162

Time for those "brown-eyed handsome" men to make the turn and head for home.




One down, 161 games left in the regular season, sports fans. Hip, hip...   tIO x

Today's conundrum: Who's starting? And can you spell the first-baseman's name without looking at a roster?
Future conundrum: Will we play ball in November again this year?

Hip, hip...

Jorge! And those wonderful Yankees.
It's another "Banner Day" in the Bronx.
 

The parade through the Canyon begins at 11am on Friday.
See you there.

PS: Happy birthday, John!

It's October and all is well.

In light of current events, here is a re-post of an earlier tIO post, originally dated 26 March 2006. Enjoy. And Go Yankees.


So where was I?

Oh, yes. Football. Well, I'm over football now, FYI. You see, at heart, I am a true baseball fanatic. I prefer baseball to any other sport - even Aussie Rules. Even tennis. Even (insert sport here).

Spring has sprung, officially, and they are training hard in Florida. They haven't started Johnny yet, and I haven't fully accepted him yet either. Oh, now wait. I can hear you all cringing, and writhing on the floor in anguish that someone else has declared themselves a Yankee fan. I'll have you all know that I have been since birth, as my father is and deemed it so for me. Yes - I have lusted in my heart for other teams (the '85 Royals or the Mets - gasp - of the Lee Mazzilli era). I have never strayed, however, from my first loves: Ron, Bucky, Dave, Reggie, Tino, and Donny Baseball.

I could go on and on, but will stop short and state that one of the happiest days of my life was the day I experienced first-hand a Yankee victory parade through the Canyon. Having spent my entire life in Indians/Reds/Tigers/Cubs/WhiteSox-country, I was finally able to scream myself silly in a frenzied, jubilant celebration of MY team's victory. Moreover, I shared this altered state with 1/2 million others. Sheer bliss.

So, welcome, Spring! Let's line the base paths, dust the plate, and kick the rubber. I'm stretched and ready. And, may the Yankees pennant soar high once again in October.


Today's conundrum: What happens if you build a new stadium and it quickly becomes known as a 'hitters' park'?

Future conundrum: What would you do for a Klondike bar?

Thanks for perusing this blog; blog you again soon!

Just one quick thing to say

The bugs are why you should NEVER play baseball in October in Cleveland. The oddity of how inhumane the fans are - even to one another - is another. 2+2=4

The first "post-game analysis"

Blogging, blogging. blogging. It can be a full-time job (not that I would know).

Here we are in the full bloom of May. Anyone else out there under water? My older son stated very matter-of-factly: "God must have plans for all of this rain. But do you think He wants to rain-out ALL of my games?"

We are a Little League family. Given my adoration of the sport, you must imagine how I feel when it hits me every game day that I have a Little Leaguer. Jubilation! I worried about what kind of sports parent I would be. Would I be the one screaming from the sidelines, or pacing behind the bench, or throwing the first punch?

I needn't have been concerned. I was raised by two people who love sports, and who, more importantly, are sportsmen. (PLEASE NOTE: Gender neutrality is observed in all TIO blogs.) My father was a coach - who also instilled a love of the game in his players. Do your best. Have fun. Run it out. Hustle on and off the field. Cut your hair and wipe the dirt off your lip. My mother was the consumate fan - who also kept those around her both informed of the count and the best stain removers and hand sanitizers. Cheer for your team. Never boo anyone. Bring snacks. Don't leave before it's over. They both believed in writing on home-run balls, hot showers for sore muscles, and rewarding effort with kindness and a pat-on-the-back - but rarely ice cream.

So where do I fall? I surprised myself. During the first game, I video-taped my older son's first Little League at-bat, which resulted in a run. I set-up chairs for my younger son and myself, and sat - cheering for each player on both teams - until the game was called for darkness. Then, as it was our turn to bring them, I got up and handed out the snacks to the team. More accurately, I opened the boxes of rice-crispy-treats and CapriSun Sport drinks and stood back to avoid being trampled. The surprise for me was this: I wasn't nervous for him. I didn't think that he was succeeding or failing - regardless of what I did. It's not about me. Further, I don't want to go out there and do it for him. I thought I might. This is his sport to learn - and love - now.

Post-game, my son was giddy, and his younger brother asked him repeatedly how baseball was (to play). "Is it good, John? Is it fun? Is baseball good?" His reply made me misty: "It's the best fun ever, Teddy."

Today's conundrum: Have we become a "my way or the highway" society? Parenting is rough when you're fighting against this societal phenomenon. We all struggle with pride. We all want to feel/be important. But when your child is astute enough to question the difference between obedience and a need to control, where do you go for back-up? I don't want every moment, every decision to be a battle. That's just silly. But, I do want a balance between their "coming to heel" and becoming responsible people. I think back on my life and wonder how I made it this far. Stupidity is sometimes masked by youth and inexperience, you know. But still, how do you govern your home without vascilating between being a Shrek and a pollyanna? The "Golden Rule" still rules as a better way to live, I think.

Future conundrum: Is it possible to have a meal entirely comprised of food with the word "pop" in the names, e.g. popcorn, Poptarts, popovers, soda pop? Is this responsible? Is this healthy? Comment to your heart's content.

Thanks for perusing this blog. Blog you again soon!

My first love

So where was I?

Oh, yes. Football. Well, I'm over football now, FYI. You see, at heart, I am a true baseball fanatic. I prefer baseball to any other sport - even Aussie Rules. Even tennis. Even (insert sport here).

Spring has sprung, officially; and they are training hard in Florida. They haven't started Johnny yet, and I haven't fully accepted him yet either. Oh, now wait. I can hear you all cringing, and writhing on the floor in anguish that someone else has declared themselves a Yankee fan. I'll have you all know that I have been since birth, as my father is and deemed it so for me as I drew my first breath. Yes - I have lusted in my heart for other teams (the '85 Royals or the Mets - gasp - of the Lee Mazzilli era). I have never strayed, however, from my first loves: Ron, Bucky, Dave, Reggie, Tino, and Donny Baseball. I could go on and on, but will stop short and state that one of the happiest days of my life was the day I experienced first-hand a Yankee victory parade through the Canyon. Having spent my entire life in Indians/Reds/Tigers/Cubs/WhiteSox-country, I was finally able to scream myself silly in a frenzied, jubilant celebration of MY team's victory. Moreover, I shared this altered state with 1/2 million others. Sheer bliss.

So, welcome, Spring! Let's line the base paths, dust the plate, and kick the rubber. I'm stretched and ready. And, may the Yankees pennant soar high once again in October!

Today's conundrum: Why does the teachers' union exist? Why as a faction of the AFL-CIO? Will the real educators please stand up? I'm inclined toward believing that teaching is actually a self-serving profession. At what other job can one demand the attention of so many for so long? I am further convinced that the checks and balances ascribed to the profession are mere ruses. "No child left behind" has frustrated competent, thoughtful educators and allowed average and seriously poor teachers to hide behind governmental "teach to the test" standards. [Aside: please note that I distinguish between educators and teachers.] When we enroll our children in a school, we expect them to be taught (not right from wrong..we'll take care of that at home, thanks) - not forced to work for work's sake. Perhaps it's all just a question of numbers - PAC monies, governmental and corporate sponsorship, state funding, bottoms-in-seats at the games, drones needed for the future. Perhaps it comes back to "thoughtfulness", which, dishearteningly-so, became a dirty word in the 60s, when it was replaced by the self-agrandizing "tolerance". What's the saying: those who can't, teach. And those who teach should realize that they are not God's gift to humanity. Jesus was.

Future conundrum: Will Aardman make another W&G movie? Will we ever play another W&G playstation game? Will Peter Sallis win a BAFTA or Oscar for lifetime achievement? W&G rules!

Thanks for perusing this blog. Blog you again soon!