a random phone call from me at some weird hour, do us both a favor, don't answer your phone...and let's all pretend that I never called.

The Walnut Grove Cooking School

Working with foie gras like a champion chef!
The kitchen
6 extraordinary chefs and one pretty darn good eater.

In 2000, Maynard and Benedict two British nationals came to France and renovated an old farmhouse and barn located on an abandoned Walnut Tree Farm and turned it into a cooking school—The Walnut Grove Cooking School. The structures on the property are approximately 200 years old. The barn was converted into a kitchen that is state of the art, with a dining room in the loft, and accommodations in the “old French farmhouse” which are very nice. I think this birthday gift historically ranks number one.

The She-wolf is totally in her element at this school: sauces, appetizers, breads, spices, presentation, etc. It’s all way beyond me. I’m only signed up as an “eater.” It’s a plum of a job. My job is to show up, eat and rave about the food. Every evening features a six-course dinner, the efforts of a kitchen full of fledging cooks and two remarkable chefs. To describe the food as “utterly and completely amazing” would be a gross injustice. I’m inspired and all I am doing is eating.

After coming here, we are committed to doing a cooking trip for Sheila and the girls, either a return trip here, or somewhere in Italy. The Smarty Sistas would absolutely love this. It’s not just the food—it’s the ambience, the accommodation, our hosts and the location. Bon appetit!

Lost in Loire

Let me first state that France is RIDICULOUS! The food is ridiculously good. The French are ridiculously gorgeous (and thin), especially, Parisians. The environs are ridiculously beautiful and scenic. This place is ridiculously historic. French (the language) is ridiculously beautiful and romantic. And yes, France (particularly Paris) is ridiculously expensive. “Ridiculous” seems to be the only superlative to describe my sense of France. Every meal has been over-the-top good. We have been dining at great restaurants and bistros, unlike our EF Tours trip to France with the kids in 2004. The standards are so high in France that it’s hard to get a bad meal, but somehow EF Tours found a way. I swear, they must have searched all of France to find the only lousy chefs to feed us. Go figure?!

While Sheila has been taking cooking classes at the Walnut Grove Cooking School in Livre (near Laval), I have been bike riding. We are in the Loire Valley, a UN Heritage site. It is ridiculous in every way. Supposedly this is a birthplace of French cycling. However, by the looks of my loaner bike you would never guess that. The bike I rode to deliver newspapers circa 1967 was infinitely better than the “grandma bike” loaned to me by Benedict (one of the chefs at the school). I shouldn’t complain, but I’m trying to cover some serious ground here in order to make it to certain sites, and this behemoth of a bike is most definitely cramping my style. Hey, at least it has three working gears.

Yesterday I decided to ride to Châteaux XVIII in neighboring Craon. The Châteaux was beautiful to say the least. There was a wedding dinner taking place at one of the outbuildings on the property and the side door to the Châteaux was left open. Seriously what would you have done? In the Southern States people leave their side and back doors open as an invitation for friends and family to enter and make themselves at home. Since I am an American and naturally have an historical bond with the French (yes, we are brothers of the revolution and our sons fought and bled together in two World Wars), I felt it would have been discourteous of me, as a friend, to decline this invitation. Of course, I didn’t go upstairs, didn’t use the bathroom and didn’t forage in the kitchen for tasty treats; nor did I have the audacity to break out my camera and start taking pictures of the spectacular decor. After all invited guests shouldn’t gawk, and typically don’t take pictures when invited into your home do they? However, I thought it a ridiculously generous invitation by this anonymous French friend to invite me into their home, don’t you think?! I felt appreciative to be sure.

I set out from Craon (without map) to explore the French countryside heading generally in southwesterly direction. It was my intent to make a 20 Kilometer loop and back to the cooking school in Livre. I got ridiculously lost. However, because everything was so ridiculously scenic, I didn’t really care. I stopped to take pictures when motivated, picked a couple of apples for lunch, tried to speak French to some French brothers at a village festival in La Selle, and gasped at almost every turn in the road at the ridiculously amazing scenery. I ultimately found my way back to Livre having experienced the French countryside in a most intimate manner. Later that evening the She-wolf noticed the small apples in my backpack, “Where’d you get the apples? Kind of small don’t you think?”

“I borrowed them.”

“How do you borrow an apple?”

"Okay, I stole them.”

“I thought you loved France and viewed yourself as traveling Ambassador of goodwill?”

“Well, I was hungry. I spent 6 hours on my bike and forgot to take any money.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“Okay ‘Ms. Judgmental,’ haven’t you read Les Miserables? They had a revolution here a few years ago; they don’t imprison people anymore for stealing to sate extreme hunger. I’m kind of surprised you didn’t know that.”

To set the record straight: The apples that I “borrowed” were not from a commercial orchard. It was a old tree on the side of a sheep pasture. Most of the apples were on the ground already and it was obvious these small, wormy apples were going to go to waste if I didn’t eat them. Besides I was really, really hungry.

I have two more historic rides on my riding agenda: Chateaubriand and Laval. Rides of 80 and 50 Kilometers, respectively. These rides are only impressive when you consider what I am riding. Regardless, the French countryside on bike has turned out to be a ridiculously rich experience--one that I will always cherish. If I get lost in France while on my bike and perish somewhere in the French countryside, my dying request is that the following be placed on my headstone: “The Most Ridiculous Human Compass,” preferably in French.