Adolf and Rudolf

When I first met Patrick, BFF for life, I mentioned that I has a tennis shoe fetish. This was not a literal sneaker fetish. I have a laundry list of those fetishes, but shoes is not on that list. It was more a figurative, almost spiritual need to have cool sneakers. In my last move a lowered my inventory from fifty (literally) to about ten pairs (figuratively speaking.) I also had shifted my Puma allegiance to Adidas. This had everything to do with what drives most of my motivations in my life, the seething hatred of Nazis.  I this case it is the story of Adolf a.k.a. Adi and Rudolf Dassler.  

The story of the Dassler brothers came into my desire for cool gym shoes.

These Brothers, had a well-established athletic shoe company (their shoes were worn by athletes in the 1936 Olympics) before they started feuding. Rudolf never gave up on a suspicion that his brother Adi was behind his conscription into the army. Selling out his brother into a conscripted fighting role with German forces in Poland. This led to Rudolf’s imprisonment by the Allis when Poland was liberated. So, Rudolf was drafted for the war and served his time on the frontlines of the battle. On the other hand, the German government had deemed Adolf’s usefulness as a shoemaker as more necessary, and so he was not sent to fight for Germany. Rudolf was very angry about this and saw it as his brother making money and selling shoes, while he was on the frontlines with his life on the line. A jerk brother move selling shoes while Rudolf was fighting a war. Not only did this make him angry, but he believed his brother Adi had something to do with why he wound up there. So when the war ended, Rudolf told the Allies that Adi assisted the Nazi war effort.

In fact after the war ended, the Allies wanted to take revenge on the remaining Nazi soldiers. This meant that Rudolf had to plead his case to the authorities. His brother Adolf snitched on him that he was working with the Nazis, and this caused Rudolf to be imprisoned for another year, while Adolf was making profits. Rudolf tried to snitch on his brother as well, but Adolf’s charges were dropped. This essentially ended the Dassler brothers.

Adolf became Adidas and Puma was started by Rudolf. Over the years I have aligned my alliance to Puma then Adidas depending on the latest paper I have read about the story. Somehow determining which brother was less-Nazisish. I mean, I could avoid the whole situation and buy Nikes, but ew no. What’s the fun in that.

Stevie B. NEEDS Muggs

It appears to be nine days away from Christmas. This means that I’m successfully well into my plans of getting Man-Uggs, or Muggs as my present from Santa. 

As you may be aware, last year I launched Operation Muggs. Unsuccessfully. The operation failed, yet I did receive some amazing gifts. 

This year it’s war. 

See! Tom Brady wears Muggs. 

I have recruited an army of minions to begin a texting campaign. Texting things like, “yeah-know, I over heard Stevie talking about wanting new boots... something like Muggs.” Or random photos of Uggs being texted from random strangers. It’s my plan to layer the knowledge. I guess whispering late at night in the dark will help too.  “mmmmmmmmmmaaaaaannnnnn Uuuuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggggggggggsss, Steeeeeeeeeveeeeee waaaaantssssss Booooooooooottttts!!!!!!!

And, Yes. I am comfortable enough in my masculinity to wear Uggs. Although, a friend pointed out that “all the other girls wear them with skinny jeans.” 

Man Uggs < Muggs

Three years ago, on Christmas morning, I unwrapped what would be a life-changing present. This amazing gift was from my good friends, Frank and Kevin. Who knew one gift would alter my life in such an amazing and comforting way. Sheepskin fleece lined slippers. Since then I have realized that there comes a time when you decide that comfort just might be more important than style.

Matthew McConaughey
sporting Uggs.  

In the past three years I have purchased dress shoes, five pairs of Pumas, Nikes, and several other running athletic shoes, yet what I ware the majority of the time, is my sheepskin slippers. Sometimes I did receive some gentle teasing for showing up to restaurants, house parties, Opera Colorado, dinner parties, the gym, and pick-a-part junkyards sporting house shoes, but hey; they’re suede leather, that’s fancy.  The only down side to this choice of pro foot comfort - sans style is that I had to resign myself to never achieving status as one of the cool kids. The jocks never sit at the cool-kid table kicking back in sheepskin-lined boots. Or do they…

Just as I had abandoned any hope of being one of the cool kids, I was standing in line at Taco Bell, in my most comfortable footwear, when a local high school gang of hot jock – athletic type dooods came poring into the establishment. I continued to text away waiting for my #7 as I pretended to not notice their tight jeans and clear skin. As I waited for my order, I noticed something… they were all pretty much wearing the same type of kicks.  I would of snapped a picture, but felt it wrong to be the forty year old guy that stands in Taco Bell, taking photos of seventeen year old boys. “No, officer! It’s just for my blog.”

With this level of encouragement, I now have worked up my self-image to publicly say that I am comfortable enough in my masculinity to wear Uggs. Man Uggs. Muggs. I have asked Santa for a pair of Muggs. All the sheepy softness to cradle my feet in a “I stopped caring about fashion, yet I really yearn to be stylish” kind of way. We’ll see if Santa agrees.  

Just Keep Running

It happened for the first time. I got called young looking.


Every once in a while I have an overwhelming urge that I need new Puma running shoes. I found myself the other day needing a Puma fix, nothing serious, just a pair of running shoes to get me through the monotony of February. After ogling the Puma website I headed to Cherry Creek Mall for some serious shopping.

My old pair of purely running shoes are so incredibly nasty and dirty they have their own bag in the trunk of my car. I sit on the curb of Cheesman Park and change out of my street shoes and into these shadows of former running shoes. Mud, muck, and torn fabric. It was time for new, shiny running shoes.

Dizzy from the enticing Puma fumes as entered the store, I made my way around the amateur shoppers to the men’s section. I zeroed in on the pair I had been hunting for and asked “Billy” (the ever-smiling shop boy) if I could try on the pair of brightly colored neon striped kicks. As I laced the runners on, I half-heatedly mentioned that all the cool nineteen year olds at school are wearing neon shoes and that I’m finally going to be one of the cool dudes at the age of forty.

“Oh-my-God. You so totally don’t look forty!” Billy exclaimed with too much enthusiasm.

I tried to quickly move the conversation away from the next statement the zero percent body fat, hipster bearded homo was about to speak and back on the quality of the shoe. I spoke of the fit, of the comfort. Anything to stop “Billy” from making his next statement.

“You look really great… for your age."

There it was. A twenty-two year old baby homo just said I look good. For my age. The smooth skin on the face of the twenty year old beamed at me. This broke my stride until I reached into my pocket to pay for my new neon striped bits of happiness. I handed Billy my credit card with its massive line of credit. I may be old, Billy, but with age comes a massive credit score.

“So… hopefully… I’ll see you out running sometime…” Billy slyly said as he handed me my bright red bag.