Steve McGranahan is a real firecracker.But he's not the type of dude you might invite to your Fourth of July barbecue.He can bend a frying pan with his bare hands. He also breaks 30 pound cinder blocks over his head with a sledgehammer. Who hasn't wanted to try that?
McGranahan is 6' tall and weighs 343 pounds. He is an old-timey strong man, a slab of Redneck, White and Blue Americana.McGranahan is billed as "The World's Strongest Redneck".
Yes, it was "Redneck Weekend" at the ballpark........Ironically, Merle Haggard was singing "Okie From Muskogee," a block away from the ballpark at the historic Rialto Theatre. More than 1,000 loaves of bread were given to fans leaving the game.
Jackhammer manager Wally Backman participated in "Cowpatty Bingo," courtesy of Norma the Cow.Many folks came to the game to catch a glane of McGranahan, who has appeared on CMT's "Country Fried Home Videos" and "The Tonight Show With Jay Leno." Keith Ling, 12, reached over a railing to obtain an autograph from "The World's Strongest Redneck." "I see him on CMT and he's funny," said Ling, who attended the game with his father Randy. They live in Channahon, near Joliet. "There's not a redneck culture out here," said Randy, a 51-year-old development scientist for a microbology lab.That sure ain't redneck.
Before the game McGranahan reasoned, "I destroy household objects for a living." He picked up a quarter-inch-thick six inch long steel nail (although with his redneck drawl he called it a 'needle.') And he bent the nail, quite effortlessly.McGranahan, 44, is from Durham, N.C. He is based out of New Castle, Pa. Before becoming a full time redneck, he was an aide at the New Castle Youth Development Center for adjudicated delinquent males. "The East Coast has its comedy and the West Coast has its comedy, but nobody is doing motivational strong man comedy for the rest of America," McGranahan explained. "Until now. There's probably about 10 strong men in the world who put on a good show.
I ask kids, 'What's a nail made for?' They go, 'To hold things together.' I say, 'That's what the laws in the streets are for. They hold us together. We can't bend the rules in life.' Then every time they see a nail they're gonna' remember what the fat bald-headed man said."
McGranahan is Jeff Foxworthy, lock, stock and barrel."People ask me, 'Who is stronger than the 'World's Strongest Redneck?,'" he said. "I tell them, 'A 110 pound wife.' With his 22-inch wide arms, 'The World's Strongest Redneck' picked up his steel carrying case and headed to the outfield. The mood was light. And he had some heavy lifting to do.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
It sounded like a bad redneck joke
I got a message the other day and did a double-take.
West End Fair organizers were scrambling for more drivers to sign up for the demolition derby.
Really? No one has a junk car to drive in the derby?
I had one of those oxymoron moments. West End ... no junkers (I'm trying not to laugh.)
I've been to the West End, love the West End really. I have friends there, good friends. Nobody wants to trash their junk car in the derby?
Now I'm hearing Jeff Foxworthy's famous redneck joke in my head.
"You might be a redneck if you cut your grass and find a car."
I had to find out what's going on. So I called up fair directors Doug Hawk and Bob Coleman to get the story.
Sure enough, the entry list for the demolition derby is shorter than John McEnroe's temper. I talked to Hawk and Coleman and each time I was left shaking my head.
They're both a little uneasy these days. The entry list is only a third of what it should be. The demolition derby is going to happen, but it's in jeopardy of not being the crowd pleaser it usually is.
The demolition derby at the fair usually brings in about 100 cars per night for three nights. Out of 200 eight-cylinder cars they usually have for Monday and Wednesday (Aug. 25 and 27), only 60 have signed up so far.
On Tuesday night, Aug. 26, the four cylinder cars hit the course. Usually, about 80 cars smash themselves to pieces. Right now, Coleman says he's got 20 cars signed up.
They've also started a minivan category. So far two cars are entered. At this rate, there will be more fender benders in the parking lot.
We can't let this happen. The tradition of the demolition derby is sacred. What's next, a cutback on funnel cake?
Some things you just can't joke about.
West End Fair organizers were scrambling for more drivers to sign up for the demolition derby.
Really? No one has a junk car to drive in the derby?
I had one of those oxymoron moments. West End ... no junkers (I'm trying not to laugh.)
I've been to the West End, love the West End really. I have friends there, good friends. Nobody wants to trash their junk car in the derby?
Now I'm hearing Jeff Foxworthy's famous redneck joke in my head.
"You might be a redneck if you cut your grass and find a car."
I had to find out what's going on. So I called up fair directors Doug Hawk and Bob Coleman to get the story.
Sure enough, the entry list for the demolition derby is shorter than John McEnroe's temper. I talked to Hawk and Coleman and each time I was left shaking my head.
They're both a little uneasy these days. The entry list is only a third of what it should be. The demolition derby is going to happen, but it's in jeopardy of not being the crowd pleaser it usually is.
The demolition derby at the fair usually brings in about 100 cars per night for three nights. Out of 200 eight-cylinder cars they usually have for Monday and Wednesday (Aug. 25 and 27), only 60 have signed up so far.
On Tuesday night, Aug. 26, the four cylinder cars hit the course. Usually, about 80 cars smash themselves to pieces. Right now, Coleman says he's got 20 cars signed up.
They've also started a minivan category. So far two cars are entered. At this rate, there will be more fender benders in the parking lot.
We can't let this happen. The tradition of the demolition derby is sacred. What's next, a cutback on funnel cake?
Some things you just can't joke about.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Thank God I'm Holding 7 Iron .. Not A Shovel Says Boo Weekley
ONLY the keenest golfer or the sickest masochist could enjoy playing in the horrible weather that battered Birkdale this week. Boo Weekley is neither of these.
Golf's favourite redneck has come out with some crazy stuff in his time but it's hard not to nod enthusiastically in agreement with his latest musing: "If this is the summer then I couldn't live here."
Throw in the fact he had to leave his missus back home in sunny Florida holding their newborn baby son to come here and freeze for a week. Then add an ugly first round score of 80 that killed his challenge before hypothermia even had the chance to set in?
Safe to say he couldn't get on that plane home quick enough.
So when Boo lurches off the course on a day like Thursday and says he hates his job - a job most of us would run naked along Southport Pier for - he means every word.
But don't think for a minute that he's ungrateful. Truth is Weekley probably appreciates what he's doing MORE than any other guy on tour when you consider what he used to go through for £7.50 an hour.
Weekley explained: "I love this job but at the same time I hate it. I hate being away from my family and would much rather be at home helping my wife out with the baby.
"It was hard to leave them so to then come here and shoot 80 in the toughest conditions I've ever played in wasn't pretty.
"But I look at things a lot differently than some of these guys because at the end of the day it's only golf, you could be doing worse things in your life. You could be holding a shovel instead of a golf club.
"That's the way I see it because in the past I was the one holding shovels and tools so I appreciate what I do now all the more.
"For sure the worst job I ever had was as a hydroblaster at the Monsanto chemical plant. You had to use high-pressure water to clean the inside of these huge chemical tanks that held a million gallons.
"They'd lower you down and there would be two or three of y'all floating down there on a little boat spraying this stuff out.
"All the time it's dark and you can't see nothin' except a little manhole up in the roof. "Usually it would take 10 hours to do and we had to clean out every one of the cylinder holes. There were 3,652 of them all in as I remember counting them as we did it.
"There was some dangerous stuff in there such as chloric acid and ammonia.
"Put it this way, if you fell in it wasn't good.
"Luckily I never did but just in case we had to wear so much stuff to protect us. You'd have your regular clothes under a kevlar suit that was so tough you couldn't cut it - then you'd put on waterproof gear above that.
"So you've got all this stuff on and then you go into a tank that's 110 degrees inside.
"The first time I was a little scared but after I saw a couple of guys go down and, more importantly, come back out I thought 'well I gotta do it now, I ain't got no choice.'
"I could talk till I'm blue in the face about how tough it was but that's what I had to do to make a living so I just got on with it and I learned a lot from those times."
One big lesson Weekley has learned is how lucky he is to be blessed with a natural gift that hauled him out of those festering tanks all the way to the PGA Tour. Yet listening to him speak could fool you into believing he takes it for granted.
After all, this is the guy who this year described Augusta National as "just another golf course" and who last year asked Paul Lawrie if he was playing in The Open completely oblivious to the fact the Scot is a former champion.
A student of the game Weekley is not.
This lifelong lack of interest in watching a game he plays so well has earned him a Happy Gilmore-type reputation as the maverick who simply doesn't give a damn.
The tobacco-chewing village idiot who doesn't know nothin' about nothin' beyond huntin', shootin' and wrestlin' alligators.
And to a certain extent the stereotype is true (especially the alligator thing) but for all the gaps in his knowledge of life beyond his small town upbringing in the backwater town of Milton, Florida, there's something immensely engaging about Boo.
His genuine friendliness and impeccable manners towards every stranger he meets is admirable. That simple honesty of just opening his mouth and saying what he thinks without fear that people are laughing at rather than with him borders on childlike innocence.
You really can't help but warm to the guy. And it seems most of his fellow pros feel the same way which could make him a popular and powerful member of this year's Ryder Cup team. For so long now the common belief is that Europe's dominance at the biennial matches is jet propelled by a unique camaraderie of guys who know each other on tour as friends first and rivals second.
In contrast the Americans, who tend to be more solitary animals on the PGA Tour, have seemed to be crying out for a character who can bring humour and unity to their team room. A mascot if you like.
Weekley reckons he could be that man even if he doesn't know much about the Ryder Cup. He said: "I probably would bring something to the team room.
"Having never been there I don't know how on top of each other everybody is but I know my approach to golf is different from most. It isn't that I don't give a s***, I just don't give a s*** about golf.
"Its importance in life and the big picture is over-rated and I just don't understand how some people react when it doesn't go well.
"To me it's just a job and when you've got it done you go away and have a good time.
"I haven't paid much attention to the Ryder Cup in the past but it's something I really want to do. I would be proud to represent my country and be able to tell my kids about it when they're older."
When told Miguel Angel Jimenez (left) insisted the European team room at Oakland Hills was stocked with Rioja red wine and cigars, Boo stops for a minute and ponders if there are any home comforts he couldn't live without for a week.
Then in that distinctive Southern drawl he serves up another gem: "I don't know. I mean I don't smoke, I do drink a little but maybe I'd ask for some chewing tobacco."
Nick Faldo better pray that's all Weekley chews up and spits out at Valhalla.
Golf's favourite redneck has come out with some crazy stuff in his time but it's hard not to nod enthusiastically in agreement with his latest musing: "If this is the summer then I couldn't live here."
Throw in the fact he had to leave his missus back home in sunny Florida holding their newborn baby son to come here and freeze for a week. Then add an ugly first round score of 80 that killed his challenge before hypothermia even had the chance to set in?
Safe to say he couldn't get on that plane home quick enough.
So when Boo lurches off the course on a day like Thursday and says he hates his job - a job most of us would run naked along Southport Pier for - he means every word.
But don't think for a minute that he's ungrateful. Truth is Weekley probably appreciates what he's doing MORE than any other guy on tour when you consider what he used to go through for £7.50 an hour.
Weekley explained: "I love this job but at the same time I hate it. I hate being away from my family and would much rather be at home helping my wife out with the baby.
"It was hard to leave them so to then come here and shoot 80 in the toughest conditions I've ever played in wasn't pretty.
"But I look at things a lot differently than some of these guys because at the end of the day it's only golf, you could be doing worse things in your life. You could be holding a shovel instead of a golf club.
"That's the way I see it because in the past I was the one holding shovels and tools so I appreciate what I do now all the more.
"For sure the worst job I ever had was as a hydroblaster at the Monsanto chemical plant. You had to use high-pressure water to clean the inside of these huge chemical tanks that held a million gallons.
"They'd lower you down and there would be two or three of y'all floating down there on a little boat spraying this stuff out.
"All the time it's dark and you can't see nothin' except a little manhole up in the roof. "Usually it would take 10 hours to do and we had to clean out every one of the cylinder holes. There were 3,652 of them all in as I remember counting them as we did it.
"There was some dangerous stuff in there such as chloric acid and ammonia.
"Put it this way, if you fell in it wasn't good.
"Luckily I never did but just in case we had to wear so much stuff to protect us. You'd have your regular clothes under a kevlar suit that was so tough you couldn't cut it - then you'd put on waterproof gear above that.
"So you've got all this stuff on and then you go into a tank that's 110 degrees inside.
"The first time I was a little scared but after I saw a couple of guys go down and, more importantly, come back out I thought 'well I gotta do it now, I ain't got no choice.'
"I could talk till I'm blue in the face about how tough it was but that's what I had to do to make a living so I just got on with it and I learned a lot from those times."
One big lesson Weekley has learned is how lucky he is to be blessed with a natural gift that hauled him out of those festering tanks all the way to the PGA Tour. Yet listening to him speak could fool you into believing he takes it for granted.
After all, this is the guy who this year described Augusta National as "just another golf course" and who last year asked Paul Lawrie if he was playing in The Open completely oblivious to the fact the Scot is a former champion.
A student of the game Weekley is not.
This lifelong lack of interest in watching a game he plays so well has earned him a Happy Gilmore-type reputation as the maverick who simply doesn't give a damn.
The tobacco-chewing village idiot who doesn't know nothin' about nothin' beyond huntin', shootin' and wrestlin' alligators.
And to a certain extent the stereotype is true (especially the alligator thing) but for all the gaps in his knowledge of life beyond his small town upbringing in the backwater town of Milton, Florida, there's something immensely engaging about Boo.
His genuine friendliness and impeccable manners towards every stranger he meets is admirable. That simple honesty of just opening his mouth and saying what he thinks without fear that people are laughing at rather than with him borders on childlike innocence.
You really can't help but warm to the guy. And it seems most of his fellow pros feel the same way which could make him a popular and powerful member of this year's Ryder Cup team. For so long now the common belief is that Europe's dominance at the biennial matches is jet propelled by a unique camaraderie of guys who know each other on tour as friends first and rivals second.
In contrast the Americans, who tend to be more solitary animals on the PGA Tour, have seemed to be crying out for a character who can bring humour and unity to their team room. A mascot if you like.
Weekley reckons he could be that man even if he doesn't know much about the Ryder Cup. He said: "I probably would bring something to the team room.
"Having never been there I don't know how on top of each other everybody is but I know my approach to golf is different from most. It isn't that I don't give a s***, I just don't give a s*** about golf.
"Its importance in life and the big picture is over-rated and I just don't understand how some people react when it doesn't go well.
"To me it's just a job and when you've got it done you go away and have a good time.
"I haven't paid much attention to the Ryder Cup in the past but it's something I really want to do. I would be proud to represent my country and be able to tell my kids about it when they're older."
When told Miguel Angel Jimenez (left) insisted the European team room at Oakland Hills was stocked with Rioja red wine and cigars, Boo stops for a minute and ponders if there are any home comforts he couldn't live without for a week.
Then in that distinctive Southern drawl he serves up another gem: "I don't know. I mean I don't smoke, I do drink a little but maybe I'd ask for some chewing tobacco."
Nick Faldo better pray that's all Weekley chews up and spits out at Valhalla.
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