Postgame

Alright I made it. Game over. It was a tough 4 years, or 4 quarters. Finally, I can relax.
Writing workshop over the years has taught me a lot. I have always enjoyed to write, but at the beginning of high school, I was lacking the experience that I needed to become a better writer across the board. I have learned how to take more risks with my writing and I have learned how to work harder with my writing. This year was the first time in all of high school that I actually had to do some research for my pieces. I wrote a poem about Abraham Lincoln that I had to do research on and then as I just described for my name piece, I had to do research for that as well. Overall, my writing has now progressed to the point where I am not afraid to try new types of writing and I'm not afraid to do a little research either.

This year in Creative Writing, we were given some unusual writing prompts, but these were the prompts that really helped me grow as a writer. Trial and error is what helped me grow the most. Coming to all of my conferences, if something wasn't right with one of my pieces, I would go back to my computer and work with the piece until I got it right. Another thing that helped my writing grow was that Creative Writing this year was all about writing. Previous years, it was harder to grow as a writer when you had to juggle working on writing workshop and other class assignments at the same time.

I do still have many struggles though. I often write waaaaaay too much than I need to. This isn't the worst thing that I could be struggling with, but it would help my efficiency if I could learn to condense my thoughts the first time around, rather than going back and having to delete a bunch of stuff.

For the future of my writing... I don't really know what's going to happen. I write for the school paper right now and I want to continue to do that in college, so that has a lot of potential to help improve my writing. I also know that my passion for writing will never go away. The ways in which I will express my writing in the future may be slightly uncertain, but I'll find some way to continuing writing, besides the endless amount of essays I'll be writing in college. The game of high school writing is over, but I've got another game starting next August. History often repeats itself. The only difference this time around is that the next game is going to cost a lot more money.

The 4th Quarter

The final stretch. I'm old now. I'm a senior and I'm all warn out. It's been a long game. This was the toughest portfolio of all. 5 pieces! This year's portfolio was pretty much identical to the one I did last year. I did have the same teacher both years, so that makes sense, right? Last year's was only 3 pieces, however. This piece is about my name. I chose this piece because I think this piece shows just how much my writing has grown. I think this piece is really fun to read. Before my pieces were solid, but none of them really ever stood out to me as being "fun to read." Here it is:

Eric Robert Decker

You know those cool sounding names you see that famous people have? Tom Cruise, Kiefer Sutherland, Meryl Steep! These people having these names… It’s almost like they were meant to be famous! Okay yeah, we all know that the three of these guys at some point in their lives weren’t famous. At first, they meant as much to the world as Joe the Plumber did, but then they all had their big breakthroughs and now anyone who even knows even a little bit about pop culture would be able to recognize these names. Well for me, my name right now, Eric Robert Decker, barely means anything to even this high school.
            

My name means something to me though. I love my name. I wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s not too long, not too short, it fits just right. I think even Goldilocks would agree and hey, she’s famous, right? Over the years, I have asked my parents numerous times why they named me they way they did, probably the same way Uma Thurman asked her parents how she got her name. So apparently, my middle name actually was almost my first name. Weird, right? Reminds me of that kind of weird sensation I got when I saw Kiefer Sutherland in Stand by Me for the first time after watching three straight seasons of 24. But really, imagine my face, my personality, anything about me, with the first name Robert slapped across my chest. My parents eventually did make up their minds and Robert became my middle name. My parents steered clear of Robert because my parents didn’t like that the name Robert had so many nicknames; Robby, Rob, Bob, Bobby, etc. If I had been named Robert, Robby would have been my top choice of nickname to go by. RAH-BE. Robert was ultimately put into my name in honor of my maternal grandfather, Robert Louis May. He was somewhat famous, so I guess I’ve got that going for me!

So then there’s my first name; not quite up to the awesomeness of Kiefer or Uma, but I’d say it’s pretty solid. I’m not sure why my parents chose the name Eric, but I think they mentioned once or twice that they just liked the simplicity of it. I remember when I was little I told my Mom once or twice that Eric should be spelled with AIR in the front, instead of ER. I’m not sure how she reacted to that, but I think it’s funny that I took the time to think of that. I wonder what Willow Smith is thinking about her name right now? The Fresh Prince of Narcissism, anyone?

I’m not sure when it first happened or why it happened, but however it happened, calling me by my last name, rather than my first name has stuck. I wonder if anyone called Tom Cruise by his real last name… “Hey, Mapother! What’s going on, man?”

Nah… doesn’t work for me either. I’m a senior in high school and it has gotten to the point now where almost all of the guys (and a handful of girls) at Lake Forest High School call me by my last name. My volleyball coaches here at the high school even call me Decker! Decker has caught on so much that even one of my friend’s mom calls me Decker. Even her boyfriend calls me Decker and he even introduced me to one of his friends as Decker. Apparently, Decker, DEHK-ERR, is catchy.

The greatest thing that happens with my name is when people can’t decide whether or not to call me Eric or Decker. I wonder if Vince Vaughn ever had any trouble with this. It happens probably about once a week or so. The person desires to get my attention, but instead of calling me Eric or Decker, they have a little brain-fart and both names come out at once and they call me Deric, or Derek; however you want to spell it. They all realize their blunder the second after it comes out of their mouths and I laugh almost every single time. Maybe this is what happened to Meryl Streep. After all, her real name is Mary Louise Streep. Maybe she got sick and tired of people mixing up them up, so she just decided to combine her first and middle names. But really, how hard is it to pronounce the name Eric Decker correctly? It’s only four syllables, it’s a relatively common name, c’mon people! Take a look at these names of some of my friends: Tasos Stavropoulos, Lukasz Sobieraj, or even Reyna Zascirinskis. Try pronouncing those correctly! I’m decent friends with all three of these people and I don’t even know how to!

Overall, names are so unique and are ever-evolving; just take a look at those names I listed above or even some of the famous people I mentioned. The great thing about names is that if you were completely unaware that anyone was famous in this world, each and every name you came across would have no greater significance than the name before it. It’s when you finally get to know someone, or in the case with famous people, read about someone, do their names finally start to stick out to you. The only thing my name means to this world right now is the fact that Eric Decker is a rookie wide receiver for the Denver Broncos in the NFL. I want to be an engineer. Engineers don’t really get the attention from the media that football players get, but maybe someday it’ll get to the point where the world mixes the football playing Eric Decker up with the world-saving environmental engineer that I want to be. I’d still be pretty honored even if someone were to mistake me for being a football player. I play volleyball right now, about the exact opposite sport when you compare it to football, but it could happen. Leonardo DiCaprio sure thought people would mistake him for being way more important than he actually was in Catch Me If You Can. I’m by no means a con-artist, but it’s still not too late to change career paths, if that’s what you want to call it.  It has potential though. We’ll see.

What an ending, huh? Much more exciting than any other part of the game. Sports fans live for the fourth quarter. This was my favorite piece that I wrote probably all throughout high school. I had a lot of fun with this piece and I also had to work very hard with this piece too. I did a lot of internet browsing trying to find any information on any famous person with a cool name that I could find. I have to admit, this piece was pretty lame up until about the last week or so before the portfolio was due. I mentioned some of my favorite movies in this piece as well, so that was a lot of fun. Overall, it pays off to work hard, and have some fun along the way.

The 3rd Quarter

Alright now. It's the 3rd quarter. Here's where I start to hit my stride. My Junior year is where I think I made my biggest leap with the quality of my writing. I had Mrs. Topham last yeah for English 3 Honors and this piece was from our "frozen moment" assignment. We had to write a piece focusing on one moment in time. This piece is from when I participated in the Polar Plunge at Lake Bluff Beach. Doing the plunge was brutal and I think I did a pretty good job of describing the moment.

Men’s Club Coffee

The water is as dull as yesterday morning’s coffee. It is completely undesirable and is far from warm unlike a cup of coffee you might find at the Starbucks down the street. It’s the last thing you want greeting you at the start of your day. Forcing down a sip just gives you the chills. The mug nestles between your hands in search for warmth, only to find bitter, icy cold. You take a look down into this barren cup of coffee and there you’ll unexpectedly find me. I’ve just been submerged in this frozen ocean, along with fifteen of my other companions, each one of us trying to stave off the everlasting bitterness. We are in Lake Michigan. It’s a dark, rainy day in the first week of March. No, we are not being tortured or forced to partake in this swim. We are all proud members of Lake Forest High School’s Men’s Club and we are doing it for the better good of Special Olympics Illinois. We are doing this on our own time; just a bunch of high school kids, looking for an adventure.

While the red, cozy sweatshirt that I prematurely received as my reward for this bout with hypothermia rests warmly in my gray Adidas gym bag inside the heated tents just off shore, I stand frozen in belly button high lake water. I’m still alive and mobile of course, but I’m certainly frozen, one way or another. The sweatshirt reads ‘2009 Polar Plunge—Freezin’ for a Reason’ and all I can think about at the moment is the land speed record I’m going to break running to the heated tents to dry myself off, so I can indulge myself by putting on my new sweatshirt.

But all of that seems a light year away as I’m still wading in Lake Michigan, three months earlier than I should be. While I should be seeing kids building sand castles, sailboats floating endlessly near the horizon, and multi-colored beach balls bobbing in the water, all I can see are seasonal ice caps, men wearing drysuits, and the cold rain drops falling before me. These men who are wearing drysuits are really out here in the water just to tease us plungers. It’s like we’re sitting in jail cells watching the prison guards drive away after their shifts have ended, driving off to live their free lives. So while we’re suffering and chattering our teeth to the point of erosion, they get to stay comfortably warm. Unfair, if you ask me. Oh well though, that’s the way things play out sometimes. It’s like getting rear ended while driving your car. There’s nothing you can do about it.

Even though I am in a legitimate survival situation right now, I find my thoughts relatively clear. As the moans of my fellow plungers race through my ears and as the splashing of cold water has muffled into background noise, I find that my mind is at ease. Yeah sure, I am probably experiencing the worst pain I have ever had to endure in my entire life, but it feels right. I am with my brothers. Even though I don’t know these guys that well, I feel more connected to them than I ever have before. It’s almost like we are at war, holding off the last surge from our opponent, ready more than ever to be sent back to our native land for a home cooked meal, a nice warm cup of coffee, and that sense that everything will soon be okay. Yes, I am still lost at sea, but I know that feeling will come soon; that feeling that I’ll have when I am back at this lake three months from now, the rightful time when one should be at a lake. I’ll peer to my side and see two kids burying each other in the sand. I’ll look up at the sun and find that the dark, gloomy day in March has long passed, but I’ll still remember. It’ll stay with me forever. It’ll be like a tattoo on my back that no one ever really sees, but it will always be there. I will be sure to enjoy that day of reflection at the beach, but for now I’m plunging and there’s no way out.

Pretty solid quarter. Huge improvement from the first half. I liked this piece a lot. It wasn't too long, but I was able to get the message across that I wanted. Overall, this piece was just a lot cleaner than any other piece I had written my first two years of high school. I still have that sweatshirt that I received that day. Everyone always asks me about that day. I love talking about it. It really will be something I remember forever and I love that. Time for the fourth quarter. "Getch your popcorn ready!"

The 2nd Quarter

Okay on to Sophomore year; the start of the second quarter. I don't really remember the specific stuff my teacher was trying to teach me like my freshman year, but I guess I was still trying to improve my writing skills, right? This piece is about my Grandfather passing away and the untraditional ceremony we had for him.

Ashes

          To me his name was Papa Howie; the man who once bought a 1927 Dodge when he was thirteen years old. My Grandpa lives in Pentwater, Michigan in a small, two story cottage that lies on Bass Lake.  The house is painted an ugly brown and yellow, just the way it was painted over 45 years ago when it was first bought. He stays there year long, even though my Grandmother lives here in Chicago. My Grandfather swims in the lustrous waters of Bass Lake whenever he wants, even if it is cold. He goes into the old, wooden shed to type letters to his friends whenever he wants, even if everyone else has moved on past the typewriter. My Grandfather goes to the beach in town and watches the sun set on Lake Michigan whenever he wants, even if it is a cloudy night. He is able to do all of this , yet he is dead.

            It was what he had always wished and desired for; to be in Pentwater forever. He had called this town his home away from home since the 1920’s; every summer for over eighty years. My father would always tell stories about how Papa Howie would walk down to Bass Lake, which outlets into the nearby Lake Michigan, and would backstroke from our side to the other side of the lake almost every day before anyone else had awoken. I also remember that even after his days of swimming in Bass Lake were over, he would always be up at the crack of dawn sitting in his chair, reading the Chicago Tribune that he had purchased that day from The Wishing Well, the gas station store at the end of

South Lake Shore Drive.

           I remember seeing all of this when I just couldn’t sleep for any longer. It would be only six or seven a.m., but I just had to wake up. I would walk downstairs and he would always be there. He would always greet me with the same “Hello, Eric” and he would always hand me the sports section because he knew that was what I wanted.

            Since Pentwater lies right on the west coast of the lower part of Michigan, the sunsets are legendary. As I sat in the sand, watching the array of purple, orange, and yellow sink into the water like a strawberry being dipped into chocolate, he and my grandma would sit in their Buick, in the parking lot of Mears State Park, right by the beach just as they did every night.

            So here I find myself, climbing into our old, blue put-put boat with my sister and my Uncle Todd following me. My dad, Aunt Susie, and Uncle John then all hop aboard the family sailboat. It’s a butterfly and it’s named Sweetie, named after what my Grandmother has called my Grandfather for so long. No one is talking, nobody is making eye contact and my Uncle is holding a small sandwich bag in his hand, carrying it as though if it were dropped it would splatter into oblivion. As we made our way out to the center of Bass Lake I start to think back to last Christmas when things started to slow down for my Grandpa. You could sense that his days were numbered and my Grandpa knew it himself. His hospice caretaker had told us he stayed up late the night before we came, so he could take a bath. He said he wanted to look nice for his family on Christmas day, no matter how sick he was. But when he woke up the next morning, he had reached the point of no return. He was dying and there was no stopping him.

When my family and I arrived to my Grandparent’s home in Glenview, Illinois on Christmas Day, the mood was different than it had been years before. When I stepped inside to the kitchen and walked through the short hallway to the living room, I noticed that my my Aunt Susan wasn’t sitting in the living room laughing with her joyous giggles as she and the rest of my family recalled on old memories. My Uncle John wasn’t sitting on the porch playing his Ukulele like he always did when he came into town. My dad wasn’t going around fixing what ever needed to be fixed around the house like he normally did. They were all in my Grandparent’s bedroom because that was where my Grandfather was. I walked my into the bedroom that night as though I were walking into a terrifying haunted house; I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to make it through to the end. I sat down in a small, wooden chair. I was at the beginning of the house, looking at my ailing Grandpa, who lied in a second bed that had been brought into the room. I began to cry. I was in eighth grade and I hade never experienced anything more than my dog dying.

“You know you can talk to him, if you’d like,” my Aunt Susan said. “He can hear you.”

I stood up and walked upon the soft beige carpet in my Grandparent’s room towards the left side of my Grandpa’s bed. The room was filled with old pictures and small glass figurines that my Grandparents had picked up over the years.

“Hey Papa Howie,” I said in a tender voice, “It’s Eric.”

That was all I could muster. My Grandpa was still conscious, but was almost non-responsive. I stood there wondering if I should touch him or not, but I couldn’t think of where to or if it was even necessary. I ended up not touching him and that was all for me. I walked out of the haunted house feeling distant from my Grandfather; I had never seen him in this way before. I left saddened, figuring I didn’t want to spend too much time in there.

            My Grandpa did die that night, on Christmas night, during Christmas dinner with my aunt and uncles by his bedside, my dad and Grandma doing the same. He knew it was his time to leave. Everyone was there at my Grandparent’s house; there for Christmas, but everyone knew in their mind that they weren’t actually there for Christmas. They were there for Papa Howie; to say goodbye. My relatives went home that chilly night in Glenview, my cousins, aunts, uncles, and my own family. We all knew things were going to be different, different for my Grandma, and we all knew the summers in Pentwater would never be the same again.

My sister shut off the engine of the blue put-put boat as we had arrived to our destination. My uncle was at the front of the boat and I was up near my sister. My dad then pulled up about twenty feet away from us. We were all looking at my Uncle Todd as he was looking at the bag in his hand. A tear or two started to trickle down his cheek. He was holding my Grandfather. He had been cremated shortly after his death in December and we thought that it was only right that some of him should be left in Pentwater. My uncle looked around the lake and at his brother and sister sitting in the sailboat and opened the plastic bag. It was time. My uncle turned the bag upside down and my Grandfather’s ashes trickled out of the bag like dead, autumn leaves falling from an oak tree and settled into the water. My uncle gave the bag one last shake to make sure the ashes were all gone and my Grandpa and Bass Lake were now one. That is where my Uncle Todd, Aunt Susan, and my dad thought he should be; in the lake where he had spent so much of his time before.

Then as a tribute to my Grandfather we all jumped into the lake and swam back into the dock, using the backstroke of course. As I was about to jump into the lake from the put-put boat I yelled to my Uncle John, “Hey! How’s the water feel?”

He couldn’t hear me. He had his earplugs in and my uncle swam on.

“Eric I’m going to push you in,” my sister exclaimed.

“Alright! Fine, Fine! I’m going!”

I jumped in off of the blue metal benches of the put-put boat and the water gave me a startling jolt. It was cold, but that didn’t matter. We all wanted to have one final swim for Papa Howie. I struggled to swim the long distance from the middle of the lake, but I knew I had to make it back. My sister asked me if I wanted to get back on the boat. I declined. No boat was going to help me get back to the dock. Even though I once felt distant from my Grandfather back in December, it was now July and I felt closer than ever.

Okay, not a bad quarter. Not as sloppy as the first. I liked this piece. I think I improved my storytelling skills by not "listing" off events like I did my Freshman year. I think I also improved my use of dialogue with this piece and I improved my description a lot. With my piece from freshman year, I didn't really describe anything. I just told you all what I was doing and that was it. Okay it's halftime. Time to head into the locker room.

The 1st Quarter

The first quarter: the opening tip-off, the first kickoff; finally what everyone has been waiting for. The first quarter can be kind of lame sometimes though. The players typically aren't in the groove of things yet and nothing too exciting really ever happens in the first quarter.

I remember Freshman year was all about maintaining a steady focus throughout the entire piece that I was working on, as in, not tailing off on random tangents during the piece. At the time, if there was going to be one thing that I learned during Freshman year writing workshop, it would be to remember to keep the same focus throughout a piece. Let's see how I did.

Alpha Formation

            Last winter, my club volleyball team and I, Sky High, went to the Wisconsin Boys’ Volleyball Festival National Qualifier, played pretty well, won a few games, and got ourselves a bid to the 2007 Junior Olympic Boys Volleyball Championships. For the rest of our season, we trained hard and then the time finally came to go to Atlanta, Georgia, where we would all become witnesses to some of the best volleyball in North America.

            It was the luckiest day of the century, the day we made our departure to the Peach State. We all met at O’Hare Airport wearing out specialized red “Atlanta, 2007” Sky High volleyball t-shirts, ready at last. We boarded the plane and then came upon the loudspeaker: “I would like to say good luck to Sky High. They are going to the Boys Volleyball Junior Olympics. Good luck and bring home the gold,” the pilot said. Then came a flight of drinking orange juice and water, along with trying to figure out what state we were flying over by looking to the ground through the window. We then had a safe and successful landing and departed from the plane.

            Once safely on the ground, we grabbed our bags from baggage claim and made our way to the MARTA trains. The MARTA would become our only mode of transportation throughout our entire trip. These trains rode throughout the city of Atlanta and featured overcrowded boarding populations and plastic seats with bars up ahead for those who couldn’t get a seat.

          
Once aboard the MARTA, my teammates and I got a skyline tour of the outskirts of Atlanta as we made our way to our hotel in Buckhead in Atlanta. We saw all sorts of restaurants, businesses, and the beauty of the parks of Atlanta.

            The hotel we stayed at was luxurious. One step into the lobby and you could tell this was one of the nicest hotels in the Atlanta area. The lobby was scattered with finely upholstered furniture, granite counters, and a small convenient store, where a bottle of Gatorade cost you $3.00 plus tax. The rooms were no different. Featuring snug bed comforters, top of the line mattresses, and nice showers, staying in these rooms were like staying at home.

            After getting a good sleep, dead beat from traveling the day before, my teammates and I went to the hotel restaurant to eat breakfast and we were greeted by a tall African-American man wearing a nice suit along with a nice white pair of gloves. Just by seeing those white gloves, I knew we were in for a good meal. I had golden, crisp waffles,  juicy bacon, and a variety of different fruits from the buffet. My friend sitting near me ordered a glass of chocolate milk. When the milk was brought to the table, it came in a tall wine glass with a small bit of chocolate placed into the brim of the glass. Talk about fancy!

            Then we were on the MARTA once again. This time it was to the World Congress Center, where the tournament was being held, just hundreds of feet away from the Georgia Dome. As we entered the World Congress Center, we were stopped by the amazement of the facility. This place was filled with a food court, a huge lobby, and volleyball courts in every direction you looked. The atmosphere was incredible with whistles blowing every second of the day and the roar of players as the celebrated each point scored. Everyone our team was excited for the first day of the tournament as well, not knowing what to expect as we were going to play teams from California, Virginia, and Missouri.

            Later that night as we rode the MARTA back home, we were mourning our three blowout losses to High Line Volleyball Club, Northern Virginia Volleyball Association, and St. Louis High Performance Volleyball Club. This wasn’t how I was expecting us to perform on our first day of competition. When we got back to the hotel, we were able to blow off some steam by taking a nice swim in the hotel’s big pool. The next day of competition was no different, as we were blown out again by the day’s competition. Things were starting to get pretty frustrating as we could figure out no way to pull off a victory in Atlanta.

            Despite our winless record so far, we were still having a lot of fun on our trip. During our rides to and from the hotel and World Congress Center, we had started playing a game to see who could stand up the longest during the tips and turns of the MARTA. I however did not participate in this game, as my tall body frame and I had trouble standing up on the MARTA even when hanging to the polls inside the train. Also, as a team, we started a little ritual known as the Alpha Formation. When the MARTA was in seeing distance of picking us up, we would all stand shoulder to shoulder as close to the tracks as possible without getting sucked up by the incoming train. Then back at the hotel, we got to go swimming in the pool each night and got to hang out with our roommates in our rooms until it was time to go to bed.

            On the last day of the tournament, we were up against NVVA once again, after beating a team from Pennsylvania the day before. This Virginia team was good. They had two kids over 6 feet tall that were heavy hitters, but this team had just come off a horrific loss to a California team due to a bad call by a referee. So they were at their highest peak of vulnerability, giving us our best opportunity to pull off the unthinkable upset. After the game had concluded, we did pull off the upset, besting NVVA 25-21, 26-24.

Beating NVVA was the perfect ending to our unbelievable experience at the Junior Olympics in Atlanta, Georgia, finishing as one of the top 25 teams for our respective age group. On this trip, I learned a lot about myself and was able to create a special bond with my teammates and my coach. This experience is one that I will never forget.

This year’s Junior Olympics are being held in Salt Lake City, Utah. Hopefully, my teammates and I will be fortunate enough to be able to make it Salt Lake City, as we face new and moving challenges on our way there.

 Phew. Glad that one is over. Overall, I don't think the piece was that bad for it being my Freshman year, but looking back I definitely should have tried to narrow down the amount of time I focused on. The focus was consistent, but it was too broad. This piece would have been a lot better had I focused on one specific moment from this trip, rather than the whole thing. Hopefully the second quarter is a little more exciting.

Pregame

Alright, alright. I know what you're all thinking right now: Hmm... this thing is titled "pregame"? Eric Decker, what is this? Well, if you know me well enough, you'll know that I love sports. The word "love" might be an understatement as to just how much I enjoy sports. At first, I was going to tail away from a sports-themed blog, but I mean, there are 4 quarters in a game, the numbers match up, I had to go with it. So this blog post here... I'm just getting warmed up. This thing here, this is my pregame stretching. I'm just getting loose.

So okay, I just want to point out that I think making a blog website for an school project is pretty cool. I've never had a blog before (((unless you want to count updating my Facebook status or Twitter updates as a blog) (And yes, I have a Twitter account.) (And yes, I just used triple bracketed parentheses in my blog post.))), so this is all new to me, but I am having a lot of fun so far.

Writing workshop over the years has been interesting. Looking back on my previous portfolios, it's not hard to notice that my portfolios from my Freshman year and Sophomore year were jokes compared to Junior and Senior year. I guess it only makes sense, right? That things should get a little more intense as the year go by? I don't even remember the night before my Freshman or Sophomore portfolios were due. I do, however, remember the nights before my Junior and Senior year portfolios were due. Oh what fun those nights were...

     So anyways, let's get on to the big show. The pregame is always pretty boring, unless you love watching players warm-up, stretch, and get all pumped up in large circles by making all sorts of grunts and loud noises. Yeah, that's fun stuff.