I don't get it.
Why is Roman Polanski's situation even being debated?
The man drugged a 13 year old girl. He had sex with her. He had anal sex with her. She repeatedly asked him to stop. He did not. These seem to be the stipulated facts of the case that Polanski acknowledged in his plea bargain, in return for being allowed to plead guilty to a lesser charge. (He was originally charged with heavier crimes, but in our legal way of doing business, he pled to a reduced charge. That does not change the facts of the case, that he owned in the plea agreement.)
He was to get no jail time. Simply a period of psychological evaluation prior to sentencing. 42 days into that process, word got out that the judge was likely to throw out the plea agreement and require some serious jail time. At that point, Polanski fled to France, where he had resided ever since. That's from 1978 to 2009.
At that point, he became a fugitive. Fleeing is a crime. That makes two crimes.
Roman Polanski was 43 years old when he raped the 13 year old child.
Some people who appear to be adults argue that since Polanski is an artist, he is somehow a victim of prosecution for his art. Huh? He isn't charged, and never has been charged, with making seditious films. He raped a 13 year old child.
Some have suggested that he should be given a pass given the brutal murders of his wife, Sharon Tate, and their unborn child at the hands of the Manson Family. Huh? Elie Wiesel survived Nazi Germany's concentration camps. He has spent his life working for peace and justice in the world. John Walsh suffered the kidnapping and murder of his little boy, Adam. He has spent the last 20 years working to catch criminals who perpetrate such crimes. Nowhere in the world is a victim of crime given license to commit crime. Polanski raped a 13 year old child.
To state the obvious, the only reason that Roman Polanski was ever offered a plea deal under the circumstances of his crime was that he is a wealthy and famous artist. The only reason that Roman Polanski was ever able to flee the US during such a prosecution was that he is a wealthy and famous artist. The only reason that Roman Polanski was ever afforded the protection of the French government for 30 years was that he is a wealthy and famous artist. To somehow argue that he is being mistreated for being an artist is just stupid.
As it is to argue that since he suffered crime, he should be excused for committing crime.
As the theme song to a police drama told us every week back when Polanski committed his offenses, "Don't do the crime if you can't do the time..."
And I wonder whatever happened to that Baretta guy, anyway???
Monday, October 05, 2009
Friday, August 28, 2009
A Reflection on Health Care
I woke up Wednesday morning to my daughter's screams. She was shrieking from the pain in her side. She hadn't felt well for several days; by Wednesday, it could no longer be ignored. We sought aid from the hospital that bears the name of the denomination that I have served for 25 years, my father has served for 50 years, by uncle has served for 30 years, and my grandfather served for 54 years.
Sara was there for six hours. She was barely examined. She was, for the most part, ignored. Then, at 2:30 pm, with no explanation whatsoever for what was causing her pain (which had not subsided), the nurse came in with her discharge papers and wished us well. We asked to see the doctor. He came in with a thoroughly condescending smile on his face, and told us, graciously but pointedly, to get out.
You see, Sara is a sinner. Her sin? She has no health insurance.
My daughter works an average of 46 hours a week at a local restaurant, for $2.14 an hour plus tips (and if you eat at restaurants and don't tip the waitstaff, your tongue should fall out). Those fine folks terminated her health insurance last fall when Sara was eight months' pregnant. They said she wasn't working enough hours to qualify for insurance. Which was interesting, given that they made out her schedule each week. My guess? Someone was ordered to cut costs, so they did.
Another family in our church has incurred an incredible amount of medical neglect. That neglect has caused significant damage. One of the doctors in that instance dropped a tirade on his patient, screaming at her that if she had better insurance, she'd have gotten better care!
Other families in our church have lost their insurance when the business closed. There are few scarier places in life than finding yourself unemployed and uninsured when you are several years away from qualifying for Medicare, or have young children, or you or your spouse already have health issues.
Shannon and I do not use the Annual Conference insurance program. The Conference program penalized us in ways we cannot afford for Shannon using brand name insulin rather than generic insulin. When there is no such thing on God's green earth as generic insulin. Fortunately, we have access to her collectively bargained program, that of the Mississippi teachers' union. But as good as it is, we can't put Sara on it, as she is 23 and not in school.
In Sara's case, we are fortunate. My father is still somebody within our little world. So this morning, he was able to call on a friend and former church member of his to get Sara examined, diagnosed and treated. She has a respiratory infection that, left untreated, could have gone into pneumonia and killed her. But she's going to be alright, because Dad knows somebody.
How many people don't know somebody?
How many people are being left to suffer and die because they are inunsured, and, therefore, in the eyes of far too many medical professionals, untreatable?
How many people are suffering needlessly, and becoming sicker than they should have to, because they don't even seek medical care, knowing they are uninsured and can't pay?
How much more expensive is it for all of us for the poor and indigent to show up at The Med when they are at death's door, bur never should have gotten so sick in the first place?
How much of the exorbitant premiums that we all pay are due to the expenses of those uninsured, whose "care" has to be covered somehow?
How long will the greatest and wealthiest nation in the world allow tens of millions of its people to suffer misery, physically and emotionally, over health care?
Do those who wring their hands over the prospect of "Death Panels" run by the government (which do not exist in any of the plans being considered) not understand that the insurance companies are, by their refusal or approval of procedures or tests that doctors deem necessary, acting precisely as the kinds of boards that they fear?
I don't know what the answer is. I wish I did. I just know that there has to be something better than the way we are (barely) functioning now.
Again, Sara will be alright. I'm thankful for that. But as we consider our church family, our community and nation, there are an awful lot of people who cannot say tonight that their loved one will be alright.
Because they don't know.
Because they cannot afford to see the doctor.
And may God have mercy on all our souls if we continue to accept this perverse and unjust system with our silence, selfishness and inaction.
With prayers for God's just future to come speedily,
+Bro. Joe
(from the September edition of our church newsletter)
Sara was there for six hours. She was barely examined. She was, for the most part, ignored. Then, at 2:30 pm, with no explanation whatsoever for what was causing her pain (which had not subsided), the nurse came in with her discharge papers and wished us well. We asked to see the doctor. He came in with a thoroughly condescending smile on his face, and told us, graciously but pointedly, to get out.
You see, Sara is a sinner. Her sin? She has no health insurance.
My daughter works an average of 46 hours a week at a local restaurant, for $2.14 an hour plus tips (and if you eat at restaurants and don't tip the waitstaff, your tongue should fall out). Those fine folks terminated her health insurance last fall when Sara was eight months' pregnant. They said she wasn't working enough hours to qualify for insurance. Which was interesting, given that they made out her schedule each week. My guess? Someone was ordered to cut costs, so they did.
Another family in our church has incurred an incredible amount of medical neglect. That neglect has caused significant damage. One of the doctors in that instance dropped a tirade on his patient, screaming at her that if she had better insurance, she'd have gotten better care!
Other families in our church have lost their insurance when the business closed. There are few scarier places in life than finding yourself unemployed and uninsured when you are several years away from qualifying for Medicare, or have young children, or you or your spouse already have health issues.
Shannon and I do not use the Annual Conference insurance program. The Conference program penalized us in ways we cannot afford for Shannon using brand name insulin rather than generic insulin. When there is no such thing on God's green earth as generic insulin. Fortunately, we have access to her collectively bargained program, that of the Mississippi teachers' union. But as good as it is, we can't put Sara on it, as she is 23 and not in school.
In Sara's case, we are fortunate. My father is still somebody within our little world. So this morning, he was able to call on a friend and former church member of his to get Sara examined, diagnosed and treated. She has a respiratory infection that, left untreated, could have gone into pneumonia and killed her. But she's going to be alright, because Dad knows somebody.
How many people don't know somebody?
How many people are being left to suffer and die because they are inunsured, and, therefore, in the eyes of far too many medical professionals, untreatable?
How many people are suffering needlessly, and becoming sicker than they should have to, because they don't even seek medical care, knowing they are uninsured and can't pay?
How much more expensive is it for all of us for the poor and indigent to show up at The Med when they are at death's door, bur never should have gotten so sick in the first place?
How much of the exorbitant premiums that we all pay are due to the expenses of those uninsured, whose "care" has to be covered somehow?
How long will the greatest and wealthiest nation in the world allow tens of millions of its people to suffer misery, physically and emotionally, over health care?
Do those who wring their hands over the prospect of "Death Panels" run by the government (which do not exist in any of the plans being considered) not understand that the insurance companies are, by their refusal or approval of procedures or tests that doctors deem necessary, acting precisely as the kinds of boards that they fear?
I don't know what the answer is. I wish I did. I just know that there has to be something better than the way we are (barely) functioning now.
Again, Sara will be alright. I'm thankful for that. But as we consider our church family, our community and nation, there are an awful lot of people who cannot say tonight that their loved one will be alright.
Because they don't know.
Because they cannot afford to see the doctor.
And may God have mercy on all our souls if we continue to accept this perverse and unjust system with our silence, selfishness and inaction.
With prayers for God's just future to come speedily,
+Bro. Joe
(from the September edition of our church newsletter)
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Edward Moore Kennedy, 1932-2009
We all know his failings, one horrific, others, things he should have been above.We all know his family's tragedies, almost more than can be counted or believed.
But since Ted Kennedy entered the United States Senate in 1962,
If you have worked for a paycheck, and especially a minimum wage paycheck,
If you have worked in a safe environment,
If you have been fairly treated in your workplace,
If you have needed health insurance,
If you have sought redress after being discriminated against in any way,
If you have voted easily and without challenge,
If you love someone who has special needs,
If you have borrowed money to go to college or graduate school,
If you have purchased a home,
If you have had a problem with a landlord,
If you have been to public schools, and sent your children and grandchildren to public schools,
If you have treasured your individual liberties,
If you have lived in this nation, and this world,
you should say a prayer of thanksgiving for the life of Ted Kennedy, and another for comfort for his family.
He was, simply, the greatest Senator in our nation's history.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Jim Dickinson, Part Two
In response to a couple of questions, your humble blogger is back to gather you kiddies around the rocking chair to relieve you of your ignorance. (Please remember, ignorance isn't bad unless it's willful. It just means you don't know. And some things, you need to know.)Jim Dickinson wasn't God, but he certainly was about God's work.
How does a body go about explaining Jim Dickinson?
Jim was one of those rich souls who was born old. Not in the rigid, dead-to-the-world sense, but in the wise, seen-it-all-twice sense. In the "I remember everything" sense. He was a rocker. And a Bluesman. And a crooner. And country and jazz and...well, you get the idea. The music was in his bones. Then again, if it isn't in your bones, what the hell are you doing being from Memphis?
The city cannot be separated from Jim Dickinson. He loved it, just as an awful lot of us do. That would be the ones who don't sit around afraid to go downtown, whining about the former/future Mayor, the City Council, the School Board and whatever else you've got, no matter how much all that deserves to be whined about.
Memphis' sole excuse for existing is the music. You either get that or you don't. God help you if you don't.
Jim got it. He lived it. He preached it. He played it. He produced it. Jim was the music!
When he sat down with Lee Baker, Sid Selvidge and Jimmy Crosthwait and they became Mud Boy and the Neutrons, miracles happened. When he decided to make a solo album, a good 1/3 of the wonder was finding out what songs he had unearthed to include. Dixie Fried, Free Beer Tomorrow, Jungle Jim and the Voodoo Tiger, Killers from Space and Dinosaurs Run in Circles...if you want to get Memphis, get those discs and wear them out as quickly as you can. Then you'll know.
He was a piano player. Like Lincoln was a President. Jim Dickinson at a keyboard could haunt your soul. He did it on The Rolling Stones' Wild Horses. He did it on almost all of the cuts on Dylan's Time Out of Mind. Dylan has been crazy powerful and prolific since crossing paths with Jim in 1997. I'll go to my grave believing that's no accident. That's Dickinson.
On The Bob: there's a line in his song I Feel a Change Coming On from the new album Together Through Life: "Some people say I've got the blood of the land in my voice." Long before Bob had totally blown his voice out, Dickinson had the roar, the earth-shaking, never smooth, instrument of apocalypse that was his voice. Listen to Mud Boy's Shake Your Money Maker or Money Talks, complete with his childhood experience of Rev. Robert G. Lee's Payday Someday sermon, the judgement of God delivered bluntly and as an End Time lecture to a beat you can dance to. Make that, you have to dance to.
Jim nurtured musicians. Look at his boys. Luther and Cody are ridiculously gifted musicians. They paid attention. They learned well. The North Mississippi All Stars are an experience every single time out. I'm getting redundant, but if you're not in the audience whenever the All Stars play the Home Town, you have no soul and you need help. Immediately.
But the sharing was never confined to the family.
Big Star, Calvin Russell, The Radiators, Mudhoney, Beanpole, Alex Chilton, Paul Westerberg and a thousand others, all found their music better after passing it through Jim Dickinson's hands. Not for Jim, the neurotic "Mine is the only" or "Why should I help anyone else" approach to art and life. Never Ever.
Mose Vinson was my point of contact. Jim's work with Mose taught me about the man.
Mose was an old man when I met him. He came to live in one of our retirement homes. He had gotten too well to keep his Medicaid in the nursing home where his niece had dumped him after his stroke. One of God's great saints, Mary Lee Moore, called me to her office to back up her judgement that the old man wasn't capable of living independently. When she asked the standard questions, the old man grunted, monosyllabic at best. Finally, divinely inspired and seeking any response from him, she asked, "What do you like to do?" The head lifted off the chest, the voice became strong, the one good eye fired to life, and the man said, "I play the piano!" Mary Lee being Mary Lee, she challenged him: "You can't play the piano; you're half dead." A smile played across the old man's lips. "You got a piano?" was his question. We led him into the dining room, to the pathetic old excuse for a piano that some Sunday School class had dumped on us when they bought something nice and new. Old hands became young on the keyboard. He ripped into Howlin' Wolf's .44 Blues. When he was done, our mouths were hanging open, and he was claiming to be the real composer of the great Blues standard. Later, Jim Dickinson told me that the Wolf may well have taken the song from Mose at Sun Studios.
Mose had been used his whole musical life. Sam Phillips had hired him at Sun Studios. To be the janitor. That way, any time a piano player was missing, Mr. Sam could have Mose sit in. Ike Turner often wasn't in shape to play when he actually showed up for a recording date at all. That sort of problem wasn't rare in the old days. But the janitor had to be functional. And God only knows how many of those incredible Sun sides actually featured Mose Vinson on piano, regardless of whose name was listed on the label. Mose certainly never got paid for any of that work. Somewhere along the way, Mr. Sam did credit Mose with a few sides, but they were never released until they were included in Bear Family's fabulous box, Sun Blues. Yeah, the Germans know their Blues. Who'd a thought?
Jim Dickinson gave Mose his moment in the sun, no pun intended. Jim produced, for Judy Peiser and the Center for Southern Folklore, the only album that ever carried Mose Vinson's name, Piano Man. Jim talked Mose through the recording. It sounds like two old friends sitting and talking in the parlor, around the piano. They even play some four-hand piano on the cd. Jim and Judy threw a cd release party for Mose. He was a star, if only for that night. Because Jim Dickinson said he was important.
Jim was a real-life Yoda. He spoke his own language. He saw and heard things others couldn't fathom. He lived richly and always saw the possibilities. He told Chuck Prophet, "You can burn out, but you can get lit again. I've seen it happen."
I knew Jim Dickinson just slightly, and that, only because of Mose. But I love him. I pretty much adore him. Jim was pretty much everything I'd love to be when I grow up. On several occasions, he'd spot me at one of his performances, and he'd ask, "Reverend, how's the Good Work going?" I'd say to him, "You ought to know. You're the one doing it."
I believed it when he was alive. I sure believe it now.
There's your lesson on Jim Dickinson.
Now you know something that matters!
Monday, August 17, 2009
James Luther Dickinson, 1942-2009
Our "celebrity culture" is a royal load of crap, because any society in which Paris Hilton, Britney Spears and any number of teenaged vampires are followed breathlessly from moment to moment deserves to be blown up. Filming your sex acts, not wearing underwear in public and teen angst over who is dating whom are not bases for choosing objects of worship.
That said, I have been thrilled to meet exactly three legitimate celebrities, truly accomplished people, in my life: Sam Phillips (not the woman who sings; the Real One), Stan Musial, and Jim Dickinson.
Jim Dickinson was Memphis Music. His resume is being widely rehearsed in his obituaries. Would Bob Dylan have had this late-career renaissance if he hadn't crossed paths with Dickinson during the recording of Time Out of Mind? Could he?
Would Alex Chilton have become, well, Alex Chilton without Dickinson at the board for those Big Star albums?
Would Furry Lewis, Bukka White, Son House and so many others hold their hallowed places in American music history without the efforts of Dickinson and several other young white boys in the 1960's to find them, get them performing again, and fight for their just due?
Would the Beale Street Festival have been conceived without the Blues festivals Dickinson staged and performed in at the Overton Park Shell?
Would anyone care about Wild Horses without Jim's piano?
And there is still the film scoring with Ry Cooder, the upbringing of the North Mississippi All Stars, the performances all over creation (Brownsville with Luther and Cody at the dedication of Sleepy John Estes' cabin, all the times at the Memphis Music and Heritage Festival, hundreds of others that I was privileged to hear), the gift to Mose Vinson of finally giving him an album under his own name, and so much more.
Jim was Memphis Music. Jim was American Music. And I'm sick that he's gone.
But as he left his own epitaph: "I'm just dead. I'm not gone."
Amen, brother! Amen!
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Differences
Country Club: charges dues
Church: offers chance to give gladly to God's work
Country Club: exists for members' enjoyment
Church: exists to change the world
Country Club: members are to be served
Church: members are to serve others
Country Club: private playground to ensure members don't have to associate with anyone below an acceptable income status
Church: public Body of Christ intended to bring together people of all incomes, races, ages, genders, backgrounds
So why is it so often impossible to tell the difference in a Country Club and a church?
Church: offers chance to give gladly to God's work
Country Club: exists for members' enjoyment
Church: exists to change the world
Country Club: members are to be served
Church: members are to serve others
Country Club: private playground to ensure members don't have to associate with anyone below an acceptable income status
Church: public Body of Christ intended to bring together people of all incomes, races, ages, genders, backgrounds
So why is it so often impossible to tell the difference in a Country Club and a church?
Friday, June 26, 2009
Michael Jackson
Coincidences being coincidences, three pretty substantial personalities in the American public life of my lifetime have died in close proximity. I don't know if there ever was anyone better at his or her particular job than Ed McMahon. If you ever saw The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, you know what I mean. Farrah Fawcett was the poster girl who was famous for being famous, along with being the subject of a great Steve Martin joke: "I wrote a letter to Farrah Fawcett. She never wrote me back. And after all the time I spent holding her poster up with one hand!" (And before you accuse me of bad taste, may I remind you that she posed for, sold and got rich and famous off the poster, not me.)
And Michael Jackson.
My first memory of Michael and his brothers is on Ed Sullivan's stage, in the theater where David Letterman now holds court. The Jackson 5 were amazing. And, obviously, not least because of the little brother with the big voice. Michael was just a couple years older than me, and was the first person of my generation to become publicly accomplished. Maybe the Osmonds were out there, but Donny? Really? Not so much.
Michael was cool. He just got cooler and better through the years. At his peak, with the albums Off the Wall and Thriller in the early 1980's, Michael really was the king of pop, and not just as some dopey marketing slogan. Those records were awesome. Pure pop perfection, guided by Quincy Jones, whose importance to American music simply cannot be overstated. Michael was one of the forces behind We Are the World, raising buckets of money for Great Causes.
Then things got weird.
Everybody knows the details. You don't need me to restate them. Michael Jackson became the poster boy for the dangers of immense wealth, immense ego and the power to make sure there is no soul in sight who will tell you "No" about anything. Somewhere amidst the accusations, the surgeries, the Howard Hughes-type behavior, Michael lost everything that mattered. His music got stale and self-serving, his wealth apparently was squandered, his behavior grew ever-more bizarre.
Our culture of celebrity worship is sick. It's pathetic for every person who has actually wasted enough of their lives to know that Jon and Kate, much less the plus 8, exist. But it is even more costly and dangerous for those who become the objects of such worship. You tell people they are God for long enough, most of them will start to believe it. It rarely ends well. It just tends to end.
And it has, again.
Pardon me if I just choose to remember the little boy who could sing his tail off, or the young man who could make perfect music and dance like he didn't have a bone in his quite tall body. The rest of it makes me sick.
R.I.P. Michael. Maybe now, at long last, you are at peace.
And Michael Jackson.
My first memory of Michael and his brothers is on Ed Sullivan's stage, in the theater where David Letterman now holds court. The Jackson 5 were amazing. And, obviously, not least because of the little brother with the big voice. Michael was just a couple years older than me, and was the first person of my generation to become publicly accomplished. Maybe the Osmonds were out there, but Donny? Really? Not so much.
Michael was cool. He just got cooler and better through the years. At his peak, with the albums Off the Wall and Thriller in the early 1980's, Michael really was the king of pop, and not just as some dopey marketing slogan. Those records were awesome. Pure pop perfection, guided by Quincy Jones, whose importance to American music simply cannot be overstated. Michael was one of the forces behind We Are the World, raising buckets of money for Great Causes.
Then things got weird.
Everybody knows the details. You don't need me to restate them. Michael Jackson became the poster boy for the dangers of immense wealth, immense ego and the power to make sure there is no soul in sight who will tell you "No" about anything. Somewhere amidst the accusations, the surgeries, the Howard Hughes-type behavior, Michael lost everything that mattered. His music got stale and self-serving, his wealth apparently was squandered, his behavior grew ever-more bizarre.
Our culture of celebrity worship is sick. It's pathetic for every person who has actually wasted enough of their lives to know that Jon and Kate, much less the plus 8, exist. But it is even more costly and dangerous for those who become the objects of such worship. You tell people they are God for long enough, most of them will start to believe it. It rarely ends well. It just tends to end.
And it has, again.
Pardon me if I just choose to remember the little boy who could sing his tail off, or the young man who could make perfect music and dance like he didn't have a bone in his quite tall body. The rest of it makes me sick.
R.I.P. Michael. Maybe now, at long last, you are at peace.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Annual Bleeping Conference
It's two days away. I just can't wait (insert sarcastic tone and rolling of the eyes here).
We're now looking hard at two and a half days none of us will ever get back.
We will do several things. We will be led in worship by someone who has done Spectacular Things in other places. Things that most of us would be moved from our churches for doing back home, as a result of complaints from the natives to the same conference leaders who are bringing The Star in to show us how to do things right.
We will listen to arguments about money. Specifically, arguments from pastors and members from our largest, wealthiest churches who have every bell and whistle on their properties and staffs, telling the rest of us why they shouldn't have to pay the lion's share of the way, in spite of having the lion's share of everything.
We will listen to (largely) mindless debates on way too many constitutional amendments, conducted by (largely) misguided people who think they are doing the Will of God, who will have their talking points from whatever interest group they represent well-memorized for easier regurgitation. And both ends will try to scare the middle with the Secret Intents of everyone who disagrees with them. And at the end of all of it, we will find, to paraphrase The Bob, "I looked beneath the sofa, beneath the chair; looking for them Gays/Homophobes everywhere; I looked up my chimney hole, even looked deep inside my toilet bowl; they got away!" And we will be left with nothing again, as, to quote the late, great Billy Preston, "Nothing from nothing leaves nothing."
I, for one, will leave Annual Conference calculating again at what speed Mr. Wesley must be spinning in his grave. Because we haven't done much of anything in the last decade, at least, except take the temperature of the institution that has become the bloated, dying carcass of The United Methodist Church, and find it to be lukewarm. As in "spew you out of my mouth" lukewarm.
So all is lost? Not so fast.
I went to church this afternoon.
John Kilzer played at the Italian Festival in Marquette Park on this glorious Friday afternoon.
John is like many of us, a middle-aged guy, but young in ministry, with an old soul nurtured by the collision of music that enriches our native turf. He, like the rest of us, knows some parts of the world too well, but writes, plays and sings spectacularly of the hope and promise and joy that are supposed to be at the heart of this faith we profess and are supposed to share.
John reminded me that the faith isn't Annual Conference. Hell, the faith certainly isn't my short-sighted, terrified congregation. God's ability to change lives through the presence of the living Christ is the story.
And one of these days God may even get around to bringing church to Annual Conference.
Hey, they say stranger things have happened...
We're now looking hard at two and a half days none of us will ever get back.
We will do several things. We will be led in worship by someone who has done Spectacular Things in other places. Things that most of us would be moved from our churches for doing back home, as a result of complaints from the natives to the same conference leaders who are bringing The Star in to show us how to do things right.
We will listen to arguments about money. Specifically, arguments from pastors and members from our largest, wealthiest churches who have every bell and whistle on their properties and staffs, telling the rest of us why they shouldn't have to pay the lion's share of the way, in spite of having the lion's share of everything.
We will listen to (largely) mindless debates on way too many constitutional amendments, conducted by (largely) misguided people who think they are doing the Will of God, who will have their talking points from whatever interest group they represent well-memorized for easier regurgitation. And both ends will try to scare the middle with the Secret Intents of everyone who disagrees with them. And at the end of all of it, we will find, to paraphrase The Bob, "I looked beneath the sofa, beneath the chair; looking for them Gays/Homophobes everywhere; I looked up my chimney hole, even looked deep inside my toilet bowl; they got away!" And we will be left with nothing again, as, to quote the late, great Billy Preston, "Nothing from nothing leaves nothing."
I, for one, will leave Annual Conference calculating again at what speed Mr. Wesley must be spinning in his grave. Because we haven't done much of anything in the last decade, at least, except take the temperature of the institution that has become the bloated, dying carcass of The United Methodist Church, and find it to be lukewarm. As in "spew you out of my mouth" lukewarm.
So all is lost? Not so fast.
I went to church this afternoon.
John Kilzer played at the Italian Festival in Marquette Park on this glorious Friday afternoon.
John is like many of us, a middle-aged guy, but young in ministry, with an old soul nurtured by the collision of music that enriches our native turf. He, like the rest of us, knows some parts of the world too well, but writes, plays and sings spectacularly of the hope and promise and joy that are supposed to be at the heart of this faith we profess and are supposed to share.
John reminded me that the faith isn't Annual Conference. Hell, the faith certainly isn't my short-sighted, terrified congregation. God's ability to change lives through the presence of the living Christ is the story.
And one of these days God may even get around to bringing church to Annual Conference.
Hey, they say stranger things have happened...
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Melancholy, Fun and Weird
It's been an up and down couple of weeks. While I am (slightly) happier with my government today than I was prior to January 21, I'm not really thrilled with the Department of [doublespeak=Defense, honesty=War]. Two truly fine families have been reassigned from our local Navy base to far away locations. This makes the tote board read three families in my current assignment ripped from our congregation. Of the first departure, the wife and mother is the most able and knowledgeable lay person I have ever been privileged to have serve alongside me in any setting anywhere. Anne is awesome, and should be a church professional in some capacity, and she is far more than competent to be a church professional any number of capacities. The husband and father in family number three is one of a group of active duty Navy men who made a commitment to our Cub Scouts, and then did stupendous things. Like growing the pack in one year from 37 to 84 boys. Like standing up with those kids for some of the genuinely good values in the world. With his colleagues, Tom made a huge difference in this program, and that means in the lives of each of these kids. Family number two is comprised of one of the neatest 4 year olds on the face of planet earth, a mom/wife who is as creative and generous as anyone you've ever met, and a dad/husband who was the best partner I've had (so far) in a Lay Leader in 24 years under appointment. Joe, you know who you are, and I know you look at this from time to time, so...THANK YOU, AGAIN, FOR EVERYTHING!
And there's your melancholy.
For the fun...we baptized two and confirmed four young people last Sunday, and we will be baptizing two more and confirming five more this Sunday (don't ask--it's about vacation schedules, custody decrees and the like). In four years at the current stop, I've had the high privilege of baptizing and confirming significantly more people than in the other 20 years combined. Yeah, seven of those other years were spent pastoring in the retirement homes, but still! I just don't think that it gets any better for Christian minsters than being allowed to participate in the growing of the faith of such a group of young people. It is, after all, pretty much the point.
And the weird...this year about to start should be the last one here. By the time four years are up, there are always people who are after your rear end, and I've got two or three of those. When you combine what will be five years of chewing by the same sets of teeth, with the growing pains of a quickly-expanding community, with the frustrations of being unable to implement the painfully obvious and simple changes that would allow the church to grow into what the community needs it to be, I feel strongly that five years will be enough. For them, I believe, and certainly for me.
I remember the sports reporting that Pat Riley had lost the ear of the players on the Miami Heat before he went back to presidenting the club last year. I think I'm starting to understand what they were talking about.
A few years ago my father had a church in a community that was about 15-20 years ahead of where we are right now. He had a very tough three years there, perhaps the most difficult years of his working life. He buried a few saints that had to go for things to move along, and when they were gone, and his work had taken him to a new assignment, things did indeed smooth out and run well so that that church became what its town and our conference need it to be.
I expect something similar to take place in my assignment. It just feels a little weird that I probably won't get to share in it myself. I have laid and am laying some of the groundwork. Someone else may have to drive in the connecting spike, to use an image from the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad. How's that for obscure, Dennis Miller?
And there's your melancholy.
For the fun...we baptized two and confirmed four young people last Sunday, and we will be baptizing two more and confirming five more this Sunday (don't ask--it's about vacation schedules, custody decrees and the like). In four years at the current stop, I've had the high privilege of baptizing and confirming significantly more people than in the other 20 years combined. Yeah, seven of those other years were spent pastoring in the retirement homes, but still! I just don't think that it gets any better for Christian minsters than being allowed to participate in the growing of the faith of such a group of young people. It is, after all, pretty much the point.
And the weird...this year about to start should be the last one here. By the time four years are up, there are always people who are after your rear end, and I've got two or three of those. When you combine what will be five years of chewing by the same sets of teeth, with the growing pains of a quickly-expanding community, with the frustrations of being unable to implement the painfully obvious and simple changes that would allow the church to grow into what the community needs it to be, I feel strongly that five years will be enough. For them, I believe, and certainly for me.
I remember the sports reporting that Pat Riley had lost the ear of the players on the Miami Heat before he went back to presidenting the club last year. I think I'm starting to understand what they were talking about.
A few years ago my father had a church in a community that was about 15-20 years ahead of where we are right now. He had a very tough three years there, perhaps the most difficult years of his working life. He buried a few saints that had to go for things to move along, and when they were gone, and his work had taken him to a new assignment, things did indeed smooth out and run well so that that church became what its town and our conference need it to be.
I expect something similar to take place in my assignment. It just feels a little weird that I probably won't get to share in it myself. I have laid and am laying some of the groundwork. Someone else may have to drive in the connecting spike, to use an image from the completion of the Transcontinental Railroad. How's that for obscure, Dennis Miller?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Thanks, Mom!
Yes, it's Wednesday night after. But that's pretty close for me.
One of the really fun things that goes with my getting used to being a grandfather is watching my parents become great-grandparents. Mom has taken to keeping Kaly just like she did with Sara and Emily a generation ago. Every time I see my granddaughter in my mother's arms, I am reminded of just how much Mom was my partner in raising my kids. On the occasions when something work-wise came up during all those afterschool afternoons (God Bless Paul Eubanks, a truly great man!), Mom was there. Every trip to the zoo or the Pink Palace, Mom was there. Vacations-especially the first couple of years when I was paying for the divorce and they paid for everything-couldn't have taken place without Mom every year and Dad most of them. We never could have made the Disneyworld trip with the girls being 9 and 6 without Nana going, too. It's just not simple being a single dad of two little girls in a public place without an adult woman. Mom made it work. Mom was always there.
She still is. Sara's working hard. Shannon and I have to work, too. Same with Emily, although she holds an amazing amount of time for her number 1 niece. Nana still fills all the gaps. But that's what she has spent her whole adult life doing, from the time she married while still a college student, to becoming a mom without a car or even a drivers' license while her husband was several hours away all week every week in graduate school, to being a mom to three kids all under the age of 4, to becoming an outside-the-home-working mom with that same husband and those same kids to take care of, to all I described above, and as much attention to her other four grandchildren from their births to the one she added when he was 12, she has always been there.
And I am grateful. Much more than I can say.
And we're all better people for her commitment to each of us.
Thanks, Mom! I love you!
One of the really fun things that goes with my getting used to being a grandfather is watching my parents become great-grandparents. Mom has taken to keeping Kaly just like she did with Sara and Emily a generation ago. Every time I see my granddaughter in my mother's arms, I am reminded of just how much Mom was my partner in raising my kids. On the occasions when something work-wise came up during all those afterschool afternoons (God Bless Paul Eubanks, a truly great man!), Mom was there. Every trip to the zoo or the Pink Palace, Mom was there. Vacations-especially the first couple of years when I was paying for the divorce and they paid for everything-couldn't have taken place without Mom every year and Dad most of them. We never could have made the Disneyworld trip with the girls being 9 and 6 without Nana going, too. It's just not simple being a single dad of two little girls in a public place without an adult woman. Mom made it work. Mom was always there.
She still is. Sara's working hard. Shannon and I have to work, too. Same with Emily, although she holds an amazing amount of time for her number 1 niece. Nana still fills all the gaps. But that's what she has spent her whole adult life doing, from the time she married while still a college student, to becoming a mom without a car or even a drivers' license while her husband was several hours away all week every week in graduate school, to being a mom to three kids all under the age of 4, to becoming an outside-the-home-working mom with that same husband and those same kids to take care of, to all I described above, and as much attention to her other four grandchildren from their births to the one she added when he was 12, she has always been there.
And I am grateful. Much more than I can say.
And we're all better people for her commitment to each of us.
Thanks, Mom! I love you!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
By Special Request...Here's Kaly!
Early on, my relationship with my granddaughter was based solely on shared hobbies:
As time has passed, she has obviously developed a fascination with great comedians:
She now loves the great books:
She helped with the Benediction on Easter:
She has even developed a strong sense of disgust at others' fashion sense (the problem is the hat; she hates anything on her head):
No, my dear, Granddaddy was not responsible for dressing you that day.As anyone can easily and clearly recognize, this is one extraordinarily advanced three-month-old we're talking about here.
And pretty much the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me, alongside her Mom, Aunt and Grandmother. Just don't ask me to rank anybody any further than this! The three bigger ones might get mad.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Household Changes
My daughter will now be a single mother. Her husband, the father of my granddaughter, has moved back to his father's house a couple hours away. His limitations, the source of my concern from the beginning of my daughter's relationship with him, led to the separation. In my opinion, he's just not ready to grow up. And I'm not sure it's really his fault. There is a good deal of evidence that there haven't been any grownups in his family in a couple of generations. When a kid grows up with an absent, alcoholic father and a drug addicted mother, neither of whom have ever worked regularly or finished high school, and the church was nowhere to be found in their lives, there just never was much hope.
On the good side, my granddaughter's parents were married. That makes a difference to me, and will, one day, to her, too. And at the time my daughter came home with her baby, she would never have come without the boy. And she needed to come home. So we made the effort, held our breath, and hoped and prayed for a different outcome, but here we are.
The update: our baby has passed 10 pounds. She is now 21 inches long. She smiles constantly, and laughs out loud often at all of us goofy people who make funny faces at her and speak to her in peculiar tones of voice. She especially thinks that her Aunt Em is the funniest human being on the face of the earth. My daughter is working full time, not something to be taken for granted in this economy. They are under our roof, with all of the necessities of life available to them.
There is only one problem: every now and then, the baby goes to visit with her birth grandmother, and when she's gone, none of us know what to do with ourselves. Kaly has become the center of the universe, and her schedule seems to regulate us more than it does her. Even the in-laws come searching when Shannon hasn't showed up for good night baby kisses by a certain hour. We all just sort of sit around forlorn until she is back home. She really is that much fun. And we are all-this whole crazy clan that comprises my family-thankful for the incredible blessing that is having Sara and Kaly home with us.
On the good side, my granddaughter's parents were married. That makes a difference to me, and will, one day, to her, too. And at the time my daughter came home with her baby, she would never have come without the boy. And she needed to come home. So we made the effort, held our breath, and hoped and prayed for a different outcome, but here we are.
The update: our baby has passed 10 pounds. She is now 21 inches long. She smiles constantly, and laughs out loud often at all of us goofy people who make funny faces at her and speak to her in peculiar tones of voice. She especially thinks that her Aunt Em is the funniest human being on the face of the earth. My daughter is working full time, not something to be taken for granted in this economy. They are under our roof, with all of the necessities of life available to them.
There is only one problem: every now and then, the baby goes to visit with her birth grandmother, and when she's gone, none of us know what to do with ourselves. Kaly has become the center of the universe, and her schedule seems to regulate us more than it does her. Even the in-laws come searching when Shannon hasn't showed up for good night baby kisses by a certain hour. We all just sort of sit around forlorn until she is back home. She really is that much fun. And we are all-this whole crazy clan that comprises my family-thankful for the incredible blessing that is having Sara and Kaly home with us.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
One of Those Calls
When you do what I do, and it's 8:00 on Sunday night, and you're at a gathering with your entire family, and your phone rings, it is never a good thing.
It certainly wasn't last Sunday night.
There had been an accident. One of my parishoners was being air-lifted to The Med. Her whole family is in our church, very fine, pillar of the congregation-type people. We all gathered at the hospital. The doctor came in, and as gently as he could, he told her family and friends that she had been in full arrest when she arrived, and even though they tried for a half hour, they never got any response.
An old man from a distant state had made a mistake. He pulled out onto the wrong side of the divided highway that runs through our community. It was a head-on crash at highway speed. The two drivers were killed. Two passengers, the man's wife and my member's son, were spared with scrapes and bruises.
Alicia was 39. Her husband suffers from Multiple Sclerosis. Their children are 12 and 7. Her dad has been in and out of the hospital with heart problems as long as I've known them.
Do I even need to say that it isn't supposed to go like this? Parents should never have to bury their children. Pre-teens aren't supposed to have do deal with this kind of situation. A young husband isn't supposed to have to deal with his illness and his children's future without his partner.
But here we are.
Our Baptist-dominated religious culture wants to say that it's just God's plan. He needed another angel, or it was just her time. My tradition doesn't buy that. We don't see God killing a young woman and an old man to fill seats in the choir. We often hear that we must accept it, and not question and surely not be angry with God. Have you read the Bible? Ever hear of the Exodus? You know, the whole "we'd have been better off to stay slaves in Egypt than be brought out here to die of hunger!" Or, "thirst!" And yet, God was with them and provided what they needed.
I'm not very happy with The Boss right now. But I'm confident that God is big enough to love me through this, and all of Alicia's family that feels about like I do, only much, much worse.
We have a funeral tomorrow afternoon. I'm still struggling for what to say to this family about what's happened to them.
We'll all do our best. And somehow, even if none of us can see how right now, God will be at work, tomorrow and in the days to come, to bring something good out of this awful, awful situation.
It certainly wasn't last Sunday night.
There had been an accident. One of my parishoners was being air-lifted to The Med. Her whole family is in our church, very fine, pillar of the congregation-type people. We all gathered at the hospital. The doctor came in, and as gently as he could, he told her family and friends that she had been in full arrest when she arrived, and even though they tried for a half hour, they never got any response.
An old man from a distant state had made a mistake. He pulled out onto the wrong side of the divided highway that runs through our community. It was a head-on crash at highway speed. The two drivers were killed. Two passengers, the man's wife and my member's son, were spared with scrapes and bruises.
Alicia was 39. Her husband suffers from Multiple Sclerosis. Their children are 12 and 7. Her dad has been in and out of the hospital with heart problems as long as I've known them.
Do I even need to say that it isn't supposed to go like this? Parents should never have to bury their children. Pre-teens aren't supposed to have do deal with this kind of situation. A young husband isn't supposed to have to deal with his illness and his children's future without his partner.
But here we are.
Our Baptist-dominated religious culture wants to say that it's just God's plan. He needed another angel, or it was just her time. My tradition doesn't buy that. We don't see God killing a young woman and an old man to fill seats in the choir. We often hear that we must accept it, and not question and surely not be angry with God. Have you read the Bible? Ever hear of the Exodus? You know, the whole "we'd have been better off to stay slaves in Egypt than be brought out here to die of hunger!" Or, "thirst!" And yet, God was with them and provided what they needed.
I'm not very happy with The Boss right now. But I'm confident that God is big enough to love me through this, and all of Alicia's family that feels about like I do, only much, much worse.
We have a funeral tomorrow afternoon. I'm still struggling for what to say to this family about what's happened to them.
We'll all do our best. And somehow, even if none of us can see how right now, God will be at work, tomorrow and in the days to come, to bring something good out of this awful, awful situation.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Insomnia's Little Playground
Will Shortz, if that is his real name, is the Crossword Editor for The Old Grey Lady, and puzzlemaster for Liane Hansen's Weekend Edition on Sunday mornings. (Note: my wife would include that my evaluation of the prospects of any given Sunday rest entirely on whether or not Ms. Hansen is at her appointed microphone or away on some specious member station visit with people who don't need her nearly as much as do we who are lurching toward functionality at an unholy hour that was surely not chosen by the God who loves us for the gathering of his people-I fault Paul, and we'd obviously have better attendance if we started after the NFL games were through rather than just as they're starting, but I digress from my digression-we need Liane to guide us smoothly to our alert states, somewhere between the shower and the car. Enough with the member station visits, already!)
Mr. Shortz is also the party responsible, if not for the introduction, then certainly for the popularization of the Japanese number puzzle, Sudoku, in the good ol' US of A. And therein lies my gratitude.
What would a committed insomniac do in this 21st Century without Sudoku? One shudders to consider. Just knowing that those little grids of nine innings-I mean blocks-are there, with their three outs-I mean rows-of mini-grids, where everything is ordered, logical, timeless...just like baseball........oh, pardon my reverie.
I have an enormous appreciation for the Japanese people. They love our national game even more than we do. (No, not the NFL-I didn't say our idolatrous national religion!). They love Bill Murray as proved in Lost in Translation. And they have given occupation to the sleepless everywhere, via Sudoku!
And don't tell anyone, but on a couple of recent nights, a puzzle from a level of skill marked "Insane" actually put me out! God bless you, Puzzle-sans!
Mr. Shortz is also the party responsible, if not for the introduction, then certainly for the popularization of the Japanese number puzzle, Sudoku, in the good ol' US of A. And therein lies my gratitude.
What would a committed insomniac do in this 21st Century without Sudoku? One shudders to consider. Just knowing that those little grids of nine innings-I mean blocks-are there, with their three outs-I mean rows-of mini-grids, where everything is ordered, logical, timeless...just like baseball........oh, pardon my reverie.
I have an enormous appreciation for the Japanese people. They love our national game even more than we do. (No, not the NFL-I didn't say our idolatrous national religion!). They love Bill Murray as proved in Lost in Translation. And they have given occupation to the sleepless everywhere, via Sudoku!
And don't tell anyone, but on a couple of recent nights, a puzzle from a level of skill marked "Insane" actually put me out! God bless you, Puzzle-sans!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
A Professional Perplex
The year is off to a remarkable start, unlike any other I've had in 24 years under appointment. At the seventh Sunday of the year we have six new members. And those six new members have brought 5 children with them. And we have four more adults and 5 children with them lined up for the next couple of weeks. And this year's confirmation class is looking like it will be 17 strong. That's looking hard at 27 new members (17 professions of faith) and 10 for the prep roll by Pentecost (May 31). And our giving in the new year is way, way ahead of last year. Way ahead.
Obviously, anyone could leap to the perfectly logical conclusion that the fabulous preaching, worship leading and teaching that is being done by the pastor explains everything. Sounds right to me. But that's been going on for 3 1/2 years here. Seriously, what gives? The Economy? Most of these newcomers are not as susceptible to the whims of this recession as are a good many others. Fear? If so, they are putting up one hell of a good front.
A more mature colleague (thanks, Dad!) advised to stop trying to explain it and just enjoy it. Maybe the best advice I've received in a long time. But I'm a "why" guy.
They aren't abandoning some other congregation that's in trouble: they are three Southern Baptists, a UM who's a Navy man fresh from Guam, two Lutherans, another UM getting out of the city for our bedroom community, a third UM-a retiree from Iowa, and two long-time in and outs who now want to be officially in. They aren't one age group or economic level. They just all want to be part of our church.
I can't figure it out, but it is, indeed, fun!
Obviously, anyone could leap to the perfectly logical conclusion that the fabulous preaching, worship leading and teaching that is being done by the pastor explains everything. Sounds right to me. But that's been going on for 3 1/2 years here. Seriously, what gives? The Economy? Most of these newcomers are not as susceptible to the whims of this recession as are a good many others. Fear? If so, they are putting up one hell of a good front.
A more mature colleague (thanks, Dad!) advised to stop trying to explain it and just enjoy it. Maybe the best advice I've received in a long time. But I'm a "why" guy.
They aren't abandoning some other congregation that's in trouble: they are three Southern Baptists, a UM who's a Navy man fresh from Guam, two Lutherans, another UM getting out of the city for our bedroom community, a third UM-a retiree from Iowa, and two long-time in and outs who now want to be officially in. They aren't one age group or economic level. They just all want to be part of our church.
I can't figure it out, but it is, indeed, fun!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Discrimination is Real, But Not Here
Elgin Baylor has filed suit against the NBA and the Los Angeles Clippers, alleging racial and age discrimination.
As both Clippers fans on planet Earth know, Baylor was, for 22 years, the General Manager of the Clips. Donald Sterling, renowned filthy rich tightwad owner of said NBA franchise, acted as something of a pioneer, naming an African-American as GM of a big 4 Major League Sports franchise in 1986. Evidence suggests that Sterling might have felt that Baylor, briefly an NBA head coach with no executive experience, would be less expensive than other, more established basketball execs. Whatever Sterling's motivation, there weren't many blacks serving at that level of the NBA in the mid-1980's.
1986-7 Clippers: 12-70, sixth place
1987-8 Clippers: 17-65, sixth place
1988-9 Clippers: 21-61, seventh place
1989-0 Clippers: 30-52, sixth place
1990-1 Clippers: 31-51, sixth place
Baylor's first five years on the job indicated modest improvement. All the way up to twenty games under .500! Still, Sterling kept him on.
1991-2 Clippers: 45-37, fifth place; lost in the first round of the playoffs
1992-3 Clippers: 41-41, fourth place; lost in the first round of the playoffs
1993-4 Clippers: 27-55, seventh place
1994-5 Clippers: 17-65, seventh place
1995-6 Clippers: 29-53, seventh place
Years six through 10 of the Baylor regime actually saw two, very brief, playoff appearances, but unhappy with that taste of incredible success, Elgin quickly oversaw the Clips return to form. Still, with the two first-round playoff failures, this period marks the most successful part of Baylor's oversight. Need it be pointed out that even with two postseason trips, this time still saw less than two full seasons of victories, and more than three full seasons of defeats?
1996-7 Clippers: 36-46, fifth place
1997-8 Clippers: 17-65, seventh place
1998-9 Clippers: 9-41, seventh place
1999-0 Clippers: 15-67, seventh place
2000-1 Clippers: 31-51, sixth place
108 wins, 270 losses in this spectacular term. The only bright spot: 32 games were not played during the 1998-1999 season, due to a lockout.
2001-2 Clippers: 39-43, fifth place
2002-3 Clippers: 27-55, seventh place
2003-4 Clippers: 28-54, seventh place
2004-5 Clippers: 37-45, third place
2005-6 Clippers: 47-35, second place; lost in playoffs' Western Conference semi-finals (more accurately known as the second round)
Baylor celebrated his 20th season as Clips' GM with his third playoff appearance. This, in the NBA, where every team with breathing bodies (Grizzlies, anyone?) is allowed into the playoffs every year!
2006-7 Clippers: 40-42, fourth place
2007-8 Clippers: 23-59, fifth place
The last two seasons of Baylor modeled his entire career as an executive: one season just below mediocre, the other utterly atrocious.
The only lawsuit that should be filed here is one on behalf of whoever it is that buys tickets to Clippers' games, questioning the mental competence of Mr. Sterling. Elgin Baylor's record of accomplishment in 22 years as the General Manager of the Los Angeles Clippers was 619-1153. Mr. Baylor claims to have been underpaid for his tenure with the Clippers. If he made a dollar, he was overpaid. His suit alleges racism and ageism led to his firing. His lawyers must have never seen an NBA record book.
Elgin Baylor departed from the Clippers on October 8, 2008. It should have happened twenty years earlier.
As both Clippers fans on planet Earth know, Baylor was, for 22 years, the General Manager of the Clips. Donald Sterling, renowned filthy rich tightwad owner of said NBA franchise, acted as something of a pioneer, naming an African-American as GM of a big 4 Major League Sports franchise in 1986. Evidence suggests that Sterling might have felt that Baylor, briefly an NBA head coach with no executive experience, would be less expensive than other, more established basketball execs. Whatever Sterling's motivation, there weren't many blacks serving at that level of the NBA in the mid-1980's.
1986-7 Clippers: 12-70, sixth place
1987-8 Clippers: 17-65, sixth place
1988-9 Clippers: 21-61, seventh place
1989-0 Clippers: 30-52, sixth place
1990-1 Clippers: 31-51, sixth place
Baylor's first five years on the job indicated modest improvement. All the way up to twenty games under .500! Still, Sterling kept him on.
1991-2 Clippers: 45-37, fifth place; lost in the first round of the playoffs
1992-3 Clippers: 41-41, fourth place; lost in the first round of the playoffs
1993-4 Clippers: 27-55, seventh place
1994-5 Clippers: 17-65, seventh place
1995-6 Clippers: 29-53, seventh place
Years six through 10 of the Baylor regime actually saw two, very brief, playoff appearances, but unhappy with that taste of incredible success, Elgin quickly oversaw the Clips return to form. Still, with the two first-round playoff failures, this period marks the most successful part of Baylor's oversight. Need it be pointed out that even with two postseason trips, this time still saw less than two full seasons of victories, and more than three full seasons of defeats?
1996-7 Clippers: 36-46, fifth place
1997-8 Clippers: 17-65, seventh place
1998-9 Clippers: 9-41, seventh place
1999-0 Clippers: 15-67, seventh place
2000-1 Clippers: 31-51, sixth place
108 wins, 270 losses in this spectacular term. The only bright spot: 32 games were not played during the 1998-1999 season, due to a lockout.
2001-2 Clippers: 39-43, fifth place
2002-3 Clippers: 27-55, seventh place
2003-4 Clippers: 28-54, seventh place
2004-5 Clippers: 37-45, third place
2005-6 Clippers: 47-35, second place; lost in playoffs' Western Conference semi-finals (more accurately known as the second round)
Baylor celebrated his 20th season as Clips' GM with his third playoff appearance. This, in the NBA, where every team with breathing bodies (Grizzlies, anyone?) is allowed into the playoffs every year!
2006-7 Clippers: 40-42, fourth place
2007-8 Clippers: 23-59, fifth place
The last two seasons of Baylor modeled his entire career as an executive: one season just below mediocre, the other utterly atrocious.
The only lawsuit that should be filed here is one on behalf of whoever it is that buys tickets to Clippers' games, questioning the mental competence of Mr. Sterling. Elgin Baylor's record of accomplishment in 22 years as the General Manager of the Los Angeles Clippers was 619-1153. Mr. Baylor claims to have been underpaid for his tenure with the Clippers. If he made a dollar, he was overpaid. His suit alleges racism and ageism led to his firing. His lawyers must have never seen an NBA record book.
Elgin Baylor departed from the Clippers on October 8, 2008. It should have happened twenty years earlier.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Well Now; Where to Begin?
I thought about just stopping when my long-standing prayers were answered at noon on January 20.
Naaaaaaaaaaaah!
Truth be told, life got hectic about then. Or a little before.
Did I mention that I have a new granddaughter? I thought I might have.
But then, said granddaughter's mom called to ask if they could come home. All three of them.
Did I mention that we weren't moving in the traditional line on this expanding family thing?
I didn't see that I could have my granddaughter and her unmarried parents living as though they were married under my roof. I shared that with my daughter and her significant other.
They understood.
They agreed.
They shared that they wanted very much to get married. And not, they said, simply because they needed a better place to be with their baby.
My daughter's mother told her she couldn't come home to her house. Said she'd be better off to stay in Lexington. Where they were about to be evicted from their Section 8 trailer. Oh, and by the way, she said they shouldn't get married, either.
Fortunately, none of us pay much attention to what their mother says.
So we planned a wedding in about five days. My wife, my mother and my younger daughter made Sara's day as special as was humanly possible. A friend of two dear friends produced as fabulous a wedding cake as I've ever seen, for an absurdly modest fee. Diana, you're the best; I'll be in your debt for the rest of my life. My partner in leading worship played the piano. Debbie, there's an awful lot I couldn't do without you! And Shannon, Nana and Emily took it from there.
The only problem with Sara's wedding is that Emily saw what we can put together in five days. Her wedding is three years off. She expects planning and execution in accordance with the extra time, God help us!
Then, it was only a matter of whether Sara's grandfathers would make it through conducting the ceremony, and whether I would get the words out in response to that satanic question, "Who gives his little girl to some guy, for him to take care of her instead of you, Dad?"
Oh, you guys who only have sons are such cowards.
I got the words out, somewhat strangled, but audible.
And my first baby became a Mrs. Only 25 days after becoming a Mom. Hey, we got it all done!
They moved in on Sunday night.
The current makeup of our humble abode: Kaly, 4 weeks yesterday; Emily, 20 years next week; Bryan (Mr. Sara), 21 in March; Sara, 22; Me, 48; Shannon, 50; Louise (Shannon's Mom), 85; Bill (Mr. Louise), 86.
I read that that goof in California who had the litter of 8 when she already had 6 more kids wants corporate sponsorships, a book deal, and to sell her movie rights. Whatever. I just want to know when our reality show will start filming. It is by far the most interesting household I've ever been a part of. You wouldn't believe.
Or maybe you would.
All I know is that my older daughter and her little family now have enough to eat, plenty of heat and as much safety as any of us can reasonably expect. And every morning and every night for as long as this lasts (which won't be nearly long enough), I get to hold/feed/change/play with my granddaughter.
And I'd take twice as many people in my house to get that little fringe benefit.
I spent most of January crying and begging The Boss to do something about this situation. I was sure that I'd never get to see Kaly, or Sara...sure I had lost them forever.
Thanks, Boss! For this and so much more, over so very long a time. I feel like I owe you, but I've read the manual. So I'll just offer you the same thanks as over the last 22-plus years: I'll be the best Dad I can, with your help and guidance. Only now, I'll throw in being the best Granddaddy possible, too.
Naaaaaaaaaaaah!
Truth be told, life got hectic about then. Or a little before.
Did I mention that I have a new granddaughter? I thought I might have.
But then, said granddaughter's mom called to ask if they could come home. All three of them.
Did I mention that we weren't moving in the traditional line on this expanding family thing?
I didn't see that I could have my granddaughter and her unmarried parents living as though they were married under my roof. I shared that with my daughter and her significant other.
They understood.
They agreed.
They shared that they wanted very much to get married. And not, they said, simply because they needed a better place to be with their baby.
My daughter's mother told her she couldn't come home to her house. Said she'd be better off to stay in Lexington. Where they were about to be evicted from their Section 8 trailer. Oh, and by the way, she said they shouldn't get married, either.
Fortunately, none of us pay much attention to what their mother says.
So we planned a wedding in about five days. My wife, my mother and my younger daughter made Sara's day as special as was humanly possible. A friend of two dear friends produced as fabulous a wedding cake as I've ever seen, for an absurdly modest fee. Diana, you're the best; I'll be in your debt for the rest of my life. My partner in leading worship played the piano. Debbie, there's an awful lot I couldn't do without you! And Shannon, Nana and Emily took it from there.
The only problem with Sara's wedding is that Emily saw what we can put together in five days. Her wedding is three years off. She expects planning and execution in accordance with the extra time, God help us!
Then, it was only a matter of whether Sara's grandfathers would make it through conducting the ceremony, and whether I would get the words out in response to that satanic question, "Who gives his little girl to some guy, for him to take care of her instead of you, Dad?"
Oh, you guys who only have sons are such cowards.
I got the words out, somewhat strangled, but audible.
And my first baby became a Mrs. Only 25 days after becoming a Mom. Hey, we got it all done!
They moved in on Sunday night.
The current makeup of our humble abode: Kaly, 4 weeks yesterday; Emily, 20 years next week; Bryan (Mr. Sara), 21 in March; Sara, 22; Me, 48; Shannon, 50; Louise (Shannon's Mom), 85; Bill (Mr. Louise), 86.
I read that that goof in California who had the litter of 8 when she already had 6 more kids wants corporate sponsorships, a book deal, and to sell her movie rights. Whatever. I just want to know when our reality show will start filming. It is by far the most interesting household I've ever been a part of. You wouldn't believe.
Or maybe you would.
All I know is that my older daughter and her little family now have enough to eat, plenty of heat and as much safety as any of us can reasonably expect. And every morning and every night for as long as this lasts (which won't be nearly long enough), I get to hold/feed/change/play with my granddaughter.
And I'd take twice as many people in my house to get that little fringe benefit.
I spent most of January crying and begging The Boss to do something about this situation. I was sure that I'd never get to see Kaly, or Sara...sure I had lost them forever.
Thanks, Boss! For this and so much more, over so very long a time. I feel like I owe you, but I've read the manual. So I'll just offer you the same thanks as over the last 22-plus years: I'll be the best Dad I can, with your help and guidance. Only now, I'll throw in being the best Granddaddy possible, too.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Our Long National Nightmare is Over!
So long, Goober!
Adios, Dr. Strangelove!
Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we're all, finally, after eight long years, free at last!
Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we're all, finally, after eight long years, free at last!
12 Hours and Counting: The Final Bush Bash Forever!
Shortly, Barack Obama will stand on the dais at the United States Capitol and be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States.
A little while later, George W. Bush will make the one and only positive contribution to our country of his pathetic life: he will get the hell out of Dodge! Not since Richard Milhous Nixon left his slime trail out the back of the White House to the helipad has an American leader left in such disgrace. Almost 80% of the American people now recognize that the current occupier (in every sense of the term) of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue has been a complete and utter failure. To the other, just over 20%, I can only pose the question Frazier Crane put to Cliff at Cheers: "What color is the sky in your world?"
Goober has declared that whether or not we have agreed with his decisions, we must acknowledge that he has made them. Yessiree! The Dark Sith Lord Cheney has proclaimed one last time that if we just knew what he knows, it would all make sense to us. Guess we're still just too damned stupid to get it, huh Dick? Has an American official ever been more appropriately named?
My greatest consolation at this moment of momentous change: my new granddaughter will have no recollection of the embarassment of having those two men, one evil beyond comprehension, the other too stupid to know how bad he really is, as the leaders of our badly, badly damaged nation.
You may rest assured, however, that her grandfather will see to it that she knows the story of the election, inauguration and administration of a highly intelligent man of great integrity who carries the incredibly heavy burden of cleaning out the horribly fouled stall that those two horses' asses have left us.
May God forgive the United States of America for the last eight atrocious years.
And may God guide and protect President Barack Obama for the next eight years.
A little while later, George W. Bush will make the one and only positive contribution to our country of his pathetic life: he will get the hell out of Dodge! Not since Richard Milhous Nixon left his slime trail out the back of the White House to the helipad has an American leader left in such disgrace. Almost 80% of the American people now recognize that the current occupier (in every sense of the term) of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue has been a complete and utter failure. To the other, just over 20%, I can only pose the question Frazier Crane put to Cliff at Cheers: "What color is the sky in your world?"
Goober has declared that whether or not we have agreed with his decisions, we must acknowledge that he has made them. Yessiree! The Dark Sith Lord Cheney has proclaimed one last time that if we just knew what he knows, it would all make sense to us. Guess we're still just too damned stupid to get it, huh Dick? Has an American official ever been more appropriately named?
My greatest consolation at this moment of momentous change: my new granddaughter will have no recollection of the embarassment of having those two men, one evil beyond comprehension, the other too stupid to know how bad he really is, as the leaders of our badly, badly damaged nation.
You may rest assured, however, that her grandfather will see to it that she knows the story of the election, inauguration and administration of a highly intelligent man of great integrity who carries the incredibly heavy burden of cleaning out the horribly fouled stall that those two horses' asses have left us.
May God forgive the United States of America for the last eight atrocious years.
And may God guide and protect President Barack Obama for the next eight years.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Let the Buffoon Go Home Already! Final Bush Bashes, Pt. 2
There is no number of exit interviews that will make George II warm and fuzzy. His only service to the country has been to improve the collective recollection of Jimmy Carter. Carter, by the way, is the genuine Christian disciple that Bush has pretended to be.
There is no way that any final press conferences are going to mine some sort of hidden wisdom that will explain these last eight, dreadful years. Bush has no wisdom. He has proved that over, and over, and over, in every move The Decider has made.
The man is an inarticulate buffoon. He has done all that could be done to destroy every single thing that is good and valuable about this country. He is a murderer, worse than bin Laden. He is arrogant. He is totally unreflective. He is smug. He has ruined the name of this good country throughout the world. He has bankrupted the nation.
And he has done it all in the name of Jesus.
There is a special rung of hell for those who claim to know, but fail to embody anything resembling the Christian faith. George W. Bush will occupy that special place.
It seems at this point that the transition has gone on forever. Barack Obama has a horrific job in front of him.
The good news is that he is not George Bush.
That means, by absolute and total default, that he will be an improvement.
There is no way that any final press conferences are going to mine some sort of hidden wisdom that will explain these last eight, dreadful years. Bush has no wisdom. He has proved that over, and over, and over, in every move The Decider has made.
The man is an inarticulate buffoon. He has done all that could be done to destroy every single thing that is good and valuable about this country. He is a murderer, worse than bin Laden. He is arrogant. He is totally unreflective. He is smug. He has ruined the name of this good country throughout the world. He has bankrupted the nation.
And he has done it all in the name of Jesus.
There is a special rung of hell for those who claim to know, but fail to embody anything resembling the Christian faith. George W. Bush will occupy that special place.
It seems at this point that the transition has gone on forever. Barack Obama has a horrific job in front of him.
The good news is that he is not George Bush.
That means, by absolute and total default, that he will be an improvement.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
WOW! Or, Your Humble Blogger Becomes a Grandfather
This is Kaly.
This is Kaly with her mom.
This is Kaly with her mom and her grandfather.
This is Kaly with her grandmother.
This is Kaly with her great-grandmother.
This is Kaly with her great-grandfather.
This is Kaly with her grandfather again.
This is Kaly with her mom and her Auntie Em.
No kidding!
This is Kaly with her great-uncle.
This is Kaly with her great-aunt.
This is Kaly with her other great-aunt.
This is Kaly with her grandfather again.
Kaly likes her grandfather.
Kaly's grandfather likes having the blog. It lets him choose the pictures!
Kaly's family is glad she's here.
Finally!
ps. Kaly's grandfather knows how to use a computer. Sadly, the Blogger people don't. Sorry about the pathetic arbitrary spaces between photos and captions.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Final Bush Bashes: 34 Days Until the End of an Error
The administration found over $700 billion for the financial institutions. And were devious enough to tie any oversight to assets sold at auction. Which none of the financial institutions are doing. Result: free money! Free to be spent on "retreats" or corporate jets or bonuses to incompetents or any other damned thing striking the fancy of these bozos.
But now Detroit needs help.
Tennessee's junior Senator materialized long enough to propose that any money for the auto makers should include a requirement that the United Auto Workers' members should be forced to take wage cuts to the level of the car plants in the south. Was there ever a clearer statement of the constituency of the modern Republican party?
Citizens whose addresses are on Wall Street, whose bonuses range up to 8 figures (not even counting salaries and stock options), who are getting $700 Billion, are free to answer only to consciences that they apparently don't have. But actual American workers, people who sweat for a living and whose earnings are figured by the hour, have to accept a major hit to see $15 billion in assistance for their companies. That's less than four months of Iraq war money, compared to right at 13 1/2 years of Iraq war money for the financial boys. (I apologize for the math error previously posted. I errantly figured the time at $1 billion per day, when the correct figure is $1 billion per week spent in Iraq. I should never do math in public.) Which also points out that much of this financial/economic crisis/credit crunch has its roots in that godawful war. But I digress.
The Bushies are taking one last run at rewarding the Pioneers, and one last slap at people who have to work. They want to use the "Right to Work" states as the standard. What a fabulous bit of doublespeak that one is! "Right to Work" laws have nothing to do with anyone working. They have only to do with protecting employers from lawsuits when they dismiss people for whatever excuse strikes the Boss' fancy. "Right to Work" laws are political payoffs from people who took sums of money (in campaign contributions) that would make the Illinois Governor blush, directly to the people who made those payoffs. Quid pro quo? You bet your ass!
George W. Bush believes that the United Auto Workers' leadership should sell out their membership, and tie them to the wages of the south's working poor. Hey, they might pull it off. These are the same people who have convinced us rebels that those nasty unions would be an awful thing to get involved with, way down here in Dixie. Yeah, I can see the reasoning. Those terrible unions might get some folks some better wages, overtime pay for overtime worked, better health care, better pensions, safer working conditions...I can see why we'd want to keep them unions out of here!
I saw Phil Silvers on an old What's My Line rerun the other night. They were talking about his old show Sgt. Bilko. We're now watching the last stand of the Commander-in-Chief-Bilker. And we're all the bilkees.
And he didn't even buy us dinner first.
But now Detroit needs help.
Tennessee's junior Senator materialized long enough to propose that any money for the auto makers should include a requirement that the United Auto Workers' members should be forced to take wage cuts to the level of the car plants in the south. Was there ever a clearer statement of the constituency of the modern Republican party?
Citizens whose addresses are on Wall Street, whose bonuses range up to 8 figures (not even counting salaries and stock options), who are getting $700 Billion, are free to answer only to consciences that they apparently don't have. But actual American workers, people who sweat for a living and whose earnings are figured by the hour, have to accept a major hit to see $15 billion in assistance for their companies. That's less than four months of Iraq war money, compared to right at 13 1/2 years of Iraq war money for the financial boys. (I apologize for the math error previously posted. I errantly figured the time at $1 billion per day, when the correct figure is $1 billion per week spent in Iraq. I should never do math in public.) Which also points out that much of this financial/economic crisis/credit crunch has its roots in that godawful war. But I digress.
The Bushies are taking one last run at rewarding the Pioneers, and one last slap at people who have to work. They want to use the "Right to Work" states as the standard. What a fabulous bit of doublespeak that one is! "Right to Work" laws have nothing to do with anyone working. They have only to do with protecting employers from lawsuits when they dismiss people for whatever excuse strikes the Boss' fancy. "Right to Work" laws are political payoffs from people who took sums of money (in campaign contributions) that would make the Illinois Governor blush, directly to the people who made those payoffs. Quid pro quo? You bet your ass!
George W. Bush believes that the United Auto Workers' leadership should sell out their membership, and tie them to the wages of the south's working poor. Hey, they might pull it off. These are the same people who have convinced us rebels that those nasty unions would be an awful thing to get involved with, way down here in Dixie. Yeah, I can see the reasoning. Those terrible unions might get some folks some better wages, overtime pay for overtime worked, better health care, better pensions, safer working conditions...I can see why we'd want to keep them unions out of here!
I saw Phil Silvers on an old What's My Line rerun the other night. They were talking about his old show Sgt. Bilko. We're now watching the last stand of the Commander-in-Chief-Bilker. And we're all the bilkees.
And he didn't even buy us dinner first.
Sensible Sox
Boston Red Sox owner John Henry distributed an email tonight, notifying members of the Boston media that the Sox' pursuit of Mark Teixeira has ended. The message made it plain that when agent Scott Boras, the son of Satan, told Red Sox ownership and management that he had in hand multiple better offers than the 8 years at $184 million that Mr. Henry had put on the table, the Red Sox solons walked.
Bravo!
Hurrah!
Three Cheers!
It looks to me like Mr. Henry brought a whole pile of big old Iraqi-type shoes to throw at the head of Scott Boras, the son of Satan. And I couldn't be prouder!
The claim by Boras, the son of Satan, indicates that someone/s are proposing more years, or more than $23 million per season for the switch-hitting first baseman, late of the Angels. Go ahead, big boy: take it. God bless. And don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out!
Either Boras, the son of Satan, is lying again (which is my bet, as his lips were surely moving), or other Major League teams have lost their minds.
The Sox know how risky an eight year deal is. Look up Ramirez, Manny. The Sox know how risky those kinds of dollars are. Look up Drew, J.D. They found their line, stuck to it, and I now have more respect for Theo Epstein, John Henry, Tom Werner and, yes, even Larry Lucchino, than I have ever had before.
We told Scott Boras, the son of Satan, to stick it.
All of baseball needs to tell Scott Boras, the son of Satan, to stick it, permanently.
He, the son of Satan, is feeling his oats after watching Greg Genske get Sabathia's contract, and Darek Braunecker get AJ Burnett's, from the Steinbrenner boys, and figured the Red Sox would be easy prey to manipulate in the ever more expensive game of keeping up with the pinstripes. Not so much. Not this time.
No one except the Yankees can afford to be wrong at those years for those dollars. Even the Red Sox, Mets, Dodgers and Angels would be crippled for years by a contract of that value that didn't produce for the length of the deal.
Scotty, the son of Satan, thought he could play us. If he was bluffing, and calls back, I would reduce the offer by one year and $40 million. And if he doesn't immediately accept, I'd cut it again in 15 minutes.
It is high time that baseball makes it clear to this megalomaniac that he doesn't own the game, he is not bigger than the game, and he will not run the game.
And if, indeed, the Yankees have offered 10 years at $300 million, I hope they sign Tex, and then give Manny an identical deal, and, heck, give Derek Lowe 10 years while you're at it. And then, as your team continues to age and pay people who are broken down for not playing, we'll keep winning World Series with players we draft and develop.
Sorry, Tex. You'd have enjoyed getting a ring next year.
And I'm perfectly delighted to go to war with Mike Lowell and Kevin Youkilis.
Bravo!
Hurrah!
Three Cheers!
It looks to me like Mr. Henry brought a whole pile of big old Iraqi-type shoes to throw at the head of Scott Boras, the son of Satan. And I couldn't be prouder!
The claim by Boras, the son of Satan, indicates that someone/s are proposing more years, or more than $23 million per season for the switch-hitting first baseman, late of the Angels. Go ahead, big boy: take it. God bless. And don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out!
Either Boras, the son of Satan, is lying again (which is my bet, as his lips were surely moving), or other Major League teams have lost their minds.
The Sox know how risky an eight year deal is. Look up Ramirez, Manny. The Sox know how risky those kinds of dollars are. Look up Drew, J.D. They found their line, stuck to it, and I now have more respect for Theo Epstein, John Henry, Tom Werner and, yes, even Larry Lucchino, than I have ever had before.
We told Scott Boras, the son of Satan, to stick it.
All of baseball needs to tell Scott Boras, the son of Satan, to stick it, permanently.
He, the son of Satan, is feeling his oats after watching Greg Genske get Sabathia's contract, and Darek Braunecker get AJ Burnett's, from the Steinbrenner boys, and figured the Red Sox would be easy prey to manipulate in the ever more expensive game of keeping up with the pinstripes. Not so much. Not this time.
No one except the Yankees can afford to be wrong at those years for those dollars. Even the Red Sox, Mets, Dodgers and Angels would be crippled for years by a contract of that value that didn't produce for the length of the deal.
Scotty, the son of Satan, thought he could play us. If he was bluffing, and calls back, I would reduce the offer by one year and $40 million. And if he doesn't immediately accept, I'd cut it again in 15 minutes.
It is high time that baseball makes it clear to this megalomaniac that he doesn't own the game, he is not bigger than the game, and he will not run the game.
And if, indeed, the Yankees have offered 10 years at $300 million, I hope they sign Tex, and then give Manny an identical deal, and, heck, give Derek Lowe 10 years while you're at it. And then, as your team continues to age and pay people who are broken down for not playing, we'll keep winning World Series with players we draft and develop.
Sorry, Tex. You'd have enjoyed getting a ring next year.
And I'm perfectly delighted to go to war with Mike Lowell and Kevin Youkilis.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Thanks, Yankees!
The Bronx Money Machine has saved the next few years, five specifically, for the Atlanta Braves. Save the "It's not about the money" crap for another day, please: after the Braves offered AJ Burnett $80 million for 5 years, the Yankees bought him for a mere $2.5 million more. Not, mind you, $2.5 million more per season. $2.5 million more over 5 seasons.
Anybody want to try to make the case that $500,000 at that level covers the difference in the cost, and quality, of living between NYC and Hotlanta?
Didn't think so.
But this isn't a loss for the Braves. It is a chance to spend their money reasonably and responsibly on players who can, again, reasonably be expected to perform for the length of the deal. Five years of Mr. Burnett is six DL trips, minimum. And he's aging.
Five years for Burnett makes sense only for the Yankees, for they are the only team in Major League Baseball who can erase that expensive a mistake and never miss a beat.
Count your blessings, Braves' GM Frank Wren! The Steinbrenner boys saved your hide.
Anybody want to try to make the case that $500,000 at that level covers the difference in the cost, and quality, of living between NYC and Hotlanta?
Didn't think so.
But this isn't a loss for the Braves. It is a chance to spend their money reasonably and responsibly on players who can, again, reasonably be expected to perform for the length of the deal. Five years of Mr. Burnett is six DL trips, minimum. And he's aging.
Five years for Burnett makes sense only for the Yankees, for they are the only team in Major League Baseball who can erase that expensive a mistake and never miss a beat.
Count your blessings, Braves' GM Frank Wren! The Steinbrenner boys saved your hide.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Braves New World?
The Atlanta Braves had a couple of cups of coffee with success between their mid-60's move from Milwaukee and the 1986 change that made them the best franchise in Major League Baseball, but for most of that time they were terrible.
After the 1985 season, former manager Bobby Cox left the Toronto Blue Jays to return as the Braves' General Manager. He drafted or traded for Tom Glavine, John Smoltz, Chipper Jones, Jeff Blauser, David Justice, Mark Lemke, Mark Wohlers, Steve Avery and Ron Gant, among others. These players were the foundation for the tremendous run that began in 1991, with General Manager Cox having hired himself to take over as field Manager, clearing the way for Ted Turner to recruit John Schuerholz to follow Cox as GM. Their partnership produced an unprecedented run of success in all of professional sport.
The Braves seemed, at times, ruthless in their decision making. Cox had traded the beloved two-time MVP Dale Murphy to clear the way for David Justice to play. The Cox-Schuerholz team allowed future Hall of Famers Tom Glavine and Greg Maddux to leave when they were adjudged too old and/or too expensive to continue with the team. Ron Gant was banished in, seemingly, the prime of his career. He never had another season to match his Braves success. They dealt quickly and harshly with those who disrupted the clubhouse. They acted swiftly to make trades that made the difference (Fred McGriff) and spent what was necessary to succeed (Glavine, Maddux, Smoltz, the Jones Boys, Andres Galarraga). But their trades were rarely reckless, and their spending was almost always on sure things.
Cox remains in the dugout, but John Schuerholz moved from General Manager to Team President before the 2008 season. Frank Wren was promoted to GM.
The tale may soon be told on Mr. Wren's administration.
The Braves have offered A.J. Burnett a five year, $80 million contract to take over as their ace.
In the 2008-2009 hot stove period, no one in their right mind would ever consider giving Kerry Wood a five year starter's deal for that kind of money. The reports are that Wood is on the verge of a contract with the Cleveland Indians that would pay him $20 million for two years to close. That seems reasonable, as Wood had a good year closing for the Cubs in 2008. His innings were limited as a closer. His career-long injury problems were kept to a minimum. The longest he was down was due to a reported blister problem.
Burnett is six months older than Kerry Wood. And if you compare their career statistics, leaving out 2008, as Wood closed, and Burnett had what, in all likelihood, will prove to be his career year, you find some very interesting comparisons:
Burnett: 69-66, 176 starts, 1155 IP, 988 h, 483 ER, 482 bb, 1047 k, 3.76 ERA
Wood: 72-57, 178 starts, 1128.2 IP, 875 h, 461 ER, 546 bb, 1299 k, 3.68 ERA
Wood has been, marginally at most points, the better pitcher. The tragedy of Kerry Wood, as most fans know, has been the 12 trips to the disabled list. But A.J. Burnett has been on the DL 10 times. Each has had a lost season: 2006 for Wood, 2003 for Burnett. They so closely mirror one another that they each had 4 starts in their lost campaign.
Frank Wren thinks he knows something that no one else, other than the money-means-nothing-to-us New York Yankees, knows.
He better be right, because if he's not, he's going to be saddled with a contract that will cripple the Braves for the next half-decade.
After the 1985 season, former manager Bobby Cox left the Toronto Blue Jays to return as the Braves' General Manager. He drafted or traded for Tom Glavine, John Smoltz, Chipper Jones, Jeff Blauser, David Justice, Mark Lemke, Mark Wohlers, Steve Avery and Ron Gant, among others. These players were the foundation for the tremendous run that began in 1991, with General Manager Cox having hired himself to take over as field Manager, clearing the way for Ted Turner to recruit John Schuerholz to follow Cox as GM. Their partnership produced an unprecedented run of success in all of professional sport.
The Braves seemed, at times, ruthless in their decision making. Cox had traded the beloved two-time MVP Dale Murphy to clear the way for David Justice to play. The Cox-Schuerholz team allowed future Hall of Famers Tom Glavine and Greg Maddux to leave when they were adjudged too old and/or too expensive to continue with the team. Ron Gant was banished in, seemingly, the prime of his career. He never had another season to match his Braves success. They dealt quickly and harshly with those who disrupted the clubhouse. They acted swiftly to make trades that made the difference (Fred McGriff) and spent what was necessary to succeed (Glavine, Maddux, Smoltz, the Jones Boys, Andres Galarraga). But their trades were rarely reckless, and their spending was almost always on sure things.
Cox remains in the dugout, but John Schuerholz moved from General Manager to Team President before the 2008 season. Frank Wren was promoted to GM.
The tale may soon be told on Mr. Wren's administration.
The Braves have offered A.J. Burnett a five year, $80 million contract to take over as their ace.
In the 2008-2009 hot stove period, no one in their right mind would ever consider giving Kerry Wood a five year starter's deal for that kind of money. The reports are that Wood is on the verge of a contract with the Cleveland Indians that would pay him $20 million for two years to close. That seems reasonable, as Wood had a good year closing for the Cubs in 2008. His innings were limited as a closer. His career-long injury problems were kept to a minimum. The longest he was down was due to a reported blister problem.
Burnett is six months older than Kerry Wood. And if you compare their career statistics, leaving out 2008, as Wood closed, and Burnett had what, in all likelihood, will prove to be his career year, you find some very interesting comparisons:
Burnett: 69-66, 176 starts, 1155 IP, 988 h, 483 ER, 482 bb, 1047 k, 3.76 ERA
Wood: 72-57, 178 starts, 1128.2 IP, 875 h, 461 ER, 546 bb, 1299 k, 3.68 ERA
Wood has been, marginally at most points, the better pitcher. The tragedy of Kerry Wood, as most fans know, has been the 12 trips to the disabled list. But A.J. Burnett has been on the DL 10 times. Each has had a lost season: 2006 for Wood, 2003 for Burnett. They so closely mirror one another that they each had 4 starts in their lost campaign.
Frank Wren thinks he knows something that no one else, other than the money-means-nothing-to-us New York Yankees, knows.
He better be right, because if he's not, he's going to be saddled with a contract that will cripple the Braves for the next half-decade.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Time Heals All Wounds...But This One: 28
I usually turn on the Monday Night Football game. Not tonight.
I usually look at the poster on my wall. Not today.
I often turn the radio up when a certain artist's songs come on. Not right now.
John Lennon died 28 years ago today. Howard Cosell informed the nation during Monday Night Football. Stations go out of their way to play John's music on this date. Yoko issues statements about John's legacy. People hold candlelight vigils.
I don't need it.
I can't take it.
I missed the Beatles. The Kennedys and King were dead by the time I knew the world. But John was The Guy.
John mattered. His opinions and following scared Nixon. There was no more honorable position in my early political awareness than "Nixon Enemy." He scared them so badly they tried to throw him out of the country. The Supreme Court, back when they used to make good decisions, wouldn't let them. It was cool to look up to John. He wasn't embarassing. Ever. Not even on the "Lost Weekend." He spent it with Harry Nilsson, for crying out loud. Don't get cooler than that.
What would John have written about Iraq? How would he have lent his voice to the protest over Bush's destruction of our civil liberties? How might he have shared the move to grandparenting, the new millenium, Obama's election or his ever-growing love for Yoko?
It's too hard, still too painful to think about.
I don't understand, and don't intend to understand, how any person, even a crazy one, can take another life. It just doesn't make sense. But why did it have to be John? Of all the people just taking up space, why the most creative, most powerful, most vibrant figure of his generation, or any since?
28...38...108...I don't need it. I'd like to take December 8 off the calendar. Just eradicate it.
If only that could give him back to us.
I usually look at the poster on my wall. Not today.
I often turn the radio up when a certain artist's songs come on. Not right now.
John Lennon died 28 years ago today. Howard Cosell informed the nation during Monday Night Football. Stations go out of their way to play John's music on this date. Yoko issues statements about John's legacy. People hold candlelight vigils.
I don't need it.
I can't take it.
I missed the Beatles. The Kennedys and King were dead by the time I knew the world. But John was The Guy.
John mattered. His opinions and following scared Nixon. There was no more honorable position in my early political awareness than "Nixon Enemy." He scared them so badly they tried to throw him out of the country. The Supreme Court, back when they used to make good decisions, wouldn't let them. It was cool to look up to John. He wasn't embarassing. Ever. Not even on the "Lost Weekend." He spent it with Harry Nilsson, for crying out loud. Don't get cooler than that.
What would John have written about Iraq? How would he have lent his voice to the protest over Bush's destruction of our civil liberties? How might he have shared the move to grandparenting, the new millenium, Obama's election or his ever-growing love for Yoko?
It's too hard, still too painful to think about.
I don't understand, and don't intend to understand, how any person, even a crazy one, can take another life. It just doesn't make sense. But why did it have to be John? Of all the people just taking up space, why the most creative, most powerful, most vibrant figure of his generation, or any since?
28...38...108...I don't need it. I'd like to take December 8 off the calendar. Just eradicate it.
If only that could give him back to us.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Alma Mater, What's the Matter?
Our college is in trouble.
They need the churches of our little conference to pony up on the plus-side of $500,000 to meet December payroll and get them to the first of the year. Or else.
Let's look back.
In 1982, the Board of Trustees ended a 20-year presidency at the college. It was probably time, but was difficult anyway. Those things always are. (Full disclosure: the man who left the presidency in 1982 became my father-in-law in 2002.) At that point, the college had an 8-figure endowment. They brought in a very, very fine man, who had been a very, very fine Dean at one of our sister institutions. As President of our school, he had been a very fine dean. Decent man, but bland doesn't begin to cover it.
When that term ended, early, the Board wanted someone dynamic and visionary. So they allowed themselves to be played like so many Stradivari, and hired one of the nation's great con men. He spent his time and the College's money chartering planes to China, making donations to Asian institutions which would bestow honorary doctorates upon him, and attempting to remove faculty and staff who asked questions about his shenanigans. Which the Board of Trustees allowed him to continue.
Finally, sobriety returned, and the con man was sent on his way.
Next, another good Dean, the best of the post-1982 group, but a Dean nonetheless.
Finally, Fred Zuker arrived. Fred beautified the campus. He developed a neighborhood association. He got the city to close some streets bounding the campus, so everybody felt safer. Fred's a friendly guy. So he brought some friends with him. And one of them, assigned to the Financial Aid office, handed out bushel baskets full of financial aid that the college did not have. The President fiddled while Rome burned. Now, he's gone too.
And so is the endowment.
The college received just short of $400,000 from the Conference in 2007. It was scheduled to receive a like amount in 2008, and is approved for the same number in 2009. At a time when only 82% of the total apportionment is being paid across the Conference. And, while I haven't seen this year's figures, I'd bet the farm I don't have that it will be lower this year. Bad economy, anyone?
This is a tough time to be in the charitable giving business.
With a few members having lost jobs, others being concerned about possible layoffs, and everyone anxious about where this economic mess will end up, my church's accounts are down for the year. But we still paid our apportionments in full. Yes, that's paid, because my people are such stewards of their United Methodist identity that they make payments monthly, January through October, to satisfy their apportionment in 10 months. No credit to me; that's the way they've done it for years.
Few of our churches perform like mine. Most of those that will pay 100% by the end of the year are scrambling right now to raise the necessary funds. And an ever-increasing number of them will not pay 100%. Some only dream, nostalgically, of reaching that mark.
We are also working right now to support some of our institutions that care for the needy. UM Neighborhood Centers is scrambling to keep the wolf from the door, as is Reelfoot Rural Ministry. The elderly housing agency has jettisoned the poorest of their residences; cost too much to do ministry there, don't you know.
And in the middle of all of this, our college wants help.
It costs $25,000 for one year for one student to attend our college. Let that soak in for a moment.
What percentage of the families that are about to be asked to give to the college can afford to send their children to school there? (More disclosure: I have a step-son in school there. Through a lot of Aid, and by the skin of our teeth, financially. My daughter attends the University of Memphis.) How many underprivileged kids is this church-related college educating? Who, exactly, are they serving in 2008?
I do not relish the idea of losing the college. (Final disclosure: I am an alum, as is my wife, her brother and my parents. My grandfather chaired the Board of Trustees in the late 50' and early 60's. I am grateful for what the college has done for our families.) But I also do not like being told that we, across the Conference, have to produce for the college north of a half-million dollars, on top of a $400,000 apportionment, at a time when most of us are being badgered to pay every nickel in apportionments possible, we're scraping everywhere we can for donations of food, toys and winter clothing for the needy, and, I suspect, most of us in the clergy are foregoing even the cost of living adjustment that would merely keep us even with last year.
The US Constitution does not guarantee CITI Group, AIG or Lehman Brothers the right to run their businesses into the ground with the expectation that the American public would bail them out of holes of their own making afterward. Nor are GM, Ford and Chrysler guaranteed the right to make terrible automobiles, treat their workers as expensive nuisances, and fight every environment-friendly proposal that ever came down the pike, and, again, be bailed out of holes of their own making afterward.
In a like manner, the United Methodist Book of Discipline does not guarantee the Lambuth College Board of Trustees the right to mismanage the school for more than a generation, and expect the churches to then fix their self-inflicted problems for them.
Like the decisions being made in Washington right now, our leaders may choose to obligate us for those bad decisions. But there is one difference that should be noted: the folk in Washington can tell the country how they are going to spend our money, and at least until the next election, there's not one thing we can do about it. On the other hand, there is absolutely no way whatsoever to dictate to those people in the pews that they should bail out the college for 26 years of bad decisions.
They need the churches of our little conference to pony up on the plus-side of $500,000 to meet December payroll and get them to the first of the year. Or else.
Let's look back.
In 1982, the Board of Trustees ended a 20-year presidency at the college. It was probably time, but was difficult anyway. Those things always are. (Full disclosure: the man who left the presidency in 1982 became my father-in-law in 2002.) At that point, the college had an 8-figure endowment. They brought in a very, very fine man, who had been a very, very fine Dean at one of our sister institutions. As President of our school, he had been a very fine dean. Decent man, but bland doesn't begin to cover it.
When that term ended, early, the Board wanted someone dynamic and visionary. So they allowed themselves to be played like so many Stradivari, and hired one of the nation's great con men. He spent his time and the College's money chartering planes to China, making donations to Asian institutions which would bestow honorary doctorates upon him, and attempting to remove faculty and staff who asked questions about his shenanigans. Which the Board of Trustees allowed him to continue.
Finally, sobriety returned, and the con man was sent on his way.
Next, another good Dean, the best of the post-1982 group, but a Dean nonetheless.
Finally, Fred Zuker arrived. Fred beautified the campus. He developed a neighborhood association. He got the city to close some streets bounding the campus, so everybody felt safer. Fred's a friendly guy. So he brought some friends with him. And one of them, assigned to the Financial Aid office, handed out bushel baskets full of financial aid that the college did not have. The President fiddled while Rome burned. Now, he's gone too.
And so is the endowment.
The college received just short of $400,000 from the Conference in 2007. It was scheduled to receive a like amount in 2008, and is approved for the same number in 2009. At a time when only 82% of the total apportionment is being paid across the Conference. And, while I haven't seen this year's figures, I'd bet the farm I don't have that it will be lower this year. Bad economy, anyone?
This is a tough time to be in the charitable giving business.
With a few members having lost jobs, others being concerned about possible layoffs, and everyone anxious about where this economic mess will end up, my church's accounts are down for the year. But we still paid our apportionments in full. Yes, that's paid, because my people are such stewards of their United Methodist identity that they make payments monthly, January through October, to satisfy their apportionment in 10 months. No credit to me; that's the way they've done it for years.
Few of our churches perform like mine. Most of those that will pay 100% by the end of the year are scrambling right now to raise the necessary funds. And an ever-increasing number of them will not pay 100%. Some only dream, nostalgically, of reaching that mark.
We are also working right now to support some of our institutions that care for the needy. UM Neighborhood Centers is scrambling to keep the wolf from the door, as is Reelfoot Rural Ministry. The elderly housing agency has jettisoned the poorest of their residences; cost too much to do ministry there, don't you know.
And in the middle of all of this, our college wants help.
It costs $25,000 for one year for one student to attend our college. Let that soak in for a moment.
What percentage of the families that are about to be asked to give to the college can afford to send their children to school there? (More disclosure: I have a step-son in school there. Through a lot of Aid, and by the skin of our teeth, financially. My daughter attends the University of Memphis.) How many underprivileged kids is this church-related college educating? Who, exactly, are they serving in 2008?
I do not relish the idea of losing the college. (Final disclosure: I am an alum, as is my wife, her brother and my parents. My grandfather chaired the Board of Trustees in the late 50' and early 60's. I am grateful for what the college has done for our families.) But I also do not like being told that we, across the Conference, have to produce for the college north of a half-million dollars, on top of a $400,000 apportionment, at a time when most of us are being badgered to pay every nickel in apportionments possible, we're scraping everywhere we can for donations of food, toys and winter clothing for the needy, and, I suspect, most of us in the clergy are foregoing even the cost of living adjustment that would merely keep us even with last year.
The US Constitution does not guarantee CITI Group, AIG or Lehman Brothers the right to run their businesses into the ground with the expectation that the American public would bail them out of holes of their own making afterward. Nor are GM, Ford and Chrysler guaranteed the right to make terrible automobiles, treat their workers as expensive nuisances, and fight every environment-friendly proposal that ever came down the pike, and, again, be bailed out of holes of their own making afterward.
In a like manner, the United Methodist Book of Discipline does not guarantee the Lambuth College Board of Trustees the right to mismanage the school for more than a generation, and expect the churches to then fix their self-inflicted problems for them.
Like the decisions being made in Washington right now, our leaders may choose to obligate us for those bad decisions. But there is one difference that should be noted: the folk in Washington can tell the country how they are going to spend our money, and at least until the next election, there's not one thing we can do about it. On the other hand, there is absolutely no way whatsoever to dictate to those people in the pews that they should bail out the college for 26 years of bad decisions.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Why the Happiness?
Dustin Pedroia and Tito Francona are overjoyed because of:A) Pedroia's 2007 AL Rookie of the Year Award
B) Winning the 2007 World Series
C) Pedroia's 2008 Gold Glove Award
D) Pedroia's 2008 Silver Slugger Award
E) Pedroia's 2008 AL MVP Award
F) The 6 year (with an option for 2015) contract that the Sox and their Mighty Mite have agreed to today
Answer: All of the above, but especially F!
Monday, December 01, 2008
OK, Now the Truth
I really, really tried to think happy thoughts (see previous post). Like it would help tonight. I may be fooling everybody else. But I'm not fooling me.
Or, at least, not my migraine.
I don't know where these things came from. Neither of my parents are headache sufferers. But as long as I can remember, they come. Changes in the weather. Too much caffeine. Too little. Certain foods, some known to me that I strenuously avoid; others, most certainly, still a mystery. Too little sleep. That last one is murder for a notorious insomniac. The triggers are many, and scattered around through life like little land mines, just waiting for the weight of a footstep.
I stepped on one today.
I'm not even sure which one(s).
That prescription does me no good. Sometimes, when I am awake and recognize the onset, the Excedrin Migraine Strength can mute them a bit. But I have to take it right at the beginning; if the thing gets hold of me, nothing stops it but sleep, and lots of it.
Sleep didn't work today.
If you care about me and get scared over this next part, don't worry. I'm not contemplating. But I do understand why some of the miserable wretches I've read about who have these things go on for a month or longer kill themselves. My worst have lasted about a week. I've had a kidney stone. Didn't hurt like this. I've cut off the end of a finger. No comparison. I've been through a divorce. Not even close, although I don't seem to get as many of them since the end of that marriage.
I can't make the childbirth comparison, obviously, but that's the only thing I can even imagine outpacing this little joy.
The incapacitating nature of the migraine reveals human character to us sufferers. There are, actually, two kinds of people after all: those who get migraines, and those who don't. Those who get them are always, always, always sympathetic to others who know the plight. And those who don't are just as uniformly indifferent to a person in the throes of one.
Our kitchen sink is 50 feet from our bed, through two walls and a door. The drip in that sink sounds like a bass drum surrounding my head when a migraine is in process. The tick of my wife's batter operated clock-on the far wall of our bathroom-sounds like the Sixty Minutes watch amplified by Led Zeppelin's old speaker arrangement. Light-the slightest light, like the clock on the cable box, the "on" light on The Roommate's breathing machine, the alarm clock on the dimmest setting-are spears jammed repeatedly into the eyeball that fronts that particular version of the migraine. Sometimes they are accompanied by violent nausea and flashes of light that are visible only to the one with the headache.
Such has been today.
But tomorrow's another day...
Or, at least, not my migraine.
I don't know where these things came from. Neither of my parents are headache sufferers. But as long as I can remember, they come. Changes in the weather. Too much caffeine. Too little. Certain foods, some known to me that I strenuously avoid; others, most certainly, still a mystery. Too little sleep. That last one is murder for a notorious insomniac. The triggers are many, and scattered around through life like little land mines, just waiting for the weight of a footstep.
I stepped on one today.
I'm not even sure which one(s).
That prescription does me no good. Sometimes, when I am awake and recognize the onset, the Excedrin Migraine Strength can mute them a bit. But I have to take it right at the beginning; if the thing gets hold of me, nothing stops it but sleep, and lots of it.
Sleep didn't work today.
If you care about me and get scared over this next part, don't worry. I'm not contemplating. But I do understand why some of the miserable wretches I've read about who have these things go on for a month or longer kill themselves. My worst have lasted about a week. I've had a kidney stone. Didn't hurt like this. I've cut off the end of a finger. No comparison. I've been through a divorce. Not even close, although I don't seem to get as many of them since the end of that marriage.
I can't make the childbirth comparison, obviously, but that's the only thing I can even imagine outpacing this little joy.
The incapacitating nature of the migraine reveals human character to us sufferers. There are, actually, two kinds of people after all: those who get migraines, and those who don't. Those who get them are always, always, always sympathetic to others who know the plight. And those who don't are just as uniformly indifferent to a person in the throes of one.
Our kitchen sink is 50 feet from our bed, through two walls and a door. The drip in that sink sounds like a bass drum surrounding my head when a migraine is in process. The tick of my wife's batter operated clock-on the far wall of our bathroom-sounds like the Sixty Minutes watch amplified by Led Zeppelin's old speaker arrangement. Light-the slightest light, like the clock on the cable box, the "on" light on The Roommate's breathing machine, the alarm clock on the dimmest setting-are spears jammed repeatedly into the eyeball that fronts that particular version of the migraine. Sometimes they are accompanied by violent nausea and flashes of light that are visible only to the one with the headache.
Such has been today.
But tomorrow's another day...
A Bragging Moment
We kicked off Advent yesterday by incorporating the Hanging of the Green order into each of the Morning Worship services. In case anyone wants to correct me, that it's supposed to be "Hanging of the Greens" rather than my way, I claim no purity. I simply own my southern upbringing, and images of turnip or collard greens being strewn about the sanctuary don't do anything for me.
Our youth led the order. Our kids have led worship several times since I've been here. They are outstanding! They listen. They practice. They seem to like being involved, down to a one. It is a privilege and a joy to work with them, and to put them in charge.
I have, previously, sat in the preacher chair, right in the middle of the action, when they've led things. I have wanted to be there, close, in case anyone got lost, stuck or anything else. Yesterday, I sat in the congregation until it was my turn, about half-way through the service. I wanted them to know that I believe in them, trust them, and knew that they could handle things. I do, I do, and they did.
With all of the challenges out there in the big, scary world, it is a great encouragement to see teenagers who are choosing (yeah, sure, some with the parental foot applied to the point of motivation) to be at church, involved, leading and active, growing their faith. This is not to say that they never make mistakes. They are kids. There are usually issues from school, home and otherwise to work through. But so far, this has also proved to be a place where kids rally around kids when the problems arise, and, more remarkably, the parents have done the same. It is so tempting for us parent-types to want to insulate our own from any others that make bad choices; innoculation by distance, don't you know? But it is truly not an issue of "bad kids"--just kids. And they need love and encouragement even more when they hit a bump.
But they will hit fewer of those bumps if they are busy with matters of the faith and the church, rather than being turned loose to find their own involvements.
It was a very good day, the fruit of hard work by parents and youth leaders, and a significant level of commitment by a group of young people who are all too frequently written off as immature and indifferent. Well done, all!
Our youth led the order. Our kids have led worship several times since I've been here. They are outstanding! They listen. They practice. They seem to like being involved, down to a one. It is a privilege and a joy to work with them, and to put them in charge.
I have, previously, sat in the preacher chair, right in the middle of the action, when they've led things. I have wanted to be there, close, in case anyone got lost, stuck or anything else. Yesterday, I sat in the congregation until it was my turn, about half-way through the service. I wanted them to know that I believe in them, trust them, and knew that they could handle things. I do, I do, and they did.
With all of the challenges out there in the big, scary world, it is a great encouragement to see teenagers who are choosing (yeah, sure, some with the parental foot applied to the point of motivation) to be at church, involved, leading and active, growing their faith. This is not to say that they never make mistakes. They are kids. There are usually issues from school, home and otherwise to work through. But so far, this has also proved to be a place where kids rally around kids when the problems arise, and, more remarkably, the parents have done the same. It is so tempting for us parent-types to want to insulate our own from any others that make bad choices; innoculation by distance, don't you know? But it is truly not an issue of "bad kids"--just kids. And they need love and encouragement even more when they hit a bump.
But they will hit fewer of those bumps if they are busy with matters of the faith and the church, rather than being turned loose to find their own involvements.
It was a very good day, the fruit of hard work by parents and youth leaders, and a significant level of commitment by a group of young people who are all too frequently written off as immature and indifferent. Well done, all!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
A Few of My Thankfulness Things (Don't Read Anything Into the Order, Please)
1. The whole extended family continues to be upright and taking nourishment
2. The lousy economy has so far had a limited impact on my family and parishoners, although we're all thankful we're not retiring right now. Our prayers go out to those who haven't sailed as smoothly.
3. Daughter has passed the 32 week mark in the Grandchild Production Department. That's a significant mile-marker, and I'm grateful.
4. While two of my parishoners are on deployment, one will be home with his family for Thanksgiving. The other has had some remarkable experiences in southern Iraq, like visiting Ur and the traditional site of Abraham's home. And he should be with his family next Thanksgiving.
5. The Red Sox haven't done anything stupid yet in the free agent market.
6. There has been an absolutely wonderful run of books published this fall. Titles include: John Meacham's American Lion; Andrew Bacevich's The Limits of Power; Artie Lange's Too Fat to Fish (not a biography of me, and most certainly R-rated), Kathleen Norris' Acedia and Me; Carlo D'Este's Warlord (a study of Churchill's career in warfare); Detlev Claussen's bio of T.W. Adorno, One Last Genius; Richard Cook's Alfred Kazin; and Ingrid Rowland's Giordano Bruno: Philosopher and Heretic. There are others; those should hold you.
7. Sudoku, Sudoku, Sudoku! (Thanks to the older niece for explaining the darned things to me)
8. New music from John Hiatt, Jackson Browne, Lindsay Buckingham and B.B. King that proved that the old guys have a little something left. And from Jakob Dylan, that reminds this old guy that younger guys have something to say, too.
9. And speaking of old guys and young Dylan, The Return of the Theme Time Radio Hour with your host, Bob Dylan! Season Three seems even better than the first two.
10. The Eagles' latest tour. I'm in good with The Roommate for, probably, two or three months. Thanks, guys!
Since Dave limits himself to a Top 10 every night, I'll stop there. But there could surely be a great deal more. And it's very appropriate to have a little gratitude about life. So, Thanks, Boss!
2. The lousy economy has so far had a limited impact on my family and parishoners, although we're all thankful we're not retiring right now. Our prayers go out to those who haven't sailed as smoothly.
3. Daughter has passed the 32 week mark in the Grandchild Production Department. That's a significant mile-marker, and I'm grateful.
4. While two of my parishoners are on deployment, one will be home with his family for Thanksgiving. The other has had some remarkable experiences in southern Iraq, like visiting Ur and the traditional site of Abraham's home. And he should be with his family next Thanksgiving.
5. The Red Sox haven't done anything stupid yet in the free agent market.
6. There has been an absolutely wonderful run of books published this fall. Titles include: John Meacham's American Lion; Andrew Bacevich's The Limits of Power; Artie Lange's Too Fat to Fish (not a biography of me, and most certainly R-rated), Kathleen Norris' Acedia and Me; Carlo D'Este's Warlord (a study of Churchill's career in warfare); Detlev Claussen's bio of T.W. Adorno, One Last Genius; Richard Cook's Alfred Kazin; and Ingrid Rowland's Giordano Bruno: Philosopher and Heretic. There are others; those should hold you.
7. Sudoku, Sudoku, Sudoku! (Thanks to the older niece for explaining the darned things to me)
8. New music from John Hiatt, Jackson Browne, Lindsay Buckingham and B.B. King that proved that the old guys have a little something left. And from Jakob Dylan, that reminds this old guy that younger guys have something to say, too.
9. And speaking of old guys and young Dylan, The Return of the Theme Time Radio Hour with your host, Bob Dylan! Season Three seems even better than the first two.
10. The Eagles' latest tour. I'm in good with The Roommate for, probably, two or three months. Thanks, guys!
Since Dave limits himself to a Top 10 every night, I'll stop there. But there could surely be a great deal more. And it's very appropriate to have a little gratitude about life. So, Thanks, Boss!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
What Most Valuable is All About
The Baseball Writers' Association of America did great work that was announced in the last two days: they voted the two leagues' Most Valuable Player Awards to Albert Pujols (NL) and Dustin Pedroia (AL).
Albert Pujols is the guy that kids look up to from coast to coast. He's a great player and a better person. No player in the history of Major League Baseball-not Ted Williams, not Joe DiMaggio, not Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, Babe Ruth, Jimmie Foxx or Al Simmons-has ever, ever, ever started his career with the performance that Albert has put on the board in his first eight seasons. He is 28 as the 2008 season ended. He has 319 Home Runs, 977 RBIs and over 1,500 hits. And now, his second National League MVP award. The only thing that has prevented him from having four MVPs is Barry Bonds' drug dealer.
Pujols was also named this year's Roberto Clemente Man of the Year in Major League Baseball. That award is given to the player who most personifies the community and charitable spirit of the great Clemente, who gave his life doing relief work after a Nicaraguan earthquake in 1972. A native Dominican, Pujols was in tears when he was named the Clemente winner. Clemente is widely seen as the Jackie Robinson of the Latino community. If I were a betting man, I would wager that Albert holds the Clemente Award dearer than the MVP.
In eight seasons for the Cardinals, Pujols has never been lower than ninth in MVP voting. That is consistency. His placement describes his stardom: 9th in 2007; 4th in 2001; 3rd in 2004; 2nd in 2002, 2003 and 2006; and his wins in 2005 and this year. Yep, that's 5 first or seconds in eight seasons!
Dustin Pedroia isn't big enough. He's listed at 5'9" and that's generous. Try a much more realistic 5'6" and you're a whole lot closer. But much like his second sacker ancestor of 30 years back, Joe Morgan, Dusty doesn't know he's the smallest guy on the field. Or at least, he doesn't care. Pedroia is why baseball is still the greatest game, and always will be. A guy like Petey can still be the MVP in baseball. You don't have to be a beast like in the NFL, or stretched out to freakish proportions like in the NBA. A slightly less than averaged sized man can make it just fine in baseball.
He was Rookie of the Year in the American League last year. This year, he already won the Golden Glove and Silver Slugger. More importantly, he batted all up and down the Red Sox order this year, wherever Tito Francona needed or wanted him. Including the cleanup slot after Manny was traded and Mikey was injured. That's right: all 5'6" of Dustin Pedroia provided the protection for Big Papi in the Red Sox lineup. And while there, he hit like a cleanup hitter! That's because Pedroia has never, ever listened to any of those "experts" who have told him that he wasn't big enough or good enough to be a Major Leaguer. He knew better than they did!
And one of these days (which may come very shortly) he very likely could follow Jason Varitek as the Captain of the Boston Red Sox. Petey is made of the very same stuff as Tek. He is strong. He is a leader. He inspires his teammates. And he doesn't put up with any nonsense.
My congratulations, and gratitude, to the BBWAA for seeing past the power totals to recognize that value is measured by far more than how many homers are hit!
Albert Pujols and Dustin Pedroia constitute an awful lot of what is good and right about baseball, and both of them deeply deserve the recognition that they have been extended!
Albert Pujols is the guy that kids look up to from coast to coast. He's a great player and a better person. No player in the history of Major League Baseball-not Ted Williams, not Joe DiMaggio, not Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, Babe Ruth, Jimmie Foxx or Al Simmons-has ever, ever, ever started his career with the performance that Albert has put on the board in his first eight seasons. He is 28 as the 2008 season ended. He has 319 Home Runs, 977 RBIs and over 1,500 hits. And now, his second National League MVP award. The only thing that has prevented him from having four MVPs is Barry Bonds' drug dealer.
Pujols was also named this year's Roberto Clemente Man of the Year in Major League Baseball. That award is given to the player who most personifies the community and charitable spirit of the great Clemente, who gave his life doing relief work after a Nicaraguan earthquake in 1972. A native Dominican, Pujols was in tears when he was named the Clemente winner. Clemente is widely seen as the Jackie Robinson of the Latino community. If I were a betting man, I would wager that Albert holds the Clemente Award dearer than the MVP.
In eight seasons for the Cardinals, Pujols has never been lower than ninth in MVP voting. That is consistency. His placement describes his stardom: 9th in 2007; 4th in 2001; 3rd in 2004; 2nd in 2002, 2003 and 2006; and his wins in 2005 and this year. Yep, that's 5 first or seconds in eight seasons!
Dustin Pedroia isn't big enough. He's listed at 5'9" and that's generous. Try a much more realistic 5'6" and you're a whole lot closer. But much like his second sacker ancestor of 30 years back, Joe Morgan, Dusty doesn't know he's the smallest guy on the field. Or at least, he doesn't care. Pedroia is why baseball is still the greatest game, and always will be. A guy like Petey can still be the MVP in baseball. You don't have to be a beast like in the NFL, or stretched out to freakish proportions like in the NBA. A slightly less than averaged sized man can make it just fine in baseball.
He was Rookie of the Year in the American League last year. This year, he already won the Golden Glove and Silver Slugger. More importantly, he batted all up and down the Red Sox order this year, wherever Tito Francona needed or wanted him. Including the cleanup slot after Manny was traded and Mikey was injured. That's right: all 5'6" of Dustin Pedroia provided the protection for Big Papi in the Red Sox lineup. And while there, he hit like a cleanup hitter! That's because Pedroia has never, ever listened to any of those "experts" who have told him that he wasn't big enough or good enough to be a Major Leaguer. He knew better than they did!
And one of these days (which may come very shortly) he very likely could follow Jason Varitek as the Captain of the Boston Red Sox. Petey is made of the very same stuff as Tek. He is strong. He is a leader. He inspires his teammates. And he doesn't put up with any nonsense.
My congratulations, and gratitude, to the BBWAA for seeing past the power totals to recognize that value is measured by far more than how many homers are hit!
Albert Pujols and Dustin Pedroia constitute an awful lot of what is good and right about baseball, and both of them deeply deserve the recognition that they have been extended!
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Hard to Get Behind This One
"On behalf of Manny Ramirez, we will, for the first time, begin accepting serious financial offers on Friday." Agent Scott Boras, Nov. 13, 2008
I have been with the players in every single labor negotiation and work stoppage in my baseball watching life. Even as a kid, the Reserve Clause always seemed downright un-American to me. (If that term is not familiar to you, every Major League baseball player's contract-until the mid-1970's-contained a clause that said, in essence, that if you signed this year's contract, you were granting your team the right to retain your services next year, in perpetuity. You were "Reserved" by the team that signed you. Forever. And with no recourse, you ultimately had no bargaining power, whatsoever. Curt Flood gave up his career to fight this monstrosity, God Bless him!)
I was with the players in the 1973 when they struck over the pension program. The lockouts in 1973 and 1976 were inconsequential to fans, as they occurred during Spring Training. I understood in 1980, when the season's start was delayed a week over free agent pay, and again in 1981, when the same issue took out the middle third of the season. 1985 was almost like a long weekend in August over salary arbitration, and the 1990 lockout was, again, early in Spring Training. 1994 was about the attempt to put in a salary cap and revenue sharing. Der Kommissar ultimately cancelled the World Series, which not even Hitler could manage, but I was still right there with the workers. Yes, by then, many of the players were millionaires, but it was now a choice between millionaires and billionaires, where it had been working men vs. billionaires in earlier instances. I am always for the guy with the smaller bank balance.
But now? Thank God it's not about a strike. If my buddy Bud gets credit for anything, it is moving through the last negotiation of the Collective Bargaining Agreement without strike or lockout. But it's getting harder-much, much harder-to hang with the players.
The Los Angeles Dodgers had offered Manny Ramirez a two year contract for $22.5 million per year, with a club option for a third that would have brought the total value to $60 million. To quote Lewis Black, I'm going to pause for a moment to let that sink in............
Manny took the Dodgers to the NLCS this year, for sure. But Manny will be 37 years old a third of the way into the 2009 season. He is unreliable at best, and a real problem at worst. In his prime, his focus could disappear for weeks at a time. And the Dodgers are in the National League, which means, of course, that he will have to play the outfield. Need I mention, that isn't Manny's best thing?
Scott Boras, spawn of Satan, didn't just turn down the Dodgers offer. He declared, per the quote above, that $60 million for a 37 year old, tantrum pitching, clubhouse killing, spoiled brat isn't even a serious offer. He presumably issued the press release with a straight face.
I love Manny. I still believe that a determined Ramirez in the middle of the Red Sox lineup would have meant a third World Series title in five years. But there is no defense for this demand.
I hope Frank McCourt doesn't raise his offer. I hope Artie Moreno says that he can't go higher than his cross-town rivals offered. I hope for some semblance of sanity to break upon Hal Steinbrenner just long enough to opt out of any higher bidding for Manny. They certainly shouldn't discuss things amongst themselves (can you say "collusion?"), but these men-well, McCourt and Moreno-didn't have things handed to them in life. They had to perform and demonstrate responsible judgement to acquire the fortunes that enabled them to buy the Dodgers and Angels, respectively. Use your judgement, boys. He's old. He's difficult. He's unreliable.
And he's not worth $60 million. He for darned sure ain't worth a dollar more!
I have been with the players in every single labor negotiation and work stoppage in my baseball watching life. Even as a kid, the Reserve Clause always seemed downright un-American to me. (If that term is not familiar to you, every Major League baseball player's contract-until the mid-1970's-contained a clause that said, in essence, that if you signed this year's contract, you were granting your team the right to retain your services next year, in perpetuity. You were "Reserved" by the team that signed you. Forever. And with no recourse, you ultimately had no bargaining power, whatsoever. Curt Flood gave up his career to fight this monstrosity, God Bless him!)
I was with the players in the 1973 when they struck over the pension program. The lockouts in 1973 and 1976 were inconsequential to fans, as they occurred during Spring Training. I understood in 1980, when the season's start was delayed a week over free agent pay, and again in 1981, when the same issue took out the middle third of the season. 1985 was almost like a long weekend in August over salary arbitration, and the 1990 lockout was, again, early in Spring Training. 1994 was about the attempt to put in a salary cap and revenue sharing. Der Kommissar ultimately cancelled the World Series, which not even Hitler could manage, but I was still right there with the workers. Yes, by then, many of the players were millionaires, but it was now a choice between millionaires and billionaires, where it had been working men vs. billionaires in earlier instances. I am always for the guy with the smaller bank balance.
But now? Thank God it's not about a strike. If my buddy Bud gets credit for anything, it is moving through the last negotiation of the Collective Bargaining Agreement without strike or lockout. But it's getting harder-much, much harder-to hang with the players.
The Los Angeles Dodgers had offered Manny Ramirez a two year contract for $22.5 million per year, with a club option for a third that would have brought the total value to $60 million. To quote Lewis Black, I'm going to pause for a moment to let that sink in............
Manny took the Dodgers to the NLCS this year, for sure. But Manny will be 37 years old a third of the way into the 2009 season. He is unreliable at best, and a real problem at worst. In his prime, his focus could disappear for weeks at a time. And the Dodgers are in the National League, which means, of course, that he will have to play the outfield. Need I mention, that isn't Manny's best thing?
Scott Boras, spawn of Satan, didn't just turn down the Dodgers offer. He declared, per the quote above, that $60 million for a 37 year old, tantrum pitching, clubhouse killing, spoiled brat isn't even a serious offer. He presumably issued the press release with a straight face.
I love Manny. I still believe that a determined Ramirez in the middle of the Red Sox lineup would have meant a third World Series title in five years. But there is no defense for this demand.
I hope Frank McCourt doesn't raise his offer. I hope Artie Moreno says that he can't go higher than his cross-town rivals offered. I hope for some semblance of sanity to break upon Hal Steinbrenner just long enough to opt out of any higher bidding for Manny. They certainly shouldn't discuss things amongst themselves (can you say "collusion?"), but these men-well, McCourt and Moreno-didn't have things handed to them in life. They had to perform and demonstrate responsible judgement to acquire the fortunes that enabled them to buy the Dodgers and Angels, respectively. Use your judgement, boys. He's old. He's difficult. He's unreliable.
And he's not worth $60 million. He for darned sure ain't worth a dollar more!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Time For this Semi-Old Man to Dream a Dream
"Then afterward I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions." Joel 2:28
I have dreamed all my life (well, at least since 1984, when the event started) of going to the Chicago Blues Festival. I'm one of those southern white boys who needed Eric Clapton and Robert Plant to share the gospel about our own music. And when Clapton talked in Rolling Stone about the legendary Robert Johnson's The Complete Recordings as the Holy Grail of sound, I was immediately off to Sounds of Music (Later, Sounza Musik) in Jackson to get my hands on a copy. They didn't have it. But Peaches in Memphis sure did. From the first notes of Kindhearted Woman Blues, I was hooked. By Sweet Home Chicago, Cross Road Blues and Love in Vain, it was over. I already knew disco sucked, but there was something in this music that made the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac and Elton John seem like first-year music students.
Later came John Lee Hooker, Son House, Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf (Sam Phillips felt that the Wolf's music was the most important work ever to come out of Sun Records), Charlie Patton, Honeyboy Edwards, Sleepy John Estes, Mississippi John Hurt and all the rest. Those records had something going on that the stuff on the radio just couldn't deliver. The Blues are real, raw and powerful. They shame every other music in my ear, heart and head. They gave birth to all American music that came after them.
The roommate and I have calculated, thought and even prayed a little. We've still got two in college, a granddaughter coming in January, a future son-in-law we're trying to help, and a teacher's salary and a church that's still not close to doing what was promised four years ago. Still, we've decided: we're going to Chicago next summer. There's no place I'd rather vacation anyway. But next summer, we're going early. Right after Annual Conference. And the Cubs' and White Sox' schedules aren't the primary ingredient for this trip.
We're going to the Chicago Blues Festival.
Roomy will be a certified antique in a month. I got my AARP membership card today, courtesy of her upcoming birthday. This, and a grandchild on the way, adds up to a great big "let's get on with it!" And I absolutely cannot wait. Everybody who's anybody on the stages. More people in Grant Park than showed up for Barack Obama's victory speech. In my favorite city in the world. With my companion of choice. It just doesn't get any better than that!
And I'll be listening and looking for the ghosts. Robert Johnson will be there, and Hooker and Muddy and the Wolf; Son and Leadbelly and Luther Allison will be hanging around, too. I miss you guys, but I'll see you in Chicago come June!
"Back to that land of California; Sweet home Chicago." Robert Johnson (Hey, he was a Bluesman, not a geographer!)
I have dreamed all my life (well, at least since 1984, when the event started) of going to the Chicago Blues Festival. I'm one of those southern white boys who needed Eric Clapton and Robert Plant to share the gospel about our own music. And when Clapton talked in Rolling Stone about the legendary Robert Johnson's The Complete Recordings as the Holy Grail of sound, I was immediately off to Sounds of Music (Later, Sounza Musik) in Jackson to get my hands on a copy. They didn't have it. But Peaches in Memphis sure did. From the first notes of Kindhearted Woman Blues, I was hooked. By Sweet Home Chicago, Cross Road Blues and Love in Vain, it was over. I already knew disco sucked, but there was something in this music that made the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac and Elton John seem like first-year music students.
Later came John Lee Hooker, Son House, Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf (Sam Phillips felt that the Wolf's music was the most important work ever to come out of Sun Records), Charlie Patton, Honeyboy Edwards, Sleepy John Estes, Mississippi John Hurt and all the rest. Those records had something going on that the stuff on the radio just couldn't deliver. The Blues are real, raw and powerful. They shame every other music in my ear, heart and head. They gave birth to all American music that came after them.
The roommate and I have calculated, thought and even prayed a little. We've still got two in college, a granddaughter coming in January, a future son-in-law we're trying to help, and a teacher's salary and a church that's still not close to doing what was promised four years ago. Still, we've decided: we're going to Chicago next summer. There's no place I'd rather vacation anyway. But next summer, we're going early. Right after Annual Conference. And the Cubs' and White Sox' schedules aren't the primary ingredient for this trip.
We're going to the Chicago Blues Festival.
Roomy will be a certified antique in a month. I got my AARP membership card today, courtesy of her upcoming birthday. This, and a grandchild on the way, adds up to a great big "let's get on with it!" And I absolutely cannot wait. Everybody who's anybody on the stages. More people in Grant Park than showed up for Barack Obama's victory speech. In my favorite city in the world. With my companion of choice. It just doesn't get any better than that!
And I'll be listening and looking for the ghosts. Robert Johnson will be there, and Hooker and Muddy and the Wolf; Son and Leadbelly and Luther Allison will be hanging around, too. I miss you guys, but I'll see you in Chicago come June!
"Back to that land of California; Sweet home Chicago." Robert Johnson (Hey, he was a Bluesman, not a geographer!)
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