Category Archives: Baltimore Orioles

From “Half Star” To “All Star”

Posted on by
7

Good thing no baseball purists will ever see this. Their seamy-heads would get all steamy-headed.

Just us Cool Cats.

Voting for the Major League Baseball All-Star game is underway.

With just a few weeks to go, preliminary voting results for the American League and the National League have been released by Major League Baseball, leading to the annual hand-wringing of purists who bemoan that fans are – gasp! — voting for their favorite players, not necessarily the most statistically accomplished ones.

What was it that one blogger called All-Star voters? Oh, I remember! We are “Stupid.”

(Purists don’t vote, of course, but they delight in grumbling about the choices made by the “Stupids.”)

Go ahead, call me Stupid.

AllStarShoes

I may be Stupid, but my shoe thinks I am an “All Star,” too!

I vote. I vote online (35 times, which is what they allow). I scoop up a few extra ballots at the games, take them home, punch the chads, and send them in.

And, I admit it, I’m not voting for players based solely on statistics. There are plenty of awards given for accomplishment in baseball – MVP, Cy Young, Silver Slugger, Gold Gloves all recognize personal achievement. Trophies (and paychecks) galore!

Good numbers make you a “Half Star.”

But, for me, being a good sportsman, a good representative for your team, and other “nice guy” attributes elevate you to “All” Star.

The Baltimore Orioles, as always, are MY All-Star team.

And, this year, they are doing very well – from numbers to “nice guys.”

Orioles are League Leaders in many categories, including home runs (Chris Davis), doubles (Manny Machado), and team fielding. Yay!

I’m sure your favorite team has sweetened the voting pot. The Baltimore Orioles are offering discounts on tickets to online voters. They’ll even enter you into a contest to win an autographed Orioles All-Star jersey.

Here’s what you do: 1) go to orioles.com/voteorange. 2) Vote 35 times (for any players you like) 3) Win the autographed Orioles Jersey 4) Wrap it up neatly and give me the greatest birthday gift ever. (October 20, by the way.)

Baseball’s just a game afterall. And, it’s played for the fans. (That’s why they invented bleachers and Bobblehead Giveaway Nights.) You’re darn right, we deserve a vote.

But, don’t worry, Purists. We Stupids won’t ruin it for you. The All-Star game will be filled with worthy players, just as it’s been since 1933 when Babe Ruth homered in the very first one.

Every team will have at least one player there. Eight percent of baseball’s 750 players will wear an All-Star jersey this year.

We “Stupids” only vote in the starting lineup – a mere 26 percent of the 68 players who will make the trip. Players and managers will choose the vast majority of the roster, including all of the pitchers.

The deserving players will be there.

Fans have been voting for baseball’s All Stars since 1947, more or less. Baseball took away fan voting after Cincinnati Reds fans – in cahoots with their local newspaper, Kroger Grocery stores, and neighborhood taverns – brazenly stuffed the ballot box in 1957.

reds ballot 57 top

Fans got their right to vote restored in 1970.

If you want to vote for a player because he tossed a foul ball to you up in the stands, or signed your nephew’s cap, or takes part in community service programs in your city, do it.

I don’t think your vote is going to deprive the Tigers’ Miguel Cabrera or the Reds’ Joey Votto from going to the game.

An All-Star is much more than a line on a box score.

After all, nearly every single purist and odds-maker crunched the numbers last October and predicted with absolute certainty that the Detroit Tigers would win the World Series. The SF Giants swept ‘em, by the way. So, who’s Stupid now?

The All-Star game on July 16 also means something – since 2003 the winning league gets home-field advantage in the World Series.

Vote for YOUR All-Stars.

But, if you’d like to vote an All-Oriole ticket, and give Manny Machado and Chris Davis and the boys from Birdland some love, you have my blessing! www.orioles.com/voteorange

voteorange4

Bhakti, Cicadas, & Jim Johnson

Posted on by
12

OK, first off, somebody Googled “life is meaningless and everything dies” yesterday and somehow … for some insane reason known only to the Internet … was directed to my blog.

Really? Really??? I’m very disappointed in you, Google.

For the record, life is NOT meaningless (not even for the Miami Marlins), but yes, in fact, everything does die eventually.

In Yoga there is a path called Bhakti – the Yoga of devotion. It’s one of the simplest paths of Yoga because there are no special instructions to guide it. The practice is simply seeing, feeling, experiencing, and honoring the divine in yourself, in others, and in the world around you. You know, the divine (life force, meaningful goodness, or God or the Goddess … take your pick here).

Seeing and honoring the divine in a beloved friend, a beautiful flower, or a joyful cat is a pretty easy way to rock the Bhakti path.

??????????

Hi, Stevie!

But, isn’t that a bit too easy?

Seeing the divine in the heart of an annoying person, in something ugly or frightening, or in a difficult experience … now that’s Bhakti.

Here in Virginia, thousands upon thousands (upon thousands) of other-worldly cicadas have made their way up out of the ground. They’ve left their crunchy outer shells (or carcasses, if you will) all over, including dozens on my porch.

Here's a cicada, ready for anything!

Here’s a cicada, ready for anything!

After 17 years underground, they emerge like randy Rip Van Winkles to mate. Yes, finally old enough to mingle at the frat house mixer conveniently located in my elm tree.

They are known mostly for the ethereal mating song of the male – something that sounds strangely like spaceships landing in a low-rent sci-fi movie. You can listen here.

They make that sound by flexing their bellies which vibrates little bongo drums in their abdomen. (I’m not kidding. Wing rubbing is for sissies.)

The sound is considered beautiful and alluring to female cicadas. When a thousand of them get their drums going, it can get pretty loud and can go all night (which, again, seems rather frat-like). What may make a female cicada swoon can be incredibly annoying for humans.

Not to mention the fact that cicadas are rather large – 2 or 3 inches – are related to locusts, have translucent wings and enormous, kinda creepy red eyes. (They also make a terrible squishing sound when you accidentally step on one … and with thousands of them lounging on your porch, it’s bound to happen.)

It’s hard to love a cicada (unless you’re a chicken; they and other animals find cicadas to be buttery and delicious).

I dedicated the Yoga classes I taught this week to the cicada – which meant lots of core work (to activate our own abdomens), deep breathing (after 17 years underground I would think they’d appreciate some fresh air) and a lot of stretching out of the earth and out of our shells. (People were on their own for the mating thing …)

I just wanted to send a little love to the cicada. Very cool little locusts, if a bit ugly. I wanted to honor the sweet divine that rests within them, in the same way it rests within all of us.

So, Bhakti for the cicadas!

And, Bhakti for Jim Johnson, beleaguered Baltimore Orioles closer.

Jim Johnson

He blew three straight saves (as part of a six-game Orioles losing streak) in recent days.

It’s no fun watching your All-Star closer toss up batting practice and lose games in the bottom of the 9th that you thought were won.

It’s 10 p.m., the game’s winding down … you have a comfortable one- or two-run lead, time to get ready for bed. And, Jim Johnson comes out to the mound, gives up a meaningless hit (just to make things interesting) and then shuts them down. Old Reliable Jim.

We turn off the TV and go to bed happy, with dreams of the World Series in our heads.

But, when things go bad for Jim Johnson, my Editor/Husband yells at him. “Oh, no. Oh, no. No, no, no!”  Things went very bad this week.

I’m sure my husband knows that Jim Johnson can’t actually hear him. I’m pretty much the only one who can. (Well, the cats hear him, too, but what can they do? They can’t even bunt.)

It’s when players have rough games or go through a slump that you have to look beyond an external bad day to see through to the goodness within.

So we decided (and by “we”, I mean “I” decided) no more yelling at Jim Johnson. Only positive support. (Yeh, I know, Jim Johnson can’t hear that either. But, the house is more peaceful, so … progress.)

After all, we all have bad days. We all have slumps. But, it doesn’t define who we are.

On Tuesday night, Jim Johnson came out in the 10th inning and shut down the Yankees 1-2-3. So, he’s coming around.

Even when things are bad, or when people let you down or disappoint you, or strange-looking locusts crawl out of the ground to make noise and mess up your porch … you can look for the sweetness, the goodness, the divine, within. That’s Bhakti.

Seeing and honoring the divine in your loved ones is a good start. Extending that recognition to others in your world, even the ones you don’t know or you don’t understand, takes a bit more work.

It’s worth the effort.

And, life isn’t meaningless.

It’s Still Early. Unless It’s Too Late.

Posted on by
5

May 2013A couple days ago, a local baseball broadcaster said, “In April we say, ‘it’s early’. But now it’s May.”

This is poetic because it references baseball, but it could apply to anything. Or nothing. It could be incredibly deep and thought-provoking.  Or it could be stupid. For all I know it’s just meaningless gibberish.

So, it’s May and it’s no longer early (unless you’re a basil plant in which case … ok, you there, basil, it’s early. Pipe down and stay inside a few more days.)

Since it’s no longer early, I should be able to tell you who’s going to the playoffs.

But, I can’t. Because it’s still early. Unless, it’s already way too late.

Who knows?

(The Orioles are going to the playoffs by the way, but it’s too early to be saying that. Except parenthetically, of course.)

If you’re the Angels of Anaheim, it is early. You may be doing poorly (which leads to much mocking at your expense), but you’re one of baseball’s big spenders, one or two of those millions of dollars must surely pay off eventually. (You might want to have a little get-together with the Dodgers and talk all this “money well spent” thing out.)

If you’re the Red Sox … you are doing very well. You are doing better than anyone, and better than anyone expected. You’re off to a fast start.

(There, Red Sox fans, are you happy now? I said something nice. It’s not like I am always sitting here reminding you of the Curse of the Andino every time I mention Boston.)

But here’s the thing. The Red Sox are like the couple who shows up an hour before the party starts. (And, they’re usually the people you didn’t really want to invite, but felt you had to, because they would eventually find out they weren’t invited, because everyone else was, and it’s going to lead to some awkward moments on Monday. So, just to make things easy you invite them and hope they have other plans  … and then, dammit, they show up an hour early. But, they do bring spinach dip, so that’s nice.)

Anyway, the Red Sox often get off to very fast starts. They love early.

The Yankees just lean against the wall, fold their arms, tap their feet, whistle tunelessly, and wait. Eventually, the Red Sox’ early runs out. Then the Yankees slowly step over the smoldering wreckage and into first. I hate that.

The Yankees know it’s still early because most of their stars are on the disabled list. So, it’s too early to know how good or how bad their season will be, because they’re not even playing yet.

And, the Dodgers keep getting hurt, so it’s impossible to know how early or late it is for them.

If your team is off to a shaky – but not horrific – start (hi, Baltimore!) then it’s still early. Sure, the Red Sox are smokin’ hot, but you’re only 3.5 games back.

The Red Sox are going to fold like a massage therapist on laundry day. (Inside joke there for my fellow therapists.)

So, Orioles fans, lots of time left. It’s still early. It’s also never too late to find a fifth starting pitcher, so you just keep looking, ok?

If you’re woefully dreadful, because your owners have sold off all your stars, pocketed the profits, and still think they can stick you for an $8 hotdog and 25 players you’ve never heard of, then yes, for you Miami Marlins fan, it probably is too late. But, you still have the Bobblehead Museum, so there is that.

(Observation: why do the Red Sox and the Yankees get to feast on poor Houston’s bones all through April? Don’t they have to play anyone else?  And, you just know Houston’s going to have a magical little mini-surge in there somewhere, and it better not be when they’re playing the Orioles.)

So here’s where we are as May kicks off.

Every division has two or three teams playing better than .500 ball. They’re doing well. They had good early.

And, every division has two or three teams playing sub-.500 ball. But, never count a late bloomer out. (See, Astros … I got your back.)

Maybe it’s not too early or too late. Every day brings new possibilities.

A pitcher down in some Triple A town last night might have finally figured out how to pitch, rather than throw. He may be ready for a June promotion.  He may save a team’s season.

Or one night, a star’s knee buckles on a routine play and suddenly everything changes.

So what’s the Yoga lesson?

For those who say it’s still early. They’re wrong.

For those who say it’s no longer early. They’re wrong, too.

For those who say it’s not too late. You might be right.

And, for those who say it’s too late. Just you wait.

It’s just right now.

Or, as baseball legend Yogi Berra said, “It ain’t over till it’s over.”

My husband/editor would like to add that of the teams that led their divisions on April 30, 2012, only one (the Nationals) went on to win their division. So put him down as a vote for “it’s still early.”

In other baseball news, Orioles first baseman Chris Davis is, sadly, no longer on pace to hit 162 homeruns this season. He also hurt himself during last night’s game. One wonky knee can spoil things for everybody.  (Get well soon, Mr. Davis!)

As for me, I cracked my head against the wall in the bathroom this morning. I’m not sure how or why this happened, short of the wall reaching out and just smacking me for no good reason. While I’m probably going to be ok, if you never see another post here from me, you’ll know why.

Groovin’

Posted on by
6

I always assumed that being “in a groove” came from the days of vinyl record albums when your needle needed to stay in the groove in order to get the music out. (This will date me, but I did tape pennies to the needle arm in order to keep it from skipping.)

Now, I find out – because I love Google – that “groove” is from Middle English and has evolved from “grove” or “groeve” which means a deep pit. (See, and you thought you weren’t going to learn anything from me today.)

So, being in the groove would seem to be a very bad thing.

A groove is also what baseball calls the juicy middle of the strike zone.  Groove one in there, Mr. Hanrahan. Just watch … click here.

That kind of groove is great for a hitter.  For a pitcher? Not so great.

Lots of ballplayers complained last week that they weren’t “in the groove.”  The ups-and-downs of Opening (Day) Week … day game/off day/night game/day game/night game … threw players out of their rhythm.

The first week of the season is sort of the weirdo week of a very long baseball season anyway.

It seems to be so important, and yet no one seems to be in the groove.  The games played in April are important, but aren’t really any more important than the games that will come next week, next month, or the month after that, or the month … oh, you get the idea.

Opening Day games sell out in the middle of the week.  Everyone wants to go, even when the weather is brisk.  An insanely chilly 38 degrees in Chicago for instance.  

(One of many things that makes baseball far superior to football is its devotion to being a warm-weather sport.  There is no place for snow on a baseball diamond. Well, now that J.T. Snow is retired anyway.)

Casual fans go for the hotdogs and beer, the ambience, and to say they’re going to Opening Day, which never seems to lose its nostalgia and luster.

Many just like an excuse to take a half-day at work, and really, who can blame them? Celebrities throw out the first pitches. The best pitchers in the game face off.

And, all the team Mascots are freshly laundered and smell like clean fluffy muppets, weeks away from the grimey, sweaty, mustard stained fuzz balls of mid-summer.

Dedicated fans and sports pundits wrestle with a scant handful of stats from a scant handful of games, but are still ready to make Playoff and World Series predictions, even though there are 156 games left to play.

Some players start off crazy-hot.  Homerun shmoosher Chris Davis, I’m looking at you.  And, you know it can’t last – won’t last – but you try to envision it anyway.  At one point last week, the Orioles’ Chris Davis was on pace to hit 162 homeruns this season.

(The only point to this blog post, really, was getting to say “the Orioles’ Chris Davis was on pace to hit 162 home runs this season.”  You can stop reading now if you want.)

Some players have very, very bad days that skew statistics in most awful ways.

When you’ve played a week and still are batting .000, or are a pitcher with an earned run average of 20+ runs a game, you know you’re definitely not in your groove. (Yet.)

We all have grooves.  We get in them.  We lose them.  We revel in them while we have them, pine for them when they’re gone.  Sometimes we don’t even know we are in a groove until we’ve fallen out and things start going wrong.

Every time I step on my Yoga mat, I know, probably within 30 seconds, whether I’m in my groove or not.   It’s easy to practice Yoga when you’re in your groove.  It is infinitely more important to push through your Yoga when you are not.

I guess that’s good advice for all grooves.

Grooves are fleeting.

Which is why it’s too early to give the Orioles’ Chris Davis the MVP trophy and the Giants’ Barry Zito (2-0, ERA 0.00 in 14 innings) the Cy Young Award (even though I’m a-ok with either).

And, it’s also too early to give up on your team just because they haven’t found a groove yet.  (Unless you’re a Miami Marlins fan, in which case the team owners owe you an apology.)

This is the FOURTH complete blog post that I’ve drafted in the past week and the only one that will see the light of day (true confession: I’ve written that on all the discarded drafts too, so there’s no telling if this one will even make it to the Editor/Husband “here, have a look” stage).

So, clearly, I’m not in my blog groove.  But, I’m still happy that baseball season is here.  And, I’m happy to keep unrolling my Yoga mat because I know there’s a groove hiding in there somewhere.

Not in your groove today?

Here, try this … it’s a guilty pleasure.  “Let the Groove Get In” … Justin Timberlake … definitely worth a spin.  Click here

Justin Timberlake

#2: Look It’s Me! The Orioles in St. Petersburg

Posted on by
3

When I started this Spring Training series, I had my Top 5 list ready to go.

But, my editor/husband insisted that the Spring Training I attended should be included.

So, apologies Limestone League – the World War II-era years when teams held Spring Training north of the Mason-Dixon and east of the Mississippi. French Lick and Terre Haute. Bloomington and Muncie.

You’re off the list. (Maybe next year.)

Number 2 on my list of amazing Spring Trainings is the one I attended in St. Petersburg, Florida. 

Many people believe that attending Spring Training is the mark of a true baseball fan.

They’re wrong.

To be a true baseball fan is to watch a 17-inning game, start to finish … and then watch it again when the local sports network replays it on Thanksgiving Day. (It will take six hours and seven minutes, in case you’re wondering. And, yes, we won.)

To be a true baseball fan is to sit – or, more correctly, stand – through a freezing two-and-a-half hour rain delay during the playoffs only to have your team go down in bitter defeat in the 9th.

To be a true baseball fan is to watch your beloved team lose more often than it wins and still love them. To watch them lose 100 games in a single season. To watch them lose 21 in a row. And, still love them.

To be a true baseball fan is to say, “We’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” no matter the odds. And, mean it.

Spring Training, on the other hand, is just a lovely way to spend a vacation in Florida (or Arizona) during the chilly, waning days of winter. Sandwiching ballgames with a little beach time or tee time or margarita time.

For a few years in the 1990s, the St. Louis Cardinals shared St. Petersburg, Florida and Al Lang Stadium with the Baltimore Orioles.

There's a lot of milling about at Spring Training.

There’s a lot of milling about at Spring Training.

So, in 1992, I went to Spring Training by myself. I was much younger of course (12 would be a good guess, but since I was driving a rental car and drinking beer, though not at the same time, perhaps I was a bit older).

Continue reading →

It’s Spring!

Posted on by
2

“People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.” ~ Rogers Hornsby (legendary 2nd baseman from 1915-1937, .358 career batting average)

Waiting For The Ball, by Clinton Helms

Waiting For The Ball, by Clinton Helms

There’s a moment that comes, long about February, when the need for the spring becomes more than just a gentle, sweet longing.  It becomes much more urgent, almost primal.  As though you’ve gotten so chilled to the bone … there’s no telling if you’ll ever thaw out.

It’s in that moment of urgency that you know that finally – finally! – you can begin to count.

Five, four, three, two …

Not the days ’til spring.

The days ’til Spring Training.

For those whose calendars failed to remind them, pitchers and catchers report in Florida and in Arizona on Monday.

And, while February 11 isn’t spring. It’s close enough.

Because baseball is there to remind you that spring will come, despite the cold and the snow and the dark.

Here in Virginia, it’s still winter. Sure, there’s no snow on the ground (sorry, New England) and today was almost pleasant (apologies, North Dakota). (And by pleasant, I mean I bundled up snuggly in a wool sweater, extra long scarf, and fully buttoned winter coat, but the kid playing outside at the grocery store was in shorts and a tee shirt.)

But, it’s still winter.

Photos of Minor League Baseball, by David Deal at the Arts Center in Orange

Photos of Minor League Baseball, by David Deal at the Arts Center in Orange

Until, you walk into a room filled with baseball.

And, the sun is shining through the windows at just the right angle, and you swear it’s the bone-warming sunshine that comes in May. And, the room is brighter and more golden than any room you’ve been in for months. And, you look all around and you’re surrounded by spring … and summer and baseball.

Even here, in Orange, Virginia, where the Orioles Spring Training camp is – by Mapquest’s calculations – 14 hours and 40 minutes away, and the first day of spring is farther still.

Even here, like even everywhere, baseball brings the promise of new life and the hopes of spring.

This week, the Arts Center in Orange, in downtown Orange, Virginia, opened a warm and sweet multimedia exhibit called Spring Training.  All things baseball, by a talented group of local artists.

Right here, in my little town. Baseball.

If that don’t beat all.

And, it made my heart jump alittle. And I felt the promise of springtime seep through the lining of my coat, through the scarf and wool sweater.  Right into my bones.

Finally. Warm again.

“That’s the true harbinger of spring, not crocuses or swallows returning to Capistrano, but the sound of a bat on a ball.” ~ Bill Veeck (20th-century baseball owner & innovator)

For some, baseball is history …

Ball Park Blessing by Susan Harb

Ball Park Blessing by Susan Harb

For some baseball is youth …

By John Strader

By John Strader

“Don’t tell me about the world. Not today. It’s springtime and they’re knocking baseball around fields where the grass is damp and green in the morning and the kids are trying to hit the curve ball.”  ~ Pete Hamill, journalist & author

For some, baseball is memory …

Memories, by Chee Kludt Ricketts

Memories, by Chee Kludt Ricketts

For some, baseball is a game …

Venus Flycatcher by John Strader

Venus Flycatcher by John Strader

For some, baseball is religion …

By Susan Harb

Baseball Candelabra by Susan Harb

For some, baseball is life …

"A Very Long Season" by John Corrao

“A Very Long Season” by John Corrao

“Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good, too.” ~ occasionally attributed to Yogi Berra (Legendary Yankee, #8) … and sometimes to an 8-year-old kid.  But, hey, let’s give this one to Yogi.

You should wander your way to Orange and check out the Arts Center.  (Lots of cool other things besides baseball, too.  Yes, there are other things besides baseball.  A few things anyway.)

SPRING TRAINING

On Exhibit at the ARTS CENTER in ORANGE

129 East Main Street, Orange Virginia

February 7 thru March 30, 2013

Monday thru Saturday, 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.

No charge, although donations are gratefully accepted

www.artscenterinorange.com

All images are the copyright of the artists.  Images used with the kind permission of The Arts Center in Orange.  A special thank you to Laura Thompson, Arts Center Executive Director.

Ball in Hand, by David Deal

Ball in Hand, by David Deal

Remembering Earl Weaver … & Thinking About My Dad

Posted on by
4

Many years ago, long before I came along, my dad ran a string of gas stations in Los Angeles. He was very good at his job. He ran a tight ship.

That laser-like attention to detail and exacting perfection didn’t change over the years. He demanded a lot of himself, and, by turn, everyone else.

One day during those gas station years, late ’50s or so, Mickey Rooney – yes, that Mickey Rooney – came to my dad’s station. And, apparently, Mickey Rooney didn’t adhere to the “good customer” rules that my dad expected.

A “Do you know who I am?” led to a “I don’t care who you are.” Rooney, the story goes, expected free service on his car, simply because he was famous.

A scrap of some kind ensued. (I’m biased, but I’m gonna go with my dad on this one. Because really … a Hollywood star kicks up a stink with a gas station guy? I’m just going to assume the Average Joe was the good guy.)

From then on, Mickey Rooney was not spoken of in our home.

So, it was with a bit of sadness – no, sadness isn’t right; let’s call it You MUST be kidding eye-rolling – when I read a tribute to the legendary Baltimore Orioles manager Earl Weaver, who passed away on January 19 at age 82, that described him as “Mickey Rooney in a uniform.”

You’re comparing a baseball legend to this guy who picked a fight with my dad because he was expected to pay for service like everyone else?

The Earl of Baltimore was a baseball genius.

But, he was also a scrappy, crabby, cranky, irascible, chain-smoking, argumentative firecracker, who might be best known for all the times he tangled with umpires, kicking dirt and getting ejected from 98 games.

He was a tough-as-nails perfectionist who demanded a lot of himself, and, by turn, everyone else. Kinda like my dad.

Earl Weaver is, on the one hand, a big ball of everything I usually find unpleasant about the game.

Crabby, loud, vulgar. Extremely vulgar. Did I mention the chain-smoking? (He was ejected at least once for smoking in the dugout.)

But, he is also a lot of what I find wonderful about baseball.

Continue reading →

Help The Milwaukee Brewers Get Dressed!

Posted on by
6

Three things you should know about me …

1) I’m not really a Milwaukee Brewers fan.  About all I know about the Brewers is that they were, at one time, an American League team, and that at some point in the late 1990s, Orioles non-legend Ben McDonald pitched out the end of his career there.  I also know that they began their life as the Seattle Pilots (which in the late 1960s enjoyed its one season as a major league team, but is forever remembered thanks to Jim Bouton’s bawdy book Ball Four, which my dad finally let me read when I was 30).

2) I have a degree in political science.  This shows itself whenever there is an opportunity to vote.  Voting is my democratic right.  I will vote for anything.  Primary.  General Election. I will vote for American Idol.  If I’m sitting in a meeting and someone says, “It’s time for lunch, let’s take a vote, pizza or sandwiches?” I get very excited.  I take my duty seriously.  If there is an opportunity to vote, I will vote.

3) I think baseball uniforms are oddly, weirdly cool. I think the Seinfeld episode about changing the Yankees’ uniforms from polyester to cotton (and featuring Zen Master Buck Showalter) is Gold, Jerry,  Gold!  Watch the moment here.

Zen Master Buck Showalter wasn't always the Orioles Manager ... once, long ago, he was on Seinfeld and he also some other teams ... including the Yankee- something-or-others.

Zen Master Buck Showalter wasn’t always the Orioles Manager … once, long ago, he was on Seinfeld, and, oh yes, he managed a little-known team called the Yankees.

So, if you give me the chance to vote on which fan-designed Milwaukee Brewers uniform will be worn by the team this season …

Oh sweet heaven, this is the best January ever!  So, the deal is this …

Three fans designed uniforms …

Brewers Ron from Maryland

Ron from Maryland’s Design

Nicholas from Wisconsin's Design

Nicholas from Wisconsin’s Design

Ben from Minnesota's Design

Ben from Minnesota’s Design

I’m ready to vote.  I’m going with Ron from Maryland.  I’m so glad you asked why.  I like that throwback Milwaukee Brewers logo.  I like that bright blue.  I like that Ron included socks. And, I like that Ron is from Maryland — maybe he’s really an Orioles fan just killing time until Spring Training.  Good enough for me … Vote Ron!

(Ben from Minnesota? You were a close second. But you lost me with the Texas Rangers cowboy font on the back. Plus, the cap.  Is that a toaster?)

To vote, just visit the Major League Baseball website, which you can do by clicking here.  You have until January 22.

After you’ve voted, go ahead and read Jim Bouton’s Ball Four about a crazy, raunchy season in baseball. (Unless you’re a 12-year-old … in which case, please wait until you’re 30.)

ball four

“Let’s All Go To The Lobby”

Posted on by
3

Lobby2

Do you remember how they used to have intermissions when you went to the movies?

Yeh, me neither. But, I’m told they did.

What a brilliant idea!

And, what a wonderful way to spend an intermission – head out to the lobby for something popcorn-y or chocolate-y or chewy or sweet.

Why can’t I get daily intermissions like that?

Don’t we all need a break in our day? Don’t we all need to head out to the lobby for a treat?

Here’s where sports excel. Extremely civilized break time.

Baseball’s Seventh-Inning Stretch … sure, a bit paltry. But, a nice idea. Love “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” (almost as much as I love the “Let’s All Go To The Lobby” jingle). 

But … here’s a random aside, as long as we’re talking baseball.

I may bleed Orange & Black for the Orioles, but I can’t think of a more miserable way of spending my seventh-inning stretch – my delicious break time – then standing around while they play “Thank God I’m a Country Boy”. (I am, for the record, neither “country” nor “boy”, so I’m not sure why they insist I sing it at every game.) 

And, while we’re on the topic of baseball’s seventh-inning stretch, rumor is that the Yankees include a long, ponderous version of “God Bless America” during their stretch just to make the opposing pitcher sit and wait a little longer. I’d like this a lot better if the Orioles had thought of it first.   

Anyway, I hope your team has a better stretch time (and I invite you to tell me all about it in the comments).

Half-time at basketball and football games are ok, but still a bit chintzy.

Hockey does all right. Two luxuriously generous breaks between periods, and nothing to do but watch the Zamboni slide around, suck up the blood, and smooth up the ice. Very Zen.   

So, anyway, I wrote up my to-do list for this past weekend. The stupid thing was three pages long. THREE pages (double-spaced, but still!). That list didn’t even mention Christmas and all the additional things that are expected of one during this “peaceful” season. So, not only did I not decorate, or write cards, or wish anyone “Merry Christmas” … I didn’t even have time to put those tasks on my list.

Needless to say, I got very little on the list accomplished. So, I’m far behind, tired, and yes, a little annoyed by doing too much and achieving too little.

And, that’s what brings me back to the need for daily intermissions.

Yoga is great in that respect. We sit and breathe. Think of it like sitting and watching the Zamboni slide around (but without any hockey bloodshed). 

Sit. Breathe. 

That’s it.

That’s the daily intermission. One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Whatever you got.

Breath goes in. Breath goes out.

You can try it now. It’s pretty easy.

Or, you can take the next 39 seconds and watch this video and one of the greatest songs of all time … and, yeh, go get yourself a treat. You deserve it.

Oh, and by the way, writing something for you WAS on my “to-do” list this weekend. I’m a day late, but I’m checking it off the list anyway.

Breath goes in. Breath goes out. Breath goes in. Breath goes out.

Lobby4

Hurricanes & Yankees

Posted on by
5

They should have named the Hurricane A-Rod.  Then it wouldn’t have hit anything.  ~ “Hurricane Sandy” joke making the rounds on Twitter yesterday.

Sandy Alomar, by the way, batted .273 during his 19 years in the major leagues. (Alex Rodriguez – A-Rod – of the Yankees is at .295 for his career, despite his icy-cold bat, and benching, this post-season.)

I’d hate to be a New York Yankee. No one likes you. Not even your own fans. I’ve never heard fans so quick to boo, heckle, and denounce their own players. They heckle better than anyone. And, they do it without throwing garbage and beer bottles out into the field (hear that, Atlanta?).

Did you know that the Yankees tagline is “Heroes Remembered. Legends Born”?

Yankees fans are sort of funny about their team. When they win, they’re still not happy; it should have been bigger, it should have been better. Their record 27 World Series victories? Too few.

When they lose (and they do lose from time to time), it’s as though they rival the Cubs in futility. It’s as though they will never win again. Every loss is a hollow cry of despair.

And, really, they have no idea.  NO idea.

When the Orioles lost Game #5 of the American League Division Series in early October, it was well past midnight before they got back to Baltimore. They were met at the stadium by hundreds – hundreds – of loyal fans (layered up against unseasonably cold weather) who showed up to say “Thanks” “Good Job” and “We love you.”

It’s a wonderful moment. You can watch it here.

I wonder if the Yankees came back after losing the pennant to Detroit to find their cars torched, their apartments ransacked, and their supermodel girlfriends gone?

Continue reading →