This blog will be shutting its doors soon. I am moving on to a new challenge.

The decision was not an easy one because the Akron Beacon Journal has been a good place to work these past 11 years. The daily newspaper means a lot to me, as does being part of a local community. The Beacon Journal was gracious in providing both. I am fortunate and blessed, and grateful to the Beacon for the many opportunities.

As for you loyal readers … in a weird way it feels like we are all friends. Along the way we've shared opinions, traded barbs, endured insults, enjoyed music and laughed a little. You know about my daughters, I about your feelings toward the Browns, Cavs and Indians. It's been a lot more fun than I ever envisioned a blog (note the correct term) could be.

I hope to cross paths with many of you in the future. If you'd like to keep in touch, drop a line at mcmanamon.pat@gmail.com.

Hopefully this is not goodbye, but see you soon. I wish you all the best.

I sign off the way my father always did … God bless.

Pat

Finally … I leave you with this weekend's entertainment, which, appropriately, is by two of my favorite Irish musicians, Liam Clancy and Tommy Makem. The fact that it's dated does not diminish the sentiment:

"Take most people, they're crazy about cars.  They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they're always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that's even newer.  I don't even like old cars.  I mean they don't even interest me.  I'd rather have a goddam horse.  A horse is at least human, for God's sake."

 "Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all.  Thousands of little kids, and nobody's around – nobody big, I mean – except me.  And I'm standing on the edge of some crazy cliff.  What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff – I mean if they're running and they don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them.  That's all I do all day.  I'd just be the catcher in the rye and all.  I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be."   

"All the kids kept trying to grab for the gold ring, and so was old Phoebe, and I was sort of afraid she'd fall off the horse, but I didn't say anything or do anything. The thing with kids is, if they want to grab for the gold ring, you have to let them do it, and not say anything. If they fall off, they fall off, but it's bad if you say anything to them."

In memory of J.D. Salinger, 1919-2010

Author of one of the great American novels — Catcher in the Rye

Yes … he has time on his hands. "It's what I do," he says.

Anyone know the answer?

I love every one of you, in a non-man-crush kind of way.

I respect all your opinions.

I respect all the people who disagreed with my view of Eric Mangini.

I really and truly do. Free-thinking people can have honest differences of opinion.

But I think it's time that those of you who relate everything I write to Mangini call a halt. It's just getting tired.

The latest example: The Browns cleaned out their pro personnel department this week and a loyal and kind reader related it to Mangini and asked why I did not criticize the Browns.

Please.

This happens when a GM hire is made. It's no different than Mangini cleaning out the coaching staff when he was hired last year. Good coaches were let go, but that's what happens.

At the time, I did not criticize Mangini.

The only time I criticized the Browns about letting people go was when they laid people off who were support staff, people who made far, far less than any coach.

And I criticized the Browns for that, not Mangini. Those were not Mangini's decisions. I did find it odd — and still do — that the Browns would spend millions to re-do a building when they are laying people off. So I was critical. Maybe I'm weird, but it seemed like that money could have saved jobs instead of going to putting plaster-board over cinderblock. That was merely my opinion.

Alas I digress.

In the past six or seven weeks, I've tried to back off being overly negative about Mangini. You may disagree whether I succeeded in that regard, but I tried.

Here's the bottom line: As a columnist, I am paid to have an opinion. I am not paid to waffle. I am paid to have a strong opinion, and then state it as clearly as I can.

I've said many, many times that I'm not guaranteed to be right just because I have an opinion and a laptop. Mike Holmgren, a man I respect greatly, has made a decision. I accept it, move on and quite frankly hope that I was wrong.

Because if I was wrong, Mangini will succeed and the Browns will do well. There are people in the NFL whom I respect who thought I was wrong. I get that. I could well have been wrong. If so I freely admit it. It wasn't the first time, nor will it be the last.

I feel nothing personal one way or the other about Mangini — except that I truly hope he succeeds. Because if he succeeds the Browns succeed and I can write about normal football stuff instead of the nonsense that has gone on here the past number of years.

At this point, I've got to do the same thing with the Browns that I did with Mangini, assess the moves and decisions, see if they make sense and then state whether I agree or disagree based on amassing as much information as I can about the moves.

It's kind of the job description of a columnist.

But we have reached the point here where folks will relate it to Mangini if I write about a tiddly-winks tournament. "Why didn't you rip THAT guy for not making the yellow tiddly-wink. You'd have ripped Maningini!"

It's just silly.

Dare I point out that nobody is forcing anyone to read this blog, and that the price to read it is pretty good. This is not curing cancer, not saving victims in Haiti. It's my opinion, and I hope it's fun to stop by now and then and read and take part.

I have enjoyed the blog much more than I ever dreamt I would, and I hope you do as well.

But I'm over the fact that a good football man has decided Mangini should stay. At this point, it's all about 2010.

I understand that right now I look stupid.

But also understand I don't need to write about the Browns or their coach to look stupid. I can do that on my own, thank you very much.

I'm over it.

I think it's time we all move on as well.

Your devoted crogger,

Pat

No bowling but as it turns out I did wind up at Johnny's for some post-dinner music. Most enjoyable band, fun time to bring in the New Year. As we turn to 2010, I'm going back to something Alan noticed I removed from the crog at Christmas.

I thought it was too sentimental and dopey, but I also thought it fit better for New Year's.

So thanks to Alan's deep and intense feelings — this isn't some kind of weird man crush is it Alan … cuz I'm outta here if that's true — I'd like to revisit and take a moment to thank all of you out there who read and contribute to this mog. Because without any of you, it's just a guy sitting in his kitchen typing really fast. This little community has made this experience much more fun and interesting. I'm blessed to have the job I have, but I mean something I've said often: I'm not guaranteed to be right just because I can type fast. Your responses and reactions complete the frog.

I thank each and every one of you for your contributions, comments and criticisms. Most of all I thank you for reading.

And I wish you a very Happy New Year.

And Salma Hayek does too.

The traditional ring-in-the-New-Year-keggle.

Bowling.

B-o-w-l-i-n-g.

Evidently all the pool tables were booked.

Some folks go hear live music on New Year's Eve (a nice Irish band perhaps?). Others go to parties.

While you all are doing that, I'll be bowling.

Step, step, step, step, roll.

I have a choice of course, but this is what the folks I am spending New Year's Eve with wish to do. To bowl. To roll the ball up the lane and knock down the pins. Not candlepin bowling, mind you, but regular old bowling. Ball down the lane, pins knocked down. No doubt two games. Perhaps a third if there's a tie.

Strikes, spares, and the goofy folks who claim three points for a field goal when they roll the ball through the split.

Bowling.

Not a dinner-dance with sumptuous food and live entertainment.

Not Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's Eve.

Not wine, appetizer, dinner and dessert at Johnny's or Vaccaro's or Ken Stewart's or another of the fine area restaurants.

Not a party with friends and relations.

Not noisemakers, hats or kazoos.

Bowling.

I guess one could keggle with the New Year's hats. That would fit. And one could play a kazoo while bowling. That would fit too.

What doesn't go with bowling, really.

There will be discussion of spin and ball placement, comments on footwork, compliments on spare pickups. All while the ball is falling in New York City.

There will be the goofy ball, in the goofy color.

And the bowling shoes ("Size 9 please"). The bowling shirts. The scoresheet. The adding of the score, with someone inevitably asking: "How do you do this?"

I'm not anti-bowling mind you. I was in a league once or twice. I stunk, rolled about 120 or 130 every game. In high school we had a team and called ourselves "The Bowlers." Yes, we though it was funny. Our handicap was so high we almost won the league. It would have been a sham.

As an adult, I made one split (didn't go for the field goal) that had folks coming from four lanes down to say "Nice pickup."

I nodded, because the last thing you'd want to do at that time in that league was admit you had no idea where the ball was going when you let it go.

The best bowling alley I've ever been in was in New Orleans. It was called the Rock and Bowl. Because it had a bowling alley, but they always had great live music. People would go to the Rock and Bowl and hear the music and never keggle a single time. That was me. Didn't roll a single ball, but I heard The Iguanas. They were outstanding. Best bowling night of my life.

Tonight it's true bowling.

The tried and true and traditional New Year's Eve bowling outing.

Could this possibly be more CLEVELAND?

Shades of Ralph Perk turning down that White House invite.

Bowling.

New. Year's. Eve. Bowling.

Why all three modes of transport?

Because in the eternal effort to save the company money, it was deemed wise to fly to Baltimore and take a train from Baltimore to Philadelphia.

This allows one to enjoy a rare train ride. My friend Bob — we call him Ribbert — decided it best to fly to Chicago and then to Philadelphia. This is going backward to go forward. But … I'm betting Ribbert had a level tray table at his seat, something I lacked.

Ignore the uphill typing and trains are the way to go. It really seems like this nation missed the boat — or the engine, as it were –  by not making trains more accessible nationwide. The East coast really is the prime area to take them.

A train is relaxing, roomy (especially compared to the sardine cans they call airplanes nowadays) and comfortable. You can join a singalong in the club car, enjoy a quiet snack in the lounge, watch the guy in the white T-shirt standing alongside the track flipping you the bird or just notice the trash lining the side of the track.

I (seriously) highly recommend it.

Here's another Hayek submission:

Peterman hosting Family Feud. Who'd have thought?

Alas, I digress.

The lightning round comes along, and the question is: Name a sport that requires a good stroke.

Yes, this raises lots of possibilities for Peterman humor, but I shall let that go. I'm sure you readers will take care of it anyway.

In my book, there's one and only one obvious choice for "top" answer.

Golf.

Tennis might be a distant second.

What does the woman guess who hit the button first?

Canoeing.

That's right, canoeing.

When that's wrong, what does the other woman guess?

Rowing a boat.

That's right, rowing a boat.

It's times like these when you realize how far our educational system has fallen.

(drawn by my daughter Elizabeth)