Yoo-Hoo!

Posted on January 10, 2016 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

To fall in love with baseball is to fall into the past, as far back as you can remember it when you were a child, and even further than that if you can.

To fall in love with baseball is to fall in love with people and places and games that are from times that are much older than you, places you’ve never been to, and games that are now just box scores on paper.

Baltimore Orioles beat the NY Giants 10-4. August 5, 1896.

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Wee Willie Keeler. 1907.

To fall in love with baseball is to be in love with a game that has a history and a culture that is nearly 200 years old. It has changed and evolved and changed back again, but, it’s still pretty close to what it was right from the start.

(When the main thing that people still argue about is the designated hitter rule, you know that things really haven’t changed all that much.)

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What’s New, Pussycat?

Posted on January 3, 2016 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

Hey, Zuzu, what’s new? Not January 1, that’s for sure.

On reflection, I began 2016 on a sour note. Sorry about that.

(It has been nine weeks since baseball, which I think explains my grumpiness.)

I complained on Friday about New Year’s, arguing that there’s nothing particularly “new” about January 1.

Here it is January 3 and I’m not quite done with this.

Because, I am right about January 1 being an overhyped holiday. It’s like the hoverboard of days on a calendar.

(For those of you wondering where the baseball is in this post, please replace the over-hyped “hoverboard” with “Todd Van Poppel.”)

“Todd Van Poppel pitched 11 atrocious big league seasons propelled by hype alone.” ~ Eric Nusbaum, deadspin.com

Even the traditions of “New” Year’s aren’t all that special …

Champagne.

You might think that more champagne is sold during December than any other month. You’re actually right about this. Twenty-two percent of all champagne sales come in December.

But that means that most champagne – 78 percent of it – is sold and consumed at other times of the year, including Valentine’s Day and wedding season.

Congratulations! You still have a lot more champagne to look forward to this year!

Champagne Jelly Beans. Surprisingly delicious.

Bowl Games.

I boycott football because it is barbaric and causes lasting brain damage in many players from the relentless thump-thump-thumping of heads into each other and against the ground. Go ahead, thump your forehead against your best friend’s to see what it feels like. (See, you won’t even try because you know it’s bad for you).

I may not watch football, but I do know this – there have been a zillion college bowl games on television and most of them were not played on “New” Year’s Day.

This season there are 41 bowl games, including the playoffs. Eighty college teams have played. (Fifteen of them had losing records this season.)

Just five of those 41 games were played on January 1.

There were more bowl games played on Saturday, December 19 (six) and Saturday, December 26 (six) than on “New” Year’s Day.

January 1: Just another day for college football.

“New” Year’s Dangers: Fireworks, Gunshots, & Drunk Drivers.

Fireworks, stray celebratory gunfire (seriously?), and drunk drivers make “New” Year’s a deadly night.

But, it’s not the deadliest. That honor goes to the Fourth of July, which is the most deadly holiday of the year, thanks to even more fireworks, more drinking, more car accidents, as well as drowning, and other accidents that come from being outdoors when you’re drunk in the summer.

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4th of July: We’re Number One!

Quite honestly, to be on the safe side, it’s probably best not to even leave the house on New Year’s or the Fourth of July.

Auld Lang Syne.

Sing it. Go ahead. Sing it right now.

“We’ll take a cup of kindness yet”?

That’s the lyric?

Last week, National Public Radio lamented that people are increasingly less likely to sing Auld Lang Syne – an 18th-century song about both drinking and friendship – on New Year’s Eve and, if they do sing it, they usually slobber over the words.

So, yes, Auld Lang Syne, like hipster “man buns”, is over.

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Which is not to say that Auld Lang Syne – or at least a form of it – isn’t sung on other days.

The University of Virginia celebrates its sporting victories with The Good Old Song, a song that dates to the 1890s. It sounds remarkably like Auld Lang Syne because … it is. Just with different lyrics.

You can sing along if you like. Here’s what you do.

First, find a UVA game and wait for the Virginia Cavaliers to win.

Oh, look they just did!

January 2, 2016. UVA – 77 Notre Dame – 66

Now, stand up and put your arms around whomever is standing next to you (if you don’t know them, all the better, Wahoos are a friendly bunch). Sway side to side. And, sing …

That good old song of Wah-hoo-wah—
we’ll sing it o’er and o’er
It cheers our hearts and warms our blood
to hear them shout and roar
We come from old Virginia,
where all is bright and gay
Let’s all join hands and give a yell
for dear old U.Va.

Wah-hoo-wah, wah-hoo-wah! Uni-V, Virginia!
Hoo-rah-ray, hoo-rah-ray, ray, ray—U-Va!

Now, let’s stop with this January 1 New Year folderol and start counting down to a meaningful New Year:

Just 90 days ‘til Opening Day.

The Wrong Day for New Years, Fire Monkeys, & The Most Amazing Thing On The Internet

Posted on January 1, 2016 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

New Year’s Day is a fraud.

What’s so new about December 32? It’s wintertime and I can look outside and there’s nothing new growing out in our yard. (With the exception of the confused – and kinda-sorta blooming – forsythia which is saying in its own yellow-flowered way, “Why the hell is it 50 degrees out?”)

The forsythia, blooming inappropriately, blows my theory that there’s nothing new about this New Year’s Day. But, for lots of us in the Northern Hemisphere, January 1 is really just looking out at empty trees and the remnants of last summer lying in the yard. Pretty barren.

(This is especially obvious here in our yard where we don’t rake up leaves. We will tell you that we do this as an environmentally conscious effort to re-compost the leaves’ nutrients to the earth. Really, we’re just lazy.)

(Next time you think you ought to spend your weekend doing yard work or household chores that require power tools or overalls, just kick back and don’t bother. You can think, “Sure, I’m a layabout, but The Baseball Bloggess is way lazier than me.” You’re welcome.)

New Year’s Resolutions are as stupid as this made-up holiday.

Why can’t you make a resolution on November 17? Or, if your plan is to exercise more or lose weight, why not in summer, when opportunities for working out outside and eating more leanly and cleanly are easier to find?

(My New Year’s Resolution – to not eat crickets. And, don’t try to hide cricket powder in cookies.)

I’m keeping my resolution.

Why isn’t New Year’s Day your birthday? After all, it’s the start of YOUR new year.

Happy New Year, Jarrett Parker, one-time Richmond Squirrel and current San Francisco Giant, who turns 27 today!

Why isn’t New Year’s Day on Opening Day? That’s my new year. And, it’s just 92 days away.

(There’s nothing new in Baltimore, by the way. Catchers and pitchers report February 18 and the Orioles still don’t have a full starting pitching rotation. Do not joke with me and say, “You didn’t really have one last season either.” I don’t need your lip.)

(I’m not even sure the Orioles could cobble together a full outfield if they had to – unless you can play right field. Can you? Really, I’m serious, because if you can, I bet we can work something out. You play cheap, right?).

Smart people will tell you that, with the winter solstice a few weeks ago, the days are getting longer so we really are in a growing period.

But, back around 2000 BC, the Mesopotamians would celebrate their new year in the springtime, so see, I’m just old school.

New Years in Tibet will come on February 8. The date of Tibet’s New Year, Losar, changes from year to year as it roams around with the moons, but at least it tries to be close to spring.

February 8 marks the start of the Tibetan year of the Fire Monkey.

There really ought to be a minor league team called the Fire Monkeys.

I wanted to show you a video of a monkey to illustrate this.

But, then I found this. This is why the Internet is amazing. I’m going to stop now so you can watch it. Happy December 32.

UPDATE: Wait … There’s more! Here’s my “New” Year’s Day followup: What’s New, Pussycat? Nothing on January 1, That’s For Sure.

Sitting Here Thinking About Willie Mays

Posted on December 26, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

Warning: Editor/Husband has been sick and in bed since Christmas Eve. This means that I am a) most likely highly contagious, and b) posting without an editor. If you cut out now, I’ll understand. (I’ll be deeply hurt, but I’ll understand.) (Sort of. I’ll sort of understand.)

Someone found this blog by searching for this:

Shoeless drunk?

First of all, I’m very disappointed in you, Internet. Second of all, I wonder what that person was looking for?

I searched for “shoeless drunk” on the Googler and I didn’t find me. (What I did find was disgusting, with the exception of a few movie stills from 1967’s “Barefoot in the Park,” starring Robert Redford and Jane Fonda.)

In writing about baseball, there is always Shoeless Joe Jackson and quite a number of drunks, so maybe it wasn’t such a stretch after all that someone landed here.

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Shoeless Joe Jackson, 1919.

Shoeless Joe may have never really been shoeless, as he occasionally denied the story of ever playing in his stocking feet in the minor leagues. But, he also occasionally said the story was true, so who’s to know?

Also, no distraught kid ever tugged his sleeve outside a Chicago courthouse and said, “Say it ain’t so,” when the White Sox were found to have tossed the 1919 World Series.

But, Damon Runyon did say this: “Even when he’s trying to throw a Series, Shoeless Joe Jackson can still hit .375.”

This led me to wonder when Joe Jackson died.

December 5, 1951. He was 64 and several hundred people attended his funeral in Greenville, South Carolina.

This led me to wonder, in a tangent I can’t explain, when Willie Mays hit his first home run.

And, it was 1951, too. May 28.

As most baseball fans know, Mays’ first home run was also his first hit as a big leaguer. He had gone 0-for-12 in his first three games. This was his first home at-bat at the New York Giant’s Polo Grounds.

The home run was, The New York Times said, “a towering poke that landed atop the left-field roof.”

The homer, off the Boston Braves’ Warren Spahn, wasn’t enough. The Braves defeated the Giants that night, 4-1.

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Willie Mays.

Historian Charles Einstein shared these quotes from that game:

“You know, if that’s the only home run he ever hits, they’ll still talk about it.” ~ Russ Hodges, who called the game on radio that night. (And, look … he’s right!)

“For the first 60 feet it was a hell of a pitch.” ~ Spahn, who said he threw a fastball as his first pitch to Mays because he was sure Giants’ manager Leo Durocher had told Mays to lay off the first pitch. (Durocher hadn’t.) Or, maybe it was a curve ball, which scouts said Mays couldn’t hit, as Spahn remembered it in 1973.

“The ball came down in Utica. I know. I was managing there at the time.” ~ Lefty Gomez (This would be an even better quote if Gomez actually had been managing in Utica at the time. He hadn’t. But, it’s still pretty good.)

“I never saw a f*ing ball get out of a f*ing ball park so f*ing fast in my f*ing life.” ~ Leo Durocher

I can’t show you that home run, of course, because the Internet and MLB.TV hadn’t been invented yet.

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Warren Spahn.

Mays would hit 17 more home runs off of Spahn including one in the 16th inning of a game on July 2, 1963.

By 1963, the Giants were in San Francisco and the Braves were in Milwaukee.

Mays’ walk-off home run off Spahn in the 16th ended one of baseball’s most awesome pitching performances: 42-year-old Spahn, for the Braves, and 25-year-old Juan Marichal, for the Giants, threw a combined 428 pitches through those 16 innings.

The Giants won 1-0.

“It was a screwball,” Mays said following the game, “But I guess Warren was getting kind of tired.”

“Yes, I was tired,” Spahn said, “But, I wish Willie had been tired, too.”

I can’t show you that home run either. But, here’s Mays and Marichal talking about it:

Willie Mays talks about his HR that ended an all-time classic #Braves vs. #SFGiants game in which Warren Spahn & Juan Marichal each pitched 15 scoreless innings! (July 2, 1963) #MLB #Baseball #History pic.twitter.com/rIeAmGEqHY

— Baseball by BSmile (@BSmile) July 3, 2020

“Ok, let me see what I can do about it.”

(Giants fans of a certain age will insist that Willie McCovey’s foul ball in the bottom of the 9th was actually inside the foul pole and should have been the home run that ended the game. McCovey will tell you that, too. But, like the Internet, batting helmets, and wild card teams, instant replay hadn’t been invented yet.)

And, so here it is Boxing Day and Editor/Husband is still feeling crummy and is fast asleep in the room next door. He will dislike this post when he sees it, because it just wanders around pointless.

Just sitting here thinking about Willie Mays.

Season’s Greetings from [Insert Team Here]

Posted on December 20, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

!! UPDATE !! !! UPDATE !! It’s 2018 … and I’ve updated all the latest greetings! You’ll find the update here.

!! UPDATE !! Who said everything on the internet leaves a footprint? Well, maybe everything … except the 2015 holiday greetings of your favorite baseball teams. Since I wrote this back in 2015, the original greetings I review here have been overwritten with the 2016 versions. In some cases this is a very good thing … the A’s card is still pretty lousy, but not as horrible as the disappeared 2015 model. In any event, click the links … they’ll take you to the newest versions. Maybe you’ll see something you like, but not what I was seeing back in ’15. I sure wish I could still show you the 2015 Twins holiday card!

It’s a busy time. I know you have lots going on and certainly no time to watch Major League Baseball teams sharing their annual “season’s greetings” with fans.

You don’t have that kind of time to waste.

I do.

I binge-watched all 27 team “Season’s Greetings” cards. For you. (Happy Holidays!) I’ve sorted out the best and the worst, and one that, like your drunk uncle at Christmas, is uncomfortably weird. I’ve included links to them all.

“But, Bloggess,” you exclaim, “there are 30 teams!” Yes, Virginia, there are 30 teams. But, three of them don’t care about the holidays. Or, you.

Not A Creature Was Stirring, Not Even Mike Trout …

These teams, as of December 20, haven’t bothered to upload a card: Colorado Rockies, Los Angeles Angels, and Philadelphia Phillies. What’s wrong with you people? Too much eggnog at the team Christmas party?

Trust me, once you see the Oakland A’s card, you’ll understand that, really, it’ll only take five seconds to slap some crap together. Even that is better than nothing at all. Or maybe it’s not. I can’t decide.

UPDATE! December 22, 10 a.m. EST: The Rockies and Angels have finally come through with their cards (just click the links above). Not sure they were worth waiting for, but even a mediocre “Happy Holidays” is better than the deafening silence of the Phillies.

UPDATE #2! December 22, 4 p.m. EST: ‘Bout time, Phillies. And, while you’re not the first team with the synchronized light thing (see Braves, Mariners, Padres, below), you still came through for your fans. So, yay!

Highlights, Highlights, Highlights!

Nothing wrong with season highlights from your team. If you’re really lucky, a player might show up to say “Happy Holidays”: Arizona Diamondbacks, Baltimore Orioles, Cleveland Indians, Tampa Rays, Texas Rangers. The best of this genre? The Detroit Tigers who included highlights, player’s greetings, Paws the Tiger, and a reminder that Opening Day is coming soon.

Pittsburgh Pirates: You know how sometimes you can say a word over and over and it starts to sound weird? HappyHolidays-HappyHolidays-HappyHolidays-HappyHolidays to you, too Bucs.

Miami Marlins: And, you know how sometimes someone will say “Happy Holidays,” but they don’t seem very happy about it and you’re pretty sure they don’t mean it?

Kansas City Royals: Type in your name and your Royals card is magically personalized.

Thanks, Royals … and Happy Holidays to YOU!

Royals highlights and players out in the community round out the card. But, just one glimpse of the World Series trophy. It’s almost like they’re embarrassed by all the attention. Hey, Royals, you worked hard for that, you’re allowed to gloat.

The New York Mets understand. Their National League title is nothing to be embarrassed about.

If I did a Top Five list of these cards, the New York Yankees would be #5. But, unfortunately, my “Best Of” list is only four teams long this year. Sorry, Yankees. Still, good job, and, as always, the Yankees find a way to put their old timers to work.

The Lights Are Burning My Brain

Do you have that one guy on your block who starts stringing up lights in September and covers his yard with Santas and penguins and Snoopys and candy canes and that thing from Frozen? And, a few years ago he sync’ed his computer to it and now when he turns on the Trans-Siberian Orchestra everything starts spinning and dancing and jumping around, and it’s so loud and god-awful you decided not to give him the bottle of bourbon you bought for him and instead you sat in your kitchen and drank It yourself while the lights from the “Dancing Elves” on his roof washed over you?

Well, that neighbor of yours works for the Braves. Unless he works for the Padres. Or, Mariners.

What Else Does A Mascot Have To Do In December?

It’s adorable Orbit from the Houston Astros and his “Night Before Christmas” adventure. I got a little teary-eyed watching poor Orbit all by himself trimming the tree in sad, empty Minute Maid Park on Christmas Eve. Then he brings out the Moon Pies.

You can’t go wrong with Orbit and Moon Pies.

The Milwaukee Brewers trotted out Bernie Brewer and all the Racing Sausages for a Christmas carol. But, no sign of Hank the Dog.

hank

Where is Hank the Dog? What have you done with him?

Oh, God, we almost forgot to do a greeting card …

The San Francisco Giants, as always, tossed together a happy montage of happy fans at happy AT&T Park. San Francisco Giants fans are the happiest people on earth, I’m sure of it.

There’s More!

The Boston Red Sox animated a cute pencil drawing of the Green Monster done by a young Red Sox fan.

The Chicago Cubs could have put together an amazing highlight reel, but instead they shared photos of Cubs helping out in the community. If you think I’m going to dog the Cubs for promoting their charitable activities, you are wrong. Good job, Cubbies. But, really, just let Joe Maddon do the card next season.

The Cincinnati Reds think watching a lousy, fast-motion montage of fans speeding through the All-Star Game is good enough. Dear Reds, Not good enough.

The Best, The Worst, & The Weird

These teams took the time, made the effort, and genuinely seemed to care about giving something nice to their fans:

#4. St. Louis Cardinals.

Sure it’s a hipster cartoon of the cartoon Cardinals singing an odd, jazzy, doo-woppy Christmas-ish song that I think they just made up, but it’s still pretty good. Plus, nice use of the word “Yuletide” in the lyrics.

#3. Chicago White Sox.

Stuff a baseball game into an L train and here’s what you’ll get – a train filled with fans, hot dog vendors, the Racing Mascots, The Wave, an umpire, an organist, Cracker Jack, a dusty World Series trophy, and Southpaw, that green fuzzy thing. Even White Sox second baseman Micah Johnson turns up! (Oops, Micah was traded to the Dodgers last week. I guess he was just taking the L to O’Hare.) This is the holiday party you wish your office would throw.

#2. Washington Nationals.

Racing Presidents, National Anthem singers, the famed Gay Men’s Chorus of Washington, violinists from the Heifetz Institute, and a “Hello” from new manager Dusty Baker. Remember when Jonathan Papelbon choked Bryce Harper in the dugout in September? Neither do the Nats. Elegant and classy.

#1. Minnesota Twins.

The Angelica Cantanti Youth Choirs join the Twins in a brand new Twinsian version of the Carol of the Bells. Sure, it’s a little cheesy, but it’s good, too. So good that I’m no longer mad at the Twins for sweeping the Orioles last season.

Blech.

The bottom two …

#26. The Oakland A’s. Thanks for not trying, dudes. That’s why you sucked last season.

I’m serious. This is a highlight.

#27. Toronto Blue Jays.

What could be more festive than Jose Bautista’s snotty bat flip in the ALDS set to a holiday song? Apparently, in Canada, nothing. What do you want for Christmas, Blue Jays? We want to be the jerks everyone hates.

Look, it’s even on a sweater!

And, finally …

The Dodgers: Well, there’s Vin Scully, so it should be great. But, it’s not. It’s claymation-like, four minutes long, and sort of creepy.

Justin (JT) Turner and Adrian Gonzalez are bobble heads with the DTs who are summoned to the North Pole by garden gnome Tommy Lasorda who is being held hostage by elves in Dodgers uniforms, and … I’m not sure why. And, why are Lasorda’s arms up in the air like that? The elves think JT is Santa from the strange, not-good 1970 “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” cartoon because, uh, because he has a beard, that’s why! So he has to show them a photo of his girlfriend to prove that he’s not. Then all the Dodger bobble heads with DTs sing “Jingle Bells.” Even David Lynch is confused.

Now we know why Greinke left.

The Mendoza Line of Posts

Posted on December 16, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

This is my 200th post.

It is of interest only because people like milestones and milestones come in round numbers.

Two-hundred blog posts is no big thing. I follow people who have twittered 48,000 times. (As Truman Capote once said, “That’s not writing, that’s typing.”)

For Mario Mendoza, whose lifetime .215 batting average led to calling a woeful .200 or under average “The Mendoza Line,” .200 was just a lousy break, because statistics will tell you that plenty of guys never cracked .200, but Mendoza was the poor shmoo who got singled out. (Thanks, George Brett. I’m blaming you for this.)

For me, 200 posts is a nice milestone and with milestones come the responsibility of writing something worthwhile or memorable … or, really, just something.

There are wonderfully talented people with much to say who can post on their blogs with daily, sometimes twice- and thrice-daily regularity. If you are one of them, please know that I find you admirable, role-model worthy, and, to be honest, a little annoying.

Most of what I write never gets posted. It is too weird, fractured, stupid, unfunny, baffling, or confusing (even to me and I wrote it).

Here are a few scraps that I tinkered with over the years that never became post-worthy. Well-intentioned, sure. But, like Mario Mendoza, not quite good enough to get on base:

“Minnesota Twins: You play outside now. Good for you.” (2012. From an abandoned effort to say one nice thing about every major league team.)

“Do you think a guinea pig is jealous of a rabbit’s ears?” (2013)

“Try throwing a basketball 100 miles per hour.” (2014)

“It has been brought to my attention that my blog is frivolous. This came from someone who is of the belief that Supreme Court rulings are important and baseball is not.” (2013)

“Giraffes have the biggest hearts of all land mammals.” (2015)

“I’m so glad that there is something that Bill Ripken does better than Cal.” (2012, Playoffs. Following Cal’s atrocious time in the broadcast booth.)

“While living in Paris, Hemingway would bring mandarins to his writing garret each day. Eating mandarins as you write will not turn you into Hemingway. Trust me.” (2012)

“Craptastic. That should be a word.” (2013)

“I was hopeful that the Montgomery Biscuits’ mascot would be someone dressed as a warm, buttery biscuit. But, this is not a perfect world. And, baseball, for all its perfection, often disappoints. (2015)

Big Mo. Not a biscuit.

“Dear Gentlemen: One day you will thank the Bloggess for this advice – never suggest to your wife that the smell coming from the hard-to-reach dead mouse under the fridge will go away ‘in a few days.’ Here’s a tip, use a vacuum cleaner and stick the hose right under there and suck that stinker out. Don’t make your wife do it. She will only be annoyed and write about it in an effort to shame you.” (2013)

“Oh my god, I’m getting soft on A-Rod.” (2015, World Series)

“Dear Tampa Bay Rays, Great idea for 2013: make the roof girders light up when balls hit them and turn the entire stadium into a giant pinball machine. Moving girders become flippers, bumpers throughout the outfield, flashing lights, a whirling disco ball, and a “tilt” that will shake the stadium at random times. I’m just trying to help.” (2012)

“We wandered through exhibits in and around the ‘Downtown Mall,’ Charlottesville’s hipster outdoor space where much of this Photography Festival thing was going on. Photographers were shooting like they were Annie Liebovitz in Tiananmen Square on revolution day. I’m pretty sure I ended up part of someone’s Street Art Portfolio.” (2015)

“Does that Brewer guy still slide into a pool after home runs? I hope so.” (2012)

“I’m not an expert on baseball, but I feel like I’m not destroying a thoughtful national conversation by weighing in on it from time to time.” (2013)

“I have been cold since I was 12.” (2014)

“I saw that Cincinnati just signed Jair Jurrgens. My take on that … if your team is signing the Orioles’ pitching castoffs, you probably have a bigger problem than you realize.” (2014)

“I’ll write what she’s writing.” (2015. The headline from a discarded draft in praise of Nora Ephron.)

“I’ve bet on baseball and I don’t belong in the Hall of Fame either.” (2015)

“Jim Palmer wrote to me!” (2015)

Actually, he typed.

One Magazine.

Posted on November 29, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

At the start of every holiday I make a “to-do” list. Don’t get the wrong idea – thinking that I am a habitually organized person who makes to-do lists for everything. I don’t.

I really just make to-do lists to make sure my holidays are well used.

I don’t want to waste a minute of a day off, let alone an entire week of days off, since they don’t come around that often.

My list was three pages long. The “work stuff” page was longer than the “fun stuff” page, and one of the things on the “fun” page was “Do something fun” which shows how uninspiring my lists can be.

Mookie’s To-Do List: 1) Look for Squirrels.

Now, with the end of this holiday approaching much faster than it should, I have one last load of massage laundry left to do, which will give me one more satisfying check-off on my list.

Lest you get another wrong-headed idea – that I actually accomplish all those things that need doing – let me assure you, my list’s check-off rate, even with that last load of linens, was barely 46 percent. (Forty-six percent, however, puts me well ahead of Donald Trump in the polls!)

One of the things I did do … I worked my way through a year’s worth of magazines that had piled up by my bedside.

I love magazines. I love them so much that I don’t even mind the perfume samples, ads, and blow cards that fill them.

There was a time when I had as many magazine subscriptions as a small-town library.

Time was not enough. I had to have Newsweek, too, to catch the things that Time missed. (I had a fling with U.S. News, but it didn’t last.)

New Yorkers would sit, sometimes for years, because they were too precious to discard even though there was more inside a single issue than I could ever read. Old New Yorker covers and cartoons are still tacked up on my office walls … even though the subscription expired long ago.

My dad would, without fail, renew my Reader’s Digest each Christmas, and when he passed away, I let it go. But, when my mom died, I absorbed her beloved People subscription, and, although it is pricey and generally news-less, I still keep it, because it seems like something she would want me to do.

I’ve subscribed to Rolling Stone since high school and it hasn’t changed much in all that time, except to become much smaller, and Bob Dylan is still a comforting presence on at least one cover each year. I let Spin go years back. I long for the days of Trouser Press, which you have probably never even heard of.

Still to-do — Read all these Dylan articles.

Sport. Baseball Weekly. Elysian Fields Quarterly. I got ‘em all.

I’m told that Sport is still around.

And, Sports Illustrated.

At first, my dad would just mail me his old copies, and they would come stuffed three or four to an envelope, often months out of order. Except the swimsuit issue. He always kept that one.

Eventually, he got me my own subscription, but sadly, there were no dad comments written in the margins or big circles drawn in Sharpie around the stories my dad felt were most important. I let SI go for awhile. But, I came back, because it is, I swear, one of the best-written magazines ever.

Editor/Husband estimates that I read 25 pounds of magazines over the holiday.

“Read” is relative here.

One “reads” War & Peace. One “skimmalafies” a year-old Rolling Stone (oh, look, Bob Dylan!). In the case of People, “reading” may mean simply seeing how fast you can do the crossword or marveling that this week’s cover story on Adele contains not one single piece of original reporting, but is just a jumble of Adele’s previous quotes to Rolling Stone and the Today Show. (Which means that People did what any blogger could do.)

Zuzu is not one for celebrity gossip or, in the case of the new Adele cover story, lazy reporting.

Editor/Husband gets one magazine – Vanity Fair. He has three years of them stacked up on his side of the bed.

“I read them as frequently as there is a Common Redpoll irruption.”

Which means, almost never. Editor/Husband was very excited to see a Common Redpoll at our birdfeeder this morning. (If they’re so rare, why are they called “common”?)

http://www.allaboutbirds.org

I planned to share three of the best articles I read with you.

But, as the days wore on and the pile by the bed got smaller, I thought maybe two articles would be enough.

Now, the pile’s gone and I have one magazine set aside. Just one article.

It’s from a 2014 Sports Illustrated and it’s about Roger Angell, who has written for the New Yorker since 1944, the last 53 years as its baseball writer.

Why should you read it? Because it is beautiful.

Because it includes the line, “Angell is the curator of our baseball souls.”

Because, as Angell points out, reading about baseball is somehow even more exciting, vibrant, and memorable than just watching a highlight replayed on video. Maybe because a play is just a play on film. But, when someone who loves the game writes about it, it takes on extra layers, extra meanings … maybe joy, maybe amazement, or maybe despair. It becomes personal, something a video is not.

You can find the Sports Illustrated profile here: The Passion of Roger Angell.

And, you can find Angell’s New Yorker piece This Old Man about aging and getting by in your 90s, which won a National Magazine Award and has one of the world’s best jokes about death, here.

It has been four weeks since baseball.

Becomingly Thankful

Posted on November 26, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

“Everybody was becomingly thankful.” ~ The Baltimore Sun, November 26, 1897

There’s not a lot of baseball on Thanksgiving.

It’s just turkey and football, isn’t it?

Sure, maybe there’s someone, somewhere having a catch before dinner. But, finding a game – a real game – is hard to do on Thanksgiving.

It was pretty much just turkey and football back in 1897, too. And, it’s been that way every Thanksgiving since.

But, I did find two bits of Thanksgiving baseball in 1897 …

On Thanksgiving Day, the boys of St. Mary’s Industrial School – the school for truants, miscreants, and wayward boys located on the outskirts of Baltimore – mostly played football. But, a few of them played baseball that day. It was a dull and cloudy day, but the rain held off until after dark, so the day was fine enough for outdoor games.

Thanksgiving 1897 was, for the 535 boys of St. Mary’s, “a delightful day,” The Baltimore Sun reported.

The school was still five years away from enrolling its most famous student – George (not-yet-Babe) Ruth who was committed to St. Mary’s by his parents for being incorrigible in 1902.

Babe_Ruth_-_St._Mary's_Industrial_School

Public Domain image (1913)

In 1897, George “Baby” Ruth was just 2 years old and several years away from becoming a star player for St. Mary’s Industrial School. (Here he is in 1913 — back row, center, with his catcher’s gear.)

The Baltimore Orioles also played on Thanksgiving Day 1897.

They had just finished their season in second place and were out on the West Coast on one of those barn-storming “all-star” tours that travelled through warm-weather states in the off-season as a way to make the owners some dough and help players make ends meet.

Public Domain (1897)

Baltimore Orioles “California Tour” Promotional Photograph. 1897

The Orioles spent their Thanksgiving being beaten 4-3 by the Sacramento Gilt Edges, a California League team.

(The Gilt Edges, by the way, got their name from Sacramento’s Ruhstaller’s Brewery, maker of Gilt Edge beer. The brewery still exists and they still make Gilt Edge.)

But for most Americans, Thanksgiving Day 1897 was a day for church-going (“services were most elaborate affairs, and in their magnitude and importance, were only surpassed by the Easter Festivals,” The Washington Post explained) … college football (the University of Virginia beat Carolina in the “South’s Oldest Rivalry” game, 12-0, wahoowa!) … and serving roast turkey dinners with all the usual trimmings to the poor, the infirm, the elderly, and the imprisoned.

Thanksgiving Day back then, it seems, was less a day to count one’s own blessings, but instead was a day to help provide the less fortunate with a belly-filling meal for which they could be thankful.

The Humphrey House, a Jamestown, New York hotel and restaurant, reminded its diners of the blessings of sharing a meal with the poor on their Thanksgiving Day menu.

Public Domain, via University of Nevada, Las Vegas, University Libraries. (1897)

“They who divide the plenty, By a bounteous Father given, Shall multiply this day the thanks, That sweetly rise to Heaven.”

(You can see the Humphrey House’s full Thanksgiving menu here.)

As The Baltimore Sun explained, “Many generous-hearted people were anxious that others should find some rays of sunshine in their lives to be grateful for and devoted part of the remaining hours to aiding the poor, sick, or those confined in institutions.”

The Baltimore Sun, November 26, 1897

“Everybody was becomingly thankful.”

That’s how The Baltimore Sun described Thanksgiving Day 1897.

Becomingly thankful.

May we all be becomingly thankful today, too.

Hey, What’s So Funny?

Posted on November 22, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

My friend was sad last night. Maybe she was angry. It could have been the wine. It’s hard to tell sometimes on an email. (UNLESS YOU’RE WRITING LIKE THIS, of course, which is awfully loud and means you’re either angry or just confused about that whole “caps lock” nonsense.)

Anyway, my friend has to write me by email, because my old Droid can’t pick up the iPhone emojis she regularly texts to me.

She’ll send me texts that are simply a line of empty squares where the emojis are supposed to be. Like this …

I have no idea what she’s talking about. She does it all the time. When I told her that I couldn’t see her emojis, the blank squares started coming in even faster.

But, last night her email was mad-sad. Because the world is ugly and the uglier the world gets the angrier, it seems, the smaller world around us gets. The hatefulness just starts to open its net wider and wider, and all of a sudden everybody just hates everybody else.

“Talk to me so I can hear the accent, but minus the hate,” she wrote.

What do you say to someone who is mad-sad about the state of things? Just like you?

I’ve been reading Elvis Costello’s memoir “Unfaithful Music & Disappearing Ink”, which, of course, has led me to listen to all my old Elvis Costello albums.

There’s a point coming, but, first, let me just say this about Kindle books.

I heard someone on the radio this week recommend Costello’s memoir, but warned, “It’s 671 pages.”

Wait, what?

I’ve been reading it on my Kindle for weeks now, and I had no idea that it was a long book. I mean, sure it seemed to be taking awhile, and just when I think it’s winding down, he wanders down another tangent. You know, like your friend who sits with you at the bar after midnight and says, “Come on just one more beer, ok?”

Kindle books should carry a warning, “Hey, Book Worm, before you tap open page one, you oughta know, this is a 700-page book. It’ll be awhile.”

Bob Dylan’s memoir-ish Chronicles was barely 300 pages. How was I to know that Elvis Costello wrote the War & Peace of rock books?

Still, very good book. But, I may not be done until Opening Day.

Home Stretch.

Anyway, so I’m listening to all sorts of Elvis Costello, but I keep coming back to that one mad-sad song that seems to fit the times – no matter the time or year or decade. It just always seems to fit.

(What’s so funny ’bout) peace, love & understanding?

Which was a mad song when the “Angry Young Elvis” sang it in 1979.

But, it’s a bewildered, dreamy, and sad song when Nick Lowe sings it. (He wrote it, by the way.)

(And, don’t feel bad if you always thought Elvis Costello wrote the song, because, as Elvis points out in his book, John Lennon thought so, too.)

Here’s Nick singing it in 1974, the year he wrote it, with the band Brinsley Schwarz. Elvis calls the original version “almost tongue-in-cheek.”

But, it’s never felt tongue-in-cheek to me.

Here’s Keb Mo, and his bluesy, folky, Americana take.

A few years ago, Stephen Colbert did it on his Christmas show, with Elvis, Willie Nelson, John Legend, Feist, and (for realz) Toby Keith.

For you Australian fans in your 40s, here’s Midnight Oil.

And, look … here’s Taylor Momsen and the Pretty Reckless! (Yes, where is the harmony?)

Here’s Natalie Merchant, once with 10,000 Maniacs and now just a maniac on her own (and not spinning around as much).

(Can you hear the riff from George Harrison’s version of If Not For You tucked into this version?)

Hey, Grunge fans … it’s Chris Cornell, with Spanish subtitles.

Bruce Springsteen and Jon Bon Jovi (Bon Jovi’s the awkward guy who’s just a tiny bit off key … clearly, there is no sweet harmony).

The gospel-y Holmes Brothers.

And, the one that made me cry. Israeli Peace Activist David Broza, recording at a Palestinian studio in 2013 with the Jerusalem Youth Choir, the only choir that includes both Israeli and Palestinian teens …

Yay, the sweet harmony is back!

I’ve left out plenty. Covers by Jakob Dylan and The Wallflowers, Steve Earle, The Flaming Lips, Simple Minds, and more. The Googler can find their versions for you if you ask.

So, what’s the point of all this?

Well, a few things …

Hey, it’s just a great song.
The Internet, with all its videos and stuff tucked into nooks and crannies, can be an amazing treasure chest to paw through on a Sunday morning.
When you’re mad-sad about the state of things, music won’t necessarily fix anything, but it’s nice, sometimes, to know you’re not alone.

It’s been three weeks since baseball.

Something Like A Star

Posted on November 16, 2015 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

So when at times the mob is swayed
To carry praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid. ~ Robert Frost

Baseball is a team sport oddly suited for solitude and introverts. To watch, immersed, the pitcher and the batter, standing alone in their places, like those people crowded on the morning subway, absorbed in their alone-ness while standing hip close in a can filled with people.

Like those people who sit alone at the end of the bar staring into ice.

Like those people in church who come early and kneel and hold their rosary more tightly than it needs and you think, “Boy, there must be some stories in those sins.”

The pitcher and the batter, interrupted only by the occasional sign from the catcher or the intrusion of the umpire.

The lonely outfielders, way out in their grass, staring into the game, just like I do off in the bleachers.

Because to immerse yourself in the game as a fan, day after night after day, is an introversion, too.

So, when you step out of baseball, when there are no more games, when the players disappear into the fog of that last out to go where sleepy players go when they’re not there on the grass, when you only have the memory of those one or two great plays from the thousands that you have seen, you’re a little like a bear, I think, crawling out of winter torpor or waking up after a night’s storm.

You step out into the sunlight, squint, and look around and see what the world has been doing while you’ve been baseballing.

And, you think, “Shit.”

Because the world seems mean and angry and evil. And, nothing and everything has changed from when you left, when you slipped inside that first game of the spring.

Some of my friends wonder how I can love baseball.

How can I not?

When I saw my first game, I was older, in my 20s. And, our seats were up high in Baltimore’s old Memorial Stadium. And, we wound our way up through those concrete halls and stepped out into the night, where the lights were bright though the sky was not yet dark, and the grass on that wide field was greener than any other grass in the world, and the diamond so carefully cut in straight and even lines, and there were people playing and tossing a ball, and I have only one memory of that first game, looking at all of that before me and thinking, “I’m home.”

How can I not love baseball?

Because this world seems a scary, ugly place. And, is it wrong to want to look away sometimes?

Not to feed the dark impulse to close one’s eyes completely. But, just to seek a second of solitude. So as not to be guided by fear or the misdirection or broad brush of anger.

The game is a rest station. Something like a star.

It has been two weeks without baseball.

Allen Toussaint (1938-2015)

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