Some rich guy is buying the Tribune Company, which apparently means that the Cubs will be spun off after this season, like some failed corporate division. This is news. This is big.
Mark Cuban wants to buy the Cubs.
I love the Red Sox. I am passionate about the Cardinals and the Braves. I deeply enjoy the Giants (due to Jon Miller's work). But if Cuban buys the Cubs, all bets are off.
If you've been in a cave, Cuban is the boy wonder who invented some internet audio streaming system while sitting around in his dorm room during college, while most of the rest of us were drunk at the fraternity house. Cuban and his partner, whose name I cannot recall, sold their invention to some larger .com during the boom for about a bazillion dollars. The partner must have bought a remote South Pacific island and disappeared. Cuban invested a miniscule amount of his serendipity in the then-woeful Dallas Mavericks. You know, the Mavericks? Who employed Roy Tarpley, the Steve Howe of the NBA. The Mavs, who signed some skinny German kid, Dark...Dork...maybe Dirk something. The Mavs, with cranky old Don Nelson coaching them and trading away Steve Nash.
Yeah, that'd be the Mavericks, who lost the NBA Finals to the Miami Wades last Spring, and are far and away the best team in the league this year. Because of their owner. He's smart. He has learned. Fast.
Cuban is also crazy. He yells at referees. He challenges David Stern. He tells the truth. He couldn't care less about fines for all of the above, because, again, he has half a bazillion dollars.
And Avery Johnson. And Dirk Nowitski. And Josh Howard, Jason Terry, Jerry Stackhouse, Erick Dampier and Devin Harris. And, in all likelihood, an NBA title in his near future.
I want Cuban in baseball. I want Cuban in Chicago. I want Cuban ruling Wrigley. I want Cuban to include his friend, Bill Murray, in his ownership group. Why? Have you seen the Pebble Beach Golf Tournament? The ghost of Bill Veeck lives in Bill Murray's soul (via Veeck's son, Mike, a Murray partner in the St. Paul Saints of the Northern League). Baseball needs that spirit. And I want Cuban to make friends with Steve Stone, and bring him back in whatever role Stoney wants. Baseball needs passion and intelligence like Steve Stone's. And I don't ever want to hear of another stuffed suit on a high floor of the Tribune Building making any decision that impacts Wrigleyville, the Cubs, or the longest-suffering fans in the world (even before the Red Sox and White Sox ended their droughts).
Let Mark Do It.
That's the only campaign slogan I want to hear this year. Sell the Cubs to Cuban. He will know what to do with them. And if he doesn't, he'll learn. And it will be fun. And the Cubs will win a World Series. Because Cuban is the most dangerous thing in sports ownership: a passionate fan with half a bazillion dollars. I love him. He's me, and all of us, with bucks. He's just the guy to entrust with a public trust like the Cubs and their Friendly Confines.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
The Saddest Words...
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.'"
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.'"
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!
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Santo Revisited, Revisited
Nice going guys! I guess you 25 who didn't vote for Ron Santo feel much better about yourselves now. You must be much prouder of your Hall membership for keeping Santo waiting. Shame on each of you!
Monday, February 26, 2007
Vote Santo into the Hall...NOW!
Tomorrow the ballot of the Veterans' Committee of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum will be announced. The odds are overwhelming that if anyone is elected it will be Ron Santo and/or Gil Hodges. I'm not a Dodger guy, but honesty compels me to say that Hodges doesn't cut it among first basemen in the Hall. There are 18 players identified as first basemen in the Hall's accounting-leaving out those such as Aaron, Banks and Musial who spent time there, but are pricipally identified with other positions. There are three others who played in the Negro Leagues, which, tragically, means that their statistical records are incomplete, and therefore cannot be used in a comparison like this. Hodges doesn't stack up. Sorry. Good man, great leader, pretty good manager. Not a Hall of Famer.
But then there is Ron Santo.
Santo is said to fail the Hall test due to his .277 lifetime batting average. Let's take a look at the numbers. There are 10 players in the Hall identified as Major League third basemen. It's a pretty darned impressive group: (in no particular order) Brooks Robinson, George Brett, Wade Boggs, Mike Schmidt, Eddie Mathews, Pie Traynor, George Kell, Jimmy Collins, Frank "Home Run" Baker, and Freddie Lindstrom. (For the sake of brevity, I will speak as though Ron is in.)
Games Played: Ron comes in sixth of the eleven;
At Bats: again, sixth of eleven;
Runs Scored: Ron lands seventh;
Hits: sixth;
Doubles: seventh;
Triples: eighth;
Home Runs: Ron is third-and most of his hit during the best pitching years of the modern era;
RBI: fifth-see the previous comment about the 1960's;
Batting Average: eighth;
Slugging Percentage: fourth;
OPS: fifth;
Ron, not surprisingly, trails Mike Schmidt, Eddie Mathews, George Brett and Wade Boggs in most offensive categories, although Ron leaves Boggs in the dust in the power categories. Santo is comparable, offensively, to Brooks Robinson, and bests Robinson by ten batting average points. In fact, Ron's BA is better than Brooks', Schmidt's and Mathews'. And, again, batting average is the primary issue cited against voting him in. Once more, Santo was batting against Bob Gibson's 1.12 ERA, Sandy Koufax' no-hitters, Don Drysdale's brushbacks, Juan Marichal's kick and toughness, and all of them and more throwing from the higher mound. None of the third basemen in the Hall had to take most of their career ABs between 1960 and 1968, and Santo STILL put up those numbers! Remember, Yaz won the AL batting title in 1968 with a .301 average.
Santo beats Kell, Traynor, Collins, Baker and Lindstrom in most all of the categories.
Oh yeah, there's one more measure: defense.
The Gold Glove award isn't perfect, but it certainly is one standard. Only four of these eleven men won multiple Gold Gloves. Brooks Robinson, of course, is the gold standard with 16. Michael Jack Schmidt claimed 10. But then it's Ron Santo next, with 5. (Wade Boggs won 2).
Ron says that he doesn't want to be elected to the Hall of Fame because he's a great guy and a legitimate inspiration, having played his entire career as an insulin dependent diabetic, who has now lost the lower portions of both legs to this vicious disease. My wife has been an insulin dependent diabetic from about the same age as Ron. It is a challenge for diabetics to make it through each day with the balancing of food, exercise and insulin, much less perform as a top-flight professional athlete while doing all of that. And this isn't even to mention that Santo is one of the genuinely tremendous human beings on the planet. He routinely, without cameras and microphones, make calls and visits to children who are newly diagnosed with diabetes, and hosts them and their families in the WGN radio booth at Wrigley. Because he wants those strangers to know they are not alone in their fight, and that they can persevere and realize their dreams, because he did.
Ron Santo doesn't need a sympathy vote to get into the Hall. He doesn't need a hero's respect to get in. Ron DESERVES, on the merits of his career, to be voted into the Hall of Fame. The problem with the new Veterans' Committee procedure is that giving the vote to the living HOFers encourages them to see themselves above anyone not elected by the BBWAA. They want Cooperstown to be exclusive, because the more exclusive the club is, the better they must have been to have gotten in. To quote the legendary Col. Sherman Potter, "Horse Hockey!" It doesn't demean George Kell or Frank Baker or even Mike Schmidt to give Ron Santo what he earned on the field.
And I have no doubt that Ron Santo will one day be elected. If his disease and personality play any role in this consideration, it is that it would be a crime to wait until Ron has passed from the scene to induct him. The Hall of Fame is poorer for Ron's absence. And that should be corrected when the vote is announced on Tuesday. Don't take the chance of leaving it to the next Veterans' ballot in 2009. Take care of this injustice now!
But then there is Ron Santo.
Santo is said to fail the Hall test due to his .277 lifetime batting average. Let's take a look at the numbers. There are 10 players in the Hall identified as Major League third basemen. It's a pretty darned impressive group: (in no particular order) Brooks Robinson, George Brett, Wade Boggs, Mike Schmidt, Eddie Mathews, Pie Traynor, George Kell, Jimmy Collins, Frank "Home Run" Baker, and Freddie Lindstrom. (For the sake of brevity, I will speak as though Ron is in.)
Games Played: Ron comes in sixth of the eleven;
At Bats: again, sixth of eleven;
Runs Scored: Ron lands seventh;
Hits: sixth;
Doubles: seventh;
Triples: eighth;
Home Runs: Ron is third-and most of his hit during the best pitching years of the modern era;
RBI: fifth-see the previous comment about the 1960's;
Batting Average: eighth;
Slugging Percentage: fourth;
OPS: fifth;
Ron, not surprisingly, trails Mike Schmidt, Eddie Mathews, George Brett and Wade Boggs in most offensive categories, although Ron leaves Boggs in the dust in the power categories. Santo is comparable, offensively, to Brooks Robinson, and bests Robinson by ten batting average points. In fact, Ron's BA is better than Brooks', Schmidt's and Mathews'. And, again, batting average is the primary issue cited against voting him in. Once more, Santo was batting against Bob Gibson's 1.12 ERA, Sandy Koufax' no-hitters, Don Drysdale's brushbacks, Juan Marichal's kick and toughness, and all of them and more throwing from the higher mound. None of the third basemen in the Hall had to take most of their career ABs between 1960 and 1968, and Santo STILL put up those numbers! Remember, Yaz won the AL batting title in 1968 with a .301 average.
Santo beats Kell, Traynor, Collins, Baker and Lindstrom in most all of the categories.
Oh yeah, there's one more measure: defense.
The Gold Glove award isn't perfect, but it certainly is one standard. Only four of these eleven men won multiple Gold Gloves. Brooks Robinson, of course, is the gold standard with 16. Michael Jack Schmidt claimed 10. But then it's Ron Santo next, with 5. (Wade Boggs won 2).
Ron says that he doesn't want to be elected to the Hall of Fame because he's a great guy and a legitimate inspiration, having played his entire career as an insulin dependent diabetic, who has now lost the lower portions of both legs to this vicious disease. My wife has been an insulin dependent diabetic from about the same age as Ron. It is a challenge for diabetics to make it through each day with the balancing of food, exercise and insulin, much less perform as a top-flight professional athlete while doing all of that. And this isn't even to mention that Santo is one of the genuinely tremendous human beings on the planet. He routinely, without cameras and microphones, make calls and visits to children who are newly diagnosed with diabetes, and hosts them and their families in the WGN radio booth at Wrigley. Because he wants those strangers to know they are not alone in their fight, and that they can persevere and realize their dreams, because he did.
Ron Santo doesn't need a sympathy vote to get into the Hall. He doesn't need a hero's respect to get in. Ron DESERVES, on the merits of his career, to be voted into the Hall of Fame. The problem with the new Veterans' Committee procedure is that giving the vote to the living HOFers encourages them to see themselves above anyone not elected by the BBWAA. They want Cooperstown to be exclusive, because the more exclusive the club is, the better they must have been to have gotten in. To quote the legendary Col. Sherman Potter, "Horse Hockey!" It doesn't demean George Kell or Frank Baker or even Mike Schmidt to give Ron Santo what he earned on the field.
And I have no doubt that Ron Santo will one day be elected. If his disease and personality play any role in this consideration, it is that it would be a crime to wait until Ron has passed from the scene to induct him. The Hall of Fame is poorer for Ron's absence. And that should be corrected when the vote is announced on Tuesday. Don't take the chance of leaving it to the next Veterans' ballot in 2009. Take care of this injustice now!
Thursday, February 22, 2007
For the Musically Uneducated: Essential Information
If you live in/near Memphis, TN, and don't care about music, I have just one question: Why?
Why are you here? Why are you wasting your life? Why don't you know what matters? Why don't you know you are living in the best place on earth? Why? Okay, that's six questions.
Mini-rant completed, here's a little hope/help for you.
Two words: DiAnne Price. That's all you need to know. She's all you need to hear to change your bereft existence and your apparently meaningless meandering through your alleged life. DiAnne plays at the downtown Huey's periodically on Sunday nights, she plays at the Vault on the Highland Strip on Wednesdays, and a Crosstown club called Sessions on Thursdays. More often than not, she is accompanied by some combination of Tim Goodwin on bass, Tom Lonardo on drums and Jim Spake on saxes. DiAnne's forte is barrelhouse blues piano with the appropriately smoky, incredible voice that goes with it. She knows every song every written, and no two shows are alike. DiAnne won the Memphis Magazine poll for Best Female Vocalist so many times in a row in the late 80's and 90's that they retired the category. Understand?
Her Boyfriends, as the gentlemen are known, are (not even arguably, really) the finest players on their instruments in this music rich city. Spake's discography is only surpassed by Jim Dickinson's (genuflection accomplished). Goodwin and Lonardo are everywhere with everyone of note, pun intended.
Full Disclosure: DiAnne has been my friend for 16 years, but don't assume any bias here. She is the best, she loves her audience, and by the end of an evening's performance, you will feel that you've known her forever, too.
Mack Orr is another treasure. The stage name is Daddy Mack. By day, hard-working mechanic. By night, a powerful singer and guitar player who decided as a middle-aged man that he needed to let the music out of his soul, and so began to study the guitar. The result is delightful. Mack fronts a band that includes local legends William Faulkner on drums and the brothers James (bass) and Harold Bonner (guitar). These guys have been participants in the fluid world of The Fieldstones over the years, and comprise the house band, as the Universal Blues Players, at the Blue Worm on Lamar on Friday and Saturday late nights. Mack plays all over, and is a warm, gracious man who puts on a great show. Look for him!
Venue: The Center for Southern Folklore, far and away. Judy Peyser maintains a little oasis a couple of blocks off of Beale that is much more authentic Memphis than just about anything you can find today on Beale. A daquiri bar, for crying out loud? Skip it. Go to the Center. No smoking in there, a great bowl of chili and hotwater cornbread, cold beer and real music. Daddy Mack plays there many Fridays. Judy puts on the best music festival in the city every Labor Day weekend (please-go back to including Mondays!). Everybody who's good performs, in every tradition, from the fun old pop of Smoochy and Hooch to the powerful harp of Big George Brock, from the inimitable Billy Gibson and David Bowen to the cool jazz of Renardo Ward's band The Promise, from the gospel of the Orange Mound Messengers to the country train songs of Roy Harper, to my pal DiAnne Price, there is absolutely something for everyone. The Beale Street Music Festival has the name; the Memphis Music and Heritage Festival has the musicians!
For radio, no question, it's WEVL, FM 89.9. My favorite is Cap'n Pete's Blues Cruise, 9 to midnite on Fridays. Delta to Chicago, oldest to newest, with just the right host. This is an education and joy every single week.
I still am waiting for Tater Red to get back on the radio. For years, the Beale Street Blues Show on Rock 103 was my Sunday night wind-down. But then Satanic media destroyers Clear Channel bought the station and wrecked everything good about it, Tater first. He moved over to 107.5, the Pig, an eclectic format, doomed for failure. We Memphians, as a group, don't like our own music. I can only surmise that we're too dumb to see (hear) what we consider a birthright. The Pig put Tater on mornings. Tater isn't a morning, sunshine, stupid cute banter guy. He's a late night, real blues, smokey room kind of guy. No body better at that. Come back, Leo! We need you!
Now, a bit of a left turn: on the internet, check out KALW out of San Francisco late on Monday nights. At 11 pm our time, they play Beale Street Caravan. They follow the Caravan with Mark Naftalin's Blues Power Hour. Then comes Fog City Blues, a really good show hosted by the improbably named Devon Strolovich. Go on Ebay, buy a pMarq stream recorder, set it for 180 minutes at 11 pm at cd quality. Thank me later! (any good audio converter will let you make the .wav file into an mp3, ready to be carried on your personal choice in players--just don't get anything in the abominable ipod line! Creative Vision:M, Creative Zen Micro or Zen MicroPhoto are all excellent, as are the iRiver iFP 799 or 899-I have them all, and recommend them all unreservedly-just stay away from the spawn of Satan ipod! Much like Andre Agassi, all style and marketing, no substance whatsoever!)
Now, take this information to heart, and go grow a soul!
Why are you here? Why are you wasting your life? Why don't you know what matters? Why don't you know you are living in the best place on earth? Why? Okay, that's six questions.
Mini-rant completed, here's a little hope/help for you.
Two words: DiAnne Price. That's all you need to know. She's all you need to hear to change your bereft existence and your apparently meaningless meandering through your alleged life. DiAnne plays at the downtown Huey's periodically on Sunday nights, she plays at the Vault on the Highland Strip on Wednesdays, and a Crosstown club called Sessions on Thursdays. More often than not, she is accompanied by some combination of Tim Goodwin on bass, Tom Lonardo on drums and Jim Spake on saxes. DiAnne's forte is barrelhouse blues piano with the appropriately smoky, incredible voice that goes with it. She knows every song every written, and no two shows are alike. DiAnne won the Memphis Magazine poll for Best Female Vocalist so many times in a row in the late 80's and 90's that they retired the category. Understand?
Her Boyfriends, as the gentlemen are known, are (not even arguably, really) the finest players on their instruments in this music rich city. Spake's discography is only surpassed by Jim Dickinson's (genuflection accomplished). Goodwin and Lonardo are everywhere with everyone of note, pun intended.
Full Disclosure: DiAnne has been my friend for 16 years, but don't assume any bias here. She is the best, she loves her audience, and by the end of an evening's performance, you will feel that you've known her forever, too.
Mack Orr is another treasure. The stage name is Daddy Mack. By day, hard-working mechanic. By night, a powerful singer and guitar player who decided as a middle-aged man that he needed to let the music out of his soul, and so began to study the guitar. The result is delightful. Mack fronts a band that includes local legends William Faulkner on drums and the brothers James (bass) and Harold Bonner (guitar). These guys have been participants in the fluid world of The Fieldstones over the years, and comprise the house band, as the Universal Blues Players, at the Blue Worm on Lamar on Friday and Saturday late nights. Mack plays all over, and is a warm, gracious man who puts on a great show. Look for him!
Venue: The Center for Southern Folklore, far and away. Judy Peyser maintains a little oasis a couple of blocks off of Beale that is much more authentic Memphis than just about anything you can find today on Beale. A daquiri bar, for crying out loud? Skip it. Go to the Center. No smoking in there, a great bowl of chili and hotwater cornbread, cold beer and real music. Daddy Mack plays there many Fridays. Judy puts on the best music festival in the city every Labor Day weekend (please-go back to including Mondays!). Everybody who's good performs, in every tradition, from the fun old pop of Smoochy and Hooch to the powerful harp of Big George Brock, from the inimitable Billy Gibson and David Bowen to the cool jazz of Renardo Ward's band The Promise, from the gospel of the Orange Mound Messengers to the country train songs of Roy Harper, to my pal DiAnne Price, there is absolutely something for everyone. The Beale Street Music Festival has the name; the Memphis Music and Heritage Festival has the musicians!
For radio, no question, it's WEVL, FM 89.9. My favorite is Cap'n Pete's Blues Cruise, 9 to midnite on Fridays. Delta to Chicago, oldest to newest, with just the right host. This is an education and joy every single week.
I still am waiting for Tater Red to get back on the radio. For years, the Beale Street Blues Show on Rock 103 was my Sunday night wind-down. But then Satanic media destroyers Clear Channel bought the station and wrecked everything good about it, Tater first. He moved over to 107.5, the Pig, an eclectic format, doomed for failure. We Memphians, as a group, don't like our own music. I can only surmise that we're too dumb to see (hear) what we consider a birthright. The Pig put Tater on mornings. Tater isn't a morning, sunshine, stupid cute banter guy. He's a late night, real blues, smokey room kind of guy. No body better at that. Come back, Leo! We need you!
Now, a bit of a left turn: on the internet, check out KALW out of San Francisco late on Monday nights. At 11 pm our time, they play Beale Street Caravan. They follow the Caravan with Mark Naftalin's Blues Power Hour. Then comes Fog City Blues, a really good show hosted by the improbably named Devon Strolovich. Go on Ebay, buy a pMarq stream recorder, set it for 180 minutes at 11 pm at cd quality. Thank me later! (any good audio converter will let you make the .wav file into an mp3, ready to be carried on your personal choice in players--just don't get anything in the abominable ipod line! Creative Vision:M, Creative Zen Micro or Zen MicroPhoto are all excellent, as are the iRiver iFP 799 or 899-I have them all, and recommend them all unreservedly-just stay away from the spawn of Satan ipod! Much like Andre Agassi, all style and marketing, no substance whatsoever!)
Now, take this information to heart, and go grow a soul!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Evangelism
We had a district preacher's meeting today. One of the issues on the agenda was evangelism. More specifically, the issue is the loss of membership in our district. The bulk of our district is the northern half of Memphis and Shelby County. We are a white, middle-class church. Memphis is an increasingly black, poor city. Our church has black congregations. For the most part, at least in our city, those congregations are very small. With the exception of a couple, their pastor's salaries have to be subsidized by the conference to provide something resembling a living wage. The couple that are larger and self-sufficient worship much more in the style of the white churches than the COGIC churches that dominate Memphis' black community.
With the exception of our one megachurch, our congregations in the city limits are old and shrinking. Most of our pastors, and I was one of them at two different churches, spend the majority of their time visiting hospitals and nursing homes, and holding funerals. Our people are good people. They have tried to live good lives. But the vast majority of them have turned the corner of life. I believe that our lives are shaped like diamonds. We spend a long period from the start with our world getting bigger and bigger. But at some point, we turn the corner, and our world starts to draw down again. As we age, deal with infirmity, and move toward the end, the world gets smaller and smaller. It is just not realistic to expect those whose world has become very small to find a way to change worship styles, change the identity of their church, and lay aside whatever biases have burdened their existence for 70, 80 or 90 years.
We predominantly white United Methodists don't relate well to African-Americans in worship. We don't relate well to hispanics in worship. Hell, we don't even speak their language. And the white people in the city of Memphis are moving out, if they are concerned about the school system or personal safety, or dying out if they feel that they are too old to move and start over. And our churches will continue to decline until all of them except for three or four wind up closed. And it has nothing to do with anyone's desire to do evangelism. It has everything to do with the cultural expressions of worship.
All this is frustrating.
What infuriates me is that I have been the same guy for the last 8 years. For the first six of those I was seen as a failure because my churches shrank and we did not pay our conference and general church apportionments. For the last two years I have been seen as stunningly effective and successful! My church is growing by leaps and bounds, and the finances are growing accordingly. We pay everything, and even turned a profit of $11,000 last year. I'm the same guy. I didn't have any sudden epiphanies that turned my performance around. I was just moved from a city neighborhood where there are very few options for the white church, to a bedroom community outside Shelby County where people-most all of them families with children-are flooding in to avoid putting their kids in the Memphis City Schools. Now I'm an evangelism expert!
One promise: I will never, ever, forget that so much of this is contextual. I have sat in workshops and presentations by colleagues who never did anything but get appointed to the communities that the white folks were running away to. They get so impressed with themselves for all their accomplishments. I was as good in 1999 as I am in 2007. No matter what the numbers said.
And shuffling the white folks from city to county and county to outlying area isn't evangelism.
With the exception of our one megachurch, our congregations in the city limits are old and shrinking. Most of our pastors, and I was one of them at two different churches, spend the majority of their time visiting hospitals and nursing homes, and holding funerals. Our people are good people. They have tried to live good lives. But the vast majority of them have turned the corner of life. I believe that our lives are shaped like diamonds. We spend a long period from the start with our world getting bigger and bigger. But at some point, we turn the corner, and our world starts to draw down again. As we age, deal with infirmity, and move toward the end, the world gets smaller and smaller. It is just not realistic to expect those whose world has become very small to find a way to change worship styles, change the identity of their church, and lay aside whatever biases have burdened their existence for 70, 80 or 90 years.
We predominantly white United Methodists don't relate well to African-Americans in worship. We don't relate well to hispanics in worship. Hell, we don't even speak their language. And the white people in the city of Memphis are moving out, if they are concerned about the school system or personal safety, or dying out if they feel that they are too old to move and start over. And our churches will continue to decline until all of them except for three or four wind up closed. And it has nothing to do with anyone's desire to do evangelism. It has everything to do with the cultural expressions of worship.
All this is frustrating.
What infuriates me is that I have been the same guy for the last 8 years. For the first six of those I was seen as a failure because my churches shrank and we did not pay our conference and general church apportionments. For the last two years I have been seen as stunningly effective and successful! My church is growing by leaps and bounds, and the finances are growing accordingly. We pay everything, and even turned a profit of $11,000 last year. I'm the same guy. I didn't have any sudden epiphanies that turned my performance around. I was just moved from a city neighborhood where there are very few options for the white church, to a bedroom community outside Shelby County where people-most all of them families with children-are flooding in to avoid putting their kids in the Memphis City Schools. Now I'm an evangelism expert!
One promise: I will never, ever, forget that so much of this is contextual. I have sat in workshops and presentations by colleagues who never did anything but get appointed to the communities that the white folks were running away to. They get so impressed with themselves for all their accomplishments. I was as good in 1999 as I am in 2007. No matter what the numbers said.
And shuffling the white folks from city to county and county to outlying area isn't evangelism.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Leave The Hammer Out Of It!
Henry Louis Aaron turned 73 a week ago. There is nothing that I can add to the reporting that has been done so ably on everything that Hank had to deal with in the run-up to April 8, 1974. That was the night that Al Downing grooved one, and the aging but still effective master pulled it over the left field fence in Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium. It was the 715th time The Hammer had parked one in the seats, and with it, the man from Mobile surpassed the greatest name in the history of American sport, seizing the most renowned record of all those held by athletes.
An awful lot of awful people did not want Hank to reach Babe Ruth's record, much less pass it. They were loud, profane and threatening in making their point. And in the face of all of it, Hank persevered.
Mr. Aaron has been a man of great dignity, grace and honesty for all of the years that his name has been known to the public. He has spoken truth to power on the opportunities for African-Americans in baseball, beyond the players' roster. He speaks with great credibility because Hank Aaron is not today, and never was, exaggerated. Hank didn't wear caps that were too small, so they would fly off in pursuit of fly balls. He is so smart that he positioned himself on defense so that he didn't need to dive for balls that were easily within his reach. He didn't swing so violently that he corkscrewed himself into the ground to ensure that everyone in the park would know how hard he was swinging. He knew that he could trust his magnificent wrists, and that maintaining control of the bat allowed him the best chance to hit the ball. Hank never struck out 100 times in a season. Reggie Jackson never had a season of 340 at bats without striking out more than 100 times. Hank never got the press that Willie Mays did; he just outplayed him in every facet of the game: 95 more home runs, almost 500 more hits, 101 more doubles, almost 400 more RBI, 112 more runs scored, 3 points higher in lifetime batting average, and 143 fewer strikeouts. Mays holds more Gold Gloves (12-3), but Hank played the bulk of his career up against the hot dog Mays, the manic Clemente and the elegant Curt Flood. Remarkable that the Home Run King won 3.
All of this matters because Hank Aaron is news again. If two creaky knees hold up, and the US Attorney's office holds off, Barry Bonds will break Hank's total of 755 homers this season. Bud Selig made news a few days ago when he let slip that he may not attend the games when Barry gets within a couple. I don't like Bud Selig, but Bud is a close and loyal friend to Hank Aaron, and has been since he brought Hank home to Milwaukee to end his brilliant career where it began in 1954. I appreciate Bud's feelings on the matter. I actually appreciate and respect his feelings on this matter. But I hope he goes. Otherwise, it will recall those days in 1973-1974 when former commissioner Bowie Kuhn had better things to do than respect Hank Aaron's accomplishment with his presence. Barry doesn't deserve to be cast in the role of victim.
Hank's presence, however, is a different story.
Ruth was long-since dead in 1974. There is no precedent in place, and that matters in baseball.
Charlie Steiner told on his marvelous XM Radio program, The Baseball Beat (channel 175, noon-2 cdt weekdays--plenty of reason enough to subscribe right there), of recently attending a dinner with Mr. Aaron. He posed the question, "Will you go?" Steiner reported that Hank sat quiet for a few moments, then responded that he expected he would be hounded with questions about whether or not Barry deserved the record, and that those questions would come whether he was in a succession of ballparks or at home. "I think I'll be more comfortable answering the questions at home," was the Hammer's final word.
And for all of us who wonder about Barry Bonds' place in the history of the game, Henry Louis Aaron's word is good enough for me. He earned the right to decide a long time ago.
An awful lot of awful people did not want Hank to reach Babe Ruth's record, much less pass it. They were loud, profane and threatening in making their point. And in the face of all of it, Hank persevered.
Mr. Aaron has been a man of great dignity, grace and honesty for all of the years that his name has been known to the public. He has spoken truth to power on the opportunities for African-Americans in baseball, beyond the players' roster. He speaks with great credibility because Hank Aaron is not today, and never was, exaggerated. Hank didn't wear caps that were too small, so they would fly off in pursuit of fly balls. He is so smart that he positioned himself on defense so that he didn't need to dive for balls that were easily within his reach. He didn't swing so violently that he corkscrewed himself into the ground to ensure that everyone in the park would know how hard he was swinging. He knew that he could trust his magnificent wrists, and that maintaining control of the bat allowed him the best chance to hit the ball. Hank never struck out 100 times in a season. Reggie Jackson never had a season of 340 at bats without striking out more than 100 times. Hank never got the press that Willie Mays did; he just outplayed him in every facet of the game: 95 more home runs, almost 500 more hits, 101 more doubles, almost 400 more RBI, 112 more runs scored, 3 points higher in lifetime batting average, and 143 fewer strikeouts. Mays holds more Gold Gloves (12-3), but Hank played the bulk of his career up against the hot dog Mays, the manic Clemente and the elegant Curt Flood. Remarkable that the Home Run King won 3.
All of this matters because Hank Aaron is news again. If two creaky knees hold up, and the US Attorney's office holds off, Barry Bonds will break Hank's total of 755 homers this season. Bud Selig made news a few days ago when he let slip that he may not attend the games when Barry gets within a couple. I don't like Bud Selig, but Bud is a close and loyal friend to Hank Aaron, and has been since he brought Hank home to Milwaukee to end his brilliant career where it began in 1954. I appreciate Bud's feelings on the matter. I actually appreciate and respect his feelings on this matter. But I hope he goes. Otherwise, it will recall those days in 1973-1974 when former commissioner Bowie Kuhn had better things to do than respect Hank Aaron's accomplishment with his presence. Barry doesn't deserve to be cast in the role of victim.
Hank's presence, however, is a different story.
Ruth was long-since dead in 1974. There is no precedent in place, and that matters in baseball.
Charlie Steiner told on his marvelous XM Radio program, The Baseball Beat (channel 175, noon-2 cdt weekdays--plenty of reason enough to subscribe right there), of recently attending a dinner with Mr. Aaron. He posed the question, "Will you go?" Steiner reported that Hank sat quiet for a few moments, then responded that he expected he would be hounded with questions about whether or not Barry deserved the record, and that those questions would come whether he was in a succession of ballparks or at home. "I think I'll be more comfortable answering the questions at home," was the Hammer's final word.
And for all of us who wonder about Barry Bonds' place in the history of the game, Henry Louis Aaron's word is good enough for me. He earned the right to decide a long time ago.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Letterman and Me: 25 Years Together
I was 21 years old and almost exactly half of the way through college (yes, that's the 5 year plan) when one night Johnny Carson's genius was revealed to a new generation. I, well ok, all of us, met Dave and Paul. Actually we had some awareness of Paul. He had been on Saturday Night Live. The good version. But Dave was news. He spoke our language. He had our sense of humor.
Dave's favorite guest was Andy Kaufman. Andy may have been the strangest man who ever lived. And the funniest. Andy, like Dave, knew the world is full of crap, and deserves to be laughed at. It's the only way to get through without crying constantly.
Dave hired the ubiquitous Bill Wendell as his announcer. Wendell was old school TV. His voice, along with Don Pardo's (employed by Saturday Night Live) had introduced many, many shows for decades. He was reliable and predictable. He was a smokescreen for the mayhem to follow.
Pee Wee Herman, Harvey Pekar, Kaufman, Sandra Bernhart, Howard Stern-they were Dave's version of Carson's Benny, Hope and Groucho. Respect for traditions? I give you Larry "Bud" Melman!
One of my high moments was the night that the Andy Kaufman-Jerry Lawler feud found its way onto network television, with Jerry slapping the taste out of Andy's mouth after a run of classic wrestling promo insults. Andy responded with a totally bleeped diatribe, from behind Dave, where, theoretically, Lawler couldn't get at him. The classic Dave response followed Andy's rant: "I think you can say some of those words on tv."
Carson was rightly eulogized as the patron saint of three generations of comedians. Pryor, Carlin, Williams, Martin, and Letterman were all among those whose best early exposure was with Johnny. Now Dave has equalled if not exceeded Johnny's generosity. Dave still has Tom Dreesen on regularly. When did you last see Dreeson on any other show? Dave boosted Paula Poundstone, Jeff Altman, George Wallace, George Miller, Larry Miller, Steven Wright, Jake Johanson, Ray Romano, and a rat named Jay Leno.
When NBC betrayed Johnny Carson and David Letterman and promised the Tonight Show to the now spectacularly bland and unfunny Leno, Dave went to CBS and never missed a beat. He populated our world with Sirajul and Mujiber, Rupert Gee, Joe G from the pizza place and Grinder Girl and Hula Hoop Girl. He kept the brilliantly creepy Chris Elliot. Jay Thomas and Darlene Love make Christmas for me every year, with the quarterback challenge and "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" respectively. Who else could decorate a Christmas tree with a pizza, meatball, and miniature Empire State Building without drawing protests from the Ridiculous Right? And then knock the meatball off with a football the last show before Christmas?
We all hit middle age right behind Dave. His bypass surgery shook us all up. His hair changed color, and a lot of it departed, and we're all right there with him. He talks sometimes about the bad behavior of younger years, and we remember our own, thankful we survived it all. But still, he's funny.
Tonight, his 25th anniversary in late night tv, he again welcomed Bill Murray as his guest. Bill was the first guest on Late Night with David Letterman in 1982, the first guest on the Late Show with David Letterman in 1993, and many times in between. Bill's the perfect partner for Dave--same generation, same comic sensibilities, same staying power. Tonight they did a bit with CBS stuffed shirt Leslie Moonves. The masters even made that load funny.
Dave just re-upped through 2010. Interesting that NBC announced last year that Conan O'Brian will take over Tonight in 2009. Dave will continue beyond the man who owes his entire career to the best friend he stabbed in the back in 1992. Yes, Leno's ratings are higher than Dave's. But this is in the same country where Richard Nixon got more votes than Hubert Humphrey, Ronald Reagan beat Jimmy Carter, and George II was allowed to steal two elections from obviously superior men. Those voted Most Popular in High School often have difficult lives. Popularity means nothing in this country. Paris Hilton and Kevin Federline are, apparently, popular.
David Letterman is funny. My kind of funny. Has been for 25 years on late night tv. And my life has been better for his work. Through a divorce, work ups and downs, issues with teenagers, deaths of dear ones and all the other stuff that makes up the journey, I've been able to have a laugh before going to sleep. Thanks, Dave! Can I have another 25?
Dave's favorite guest was Andy Kaufman. Andy may have been the strangest man who ever lived. And the funniest. Andy, like Dave, knew the world is full of crap, and deserves to be laughed at. It's the only way to get through without crying constantly.
Dave hired the ubiquitous Bill Wendell as his announcer. Wendell was old school TV. His voice, along with Don Pardo's (employed by Saturday Night Live) had introduced many, many shows for decades. He was reliable and predictable. He was a smokescreen for the mayhem to follow.
Pee Wee Herman, Harvey Pekar, Kaufman, Sandra Bernhart, Howard Stern-they were Dave's version of Carson's Benny, Hope and Groucho. Respect for traditions? I give you Larry "Bud" Melman!
One of my high moments was the night that the Andy Kaufman-Jerry Lawler feud found its way onto network television, with Jerry slapping the taste out of Andy's mouth after a run of classic wrestling promo insults. Andy responded with a totally bleeped diatribe, from behind Dave, where, theoretically, Lawler couldn't get at him. The classic Dave response followed Andy's rant: "I think you can say some of those words on tv."
Carson was rightly eulogized as the patron saint of three generations of comedians. Pryor, Carlin, Williams, Martin, and Letterman were all among those whose best early exposure was with Johnny. Now Dave has equalled if not exceeded Johnny's generosity. Dave still has Tom Dreesen on regularly. When did you last see Dreeson on any other show? Dave boosted Paula Poundstone, Jeff Altman, George Wallace, George Miller, Larry Miller, Steven Wright, Jake Johanson, Ray Romano, and a rat named Jay Leno.
When NBC betrayed Johnny Carson and David Letterman and promised the Tonight Show to the now spectacularly bland and unfunny Leno, Dave went to CBS and never missed a beat. He populated our world with Sirajul and Mujiber, Rupert Gee, Joe G from the pizza place and Grinder Girl and Hula Hoop Girl. He kept the brilliantly creepy Chris Elliot. Jay Thomas and Darlene Love make Christmas for me every year, with the quarterback challenge and "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" respectively. Who else could decorate a Christmas tree with a pizza, meatball, and miniature Empire State Building without drawing protests from the Ridiculous Right? And then knock the meatball off with a football the last show before Christmas?
We all hit middle age right behind Dave. His bypass surgery shook us all up. His hair changed color, and a lot of it departed, and we're all right there with him. He talks sometimes about the bad behavior of younger years, and we remember our own, thankful we survived it all. But still, he's funny.
Tonight, his 25th anniversary in late night tv, he again welcomed Bill Murray as his guest. Bill was the first guest on Late Night with David Letterman in 1982, the first guest on the Late Show with David Letterman in 1993, and many times in between. Bill's the perfect partner for Dave--same generation, same comic sensibilities, same staying power. Tonight they did a bit with CBS stuffed shirt Leslie Moonves. The masters even made that load funny.
Dave just re-upped through 2010. Interesting that NBC announced last year that Conan O'Brian will take over Tonight in 2009. Dave will continue beyond the man who owes his entire career to the best friend he stabbed in the back in 1992. Yes, Leno's ratings are higher than Dave's. But this is in the same country where Richard Nixon got more votes than Hubert Humphrey, Ronald Reagan beat Jimmy Carter, and George II was allowed to steal two elections from obviously superior men. Those voted Most Popular in High School often have difficult lives. Popularity means nothing in this country. Paris Hilton and Kevin Federline are, apparently, popular.
David Letterman is funny. My kind of funny. Has been for 25 years on late night tv. And my life has been better for his work. Through a divorce, work ups and downs, issues with teenagers, deaths of dear ones and all the other stuff that makes up the journey, I've been able to have a laugh before going to sleep. Thanks, Dave! Can I have another 25?
Monday, January 29, 2007
Sammy's Back!
Not very exciting, huh?
Can you believe that Sammy Sosa signing a new contract isn't exciting? Hard for me to imagine. If you've been under the sea for the last ten years, Sammy is the former Cubs' right fielder who has exceeded 60 home runs more than any other player in MLB history. He was the fan favorite who ran hard to rightfield every day. The guy who carried an American flag with him after 9-11. Who helped Mark McGwire through his grumpy days in 1998, and carried him to the most fun and most dramatic baseball duel in my lifetime.
But he's also the guy who used a corked bat. And is roundly suspected, if not presumed, to have used steroids to get to those heights. And, like McGwire, he wasn't helped by that day on Capitol Hill when Sammy forgot how to speak English. And that happened after he fell out with the Cubs and left the last game of 2004 while the game was just starting. Then there was the pitiful 2005 season in Baltimore.
Sammy is 38 now. He disappeared for a year. He has just signed a minor league deal with the Rangers. He's going home. The Rangers were his original organization. You may recall that a bone-headed owner in Texas once traded Sammy to the White Sox for a worn out, over the hill Harold Baines. That guy moved on to make bad decisions for the whole state of Texas, and is now responsible for the needless deaths of over 3,000 American men and women in a totally unjustifiable war in Iraq. It's a real, genuine shame that the people of our nation couldn't recognize that that buffoon couldn't run a baseball team, or any of several oil companies that he rode into the ground; why did anyone ever think this idiot could run a country? But I digress.
Sammy's gone home.
I hope he makes it.
I sat in the stands in Wrigley and watched Sammy charge out to right field. You can't fake that kind of hustle. I watched his reaction from the stands in Busch when Big Mac tied Maris, and then had the TV on the next night when Mac hit #62. You can't fake that kind of decency. I treasure that smile, bright enough to light a small city. You can't fake that kind of enthusiasm. Sammy was everything that's good about baseball.
I hope he can be again.
We Americans like to build people up. And then tear them down. But, perhaps most of all, we like to see them rise again. If people like Paris Hilton, who have never done anything but take up space in this world, can be forgiven to rise to great heights (she still ain't done nothing worth the air she uses up), then surely we can root for Sammy Sosa, the shoe polishing kid from the streets of the Dominican, who brought so much joy to so many people during his brilliant run with the Cubs. After all, Harry Caray defended Sammy relentlessly. And Harry's word was always good enough for me.
Good luck, Sammy. Here's one fan who's rooting for you, big time!
Can you believe that Sammy Sosa signing a new contract isn't exciting? Hard for me to imagine. If you've been under the sea for the last ten years, Sammy is the former Cubs' right fielder who has exceeded 60 home runs more than any other player in MLB history. He was the fan favorite who ran hard to rightfield every day. The guy who carried an American flag with him after 9-11. Who helped Mark McGwire through his grumpy days in 1998, and carried him to the most fun and most dramatic baseball duel in my lifetime.
But he's also the guy who used a corked bat. And is roundly suspected, if not presumed, to have used steroids to get to those heights. And, like McGwire, he wasn't helped by that day on Capitol Hill when Sammy forgot how to speak English. And that happened after he fell out with the Cubs and left the last game of 2004 while the game was just starting. Then there was the pitiful 2005 season in Baltimore.
Sammy is 38 now. He disappeared for a year. He has just signed a minor league deal with the Rangers. He's going home. The Rangers were his original organization. You may recall that a bone-headed owner in Texas once traded Sammy to the White Sox for a worn out, over the hill Harold Baines. That guy moved on to make bad decisions for the whole state of Texas, and is now responsible for the needless deaths of over 3,000 American men and women in a totally unjustifiable war in Iraq. It's a real, genuine shame that the people of our nation couldn't recognize that that buffoon couldn't run a baseball team, or any of several oil companies that he rode into the ground; why did anyone ever think this idiot could run a country? But I digress.
Sammy's gone home.
I hope he makes it.
I sat in the stands in Wrigley and watched Sammy charge out to right field. You can't fake that kind of hustle. I watched his reaction from the stands in Busch when Big Mac tied Maris, and then had the TV on the next night when Mac hit #62. You can't fake that kind of decency. I treasure that smile, bright enough to light a small city. You can't fake that kind of enthusiasm. Sammy was everything that's good about baseball.
I hope he can be again.
We Americans like to build people up. And then tear them down. But, perhaps most of all, we like to see them rise again. If people like Paris Hilton, who have never done anything but take up space in this world, can be forgiven to rise to great heights (she still ain't done nothing worth the air she uses up), then surely we can root for Sammy Sosa, the shoe polishing kid from the streets of the Dominican, who brought so much joy to so many people during his brilliant run with the Cubs. After all, Harry Caray defended Sammy relentlessly. And Harry's word was always good enough for me.
Good luck, Sammy. Here's one fan who's rooting for you, big time!
Monday, January 15, 2007
What Makes a Hall of Famer?
Apart from the time qualification-five years retired, no more than 15 years on the Baseball Writers' ballot-there is only one line in the Hall of Fame's guidelines on how to judge candidates who are not on Baseball's ineligible list:
"Voting shall be based upon the player's record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character, and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played."
That's it. No more, no less.
Pete Rose is on the ineligible list. He won't be part of this discussion.
Mark McGwire is not on the ineligible list. He is the point of this discussion.
Big Mac used Andro. Everybody knows it. It was found in his locker during the Summer of 1998. He answered questions about it. It wasn't against Baseball's rules. Mac is suspected of using other substances. He has been accused by Jose Canseco of using anabolic steroids. His physical appearance changed significantly from his days as a skinny pitcher at USC to the years of The Great Home Run Chase. My appearance has changed significantly since college days, too, although not as impressively as McGwire's.
Mark McGwire never failed a drug test. He wasn't given one. Because whatever he and Sammy Sosa were doing in 1998, Baseball loved it. Cal Ripken had done a remarkable job rescuing Baseball after the 1994 debacle. Big Mac and Sammy took it to new heights in 1998. Attendance soared, merchandise sales went berserk, tickets just disappeared wherever the two sluggers showed up. And we showed up early. 15,000, 20,000, 25,000 were going to the parks for batting practice every day that the Cardinals were playing. Do the math: when crowds show up in those numbers at 5 pm, you've got them for the night. Concessions, souvenirs, t shirts, jerseys, bats, games for the kids, everything for sale at the ball park did land-office business.
Nobody wanted to ask any questions.
It was too much fun, so we fans didn't want to know.
It was too good for business, so management didn't want to know.
It was making all of his bone-headed decisions recede in everyone's memory, so Bud Selig sure didn't want to know.
And the Baseball Writers had the best story of their generation, so they didn't report on the whispers, the accusations, what they all claim to have known in retrospect.
Mac retired after the 2001 season because he could no longer play every day, rather than collect what I believe was another $30 Million in guaranteed money that would have been paid to him if he had been an everyday player, an infrequent pinch-hitter, or a name on the Disabled List. That's what I call integrity.
Mark and Sammy exulted in sharing the stage in 1998. The reactions of one to the other's exploits were amazing. The Cubs', The Cubs', reaction to Mark's 62nd, and his sharing it with Roger Maris' family were moments indelibly imprinted in my mind. That's what I call sportsmanship.
Mark gave and gives his money and his time on behalf of abused children. That's what I call character.
He single-handedly kept the Cardinals' attendance at World Series year levels when they were a very average team. And while a very private man, he endured the endless media demands at every stop. That's what I call contributing to your team.
His 586 Home Runs rank 7th all-time. His .982 OPS ranks 11th all-time. That's performance, by any standard.
Does the question of steroid use so influence the character issue so as to keep McGwire out of the Hall of Fame? That's the only question. That's the only argument. And don't give me his lifetime batting average. When Mac retired in 2001, everybody-that's EVERYBODY-assumed that three first ballot inductees would be announced this January. Is the character of a man who was never tested for steroids so sullied by an albeit poor performance before a congressional committee that he can't be included with those already in the Hall of Fame?
Assume Mac used steroids. Does that make him worse than Cap Anson, the man universally credited/blamed with instituting Baseball's color line that would stand from the 1800's until Jackie Robinson and Branch Rickey started the process of erasing it in 1947?
Assume Mac used steroids. Does that make him worse than Ty Cobb? Cobb went into the stands and beat a heckler who had been born without arms. Cobb slapped a black elevator operator, and when the hotel's black nightwatchman tried to intervene, Cobb stabbed him for his efforts.
Assume Mac used steroids. Does that make him worse than committed alcoholics Jimmie Foxx, Hack Wilson and Grover Cleveland Alexander? Worse than suspended gambler Leo Durocher? Worse than the skirt-chasing, beer-swilling, gorging to the point of being unable to play Babe Ruth? Worse than any number of amphetamine-popping players from the 60's and 70's who also never tested positive because they weren't tested either?
Rafael Palmeiro changed the terms of his debate when he tested positive. If Bonds tested positive for amphetamines, that changes his position. But Mark McGwire retired before testing came in. And one of our leading principles as Americans has always been that a person cannot be prosecuted with laws that were enacted after the fact.
Mark McGwire may well have used steroids. In fact, he probably did. But even if he did, there are far, far worse characters already enshrined in Cooperstown, and I haven't heard the Defenders of Purity in the Baseball Writers' Association of America calling for a purge of all the bad actors in Baseball's history.
Big Mac belongs in Cooperstown. And all the writers, executives and fans who now say otherwise are nothing but hypocrites.
"Voting shall be based upon the player's record, playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character, and contributions to the team(s) on which the player played."
That's it. No more, no less.
Pete Rose is on the ineligible list. He won't be part of this discussion.
Mark McGwire is not on the ineligible list. He is the point of this discussion.
Big Mac used Andro. Everybody knows it. It was found in his locker during the Summer of 1998. He answered questions about it. It wasn't against Baseball's rules. Mac is suspected of using other substances. He has been accused by Jose Canseco of using anabolic steroids. His physical appearance changed significantly from his days as a skinny pitcher at USC to the years of The Great Home Run Chase. My appearance has changed significantly since college days, too, although not as impressively as McGwire's.
Mark McGwire never failed a drug test. He wasn't given one. Because whatever he and Sammy Sosa were doing in 1998, Baseball loved it. Cal Ripken had done a remarkable job rescuing Baseball after the 1994 debacle. Big Mac and Sammy took it to new heights in 1998. Attendance soared, merchandise sales went berserk, tickets just disappeared wherever the two sluggers showed up. And we showed up early. 15,000, 20,000, 25,000 were going to the parks for batting practice every day that the Cardinals were playing. Do the math: when crowds show up in those numbers at 5 pm, you've got them for the night. Concessions, souvenirs, t shirts, jerseys, bats, games for the kids, everything for sale at the ball park did land-office business.
Nobody wanted to ask any questions.
It was too much fun, so we fans didn't want to know.
It was too good for business, so management didn't want to know.
It was making all of his bone-headed decisions recede in everyone's memory, so Bud Selig sure didn't want to know.
And the Baseball Writers had the best story of their generation, so they didn't report on the whispers, the accusations, what they all claim to have known in retrospect.
Mac retired after the 2001 season because he could no longer play every day, rather than collect what I believe was another $30 Million in guaranteed money that would have been paid to him if he had been an everyday player, an infrequent pinch-hitter, or a name on the Disabled List. That's what I call integrity.
Mark and Sammy exulted in sharing the stage in 1998. The reactions of one to the other's exploits were amazing. The Cubs', The Cubs', reaction to Mark's 62nd, and his sharing it with Roger Maris' family were moments indelibly imprinted in my mind. That's what I call sportsmanship.
Mark gave and gives his money and his time on behalf of abused children. That's what I call character.
He single-handedly kept the Cardinals' attendance at World Series year levels when they were a very average team. And while a very private man, he endured the endless media demands at every stop. That's what I call contributing to your team.
His 586 Home Runs rank 7th all-time. His .982 OPS ranks 11th all-time. That's performance, by any standard.
Does the question of steroid use so influence the character issue so as to keep McGwire out of the Hall of Fame? That's the only question. That's the only argument. And don't give me his lifetime batting average. When Mac retired in 2001, everybody-that's EVERYBODY-assumed that three first ballot inductees would be announced this January. Is the character of a man who was never tested for steroids so sullied by an albeit poor performance before a congressional committee that he can't be included with those already in the Hall of Fame?
Assume Mac used steroids. Does that make him worse than Cap Anson, the man universally credited/blamed with instituting Baseball's color line that would stand from the 1800's until Jackie Robinson and Branch Rickey started the process of erasing it in 1947?
Assume Mac used steroids. Does that make him worse than Ty Cobb? Cobb went into the stands and beat a heckler who had been born without arms. Cobb slapped a black elevator operator, and when the hotel's black nightwatchman tried to intervene, Cobb stabbed him for his efforts.
Assume Mac used steroids. Does that make him worse than committed alcoholics Jimmie Foxx, Hack Wilson and Grover Cleveland Alexander? Worse than suspended gambler Leo Durocher? Worse than the skirt-chasing, beer-swilling, gorging to the point of being unable to play Babe Ruth? Worse than any number of amphetamine-popping players from the 60's and 70's who also never tested positive because they weren't tested either?
Rafael Palmeiro changed the terms of his debate when he tested positive. If Bonds tested positive for amphetamines, that changes his position. But Mark McGwire retired before testing came in. And one of our leading principles as Americans has always been that a person cannot be prosecuted with laws that were enacted after the fact.
Mark McGwire may well have used steroids. In fact, he probably did. But even if he did, there are far, far worse characters already enshrined in Cooperstown, and I haven't heard the Defenders of Purity in the Baseball Writers' Association of America calling for a purge of all the bad actors in Baseball's history.
Big Mac belongs in Cooperstown. And all the writers, executives and fans who now say otherwise are nothing but hypocrites.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Cal and Tony: All That's Good About Baseball
Cal Ripken, Jr. and Tony Gwynn were elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame on Tuesday. Their vote percentages were among the highest ever, Cal's 98.53% coming in 3rd behind Tom Seaver and the absurd vote for the fair-to-middling Nolan Ryan, while Tony placed 7th with 97.6%, following the above and Ty Cobb, George Brett and Hank Aaron. Nice company to be in.
Both players gave their entire careers to a single team. Cal was a product of The Oriole Way in the days when that meant something great. His dad was, of course, a baseball and Oriole lifer, and Cal followed closely in his footsteps. He changed the conception of shortstops. In the early days of my fandom, Ed Brinkman, Mark Belanger and Bud Harrelson were the exemplars. Great gloves all, they couldn't hit a lick. Cal changed that. He made shortstop an offensive position, too. But he never forgot his glove, either. The Streak is all the more remarkable because it was achieved by such a big shortstop. Cal saved the game. When owners and players and Idiot for Life Selig had done all they could to kill the game in 1994, Cal brought it back. On the night he broke Lou Gehrig's record, Cal's lap around Camden Yards might as well have been a lap around America, as he reminded the whole country what was good and right about baseball.
Tony Gwynn is the Ernie Banks of the San Diego Padres. Best player ever, best person ever, best face of a franchise ever. My personal experience of Tony Gwynn was at AutoZone Park (as I recall it, the first game ever played there, an exhibition between the Cardinals and the Padres). While the evil, arrogant, pathetic Rickey Henderson stood maybe two feet from the retaining wall separating the fans from the field and the players, ignoring every plea from every kid that dreamed of being the next stolen base king, a genuine baseball god, Tony Gwynn, stood at that wall, smiling, speaking and signing autographs for everyone even into the player introductions. When they called his name and he had to go line up, he apologized for having to go. That's Tony Gwynn.
These guys did it right. When Ryne Sandberg gave his powerful induction speech at Cooperstown, he talked about the value of honoring the game and doing things the right way. Ryno, and baseball fans everywhere, were proud on Tuesday when two good men, two great baseball players, two guys who always did it right, were elected for induction. It will be a great day in July when Cal and Tony join their fellow immortals in the only Hall of Fame that matters.
Both players gave their entire careers to a single team. Cal was a product of The Oriole Way in the days when that meant something great. His dad was, of course, a baseball and Oriole lifer, and Cal followed closely in his footsteps. He changed the conception of shortstops. In the early days of my fandom, Ed Brinkman, Mark Belanger and Bud Harrelson were the exemplars. Great gloves all, they couldn't hit a lick. Cal changed that. He made shortstop an offensive position, too. But he never forgot his glove, either. The Streak is all the more remarkable because it was achieved by such a big shortstop. Cal saved the game. When owners and players and Idiot for Life Selig had done all they could to kill the game in 1994, Cal brought it back. On the night he broke Lou Gehrig's record, Cal's lap around Camden Yards might as well have been a lap around America, as he reminded the whole country what was good and right about baseball.
Tony Gwynn is the Ernie Banks of the San Diego Padres. Best player ever, best person ever, best face of a franchise ever. My personal experience of Tony Gwynn was at AutoZone Park (as I recall it, the first game ever played there, an exhibition between the Cardinals and the Padres). While the evil, arrogant, pathetic Rickey Henderson stood maybe two feet from the retaining wall separating the fans from the field and the players, ignoring every plea from every kid that dreamed of being the next stolen base king, a genuine baseball god, Tony Gwynn, stood at that wall, smiling, speaking and signing autographs for everyone even into the player introductions. When they called his name and he had to go line up, he apologized for having to go. That's Tony Gwynn.
These guys did it right. When Ryne Sandberg gave his powerful induction speech at Cooperstown, he talked about the value of honoring the game and doing things the right way. Ryno, and baseball fans everywhere, were proud on Tuesday when two good men, two great baseball players, two guys who always did it right, were elected for induction. It will be a great day in July when Cal and Tony join their fellow immortals in the only Hall of Fame that matters.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
He Gets It! He Doesn't Get It!
To conclude the previous post...Sunday's cantata went very well. The choir provided an exceptional worship experience for our largest attendance since Easter. Well done, good and faithful servants!
The President of the United States made a ground-breaking revelation today: the US is not winning in Iraq! In other scoops provided by George II, the sun will rise in the east tomorrow, Santa visits on Christmas Eve and athletes often behave badly. He then moved on to reassure us that his tangential connection to reality isn't completely repaired. He claimed we're not losing. I've never seen anyone toss a coin and have it land on edge; apparently Dubya has.
He wants to fix the problem by dramatically increasing the size of Army and Marine Corps troop levels in Iraq.
HEY GENIUS, it's a bad war, we should never have been there in the first place, and there is no reason to kill and maim more of ours and theirs trying to save face at this late date.
This will be the first test of the newly-elected Democratic majorities in the House and Senate. Will we continue to see a lapdog Congress that cowers before the Fool down from the Hill, or will we see some intelligent, reasonable governance for the first time since January 21, 2001?
Note to Reid and Pelosi: Iraq wasn't behind 9-11. They didn't have weapons of mass destruction. They hadn't bought yellow cake uranium from Nigerians or anybody else. Stop Bush's War, and stop it now! Hitler didn't win his war of aggression, Tojo didn't win his, Mussolini didn't win his, neither we nor the French won in Viet Nam, Saddam didn't win in 1991, and we won't win this war of aggression, either.
It's almost enough to make one believe in divine intervention and justice.
The President of the United States made a ground-breaking revelation today: the US is not winning in Iraq! In other scoops provided by George II, the sun will rise in the east tomorrow, Santa visits on Christmas Eve and athletes often behave badly. He then moved on to reassure us that his tangential connection to reality isn't completely repaired. He claimed we're not losing. I've never seen anyone toss a coin and have it land on edge; apparently Dubya has.
He wants to fix the problem by dramatically increasing the size of Army and Marine Corps troop levels in Iraq.
HEY GENIUS, it's a bad war, we should never have been there in the first place, and there is no reason to kill and maim more of ours and theirs trying to save face at this late date.
This will be the first test of the newly-elected Democratic majorities in the House and Senate. Will we continue to see a lapdog Congress that cowers before the Fool down from the Hill, or will we see some intelligent, reasonable governance for the first time since January 21, 2001?
Note to Reid and Pelosi: Iraq wasn't behind 9-11. They didn't have weapons of mass destruction. They hadn't bought yellow cake uranium from Nigerians or anybody else. Stop Bush's War, and stop it now! Hitler didn't win his war of aggression, Tojo didn't win his, Mussolini didn't win his, neither we nor the French won in Viet Nam, Saddam didn't win in 1991, and we won't win this war of aggression, either.
It's almost enough to make one believe in divine intervention and justice.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
7 Hours, 50 minutes and Counting
It's cantata day. I dread cantata day. Maybe that's why I'm still awake at 12:41 am in middle America. I just don't want to mess the thing up. The rest of the choir has worked too hard for me to goof this deal up. I'm a preacher. Darned good one, too, if I do run the risk of boasting. (I do relish the gift; I grew up listening to the best, and God has graciously/maliciously filled in the rest-me up in front of people on a daily basis is still hysterical, 22 years in) I'm a tolerable supporting bass. The only problem is that in our operation I'm the only bass.
Or maybe it's bigger.
Maybe I'm playing insomniac theater due to what we're doing to the world, still. Sure, Rummy's gone, and that's not a bad step. But the longer I think about it, Gates had a hard time in a previous confirmation due to his part in Iran-Contra. So this guy is going to stand up to this president? Not holding the breath on that one. Just in the last few minutes, we have, in all likelihood guaranteed that some child in Iraq will always hold us responsible for the death of Mom/Dad/Grandparent in the latest car bombing or kidnapping/murder or whatever. And some American child may have just lost a Dad or Mom to a mortar round or IED, but at least they won't have to know it until tomorrow. They can have this last good night's sleep.
Just like George. George tells People magazine (he has time to give interviews to People magazine?) that he sleeps very well.
I'm divorced enough from reality that I can laugh weeknights when Letterman shows "Great Moments in Presidential Speeches," leading off with the eloquence of FDR and JFK, then following with the latest malapropism, Porky Pig sign-off or completely incoherent rambling of the dear leader. But this newest item just isn't funny.
How does he ever sleep? We're closing in on 3,000 of ours dead, and, according to the Johns-Hopkins study, three quarters of a million of theirs dead. That doesn't count the wounded, who have been very carefully and skillfully hidden by the administration. Out of sight, out of mind, don't you know? A crowd greater than the population of Memphis wiped out in this stupid, unjust, badly fought, lie driven war and the subsequent peace that has been anything but. And they're all God's!
I wish that I could talk to him. I wish that I could haunt his dreams with the faces of all the dead, all the wounded, all the orphaned. I wish that I could tell this jackass that nobody cares how he looks compared to his dad. And we didn't think that much of his dad, anyway. I wish that someone, anyone, could get it through his head that lying to the nation is bad, lying to the world is worse, and lying to yourself may be worst of all, and that he should stop all of it. I wish that he could have some of the sleepless nights of the parents who have children over there. Or those of the woman whose husband is at Gitmo, or somewhere, even thought he may have never done anything wrong to anyone. Or those of the little boys and girls who are on the street because one of those damned bombs wasn't as smart as it was cracked up to be, and it killed mom and dad-liberated them right out of their lives.
He sleeps very well? I have thought that those on my side who want to impeach him should just calm down, because they'd only be accused of trying to get even for Clinton. (Then again, as the lapel pin says, "No one died when Clinton lied") They should impeach this horrible, horrible man just for saying that he sleeps well while he's responsible, everyday, for the pointless and needless deaths of Americans and Iraqis in a war that should never have been fought in the first place.
I once had a lesson from Andre Braugher's magnificent Frank Pembleton on Homicide: Life on the Streets. Once, when they observed a suspect who'd been left in the interrogation room (The Box, for fans of the show) snoring like a chainsaw, Frank told Kyle Secor's Tim Bayliss, "The guilty ones go right to sleep. It's the innocent who stay awake all night." Amen, Frank. Amen.
Shame on you, sir! Shame on you! And God help us all.
7 hours, 18 minutes and counting. Pray for this non-singer!
Or maybe it's bigger.
Maybe I'm playing insomniac theater due to what we're doing to the world, still. Sure, Rummy's gone, and that's not a bad step. But the longer I think about it, Gates had a hard time in a previous confirmation due to his part in Iran-Contra. So this guy is going to stand up to this president? Not holding the breath on that one. Just in the last few minutes, we have, in all likelihood guaranteed that some child in Iraq will always hold us responsible for the death of Mom/Dad/Grandparent in the latest car bombing or kidnapping/murder or whatever. And some American child may have just lost a Dad or Mom to a mortar round or IED, but at least they won't have to know it until tomorrow. They can have this last good night's sleep.
Just like George. George tells People magazine (he has time to give interviews to People magazine?) that he sleeps very well.
I'm divorced enough from reality that I can laugh weeknights when Letterman shows "Great Moments in Presidential Speeches," leading off with the eloquence of FDR and JFK, then following with the latest malapropism, Porky Pig sign-off or completely incoherent rambling of the dear leader. But this newest item just isn't funny.
How does he ever sleep? We're closing in on 3,000 of ours dead, and, according to the Johns-Hopkins study, three quarters of a million of theirs dead. That doesn't count the wounded, who have been very carefully and skillfully hidden by the administration. Out of sight, out of mind, don't you know? A crowd greater than the population of Memphis wiped out in this stupid, unjust, badly fought, lie driven war and the subsequent peace that has been anything but. And they're all God's!
I wish that I could talk to him. I wish that I could haunt his dreams with the faces of all the dead, all the wounded, all the orphaned. I wish that I could tell this jackass that nobody cares how he looks compared to his dad. And we didn't think that much of his dad, anyway. I wish that someone, anyone, could get it through his head that lying to the nation is bad, lying to the world is worse, and lying to yourself may be worst of all, and that he should stop all of it. I wish that he could have some of the sleepless nights of the parents who have children over there. Or those of the woman whose husband is at Gitmo, or somewhere, even thought he may have never done anything wrong to anyone. Or those of the little boys and girls who are on the street because one of those damned bombs wasn't as smart as it was cracked up to be, and it killed mom and dad-liberated them right out of their lives.
He sleeps very well? I have thought that those on my side who want to impeach him should just calm down, because they'd only be accused of trying to get even for Clinton. (Then again, as the lapel pin says, "No one died when Clinton lied") They should impeach this horrible, horrible man just for saying that he sleeps well while he's responsible, everyday, for the pointless and needless deaths of Americans and Iraqis in a war that should never have been fought in the first place.
I once had a lesson from Andre Braugher's magnificent Frank Pembleton on Homicide: Life on the Streets. Once, when they observed a suspect who'd been left in the interrogation room (The Box, for fans of the show) snoring like a chainsaw, Frank told Kyle Secor's Tim Bayliss, "The guilty ones go right to sleep. It's the innocent who stay awake all night." Amen, Frank. Amen.
Shame on you, sir! Shame on you! And God help us all.
7 hours, 18 minutes and counting. Pray for this non-singer!
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Heroic Republicans
I will pause momentarily to allow my family and friends to wake up following their fainting from the title above..........Now then. The Iraq study group has released its report. Its conclusions were a foregone conclusion, if they were going to be honest. And with Lee Hamilton, a bulwark of integrity for 35 years in the House of Representatives, as the Democrats' co-chair, I believed they would be honest. The presence on the panel of Vernon Jordan, Leon Panetta, Chuck Robb and William Perry further raised my hopes. The Democrats performed as I expected.
This space is for an appreciation of the Republicans involved. Former Secretary James Baker has been a Bush family retainer for about 50 years. Whenever Bushes have found themselves in trouble, Baker has been there to quiet the waters. Not this time. Lawrence Eagleberger has been a member of several Republican administrations. He's as inside as inside gets. But this time he stepped out. Justice O'Connor was an honorable member of the United States Supreme Court throughout her tenure, and the nation is poorer, much much poorer, for her retirement. That leaves the final two members: former Senator Alan Simpson and former Attorney General Edwin Meese. I have had no respect for this pair whatsoever. Simpson is caustic and vicious. He has been one of the leading attack dogs for the transition of the Republican party from the honorable institution of Everett Dirkson, Dwight Eisenhower and Nelson Rockefeller to the despicable snake pit of Newt Gingrich, Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson. Ed Meese was an unmitigated disaster as Ronald Reagan's chief law enforcement officer. In days gone by, it was a close contest to count whether Meese had enforced more laws or broken more. But even Alan Simpson and Ed Meese put their country ahead of politics and power this time.
These Republicans have participated in this study, and agreed to the committee's report, in spite of the fact that the report is bluntly critical of a Republican president's performance. They have told the truth that staying this course in Iraq can only result in disaster, if we're not already there. They have called for change now, and withrawal within 15 months. They have made these calls in spite of the fact that this particular Republican president is openly vengeful. He punishes anyone and everyone who challenges him, who criticizes him, who points out his mistakes. In short, this group of Republicans have risked their reputations and legacies within their party to serve their country.
We should all be grateful to the whole membership of the Iraq study group. But we are all particularly indebted to the Republican members for their courage and honesty. Viewing their performance, and having listened to newly confirmed Secretary of Defense Robert Gates as he told the truth in his Senate hearing yesterday, perhaps there is some opportunity left for the Republican party to reclaim its honorable heritage. We would be a better nation if they did.
This space is for an appreciation of the Republicans involved. Former Secretary James Baker has been a Bush family retainer for about 50 years. Whenever Bushes have found themselves in trouble, Baker has been there to quiet the waters. Not this time. Lawrence Eagleberger has been a member of several Republican administrations. He's as inside as inside gets. But this time he stepped out. Justice O'Connor was an honorable member of the United States Supreme Court throughout her tenure, and the nation is poorer, much much poorer, for her retirement. That leaves the final two members: former Senator Alan Simpson and former Attorney General Edwin Meese. I have had no respect for this pair whatsoever. Simpson is caustic and vicious. He has been one of the leading attack dogs for the transition of the Republican party from the honorable institution of Everett Dirkson, Dwight Eisenhower and Nelson Rockefeller to the despicable snake pit of Newt Gingrich, Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson. Ed Meese was an unmitigated disaster as Ronald Reagan's chief law enforcement officer. In days gone by, it was a close contest to count whether Meese had enforced more laws or broken more. But even Alan Simpson and Ed Meese put their country ahead of politics and power this time.
These Republicans have participated in this study, and agreed to the committee's report, in spite of the fact that the report is bluntly critical of a Republican president's performance. They have told the truth that staying this course in Iraq can only result in disaster, if we're not already there. They have called for change now, and withrawal within 15 months. They have made these calls in spite of the fact that this particular Republican president is openly vengeful. He punishes anyone and everyone who challenges him, who criticizes him, who points out his mistakes. In short, this group of Republicans have risked their reputations and legacies within their party to serve their country.
We should all be grateful to the whole membership of the Iraq study group. But we are all particularly indebted to the Republican members for their courage and honesty. Viewing their performance, and having listened to newly confirmed Secretary of Defense Robert Gates as he told the truth in his Senate hearing yesterday, perhaps there is some opportunity left for the Republican party to reclaim its honorable heritage. We would be a better nation if they did.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Our Own Opinions, Not Our Own Facts
I believe that I heard it said on Countdown by Keith Olbermann, so I'll go with that credit. If I'm mistaken, I apologize to the wonderful person who did say it. It was, plain and simple, a response to one of those mindless statements that we live in America and everyone is entitled to their opinion. That is certainly true. But the brilliance was thus: everyone may be entitled to their own opinion, but no one is entitled to their own facts. Or words very close to that. It's a great statement. It acknowledges that every American is guaranteed the right to be as stupid as we want to be. But it also points out that if we choose to live in an alternate reality, we just aren't free to reinvent the facts any way that we want them to be. Sort of like the day that Frazier asked Cliff, "What color is the sky in your world?"
Relevance? Here goes. I wrote my monthly newsletter article last midweek, and it was distributed yesterday morning by the two generous ladies who volunteer and put the thing together for us. I began the piece by sharing that I am not among the "War on Christmas" crowd, and expressing my disdain for the work of those who know that they are lying when they use the notion (one more made up piece of crap that these evil actors use) to distract the portion of the populace who can be so easily manipulated to look away from the latest malfeasance, incompetence, or just plain evil perpetrated by George II and his cabal. I called by name the first person I ever heard propound the preposterous theory, Bill O'Reilly. If anything, I was far too mild in my description of what he and his compatriots are up to.
I was stunned during the shaking hands after the service portion of the day when I was approached by one of my favorite people in the congregation. A strong leader, and just really fine person. "When" I was asked, "do we get time for a rebuttal?" I am one of those people who gets so locked into what I've got in front of me at any given moment that I can't think about anything else, and that is never more the case than right before or right after a worship service. I had no idea what the reference was, as I was still in preaching mode. I asked; my question was answered: "To defend Bill O'Reilly!" I thought it was a joke at first. I was wrong.
I knew that my friend is conservative. I'm ok with that. I recognize very well that well-intentioned people can see the world in differing ways, and I respect those differences. But there are lines.
Bill O'Reilly crossed a line a long time ago. The man lies about his upbringing. He lies about his military service. He lies about his professional accomplishments. And he bullies. I have sat through the hilariously name No Spin Zone on enough occasions to have a working knowledge of his act. He screams at people he disagrees with to "Shut Up!" He threatens. The inevitable prank caller is told that they can expect a visit from Fox Security because "We have your telephone number." Can't imagine the horror of Rupert's jack-booted thugs showing up at the door to...what? Rip out the phone line? Might be time to recall G. Gordon Liddy's renowned instructions for answering the door? O'Reilly attacked the 9-11 widows, for crying out loud. Yeah, if there is any hotbed of insurrectionist thought and action, it's the 9-11 widows! Not unlike blaming the Jewish people for the Holocaust, or African-Americans for slavery.
How dare you women-folk have opinions on the War On Terror, and the Assault On The Other Country That Had Nothing To Do With 9-11 And A Dictator No Worse Than 30 Other Countries. Where do you get off asking questions and taking positions? Your husbands were murdered? Oh, surely you can do better than that!
Friends, Bill O'Reilly just isn't the place to make your stand.
My church's policy is that unless I violate the teachings of the church (and, so far, we're still against lying and bullying and threatening people-radical, ain't we?) what I say in my pulpit is between God and me. No one, not even my appointing bishop, can tell me what to preach or not preach. And the church's publications are part of my pulpit. There will be no rebuttal to defend Mr. O'Reilly's honor, and not just because he doesn't have any. My friend won't be happy with me about that. OK. Most of us clergy types don't have the anatomy these days to take the risks of being prophetic. We tend to like our middle-class (or what passes for it) lives too much. But this one's a no-brainer, to borrow Mr. Cheney's term.
So here's the big risk-taking prophetic proclamation of the day: Bill O'Reilly behaves badly, and should stop it! Ooh, I feel just like Amos or Hosea!
Relevance? Here goes. I wrote my monthly newsletter article last midweek, and it was distributed yesterday morning by the two generous ladies who volunteer and put the thing together for us. I began the piece by sharing that I am not among the "War on Christmas" crowd, and expressing my disdain for the work of those who know that they are lying when they use the notion (one more made up piece of crap that these evil actors use) to distract the portion of the populace who can be so easily manipulated to look away from the latest malfeasance, incompetence, or just plain evil perpetrated by George II and his cabal. I called by name the first person I ever heard propound the preposterous theory, Bill O'Reilly. If anything, I was far too mild in my description of what he and his compatriots are up to.
I was stunned during the shaking hands after the service portion of the day when I was approached by one of my favorite people in the congregation. A strong leader, and just really fine person. "When" I was asked, "do we get time for a rebuttal?" I am one of those people who gets so locked into what I've got in front of me at any given moment that I can't think about anything else, and that is never more the case than right before or right after a worship service. I had no idea what the reference was, as I was still in preaching mode. I asked; my question was answered: "To defend Bill O'Reilly!" I thought it was a joke at first. I was wrong.
I knew that my friend is conservative. I'm ok with that. I recognize very well that well-intentioned people can see the world in differing ways, and I respect those differences. But there are lines.
Bill O'Reilly crossed a line a long time ago. The man lies about his upbringing. He lies about his military service. He lies about his professional accomplishments. And he bullies. I have sat through the hilariously name No Spin Zone on enough occasions to have a working knowledge of his act. He screams at people he disagrees with to "Shut Up!" He threatens. The inevitable prank caller is told that they can expect a visit from Fox Security because "We have your telephone number." Can't imagine the horror of Rupert's jack-booted thugs showing up at the door to...what? Rip out the phone line? Might be time to recall G. Gordon Liddy's renowned instructions for answering the door? O'Reilly attacked the 9-11 widows, for crying out loud. Yeah, if there is any hotbed of insurrectionist thought and action, it's the 9-11 widows! Not unlike blaming the Jewish people for the Holocaust, or African-Americans for slavery.
How dare you women-folk have opinions on the War On Terror, and the Assault On The Other Country That Had Nothing To Do With 9-11 And A Dictator No Worse Than 30 Other Countries. Where do you get off asking questions and taking positions? Your husbands were murdered? Oh, surely you can do better than that!
Friends, Bill O'Reilly just isn't the place to make your stand.
My church's policy is that unless I violate the teachings of the church (and, so far, we're still against lying and bullying and threatening people-radical, ain't we?) what I say in my pulpit is between God and me. No one, not even my appointing bishop, can tell me what to preach or not preach. And the church's publications are part of my pulpit. There will be no rebuttal to defend Mr. O'Reilly's honor, and not just because he doesn't have any. My friend won't be happy with me about that. OK. Most of us clergy types don't have the anatomy these days to take the risks of being prophetic. We tend to like our middle-class (or what passes for it) lives too much. But this one's a no-brainer, to borrow Mr. Cheney's term.
So here's the big risk-taking prophetic proclamation of the day: Bill O'Reilly behaves badly, and should stop it! Ooh, I feel just like Amos or Hosea!
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