Free Baseball: Red, White, and Blue Edition

Baseball is the perfect way to spend your Independence Day. But, just in case your guys are the away team today (Dear Orioles, did you forget to pack your bats before you left for Chicago?), here’s some Free Baseball* to keep your game red, white, and blue.

Happy 4th of July!

10th Inning: Silent Cal

We are a nation of mega-mansions, monster trucks, and hotdog eating contests. More is always better. And, because five Racing Presidents weren’t enough for the Washington Nationals, we now have six. Welcome Racing President Calvin Coolidge!

Cal

Coolidge joins Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, Teddy Roosevelt, and Taft.

(Add in Presidents Woodrow Wilson, Jimmy Carter, and George H.W. Bush – all played baseball in college – and you can field your own Racing Presidents baseball team!)

Apparently, Coolidge was not much of a baseball fan, but his wife Grace was. (Impeccable source for this fact? Annoying Nats color guy F.P. Santangelo. If it’s wrong, blame him.)

But, President Coolidge did say: “Baseball is our national game.” Which is about as generic as you can get, but apparently is enough to get a 40-pound felt head built in your likeness.

Oh, and he’s the only U.S. President born on the 4th of July. Happy Birthday, Cal!

Here’s his first race from last night:

cals first race

Watch here.

11th Inning: Vin’s America

Legendary Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully can call a game all by himself – no need for color guys. And, he still has time left over to teach you a little history. During last night’s Dodgers-Mets game Vin shared some Star-Spangled Banner stories.

So gather round, listen, and Vin promises, you’ll “learn a little something about our flag.”

vin

Watch here.

12th Inning: Capping It All Off

As usual, all players will wear special 4th of July caps today.

Look, everything’s stars and stripey!

stars stripes cap

orioles cap

Editor/Husband Fashion Review: “Those are horrible. Where’s Betsy Ross when you need her?”

And, don’t worry Toronto Blue Jays, it may not be your special day, but we’ve got something for you, too. Awww, it’s your maple leaf. On a cap.

blue jays cap

Happy Canada Day, three days late, Blue Jays!

13th Inning: Keep Your Critters Safe!

One more thing … The 4th of July is great and so is baseball. But, fireworks stink if you’re an animal. Keep your critters safe!

keep your pets indoors

______________________________________

* Free Baseball refers to extra innings that come after a nine-inning game ends in a tie. Here it’s the extra things that don’t quite fit into my regular-sized posts.

 

Now There Are Only Three

Eleven cats and one dog have lived with us here over the past 15 years or so.

They just keep showing up.

Living on a farm – even if it is a farm in name only – attracts all sorts of creatures.

I have loved each of the 11 cats and the one dog who showed up, moved in, and stayed.

(Sure, there have been others who have stopped by for a day or a week or a month and just moved on. I don’t count them.)

I do not like the groundhogs who dig bowling ball-sized burrows in our yard and waddle all smug and nasty and fearless when I yell at them to stop eating the tomatoes.  (You can call them woodchucks or whistle pigs and I still will not like them.)

Over time the numbers of animals who live with us has dwindled.  The cats and the dog came, grew old or ill, and then passed on.

I hate that part.

Because it breaks my heart every time I have to say “goodbye.”

Now there are only three.

This week the “goodbye” was for Lamar. He was only eight or so.

lamar porch

He was the most feral of the feral cats we’ve taken in. And, because there was so much wild in him to begin with, it was easy to grow very attached to the sweetness that seeped out around the feral edges.

I like that a cat’s love for a person is not unconditional. I like that there’s some wild independence in there. I like that we humans are always on probation with cats, and they can and will withdraw their affection at any moment.

I’ve always had an issue with dogs.  I don’t like the unconditional love thing with dogs.  I want to earn your friendship.

Bingo and Groucho

Groucho and Bingo. (1999-2000-ish)

Bingo, the Border Collie, loved me, but she also loved Tim, the UPS driver, and our neighbors, and the vet, and complete strangers, and anyone with food.

I’m also not a big fan of that dog-breath slobbery thing and I don’t understand why, if they’re so much smarter than cats, they can’t learn to use the litter box and cover up after themselves. Using the cat’s litter box like a salad bar really doesn’t make the case for “We’re smarter than cats.”

(I loved Bingo and she would want me to add that she never bothered the litter boxes.)

I’m pretty much a cat person.

When Lamar showed up seven years ago, he was so feral that it took me many months of sweet talk and food to soften him up enough just to touch him, and a few months more before he would let me lift him off the ground.

He was tough and built of muscle, but one day when he came out on the wrong side of a cat fight, his front paw was injured and he was hobbling just enough that we were able to catch him and get him into a pet carrier. Antibiotics and neutering followed.

Lamar became our farm protector. He protected Oscar, a very old cat that had left our neighbor’s house to live in our barn.

??????????

Oscar

Oscar was too old to fight or protect himself, but refused to come inside. It seems odd to say Lamar tended to him, but that’s what he did.

In the same way that cats will sometimes bring their people mice and moles and other “gifts”, Lamar brought a cat to us a couple years ago and let her eat out of his food bowl.

??????????

“Look. I brought you a cat.”

She followed him like a shadow.

??????????

She became Stevie and, when she discovered the warmth and creature comforts of being inside, she moved in.

Not long after, Lamar started losing more cat scuffles than he won, and then, much to his initial dismay, we decided that, feral or not, it was time for him to come in the house.  And, feral or not, he quickly settled in, and he was the one cat in the house that every other cat in the house got along with.

s and l

We enclosed our front porch this year just so Lamar could enjoy the outdoors safely.

Lamar was fine on Thursday morning, he slept with us on the bed the night before. (He always slept wideways on the bed, taking up a lot of space and forcing me to curl my legs up tight so he could stretch out.) He was fine when we left for work.

His heart gave out that day – as cat hearts often do, quickly and without warning.  And, that night we said goodbye.

He was a good cat. Handsome, wild, and sweet.

I can’t believe he’s gone.

I’ll miss him. I miss every one of them.

s and l porch

Photos: © The Baseball Bloggess

Fan-Tastic, Part 2

Fun Fact: Rain Delays don't last forever.  Fun Fact #2: Rally Towels are very absorbent.

When 30,000 baseball fans get together, one or two will turn out to be jerks.

Not you and me, of course. But, you know, other guys.

I recently wrote about how we are much better behaved today than our grandparents and great-grandparents were. Click here.

A hundred years ago, the unwritten rules for baseball fans were essentially: “Don’t kill anyone. But, if you do – and we know these things happen – please keep bloodshed to a minimum. Also, if you have the Spanish flu, tuberculosis, or the plague, please stay home.”

The only written rule was this:

colored whites sign

That rule’s gone.

But, there are plenty of other rules today.

Good rules. (We don’t care what your great-grandparents brought to the games, leave your guns and knives at home.”)

Weird rules. (No full bodysuits in Cincinnati.)

bodysuit

(Not so fast there, Reds fan.)

And, dictatorial ones. (For a game that segregated fans for years with “Coloreds Only” signs, they really shouldn’t be so self-righteous when it comes to what WE can put on OUR signs.)

These things are banned in pretty much every major league ballpark:

Thermoses, things in glass, hard-sided coolers, noisemakers, fireworks, guns and knives, anything that explodes, anything that could kill you (except, apparently, trans fats and chewing tobacco), anything that could put out someone’s eye.

Also specifically restricted in most ballparks:

Standing or sitting in the aisles, in the portals, or in the tunnels. Sitting in a location other than your ticketed seat.

Running onto the field of play (clothed or unclothed).

Throwing stuff onto the field.

Foul language.

“Disruptive behavior.”

Intoxication.

Inappropriate public displays of affection.

Skateboards (except at San Francisco’s AT&T Park where you may stow your ’board under your seat).

Brooms. (Exceptions are made in some parks if the team is going for a sweep. Oakland’s O.Co Stadium says no full-size brooms, but little “whiskbrooms” are OK. Clearly, a grandmother writes their rules.)

Fishing nets. ~ Chase Field, PhoenixCoors Field, Denver

Beach balls.

“Culturally insensitive attire.” ~ AT&T Park, San Francisco

“Food that might be thrown as a projectile … (i.e., oranges, apples and other fruits).” ~ Petco Park, San Diego

“Any fruit or vegetable larger than a grapefruit” unless it is sliced. ~ Coors Field, Denver

“Loud or lengthy” cell phone calls. ~ U.S. Cellular Field, Chicago White Sox

Hairspray. ~ Marlins Park, Miami

Inflatable dolls. ~ Petco Park, San Diego.

stay classy

You stay classy, San Diego.

“Confetti or Glitter” ~ Yankee Stadium, New York

The Pittsburgh Pirates specifically ban footballs from PNC Park. Good for you, Pittsburgh. Footballs should just be banned, period.

The Washington Nationals encourage you to sit still: “Be a team player – Restrict movement in the seating area to breaks in the action.”

The Philadelphia Phillies will let you bring handmade signs, but they provide a lengthy list of guidelines on what your sign may say, its size, what it can be made of, and how you can display it. No “fighting words,” they warn.

“Citizens Bank Park is a baseball ballpark and not a forum for public discussion.”

The Houston Astros insist that your sign must “support” the team or a player and be in “good taste”.

(Trying to come up with a sign supporting the Astros? How about this: “Well, at least you’re not the Rangers.”)

Most places restrict “wrapped gifts.” The Kansas City Royals, recognizing you might be celebrating a birthday at Kaufmann Stadium, earnestly suggest “gift bags” instead.

The Mets allow diaper bags “with children.” I don’t know where to go with this, because I didn’t even know diaper bags could procreate.

St. Louis’ Busch Stadium has a pretty short prohibited list. Leave your big bags and weapons home. That’s about it. Have at it, Cardinals fans!

Oh, except for this:

“Visiting team fans are our guests. Harassment of the visiting team or their fans will not be tolerated and may result in ejection.”

Cardinal harassing is, apparently, a-ok. You may now harass John Lackey with abandon.

The Angels and Dodgers invite you to bring your crappy cameras and iPhones, but no lenses that are longer than 4” (Angels) or 6” (Dodgers), please. The Tampa Rays allow lenses that are 12”. (The better to fully capture the Trop’s Teflon roof.)

The Yankees invite you to bring whatever size lens you like.

Visit the Minnesota Twins’ website and they will offer you security rules for the Metrodome.

metrodome

They haven’t played there since 2009 and it was permanently deflated earlier this year.

The Mets continue to have tight security at Shea Stadium.

shea

Shea was torn down in 2009.

Most teams explain that the only animals allowed are service animals (except for special “barks in the parks” events).

Miniature horses are specifically welcome at Petco Park in San Diego, as long as they are serving a direct service role. (Slacker horses? Not allowed.)

service miniature horse

By DanDee Shots [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

(Yes, service horses wear sneakers!)

A big tail wag to the Chicago White Sox who allow service animals at U.S. Cellular Field and “offer a Pet Check service for other types of animals.” 

stevie relaxing

Stevie hopes this “pet check” includes snacks and a nice brushing.

Then there’s the Toronto Blue Jays. What a way to ruin a post, what with your “We’re a friendly place and we want you to be happy” rules.

They even promise to greet us with a cheery “How’s it goin’?”

hows it going

(My friend Susie swears that no one in Canada really says “How’s it goin’?”  She’s from Canada, she should know.)

They seem almost apologetic to be restricting anything, and when they do, it’s really just to keep you tidy.

Your own food is welcome, “as long as the items are wrapped, bagged or left inside a container to avoid spillage.” See? They just want to keep mustard off your shirt.

But, there is one odd Toronto rule:

“For obvious safety concerns, guests are not permitted to throw any objects around or within the Rogers Centre seating areas (e.g., baseballs, beach balls, shoes, seat cushions, hats, food, drinks, ice, coins, etc).”

Coins? Shoes? Ice? (There’s a lot of ice in Canada.)

This is ironic since Toronto is fast becoming known for having the worst, drunkest, throwingest fans in baseball(Sorry, Philly.)

Hey, mind the rules, Toronto fans. Don’t throw your beer at Nate McLouth.

nate

And, here’s the one you’ve been waiting for …

Earlier this season, the Texas Rangers “banned” fans from doing the wave.

wave2

Yippee!

 

3 Jackies. 1 Stevie. 100 Posts. Go.

“Once a woman becomes a (baseball) fan, she is the best fan in the world.” ~ Bill Veeck, Baseball Team Owner, Promoter & Innovator

????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

Postcard, circa 1910.

This is my 100th post on this blog.

(I know, really, crazy isn’t it? I sure do type a lot.)

And, here’s Stevie’s 20th random appearance!

hi.

hi.

I like to think that my parents named me for Jackie Robinson, although I know they didn’t.

I wasn’t named for Jackie Mitchell either, but that would have been nice, too. I’m pretty certain that my parents had never heard of Jackie Mitchell which is a shame.

(You haven’t either? Sigh.)

In 1931, Mitchell was the first woman to get a professional minor league baseball contract, signing with the Double A Chattanooga Lookouts. She had one good pitch – a sinking curveball that broadcasters today would probably call “filthy.”

In a 1931 exhibition game against the Yankees, Mitchell, just 18 years old, struck out Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig on just seven pitches. (Ruth threw his bat, grumbled angrily, and had to be led back to the dugout by teammates.)

jackie babe and lou

Jackie Mitchell, Babe Ruth, & Lou Gehrig. April 1931. ~ public domain image

Some argue that Ruth and Gehrig struck out on purpose that day, just for a gag. But, some big boy egos must have been bruised because just a few days later Baseball Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis voided Mitchell’s contract because baseball was “too strenuous” for women, particularly those with nasty curveballs.

Some of my favorite baseball “guys” are girls.

And, since this is blog post #100, I was going to list 100 of them for you. (Cute, right?) But, Editor/Husband got overwhelmed by my loving and long list of names and suggested that I mention just a few instead. (Killjoy.)

Jackie Mitchell was striking out superstars 83 years ago.

Jennie Finch did the very same thing in 2004. (You should hear the excuses people made for Barry Bonds and Albert Pujols who were “struck out by a girl.” Actually, they were the very same “they struck out on purpose” excuses made for Ruth and Gehrig decades earlier. But, Pujols admits, she blew the ball by him.)

lizzie murphy

Lizzie “Spike” Murphy. ~ public domain image

Lizzie “Spike” Murphy played with, and against, men in countless semipro, barnstorming, and exhibition games between 1918 and 1935.

Even the great pitcher Satchel Paige couldn’t get her out (she singled) and she played with some of the era’s greatest male players as a member of American League and National League All-Star teams in games against the Boston Red Sox and the Boston (now Atlanta) Braves.

Hundreds of “Bloomer Girls” teams prowled the country from the 1890s through the early 1930s taking on whatever men’s local, semipro, or minor league teams they could find.

1913 baseball girl

Bloomer Girl, 1913. ~ public domain image, Library of Congress

They were followed by the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League (1943-1954). And, many women of color, denied a place on still-segregated All-American Girls’ teams, played alongside men in the Negro Leagues.

tubby2

Kay “Tubby” Johnston, Little Leaguer. 1950 ~ courtesy of Kay Johnston Massar

Kay “Tubby” Johnston Massar disguised herself as a boy so she could play Little League in Corning, New York in 1950.

(I’ve written more about “Tubby” Johnston and her Little League season here.)

julie croteau

In the late 1980s and 1990s, Virginian Julie Croteau played men’s NCAA baseball and later coached NCAA men’s baseball teams, including at Division I University of Massachusetts, and had a long career at the semipro level. She is also one of only two women to play in Major League Winter League ball.

ila borders

In 1998, pitcher Ila Borders became the first woman to win a minor league game during the modern era (with the independent league Duluth Dukes).

There are other amazing trailblazers, too. So many. Many played against men. Others broke barriers as umpires, trainers, front office executives, announcers, and reporters.

I’m just a fan.

But, we fans need our role models, too.

So, let me tip my fan-cap to the most famous “unknown” woman in baseball … “baseball mad” Katie Casey, a fan whose love of the game back in 1908 is recounted during nearly every seventh-inning stretch in the song “Take Me Out To The Ballgame.”

 

If Katie were around today, she’d love great plays at third, a well-stocked bullpen, three-run homers, and the AL East.  She’d never waste an out on a bunt. And, she’d have her own blog. I just know it.

*    *    *

Postscript: It took me a couple weeks to pare this post down to highlight just a few women, eliminating what hatchet-man Editor/Husband called the “blah, blah, blah.” I cut even more on Thursday night … painstakingly deleting fascinating stories, amazing people, and prose that, I’m sure, would have made Grantland Rice jealous.

As I did this, the Baltimore Orioles were playing the second game of a double header against the Pittsburgh Pirates. I watched, I chopped, I watched, I rewrote. Top of the first, Orioles’ ace Chris Tillman loads the bases … walks in a run … walks in another. He threw 49 pitches in just that one half inning.

Hair-pulling time.

Then he settled down. And, then this post was done. And, then, it’s four hours later and this happens …

walkoff

I love baseball.

 

Free Baseball ~ i can haz baseball edition

Sixty-two percent of Americans today live with a pet – a cat or a dog or both or a bunch.

In short, most of us. (Goldfish and gerbils aren’t even included in this statistic … so that must account for the rest of you.)

I live with four cats (invited) and an increasing number of gangster attic mice (uninvited). (I’m hopeful the mousies haven’t brought plague into the house.)

(That old saying “quiet as a mouse”? A lie. That old saying, “When the cat’s away, the mice will play”? Also a lie. Cats today no longer care.)

Isn’t it odd that we spend so much time on the Internet looking at pictures of cats …

stevie is tired

Stevie is bored with this post already.

 … and dogs …

ruby in the snow

My friend Ginger’s new pup Ruby discovers snow!

… when we already have one or some or a bunch at home we could be looking at instead?

Here’s a video of a cat who has learned sign language for “feed me.”

My cats also know sign language for “feed me” (extend claws, swipe). While they couldn’t care less about chasing delicious mice, they will bray like billy goats when hungry. If that doesn’t work, they’ll smack you.

It snowed today.

Which means some time for me to post my first Free Baseball of 2014 … i can haz baseball edition …

(I had my first “Free Baseball” of the season when the University of Virginia went to extra innings against Boston College on Saturday afternoon. UVa won 3-2 in 12, after Nick Howard who started the game as Designated Hitter came in during the 10th and pitched 2.1 scoreless innings. He struck out the side in the top of the 12th and then singled home the winning run in the bottom of the 12th.)

Ok, back to the critters …

10th Inning ~ Rookie The Retriever

Last summer, I wrote about Chase, the golden retriever “bat dog” of the Trenton Thunder, a Yankees minor league team. Sadly, Chase, who was 13, died of cancer last year.

But, Chase was good with the lady dogs and left a number of puppies as his legacy.  A Chase grandpuppy, five-month-old “Rookie,” will take over his grandpa’s bat-retrieving work for the Thunder.

rookie

Apparently, there are trainers who will teach dogs to fetch bats. So, Rookie will get some schooling before he takes over the job full-time in 2015.

11th Inning ~ Hank the Brewer

While Rookie figures out the finer points of bat fetching, baseball has already begun for Hank, a stray pup who turned up last month in Phoenix, Arizona at the Milwaukee Brewers’ spring training camp.

hankphoto

They named him Hank in honor of Hank Aaron.

The  Brewers announced last week that Hank’s now officially part of the team and he has already arrived in Milwaukee where he’s been adopted by a local family.

Watch Hank run in the Brewers’ Sausage Race.

hank

(I mean it. Watch this video.)

12th Inning ~ Big O

Big Orange the cat showed up one day at Phoenix Municipal (Muni) Stadium, spring home of the Oakland A’s, and never left.

big orange

Unlike Rookie and Hank the dogs, cats cannot be bothered with retrieving bats (stupid) or running with men dressed as bratwurst (demeaning).  (Cats are funny that way.)

One of the stadium employees takes care of “Big O.”

“The stadium manager kind of cut me some slack with running her off because she was kind of taking care of the rat population and the squirrels,” Jim Folk told Sports On Earth last spring.

“She’s definitely got a little attitude,” he said. “Like in the morning, when I quit petting her, she’ll swat me and then chase me down and grab onto my leg.”

The Oakland A’s are leaving the Muni for Hohokam Park next spring, and stadium employees are working to find a good new home for Big O.

*    *    *    *

smokey jo

This post is in memory of Smokey Jo (1998-2014).

A tough little missy who showed how diabetic cats can live long, normal, and happy lives with just a little bit of human help.

Divine Discontent Gets A Day Off … (almost)

“Any writer worth his salt writes to please himself. … It’s a self-exploratory operation that is endless. An exorcism of not necessarily his demon, but of his divine discontent.”  ~ Harper Lee

First off, thank you to that reader who emailed me last night to tell me he can snap his fingers. (This, in response, to my heartfelt admission yesterday.) I exorcise my divine discontent … and for this, you taunt?  Truly? Truly?

So, what’s new in divine discontent today?

This.

I’m not sure that it’s ok to unleash fireworks at midnight on New Year’s Eve/Day.  I mean, sure, set off some whistling Moonshine Bottle Rockets, Blazing Rebel Fountains with all the pretty colors, a few of those nameless ashy, snakey things. Prairie Fire cones, Nuclear Sunrise candles. Go ahead. Sparklers? Sparkle your pants off.

No, I’m talking armaments. That sound like – or could possibly have actually been – cannon fire.

I went to bed before midnight because I taught Yoga this morning.

But, I awoke at midnight to the sound of shelling. Wait, what? Grant’s marching toward Richmond again?

The booming, wall-rattling shelling was coming from our neighbor’s house, about a quarter-mile and one full cow pasture away.

Is that really necessary?

Are you trying to kill the old year … or the new one?

So, when I got up at 6:00 a.m. today, I suggested that I might go outside and lay on my car horn to greet my new year and wake the neighbors.

Editor/Husband suggested that I not do this: “They have a cannon.”

Editor/Husband would like to share this cannon joke with you. Click here

(He tried to tell it to me at midnight, but I just wanted to go back to sleep.)

Let’s start the year …

First up, baseball.

Yesterday, I exorcised my baseball discontent … giving the Baltimore Orioles’ owner some chin music for being a cheapskate, skinflint, and tightwad (these all mean different things, by the way, and he is all of them).

But, let me begin 2014 on a positive note.

I love the Orioles annual pet calendar. Proceeds support BARCS, Baltimore’s animal shelter, and animal welfare organizations are dear to my heart.

But, here’s the thing. To produce the calendar means that the Orioles must do the photo shoots and get everything to press well in advance. (Spoiler alert: teams can change, BARCS calendars cannot.)

The result is a beautiful calendar of Orioles posing in last year’s summer sun with handsome rescue dogs and bushels of adorable kitties.  (It’s clear the low-ranking rookies often end up with the kittens … don’t think Stevie and I haven’t noticed.)

I opened up the 2014 calendar today, and look at Mr. January and Mr. January!

Nick & Nate Mr. Januaries

Oh.

It’s the newest Washington National Nate McLouth.

(In 2013, pitcher Jake Arrieta was traded to the Cubs just as his month as Mr. July was beginning. Jim Johnson – see, I told you I’m not done with this – had just completed his Mr. November reign when he was traded to the A’s on December 2.)

Stevie & Jim Johnson

Stevie is not happy about the Jim Johnson trade either … or the lack of calendar cats.

In previous calendars, most players enjoyed their own month. This year, there seems to be more two-players-to-a-month sharing. The size of the team hasn’t changed, so maybe the Orioles are now thinking, “Yikes, let’s just stuff a few players on the page and hope that at least one of them is still around come next year.”

But, back to being positive.

I love my Orioles calendar. (But, boy, I’ll miss Nate. And, Jim.)

Just 44 days until pitchers and catchers report.

Next up, Yoga.

I taught Yoga this morning. It was great!

Yoga Is Full Sign

And, finally, Life.

Have a great 2014.

(See, wrapped them all up again.)

Divine Discontent can have the rest of New Year’s Day off!

Lamar

Lamar says “hey.”

Cleaning Out The Attic

The scratching in the attic has quieted down.

Last count in Editor/Husband’s trapping project: Bears, Raccoons & Squirrels – 0.  Mousies – 6.*

* As in many sporting statistics, context is important and there’s often an asterisk: Editor/Husband has trapped either six individual mousies, or one single mouse over and over. Or, some variation of that. I suggested id’ing the mouse by marking its head with a Sharpie pen before releasing it outside. Editor/Husband is going with the less precise, “This one looks a bit smaller than the last one” method. As usual, my method would be complicated, but far more definitive.

This is what six mice in the attic sound like when accompanied by a stand-up bass. (Fun Fact: mice cannot play stand up stand-up basses, because they are too small.)

drums

I don’t feel too bad putting a mouse outside when the weather is nice. They have their little fur coats after all.  Our cats really don’t care one way or another.

(And, yes, we only use live traps. We’re not murderers.)

# # #

This conversation really took place on Christmas morning.

Editor/Husband hands me a gift bag. I look inside.

Me: It’s an orange.

E/H: It’s a Christmas tradition.

Me: That’s nice. (Reaches in and takes orange.) This orange is cold. (Pause) Did you get this out of the fridge? (Pause) Is this the orange I bought at the grocery store on Sunday?

E/H: It’s a Christmas tradition.

orange

Christmas tradition.

Here’s the other gift Editor/Husband gave me.

ted

It is 855 pages and weighs nearly three pounds … which is about the same weight as 88 house mice.

(I am on page 98.)

# # #

While Editor/Husband continues to de-mousify the attic, I’m cleaning things up as well, by going through a few folders filled with this year’s baseball photos.

And, I keep coming back to this little scrum of photos that I took at the indoor batting cage at the University of Virginia.

They make me smile. Because, they are in focus.

All you really need is just one baseball …

acc baseball

And, just one bat …

a buncha'bats

(Wooden preferred …)

quiet bats

And, a little pine tar if you can spare it …

pine tarMaybe a few extra baseballs in case the first one gets hit into the woods …

bucket of balls

(And, now I’ve cleaned out my baseball attic … for this season, anyway.)

Jamie the Yankees Fan.

Most animals find numbers and basic math uninteresting (Cat: “Who sent you here? Go away.”) or irrelevant (Dog: “I either had one treat or 50 treats out of the bag there on the floor, it’s hard to say for sure. I have to go barf on your shoes now.”)

But, not baseball fans. We love numbers and statistics. Wins, losses, batting averages are just a start. ERA.  RBI. WAR, WHIP, WPA.  Yeh, I know, it’s annoying.

Chris Davis’ batting average when wearing an orange jersey? .407 (through June anyway)

orange jersey

A Word Press editor recently suggested that bloggers check their page view numbers no more than once a week.

How can I twist my page views into obscure, meaningless statistics about my self-worth and popularity, if you won’t even let me look at them?

I check my statistics daily. Sometimes every couple hours. (I just checked them.) I don’t want to miss a single page view.

page view 2

Hey look, it’s you and me!

So, it didn’t get past me when my “Followers/Subscribers” number hit 999 earlier this week.

999

If you blog, you know how sketchy this number is.

Barry Bonds hit 762 home runs in his career. I have 999 followers.

(Here’s a stat: I have more followers than Barry Bonds has home runs.)

But, both numbers are juiced. Barry Bonds used steroids. I get followed mostly by spammers and a baffling number of non-English speakers. Welcome, “callgirlsdubai”!

But, still … a milestone IS a milestone, even if it is meaningless.

So, I put out the word to my friends – follow my blog and help me reach 1,000. And, almost immediately Jamie did.

I love Jamie. She is wonderful.

She is follower 1,000.

I decided then and there that I would write a blog post in her honor. Here we go.

Jamie has two dogs, two cats, and one husband.

And, here’s what she told me about baseball:

We have a big baseball conflict in our house. I’m a hardcore Yankees girl, and Jaremy lives, eats and breathes the Red Sox. Our compromise is the Nationals.

I have always said that 100 percent (look, more numbers!) of Nationals fans are default “fans”. They’re really fans of other teams, but since they’re near Washington, DC, oh hell, they might as well root for the Nats since they’ve got nothing better to do. Jamie has proven me 100 percent correct. (I told you, she is wonderful.)

Jamie

Yankees fans.

Red Sox Fan. Tigers fan.

Red Sox Fan. Tigers fan.

So to honor Jamie, I will write five nice things about her Yankees. (If you’ve come looking for my post on Yankees jokes … please click here.)

OK, sigh, here we go.*

Five nice things about the Yankees

1)

Public Domain

Babe Ruth. Public Domain Image

Babe Ruth.

He was born in Baltimore. Played briefly for an early incarnation of the Orioles … and bestowed one of the very best curses on the Red Sox that you’ll ever see. (Once the Curse of the Bambino ran out – and by god it had a good run – the Red Sox started winning, getting all uppity, and growing facial hair. Still, it’s not too late for the Babe to re-wallop them with another good Bambino-sized curse from the great beyond. Come on, it’ll be fun.)

2) Yogi Berra.

yogi berra

Yogi Berra. Public Domain Image

The Yankees catcher was the inspiration for Yogi Bear. And, who doesn’t love Yogi Bear?

Yogi_Bear_don't_feed_the_bears

1961, Courtesy of the National Archives ID #286013

I once had a cat named Yogi, who was named after Yogi Bear. He was a darn good cat.

Yogi. Cat.

Yogi. Cat.

3) If you follow the family tree, the New York Yankees were originally the Baltimore Orioles.

That New York stole the original Orioles from Baltimore (for a paltry $18,000 in 1903) is not surprising. In 2000, the Yankees stole pitcher Mike Mussina from the Orioles (he cost the Yanks $88.5 million).  (I’m still pretty upset about this.)

mike mussina

4) The Yankees have won 27 World Series titles. (The Orioles have won three.)

5) George Costanza used to work there.

I know I don’t really have 1,000 readers, but maybe I have a few. Quality over quantity is my motto. I’m glad you’re one of them.

* Please don’t think I’ve gone soft on the Yankees, people. Jeffrey Maier will never be forgotten.

Octoberitis

jjhardy

Amazing Orioles’ Shortstop J.J. Hardy.

On Tuesday, the Baltimore Orioles lost and were eliminated from the playoffs. Their season ends Sunday. Time for huntin’, fishin’, or whatever it is that these fellas do when they’re not swinging at bad pitches. (See, Orioles’ Pitchers … it’s not always your fault.)

After last season, I discovered that baseball in October is more fun than I ever could have imagined.

october baseball

October in Baltimore (2012 edition).

It’s amazing.

Sigh.

But, instead, the Orioles are done. (Although Manny Machado is going to be ok. Hakuna Machado!)

So, here’s how I spent my first day out of the playoffs.

1) One of my cats pooped. On the kitchen counter. I came home and there it was. Poop. On the kitchen counter. I spent my first day of meaningless baseball super-bleach-sanitizing the kitchen. I may just have to burn it down. (I can forgive certain cat things. She’s old and sort of frail. But, the boxes were clean. This is a felony.)

smokeyjo

Smokey Jo. Felon.

2) At my Yoga studio, I have beautiful windows overlooking a courtyard that is used by the nearby restaurant. It lets in lovely light. As I was teaching yesterday, my students were practicing and I look up to see a guy – all tattoos, beers, and facial hair – coming up to my window, making eye contact with me, and then vomiting. Profusely. All over. It seemed to last forever. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. I worried he might try to come into the class and vomit some more. He heaved up about a gallon of his insides, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and staggered away. I’m still traumatized.

3) I broke the space bar on my laptop. Doyouknowhowimportantspacesbetweenwordsare? Veryveryimportant.

And, here’s what I learned.

1) Cats really don’t care about you.

2) You can become hypnotized watching someone vomit.

3) Ineedaspacebar!!!!!!

I love my Orioles. I’m proud of all they did this season. I’m proud of the homeruns. The amazing defense. The pitchers. I’m proud of each and every Oriole. (I may tease ’em, sure, but I love ’em.)

And, I’m soaking in these last few games. They may be playoff meaningless, but they’re never meaningless to me. They won last night! They had a winning season!

But, this October is going to be awful – just endless poop and vomit – if I don’t find a backup team soon.

So, there you go.

In a comment on one of my earlier posts, Don Of All Trades put in his pitch for me to root for the St. Louis Cardinals.

don

So, just by virtue of his promptness (and flattery), the Cardinals are off to a quick start.

The Oakland A’s could be ok … after all, to go from O’s to A’s is just gentle vowel shifting. It could be quite easy for me.

But, the door is wide open.

Is your team still in it? Add a comment. Give me your best pitch.

Since only you and three other people actually read this thing, chances are good I’ll go with your team if you take the time to ask me. Think of it as a baseball date. Sure, we’ll break up in November, but we could have some fun in October, right?

Andthisspacebarismakingmecrazy.

Sea Monkeys, Math, & Football

Come September, you start to see a lot of “baseball is better than football” essays. Baseball fans have been compiling these lists for years.

None, of course, is better than George Carlin’s “baseball vs. football”.

And, so I share it with you here.

Sadly, in a moment of weakness, I started to compile my own list.

It was stupid. And, so I stopped.

If you love baseball, then you already know why it will always be far superior to football.

In the same way that cats and dogs are far superior to Sea Monkeys. Which is to say VERY, VERY Super Superior.

steviesept

Stevie: Purrfect

sea monkeys

Sea Monkeys: Bitter Disappointment

If you’re still wavering, I don’t know what I can say to convince you. Maybe you watch football the same way many NASCAR fans watch auto racing — just waiting to see someone get smooshed, flattened, tackled, or sacked.

Baseball avoids carnage and bloodshed whenever possible. When it does happen, no one cheers. This, bottom line, is why it will always be superior to football in my book.

Hey, I know football. I was a San Francisco 49ers fan for many, many years. But, I boycott it now, because it is increasingly grisly, unnecessarily violent, and has destroyed the quality of life for many former athletes (from NFL-level players to the unfortunate high school and college players who are reminded about rough hits when the arthritis starts to set in around age 30).  I yammered on about my boycott last season here.

Oh, sure you can Google “football is better than baseball” and some links will come up.

I found a list of 25 reasons – shared by CBS Sports. Why is football better than baseball? I kid you not, this was reason three.

#3. Football statistics are simple and involve little mathematics to compute.

If the lack of math is really the thing that makes football superior, I’m still marveling that this guy was able to coherently count to 25 for his list.

OK, let’s try a little football math:

2 Touchdowns + 1 Touchdown – 1 Missed Point After + 2 Field Goals + 1 Safety = How Many Points? *

OK, how about this:

1 3-Run Homer = How Many Runs? **

Oh, goodie, there’s more.

#17. Coaches spend more time coaching in football. Baseball managers only manage.

This doesn’t even make sense. It’s gibberish.

#23. Football rivalries are bitter and plentiful.

You’re joking, right?

Dodgers vs. Giants? Yankees vs. Red Sox?

Yankees vs. everyone else?

Baseball teams play 162 games a season – even more if you make it to the playoffs and World Series. 162 games is a lot of games and a lot of time to brew some historic rivalries.

Heck, baseball rivalries are so hot, even the managers get in fights – as the Orioles’ Buck Showalter and Yankees’ Joe Girardi proved just a few nights ago. Click here. (Go Buck!)

If you’re a football team and you’re playing another team just once a season, if that, I’m not sure how a lasting rivalry can even start. “Hi, you must be the Jacksonville Jaguars. I guess we’re playing you today. Gosh, I didn’t even know there was a team here. What state is this?”

His number one reason why football is better?

#1. Football is the ultimate team sport. All 11 players are involved on every play.

Does he even realize that an entirely DIFFERENT football team plays offense than the one that plays defense? Add in special teams – and it’s a THREE-TEAM “team sport”. As I’m sure you know, a baseball player is expected to play both offense and defense (except for those pitcher/DH guys in the American League.)

What to take away from this thoughtful list?

When dining out with football fans, be a pal and offer to calculate the tip for them. It will save them from math-phobic paralysis.

Now, back to baseball.

Here’s one George Carlin missed.

Baseball is better than football, because in baseball you, the fan, can catch a ball. If you catch it, you get to keep it.

You can even bring your glove to help you out.

If you make a clean catch, the fans around you will cheer.

It happens at every game in every ballpark every night.

And, on Tuesday night, a grandmother celebrated her birthday at the Giants’ game. Took her glove. And, snagged a souvenir.

And, then she danced.

gramma+foul2

Watch it, here.

And that is why baseball will always be better than football.

Oh, and this. (Hi, Manny!)

machado4

* 28

** 3