The Story Behind Football for Lovers by Bob Brooker & Kaye O’Doughtery

Funny.  The inspiration for Football is for Lovers was a disaster.

Not the content: we’ve always loved football, and thought it was too bad that so many couples seemed to be missing out on the fun, and ended up fighting over the TV clicker instead.  So the opportunity to suggest a new way of looking at football (intimacy, romance, sex and M&Ms is how we like to put it) seemed like a pretty neat thing to do.

It was writing a book at all that called for inspiration.

We’d been ‘active words’ people for most of our lives.  That is, we wrote words that would be sung, or spoken by actors.

Bob traveled all over the world as a singer, and recorded for RCA Victor and Capital back in the day.  He has been the onstage part of our duo, the entertainer.  Kaye has always preferred to do her creative work from behind the scenes.  Together, we wrote songs, videos, TV and radio scripts, stage and screen plays, even musicals.

The thing is, our words back then were about sound, voice, movement . . . performance.

A few years ago, we decided to take a break and go back to school.  Kaye was graduated from St. Peter’s in Englewood Cliffs, NJ in 2003, Bob magna cum laude from Montclair State in May of 2004.

The plan, then, was to get back to work.

In August of 2004, Bob had just done a gig at a local nightspot, and we were scheduled to go into a recording studio on the following Tuesday to finish up a new album.

That Sunday, Bob had a stroke.

His left side was paralyzed.  Including his left vocal chord.

Walking and talking was something we would have to work on.  Performing . . . well.  It looked like we needed a Plan B.

And that was Football is for Lovers. We’d still be creating, but we could do it sitting down with our mouths shut.  Just what we needed!

So I guess you could say Football is for Lovers was inspired by a stroke.  Like Bob’s Dad used to say, “Out of every bad comes some good.”

And this was so good, we’ve started work on our second book, He’s Not the Guy (God Didn’t Do It!)

This sitting down stuff ain’t all that bad!

***

Bob Brooker and Kaye O’Dougherty have been adventuring together for a lot of years now. They first met at a recording studio on 42nd Street. Yes, that 42nd Street. They recorded a commercial for E.J. Korvette’s, who went out of business soon thereafter.

Bob is an old saloon singer who, as Bobby Brookes, recorded for Victor and Capital back in the day. Kaye has trouble carrying a tune in a bucket. Nevertheless, over the years, as Brooker and O’Dougherty, the two have collaborated on a variety of theater projects, performing, writing, directing, managing, and producing. In keeping with the changing times, they have even created a cyber alter-ego named eBobb.

Recently, Bob and Kaye both took long-overdue turns at being rather mature college kids. Kaye now holds a Bachelors Degree in the Humanities from St. Peter’s College in Englewood Cliffs, NJ. Bob was graduated magna cum laude from Montclair State University with a BA in Theater, and is a member of Phi Kappa Phi Honor Society.

You can visit their website by going to FootballforLovers.com

WHEN LIFE STINKS by Kelly Epperson: “…there would be no book if not for the reader.”

Our guest blogger today is Kelly Epperson, author of the humor book, When Life Stinks, It’s Time to Wash the Gym Clothes.

You can visit her website at www.whenlifestinks.com.

When Life Stinks, It’s Time to Wash the Gym Clothes is a post-apocalypse intellectual vampire romance thriller. Umm… not really.

This slim paperback is a compilation of short essays – quick, easy to read, but stick with you. When Life Stinks is a collection of my weekly newspaper columns. I started my “slice of life” column in May 2001; I’m still at it and still love it.

I do all kinds of freelance writing and ghostwriting, but writing my column is my joy. It’s my opportunity to be me, to reflect on the silly and serious, and to connect with my readers. There would be no book if not for the readers. I was continually asked for a collection of columns in book form. I was flattered, but put it off.

Then I started ghostwriting books for other people. It was bizarre that the first book I ever wrote was for someone else. And I couldn’t talk about it. Because of ghostwriting confidentiality agreements, I can’t discuss (or brag about) the books I write.

For my own ego, and because I love my readers (I really do), it was time to put my book out there. The title was a random line from a column about my two sons and our leaning tower of laundry. The topics I address are universal so I‘ve been dubbed EveryWoman. (I want magic bracelets like Wonder Woman.)

When Life Stinks, It’s Time to Wash the Gym Clothes is a great gift book. When Life Stinks appeals to men and women, and shockingly, teenagers. And there’s nary a vampire romance in this collection. Visit me at www.whenlifestinks.com (and sign up for weekly joy letter). Thanks for reading!

GUIDE TO PIRATE PARENTING by Tim Bete and Cap’n Billy “The Butcher” MacDougall

My book, Guide to Pirate Parenting, just goes to show that even the stupidest idea can become a book. Here’s how I decided to write a book that provides everything you need to know to turn your little powder monkeys into happy, healthy buccaneers! In it I answer questions such as:

* At what age your child should be able to remove a bottle cap by taking out his glass eye and using his eye socket?

* Which offense requires administering The Flying Dutchman Wedgie?

* How do you prevent sogging the quartermaster?

* What is the best place to maroon your disobedient child?

* How do you remove chewing gum or a giant octopus from your child’s hair?

* What’s the difference between “plundering” and “pillaging?”

* How do you convert your minivan into a pirate schooner?

* When should you smack your teenager in the side of the head with an oar?

A few years back, while I was on vacation at my parents’ house at the shore, we were doing typical vacationy things. We went to the beach, got too much sun, ate seafood, and built a fully-functioning pirate ship in the garage.

My brother-in-law, Elliott, crafted a three-foot-long galleon built entirely from driftwood. It was a sturdy vessel, complete with a sheet — decorated with skull and crossbones — for a sail.

Elliott launched the pirate ship and we watched through binoculars as it sailed for a quarter mile before marooning itself on an island. Elliott’s only lament was that he forgot to sign his work of art.

I’ve always been a great supporter of the arts, so I encouraged Elliott to build another ship.

I rushed into the house and found a small plastic doll that no one had played with in years. The doll was naked and all its hair had fallen out. I quickly fashioned a black eye patch out of electrical tape and whittled a wooden peg leg. Baby Pirate was born. Elliott was ecstatic. I think I saw a tear of joy come to his eye.

“Are you sure the doll is a baby?” Elliott asked.

“Question me again and I’ll throw you in the brig!” I barked.

“Aye, aye, captain!” Elliott bellowed, while saluting.

We gave Baby Pirate a ration of Shipyard Ale, and stuck him in the crow’s nest I fashioned out of the bottom of a plastic water bottle. We were ready for our infant buccaneer to begin his life of plundering merchant ships, but it was an adventure that wasn’t meant to be.

As we marched to the ocean, singing our favorite sea shanty, “Blow the Man Down,” Elliott’s five-year-old daughter saw us with the doll. It was then my suspicion the doll was a baby was confirmed.

“What are you doing with MY BABY!” she screamed.

“See, I told you it was a baby,” I told Elliott. Before we knew it, Baby Pirate was shanghaied and our pirate ship lay unmanned. Or, to be more accurate, “unbabied.”

Baby Pirate is now recuperating far from the smell of salt air. I’ve been informed that Baby Pirate is really a girl, although I tried to argue he is a small pirate trapped in a girl doll’s body. No one would listen. Baby Pirate has new red yarn hair. Reconstructive surgery involving super glue replaced his peg leg.

But then I started thinking about what would happen if you really did raise a baby as a pirate. What would you feed a baby pirate? How could you tell if your pirate was normal? How would you discipline a young pirate?

The idea festered in my mind for a while and then splashed onto the pages of a book and Guide to Pirate Parenting was born.

Tim and Cap’n Billy are the authors of the pirate parenting book, GUIDE TO PIRATE PARENTING.  You can visit their website at www.pirateparenting.com.

STOP MAKING MUSIC by Tom Samuels: “There was nothing left but to write to gain the admiration I deserved.”

I was inspired to express myself through writing, at the early age of 16, when I realized that I would never be good enough on the electric guitar to be a rock star. I desperately needed to be famous. I couldn’t make it with my singing voice. I couldn’t dance. I couldn’t draw. There was nothing left but to write to gain the admiration I deserved.

I followed my carefully prepared plan for being a huge success. From age 16 to 18, I honed my writing style by text messaging my friends for at least ten hours a day. Fifteen minutes a day was spent writing bothersome papers for my various high school classes. I was proud of the brevity of effort put into these papers. At age 17, I wrote and re-wrote, at least thirty times, my two college application essays. I continued my habit of writing thank you notes, each at least three sentences long, to generous relatives. I nixed the idea of writing for my high school newspaper because the staff met after school. It was worth putting my future career as a famous writer in danger not to spend one extra minute in that building.

Then I entered college. Some of my fellow students had dreams of occupations that were, to my view, unglamorous. Chumps! I pursued my goal of celebrity by increasing my hours of text messaging each day. I continued to correspond with my high school pals and added several new college BFFs. I heard that 500 billion text messages are sent each year. I can claim credit for a good portion of that number. I also wrote the required college papers, even though they were not the proper vehicle for my talent.

In 2005, I began writing essays on my blog at http://www.last.fm/user/bigsexyshaq/. The more traffic my blog received, the more outlandish and belligerent my persona became. The more outlandish and belligerent my persona became, the more hits and comments bombarded my blog. I scored thousands of comments in response to my obnoxious essays about musicians, song writers and producers. If I couldn’t “sing” like Fred Durst then I would write about how he whines too much and will never make a good president of the United States. Before I knew it I had written a large body of work. Large enough to qualify as a book, quantifiably speaking. Thus was born Stop Making Music, a collection of 136 essays that will finally make me famous, popular and set for life.

Tom Samuels is the author of the satire/humor book, STOP MAKING MUSIC.