Kerry Wood is hurt. Again. Still. I don't even know anymore.
He is, of course, the Cubs' savior. And greatest disappointment. And hope. And heartbreak.
It was breathtaking to watch Wood's arrival in 1998. He seemed to have a cannon attached to his right shoulder, and a curve that was simply unhittable. He posted 20 strikeouts against the Astros on May 6, a cold, raw day at Wrigley, and everything seemed possible. Maybe it finally was Next Year! Then he wrecked his shoulder, and didn't pitch at all in 1999.
Since then, it has been moments of brilliance like few pitchers can even dream about, alternating with crushing reports of elbows, shoulders, tendinitis and surgeries. Wood has managed 30 or more starts twice: 2002 and 2003. No coincidence, these were the Cubs' best seasons since Leon Durham missed a ground ball in the 1984 NLCS, and the Padres went to the World Series.
The Cubs have finally come to grips with the fact that they cannot count on Wood, or Mark Prior, to be significant contributors. Oh, we've hoped for a full season for the Glimmer Twins, just to see. But coming off another surgery, Kerry fell getting out of his hot tub at home before Spring Training began. He had a couple of "minor setbacks" in the words of Lou Piniella-who hasn't been there long enough to understand that when it comes to Kerry Wood every setback is MAJOR!
They decided to make him a reliever to lessen his innings. That misses the point entirely. As a reliever he will have to warm up dozens of times more than a starter would. He'd have to be available day after day, not just every fifth. That aggravates the problem. Because the heart of the matter is that pitching is what destroys Kerry Wood. He doesn't do it right. Never has. Tragically, never will.
If you want to know how to pitch get some video. Look at Greg Maddux and Tom Glavine. Smooth, easy, every body part working together in harmony. Need a power pitcher? Go back to Tom Seaver. The drive with the legs. The fluid motion. Nothing flying out on its own. Picture the golf swing of Tiger Woods, or Jack Nicklaus back in the day. Not John Daly. No flailing.
That's Kerry's problem. He pitches like Daly hits a golf ball. When it just happens to fall into sync, it's awesome. 350 yard drives and 20 strikeout games! But most of the time the potential for an 8 on a par 3 is just around the next dog leg. Big John just walks off the course and leaves his scorecard unsigned when he's screwed up. Kerry needs another operation or two, and a year's rehab, when he gets a little off.
Kerry Wood will turn 30 this June. And it's over. He will begin the 2007 season on the Disabled List. Another setback. Stiffness in his shoulder after a couple of relief outings. He'll probably end the season the same way. Soon, the Cubs will move beyond not counting on him to no longer waiting for him. He'll spend his 30's bouncing around with two or three other teams so bereft of Major League arms that they will take the chance, and then, eventually, he'll give up too. So sad.
May I paraphrase Whittier? "For of all sad words of mound or pen, the saddest are these, 'It might have been.'"
Monday, March 26, 2007
Saturday, March 24, 2007
He's At It Again
The President of the United States is now, through his Iraq war, responsible for more American deaths than is Osama Bin Laden for the September 11, 2001 attacks. He has waged this war for longer than US forces were in World War II. He has consistently lied to National Guard members and Reservists about the length of their service, and to Army personnel about their number of rotations. And now POTUS has the anatomy to berate the congress for not supporting the troops.
Now, we all know at this point that the English language is not Mr. President's friend. That being said, how does one work it around in his mind that it is supportive to keep battle-fatigued, under-equipped men and women in harm's way, while holding that it is non-supportive to bring those same persons home, intact, to their families and lives?
Mr. President tells us that we must stay the course until we institute democracy in Iraq. If Mr. President believed so deeply in democracy, he would have told his brother not to cheat in November, 2000, and would have retired to his ranch to do Viagra ads, make speeches, and do whatever else failed candidates do when they have been defeated. Ah, but he believes that God chose him to be Mr. President in these difficult days.
Sir, if God wanted you to be Mr. President, God would have found other means than stealing two elections to make that happen. You see, and I know these will be foreign concepts for you, God operates openly, and with integrity. You might try those approaches yourself, sometime.
The congress is simply recalling that we elected them, legitimately for a change, to make changes in your war. It is a rare action called acting on the will of the people. Look it up, Mr. President; an old guy named Jefferson had a lot to say on the subject. We have had it with the pointless deaths of our young women and men who are only trying to serve honorably and faithfully. Again, sir, concepts you might want to try sometime.
We have understood your problem for some time. Maybe this will help: OK, we're convinced: you are a tougher, stronger man than your dad! Happy now? Good. Bring the kids home. Now. And, by the way, that would be the greatest show of real strength that you could make, you buffoon. The only thing you have accomplished in Iraq is killing more than 3,200 of our people and God only knows how many of theirs. You got rid of Saddam? Hallelujah! Now, when we finally leave, they will wind up with somebody as bad if not worse, to keep order amongst all the factions who want to kill each other.
You are a joke. Your Presidency is a sham. Your Administration is hopelessly corrupt. You have guaranteed that the children and grandchildren of people you have killed in Iraq-people who had no warmth for Saddam Hussein-will be looking for opportunities to kill my children and grandchildren as long as they live. You have turned the nations of the world against us. Even Tony Blair can't stick with you anymore. You are bankrupting us. And you are so stubborn that you will never change directions.
This is why I struggle with all your faith talk. Because conversion means that a person recognized that the direction they were headed in was wrong, and that they needed to move in another direction. You display no evidence of having learned that lesson. Hey, give it a try. It works. I have lived it. So have billions of other people who've come to grips with God's claim on our lives. Even you can learn something! Lent is a really good time for this. Repent, sir, for you have sinned and sinned grievously. A week from Friday we will mark the moment when Christ took all of our sins on himself, and destroyed them on the cross. Turn this over to him. End this war. End this killing. Bring our people home before another IED blows up, before another boy comes home with half his head blown off, or before another family has to bury a young daughter. Parents shouldn't have to bury their children. But of course, you know that; you've sure kept your kids far, far away from this damned war.
If I had my way, for just a day, I would put your kids, and Cheney's, and Wolfowitz' and Rumsfeld's too, on the front lines. Because if all you guys think the war is so right and proper, you should have sent your own kids before you asked for mine, or anyone else's. But you didn't, because you don't. You know the truth. You just disregard it. And that's inexcusable.
Shame on you!
And thank God for a majority in the Congress that now actually, really, supports the troops.
Now, we all know at this point that the English language is not Mr. President's friend. That being said, how does one work it around in his mind that it is supportive to keep battle-fatigued, under-equipped men and women in harm's way, while holding that it is non-supportive to bring those same persons home, intact, to their families and lives?
Mr. President tells us that we must stay the course until we institute democracy in Iraq. If Mr. President believed so deeply in democracy, he would have told his brother not to cheat in November, 2000, and would have retired to his ranch to do Viagra ads, make speeches, and do whatever else failed candidates do when they have been defeated. Ah, but he believes that God chose him to be Mr. President in these difficult days.
Sir, if God wanted you to be Mr. President, God would have found other means than stealing two elections to make that happen. You see, and I know these will be foreign concepts for you, God operates openly, and with integrity. You might try those approaches yourself, sometime.
The congress is simply recalling that we elected them, legitimately for a change, to make changes in your war. It is a rare action called acting on the will of the people. Look it up, Mr. President; an old guy named Jefferson had a lot to say on the subject. We have had it with the pointless deaths of our young women and men who are only trying to serve honorably and faithfully. Again, sir, concepts you might want to try sometime.
We have understood your problem for some time. Maybe this will help: OK, we're convinced: you are a tougher, stronger man than your dad! Happy now? Good. Bring the kids home. Now. And, by the way, that would be the greatest show of real strength that you could make, you buffoon. The only thing you have accomplished in Iraq is killing more than 3,200 of our people and God only knows how many of theirs. You got rid of Saddam? Hallelujah! Now, when we finally leave, they will wind up with somebody as bad if not worse, to keep order amongst all the factions who want to kill each other.
You are a joke. Your Presidency is a sham. Your Administration is hopelessly corrupt. You have guaranteed that the children and grandchildren of people you have killed in Iraq-people who had no warmth for Saddam Hussein-will be looking for opportunities to kill my children and grandchildren as long as they live. You have turned the nations of the world against us. Even Tony Blair can't stick with you anymore. You are bankrupting us. And you are so stubborn that you will never change directions.
This is why I struggle with all your faith talk. Because conversion means that a person recognized that the direction they were headed in was wrong, and that they needed to move in another direction. You display no evidence of having learned that lesson. Hey, give it a try. It works. I have lived it. So have billions of other people who've come to grips with God's claim on our lives. Even you can learn something! Lent is a really good time for this. Repent, sir, for you have sinned and sinned grievously. A week from Friday we will mark the moment when Christ took all of our sins on himself, and destroyed them on the cross. Turn this over to him. End this war. End this killing. Bring our people home before another IED blows up, before another boy comes home with half his head blown off, or before another family has to bury a young daughter. Parents shouldn't have to bury their children. But of course, you know that; you've sure kept your kids far, far away from this damned war.
If I had my way, for just a day, I would put your kids, and Cheney's, and Wolfowitz' and Rumsfeld's too, on the front lines. Because if all you guys think the war is so right and proper, you should have sent your own kids before you asked for mine, or anyone else's. But you didn't, because you don't. You know the truth. You just disregard it. And that's inexcusable.
Shame on you!
And thank God for a majority in the Congress that now actually, really, supports the troops.
Sleep Well, Sweet Prince of the Bullpen!
Jonathan Papelbon said he hasn't been sleeping well. He'd become obsessed with the idea of dropping this notion of becoming a starting pitcher, and going back to the Red Sox' bullpen to pick up where he left off as the best closer in the American League last year. Perhaps Pap knows that we card-carrying (yes, I mean this literally) members of Red Sox Nation (member number: 21709) haven't slept well since we were informed that Joel Piniero would be our closer in 2007. Or Mike Timlin. Or Craig Hansen. Or me. Or you. Or maybe Tito Francona's dad would stage a comeback and close games for a while. OK, that's slightly over-dramatized. But not much.
Now, we will thrill to the work of Schilling, Beckett, Matsuzaka, Wakefield and probably Julian Tavarez, marvel at the exploits of Papi and Manny, and rest secure knowing that Pap will be there at the end to blow away any potential threats in the ninth.
Oh, and Tito: it better be only the ninth, and if you get him up you better use him. Because it really doesn't matter if you were the manager who broke the curse. You mess this kid's arm up, and you're dogmeat. Because I wouldn't be surprised if that voice that's been whispering in Pap's ear that he really should be in the pen, the one that's been keeping him up nights, sounds an awful lot like your voice.
But we're all right there with you, until it blows up. Like they say across the SEC in the Fall, "We're right behind you, skip, win or tie!"
If that 26 year old right shoulder holds up, we will win the division! Thus Saith The Blogger!
Now, we will thrill to the work of Schilling, Beckett, Matsuzaka, Wakefield and probably Julian Tavarez, marvel at the exploits of Papi and Manny, and rest secure knowing that Pap will be there at the end to blow away any potential threats in the ninth.
Oh, and Tito: it better be only the ninth, and if you get him up you better use him. Because it really doesn't matter if you were the manager who broke the curse. You mess this kid's arm up, and you're dogmeat. Because I wouldn't be surprised if that voice that's been whispering in Pap's ear that he really should be in the pen, the one that's been keeping him up nights, sounds an awful lot like your voice.
But we're all right there with you, until it blows up. Like they say across the SEC in the Fall, "We're right behind you, skip, win or tie!"
If that 26 year old right shoulder holds up, we will win the division! Thus Saith The Blogger!
Friday, March 16, 2007
Renewal Again
The Bishop is really pushing this Renewal Leave. He says, and I can't dispute him, that we are abnormally at risk for burnout. I've seen the data on our divorce rates, alcoholism/drug abuse rates, and all that jazz. Most of these issues arise because, plain and simple, we are the people who take on others' burdens, and have no one to share ours (and, with confidentiality rules, all of theirs) with. We are the people who are expected to count God's promises of the Kingdom as a substitute for income, but last time I checked, God doesn't write checks for our kids' college expense. We are supposed to be available, period. No partners in the practice to take the other three weeks of the month. All the time. My family has had 6 vacations cut short by deaths or other emergency situations, and one cancelled for the same reason. Growing up, another 8 or 9 were affected likewise. (My current practice in response to that problem is to go so far away that there cannot be any expectation of return.)
My current assignment is publicly spectacular. We take in members, our budget grows (we're almost $1,000 per week ahead of last year), we meet our obligations in full. By any measure, things have gone remarkably well. Then there's the private side. I am currently at the lowest income I have had since 1993. And the high was almost $70,ooo in 1998. Less than $50,000 in 2007 doesn't match up, and $9,000 of that is the expense account required to do the job. Churches like mine in our fair area average right at $67,000, so we are significantly behind. For the first time in my 23 years under appointment, I received the Christmas gift that the Annual Conference gives to the lowest paid preachers. Life without a secretary (for the first time since 1991) doesn't get it, either. Or the other staff members that make a growing church keep going. The last time I was the whole deal, I was 28 years old. I'm not that any more, not by a long shot. I am the pastor, the secretary, the receptionist, the errand boy, tables and chairs set up crew, sometime custodian, children's worker, sometime youth worker, Seniors group leader, preacher, choir member, evangelism worker, and so on. And I'm good at all of them. The only problem is that I'm also a father and husband, son and brother and uncle, and I haven't been very good at any of those over the last 19 months. And I have a good situation, because I get to see positive results for my work. Most of my colleagues make more money, and have more help, but don't have the things to show for their work that I do.
My Summer off in 1995 came at a good time. I had just about had it. Three years of fighting with old folks about the mission of their church is wearing. Especially when their notion is that the church's mission is to hold their hands until they die. I was about done, and needed that break. I hope that the Bishop is able to put through his program. It would literally extend the lives of some of my brothers and sisters in the clergy. But I'm not sure that an adequate clergy care program can stop at a quadrennial month to get your head on straight again. There are a lot of months in between projected Renewal months...
My current assignment is publicly spectacular. We take in members, our budget grows (we're almost $1,000 per week ahead of last year), we meet our obligations in full. By any measure, things have gone remarkably well. Then there's the private side. I am currently at the lowest income I have had since 1993. And the high was almost $70,ooo in 1998. Less than $50,000 in 2007 doesn't match up, and $9,000 of that is the expense account required to do the job. Churches like mine in our fair area average right at $67,000, so we are significantly behind. For the first time in my 23 years under appointment, I received the Christmas gift that the Annual Conference gives to the lowest paid preachers. Life without a secretary (for the first time since 1991) doesn't get it, either. Or the other staff members that make a growing church keep going. The last time I was the whole deal, I was 28 years old. I'm not that any more, not by a long shot. I am the pastor, the secretary, the receptionist, the errand boy, tables and chairs set up crew, sometime custodian, children's worker, sometime youth worker, Seniors group leader, preacher, choir member, evangelism worker, and so on. And I'm good at all of them. The only problem is that I'm also a father and husband, son and brother and uncle, and I haven't been very good at any of those over the last 19 months. And I have a good situation, because I get to see positive results for my work. Most of my colleagues make more money, and have more help, but don't have the things to show for their work that I do.
My Summer off in 1995 came at a good time. I had just about had it. Three years of fighting with old folks about the mission of their church is wearing. Especially when their notion is that the church's mission is to hold their hands until they die. I was about done, and needed that break. I hope that the Bishop is able to put through his program. It would literally extend the lives of some of my brothers and sisters in the clergy. But I'm not sure that an adequate clergy care program can stop at a quadrennial month to get your head on straight again. There are a lot of months in between projected Renewal months...
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Several, Briefly...
A. We had a health scare last week. Mom had some cranky tests that proved to be, blessedly, benign. This is the downside of being 46. Mom turned 69 in February; Dad will be 70 in June. They are well, active and vital. That makes this a great time to be alive. But I'm no longer a kid, and whether I like it or not, the years are moving along. Enjoy today, friends, enjoy today!
B. Garrison Keillor played the Cannon Center Sunday night, and the wife and I gave the folks-Dad-an early birthday/Father's Day gift. Mr. Keillor is amazing. He performed for two and a half hours, taking no breaks. He led a singalong during the "intermission" and broke up his monologue several times to sing with Robin and Linda Williams, accompanied by Rich Dworski on piano. He talked for, probably, two hours, allowing for the musical interludes. I know what's involved in doing my little 20 minute monologues on Sunday mornings. I can barely comprehend what I witnessed the other night. And, oh yeah, he may be the funniest person on the planet. His genius, for 35 years, has been capturing small town American life. His vocabulary is unlimited, his inflection is everything, and if he doesn't leave you doubled over with sore ribs, you just don't have a sense of humor. My dear friend Edirol captured my father's laughter and my mother's singing amidst my braying. Treasure. What an evening.
C. Sammy Sosa made the club! Sammy will be on the opening day roster when the Rangers break camp. He's had a great Spring. I hope he has a tremendous season. I know the problems, but I love the guy. I witnessed firsthand, on many occasions, the joy the man found in the game. I'm glad he's recovered his smile and his enthusiasm. Baseball is better with Sammy in it.
D. The first day of the NCAA Tournament passed without incident. A couple of 9's beat 8's, but those are hardly upsets. Duke went out to Virginia Commonwealth, a 6 to an 11, but if you saw Duke this year, you know this wasn't an upset. No worry; Coach K (you're right, I don't know how to spell it) will be back and as good as ever.
E. Our Bishop is concerned with our well-being. I am as naturally skeptical as anyone I know, but I think he actually means it. He will require us to take a month's Renewal Leave in each quadrennium (a four year period that isn't called that by anyone who isn't United Methodist), and if we don't he will declare us unappointable. He does things differently from any leader we've had in my lifetime. That makes most of us who serve under him nervous from time to time, because he isn't predictable and seems to have no use for old standards like tenure and salary level. But I like the guy. If I were to be required to have dinner and spend an evening with any of the episcopal leaders I have served under, there's no doubt that the current one would be my choice. But he will have one hell of a fight on his hands to sell this notion to the churches. Renewal will sound to them like vacation, and we have clearly stated policies about vacation. But I won't bet against him making it work.
F. My younger daughter called, wanting to have lunch yesterday. Talk about making a rapidly aging dad feel great! She didn't want anything. Just wanted to spend a little of her last High School Spring Break hanging out with dad. I don't know when I felt so flattered. She is a tremendous young woman. She intends, at this point, to study education and early childhood development. Maybe she can straighten out the Memphis City Schools. Don't bet against her, either. She is just the right medicine for what ails us: intelligent, decent, generous and a genuine love for kids. I would be thrilled if that proves to be her calling in life.
G. One of our church families has quadruplet boys who just turned 3. Another family has a two year old boy. We had lunch with those families last Sunday. To borrow a phrase, That's Entertainment! The best part of a lot of good parts is watching four parents who are dedicated to being parents. All too often the kids are turned loose now to raise themselves, and they just can't do it. They don't have the tools, and there is absolutely no way that they could have them. And yet, in so many instances, even little ones are pushed out there with a hearty "Good Luck" and little else. Why are people afraid to be parents? Children need their parents. Strong, decisive, gracious and loving parents. Who know how to say "No" often, and mean it. Kids just don't need everything they want simply because they laid eyes on it. They are done a disservice when they are lied to and allowed to believe that life will hand over every whim that their hearts ever desire. Boundaries matter. Rules are important. I am proud of my parishoners who work hard at raising their children. And it is hard! The only thing harder is not working at raising the children.
H. Go Tigers Go! Ten hours to tip-off against North Texas State.
B. Garrison Keillor played the Cannon Center Sunday night, and the wife and I gave the folks-Dad-an early birthday/Father's Day gift. Mr. Keillor is amazing. He performed for two and a half hours, taking no breaks. He led a singalong during the "intermission" and broke up his monologue several times to sing with Robin and Linda Williams, accompanied by Rich Dworski on piano. He talked for, probably, two hours, allowing for the musical interludes. I know what's involved in doing my little 20 minute monologues on Sunday mornings. I can barely comprehend what I witnessed the other night. And, oh yeah, he may be the funniest person on the planet. His genius, for 35 years, has been capturing small town American life. His vocabulary is unlimited, his inflection is everything, and if he doesn't leave you doubled over with sore ribs, you just don't have a sense of humor. My dear friend Edirol captured my father's laughter and my mother's singing amidst my braying. Treasure. What an evening.
C. Sammy Sosa made the club! Sammy will be on the opening day roster when the Rangers break camp. He's had a great Spring. I hope he has a tremendous season. I know the problems, but I love the guy. I witnessed firsthand, on many occasions, the joy the man found in the game. I'm glad he's recovered his smile and his enthusiasm. Baseball is better with Sammy in it.
D. The first day of the NCAA Tournament passed without incident. A couple of 9's beat 8's, but those are hardly upsets. Duke went out to Virginia Commonwealth, a 6 to an 11, but if you saw Duke this year, you know this wasn't an upset. No worry; Coach K (you're right, I don't know how to spell it) will be back and as good as ever.
E. Our Bishop is concerned with our well-being. I am as naturally skeptical as anyone I know, but I think he actually means it. He will require us to take a month's Renewal Leave in each quadrennium (a four year period that isn't called that by anyone who isn't United Methodist), and if we don't he will declare us unappointable. He does things differently from any leader we've had in my lifetime. That makes most of us who serve under him nervous from time to time, because he isn't predictable and seems to have no use for old standards like tenure and salary level. But I like the guy. If I were to be required to have dinner and spend an evening with any of the episcopal leaders I have served under, there's no doubt that the current one would be my choice. But he will have one hell of a fight on his hands to sell this notion to the churches. Renewal will sound to them like vacation, and we have clearly stated policies about vacation. But I won't bet against him making it work.
F. My younger daughter called, wanting to have lunch yesterday. Talk about making a rapidly aging dad feel great! She didn't want anything. Just wanted to spend a little of her last High School Spring Break hanging out with dad. I don't know when I felt so flattered. She is a tremendous young woman. She intends, at this point, to study education and early childhood development. Maybe she can straighten out the Memphis City Schools. Don't bet against her, either. She is just the right medicine for what ails us: intelligent, decent, generous and a genuine love for kids. I would be thrilled if that proves to be her calling in life.
G. One of our church families has quadruplet boys who just turned 3. Another family has a two year old boy. We had lunch with those families last Sunday. To borrow a phrase, That's Entertainment! The best part of a lot of good parts is watching four parents who are dedicated to being parents. All too often the kids are turned loose now to raise themselves, and they just can't do it. They don't have the tools, and there is absolutely no way that they could have them. And yet, in so many instances, even little ones are pushed out there with a hearty "Good Luck" and little else. Why are people afraid to be parents? Children need their parents. Strong, decisive, gracious and loving parents. Who know how to say "No" often, and mean it. Kids just don't need everything they want simply because they laid eyes on it. They are done a disservice when they are lied to and allowed to believe that life will hand over every whim that their hearts ever desire. Boundaries matter. Rules are important. I am proud of my parishoners who work hard at raising their children. And it is hard! The only thing harder is not working at raising the children.
H. Go Tigers Go! Ten hours to tip-off against North Texas State.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Spring Training
I read a piece yesterday by a Bitter Old Man who was bemoaning the loss of the Spring Training of his youth. You know, the one where the Boston Braves played the Brooklyn Dodgers for $1.25 tickets, quarter hot dogs and so forth. That, from the days when a new Ford was $800, Toyota was thought to be a serious medical condition, and average household incomes hovered around $6 per year.
I just had my first experience of Spring Training. My Compulsively Generous Friend called with news of a business meeting he had to make that would allow Me the Moocher to visit several Fields of Dreams in a couple of days. Well, Fields of Dreams for the Phillies, Pirates, Reds and Indians. For the Devil Rays, it would be Field of Fantasy, and for the Yankees, Field of Heavy Expectations.
It was awesome.
I grew up with an understanding of, and participation in, the Redneck Riviera of Destin, Panama City and Pensacola, but I hate Florida in the Summer. I wrestle with whether the God of Love could actually create and sentence people to a place like the traditional Southern (Baptist) notion of Hell, but if it exists, I believe that the temperature and overcrowding will approximate Panama City in mid-August.
But mid-March in Florida is glorious. Brilliant sunshine chasing my Mid-South Winter gray right off of my hide, hot dogs at the park, polite kids newly bitten by the baseball bug begging autographs off of young guys trying to act like the Major Leaguers they desperately want to become. Heaven!
Today, the ticket prices are close to those at the big league parks. The concession prices rival those of the regular season. But then again, I make a little more today than I did in 1964. When I was 3. When the average home price in my community is $228,000, and new car prices are averaging close to $30,ooo, $15 for three hours of Joy seems downright cheap.
My Compulsively Generous Friend gave me my two visits to the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, an afternoon in a Turner Field luxury suite, my trip to the park previously known as PacBell, and my visits to Fenway Park and Yankee Stadium. Once more, he has provided an experience that I will now be striving to repeat as often as possible. Everybody should be so fortunate as to have a friend like mine. Because that's another great thing about baseball: it is a communal game. It is designed to be shared by people who know some of its history, most of its rules, and carry a deep faith that something amazing will happen in the next inning, even if that inning will be played by guys wearing numbers that are more common to tight ends and offensive linemen. People who like to share those old stories, and the new dreams that keep the game fresh and exciting every year; that's what baseball is all about.
Thanks, again, Mike, for everything!
I just had my first experience of Spring Training. My Compulsively Generous Friend called with news of a business meeting he had to make that would allow Me the Moocher to visit several Fields of Dreams in a couple of days. Well, Fields of Dreams for the Phillies, Pirates, Reds and Indians. For the Devil Rays, it would be Field of Fantasy, and for the Yankees, Field of Heavy Expectations.
It was awesome.
I grew up with an understanding of, and participation in, the Redneck Riviera of Destin, Panama City and Pensacola, but I hate Florida in the Summer. I wrestle with whether the God of Love could actually create and sentence people to a place like the traditional Southern (Baptist) notion of Hell, but if it exists, I believe that the temperature and overcrowding will approximate Panama City in mid-August.
But mid-March in Florida is glorious. Brilliant sunshine chasing my Mid-South Winter gray right off of my hide, hot dogs at the park, polite kids newly bitten by the baseball bug begging autographs off of young guys trying to act like the Major Leaguers they desperately want to become. Heaven!
Today, the ticket prices are close to those at the big league parks. The concession prices rival those of the regular season. But then again, I make a little more today than I did in 1964. When I was 3. When the average home price in my community is $228,000, and new car prices are averaging close to $30,ooo, $15 for three hours of Joy seems downright cheap.
My Compulsively Generous Friend gave me my two visits to the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, an afternoon in a Turner Field luxury suite, my trip to the park previously known as PacBell, and my visits to Fenway Park and Yankee Stadium. Once more, he has provided an experience that I will now be striving to repeat as often as possible. Everybody should be so fortunate as to have a friend like mine. Because that's another great thing about baseball: it is a communal game. It is designed to be shared by people who know some of its history, most of its rules, and carry a deep faith that something amazing will happen in the next inning, even if that inning will be played by guys wearing numbers that are more common to tight ends and offensive linemen. People who like to share those old stories, and the new dreams that keep the game fresh and exciting every year; that's what baseball is all about.
Thanks, again, Mike, for everything!
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