The Last Hall of Fame Game


You may have heard that the Hall of Fame Game in Cooperstown, an exhibition contest between two major league teams, will be having its last outing this coming Monday. Some writers have suggested that it’s a “que sera sera” moment, that “all things must pass”, that should end because it’s not practical. I wonder if they’ve actually ever gone to this game.

Have they seen the parade?





Have they checked out the guy guy in the No. 7 Yankee car who looks a little like Mickey Mantle – and who, incidentally, is a bartender at a local resort?

Have they seen the kids who scurry for the candy being tossed from the cars, snacks that they can easily get cheaply at the local CVS? It reminds me of tourists grabbing for cheap beads they pass out during Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

And then you get to see the players in the trolley cars, with you trying to suss out the ones you actually might recognize.

You get to the stadium and you have the home run hitting contest, where almost inevitably some player you’ve never heard of beats out the league home run champion from the previous season.

You take your score card and you dutifully mark down the names of the starting lineups, but it’s of no use, for they brought in all these extra players from AA, whose names aren’t all on the rosters – check out all those uniforms with the numbers is the 60s, 70s, 80s and 90s – and the managers put them in and out of the game like origami.

My father-in-law Richard and I have gone to this game for 8 of the last 9 years. The only season I missed was the year after the Red Sox first won the World Series this decade, and he was able to secure tickets for that game the day of. Not so incidentally, he took all of these pictures.

Last year when I went to the game between Toronto and Baltimore with my father-in-law, there were five home runs hit just in our outfield section. One landed to my right and then careened to my left in front of my face. Another was just beyond our reach.

But my favorite part of the Hall of Fame Game involved begging the center fielder to throw the ball to your outfield section after his warm-ups with the left fielder. In fact, last year’s center fielder for the Toronto Blue Jays, Vernon Wells, was a master, systematically taunted each section with the ball, throwing it to one area only to reveal a secret second ball in his pocket, which he then tossed to the other section. It was marvelous theater, and great fun.

I understand the logistical difficulties of Major League teams showing up in this tiny Otsego County burgh, but I don’t think the solution to this game/issue is to put an International League game there as some have suggested. There was an IL game played this year between Syracuse and Rochester, and the Syracuse team perhaps can continue to host the game, but it would be a weak substitute. Did you know the single A (short season) Oneonta Tigers already plays a game on Doubleday Field annually and before them, the Oneonta Yankees? It’s hardly comparable.

What would be more interesting would be to have an old-timers’ game played at the Field. In fact, this suggestion was floated about by the long-time fans of the game when they were standing in line waiting for tickets on a cold winter afternoon. There are already many baseball veterans who line the streets on the two Hall of Fame parade weekends selling autographs, so it is a natural extension of what’s been going on already in the town.

A more radical idea is to have a game between a couple teams there count in the standings. I’m not suggesting it – yet – but the notion intrigues.

In some form, Doubleday Field deserves Major League baseball.

ROG

Songs That Move Me, 90-81

90. Wah Wah – George Harrison.
On an album, All This Must Pass, of mostly lovely little tunes, this really rocks. I love the harmonies. And is that a race car engine revving at the end?
Feeling: like playing air guitar.

89. Police on My Back – the Clash.
Just for that guitar line that sounds like a UK siren. The harmonies aren’t as apparent in this version, but the frentic energy certainly is.
Feeling: slightly paranoid.

88. Cancer – Joe Jackson.
The juxtaposition of the topic “there’s no cure, there’s no answer” with the jaunty, piano-driven tune fascinated me. From side 2 of the LP Night and Day. This is a live version, which I ALSO own.
Feeling: conflicted.

87. Born To Run- Bruce Springsteen.
Anthemic, from the drum intro on.
Feeling: see title.

86. Rock Lobster – the B-52’s.
The “hook” is in the very beginning. I especially like the Yokoesque segment.
Feeling: in the mood for seafood.

85. Kiko and the Lavender Moon – Los Lobos.
Based on Three Blind Mice, this is just a weird, weird song.
Feeling: if I HAD taken it, I’d be experiencing an acid flashback.

84. Winter Snow – Booker T. & The MG’s
This is only 30 seconds of this, which does not give the full mood of the piece. From the Album Stax/Volt – The Complete Singles 1959-1968 – Volume 8.
HERE.
Feeling: melancholy.

83. Sail On Sailor-the Beach Boys.
The first song on the Holland LP. This was released twice as a single, somebody believed so much in it, but it was never more than a moderate hit, which surprises me, because I just love it.
Feeling: nautical.

82. Maybe – Alison Krauss.
I wish I could explain musical things better, but in the chorus, but the way the chord resolves in the chorus always moved me. Bonus: Carol and I saw this tour in 2003.
Feeling: a bit melancholy.

81. Summer in the City – Lovin’ Spoonful.
A song I could play on the piano, albeit poorly. The intro, and the instrumentation at the end makes it for me.
Feeling: dirty and gritty..

if this is gone:

***
So you want to write a fugue by Glenn Gould.


ROG

Skills

I received my copy of the Hembeck book – don’t say “What Hembeck book? – THE Hembeck book! and devoured it in one sitting.
OK, I jest. In fact, the book comes with a warning NOT to try to read it all at once. Rather, I’ve been concentrating on reading the chapter intros, including the teaser by Fred’s uncle, Stan Lee; I love how he calls Fred Hemby. THEN, I’ll read the actual stories, probably skipping over the FantaCo stuff for now, but coming back to eventually, since I was all very fond of it. I’m named in the acknowledgments; thanks, effendi! there was one page I ran into, though, that filled me with horror – a picture of the X-Men! It was originally on a gold sheet – which I still have, BTW, that I had to pack with every single retail copy of Hembeck 1980, but it was wider than the book, Wotta pain.
Fred notes that the book has been reviewed favorably by Entertainment Weekly!
***
Lydia had reached her 30 minute max of videos last evening. I turned off the DVD, and the TV just happened to be on ESPN. Ken Griffey, Jr., on the first pitch I saw, became the sixth man in MLB history to hit 600 home runs. Congrats to him, and to Michael Strahan, the NY/NJ Giants’ defensive end who announced his retirement yesterday. Each will be in their respective Halls of Fame eventually.
***
Skills: I got ’em? From Jaquandor, again, who writes:
“Bill Altreuter points to this list of 75 things every man should be able to do, I guess, in order to be able to really lay claim to true manliness or something. Surprisingly, Bill doesn’t do what bloggers are supposed to do in such cases: reproduce the list, with specific comment on his ability, or lack thereof, to do the things on the list. Well, unto the breach I go!”

1. Give advice that matters in one sentence. Sure, sometimes with one word: “listen.”

2. Tell if someone is lying. Most people think they can tell a liar all of the time, and that’s simply not true for most of us.

3. Take a photo. Well, not a fancy one.

4. Score a baseball game. Actually, yes. Something I do with my father-in-law at least a couple times a year,

5. Name a book that matters. Feh. Silent Spring by Rachel Carson. But I don’t much like the question.

6. Know at least one musical group as well as is possible. Probably do with the Beatles. Also, Paul Simon, but he’s not a group.

7. Cook meat somewhere other than the grill. Actually I cook meat anywhere EXCEPT on a grill. I don’t own a grill.

8. Not monopolize the conversation. Quite conscious of this, especially with women; men are more prone to it, in my observation.

9. Write a letter. Used to do it all the time.

10. Buy a suit. I bought two last year. Hate it. Hate it.

11. Swim three different strokes. I only have one, and I don’t know what it is.

12. Show respect without being a suck-up. I believe so.

13. Throw a punch. Well, no.

14. Chop down a tree. I’ve cut a Christmas tree. But I’m reminded of a next door neighbor when I was growing up, who was cutting down a big tree in their yard. My father told them they would hit their house. They told him to shut up and mind his own business. The tree crashed into the roof of their house.

15. Calculate square footage. Sure.

16. Tie a bow tie. No. For the half dozen times I have worn one, learning how to do it was not worth it. That’s why God created clip-ons.

17. Make one drink, in large batches, very well. Never had need.

18. Speak a foreign language. Everybody should be able to do this. I can’t, except for an extremely basic comprehension of French left over from my high school days.

19. Approach a woman out of his league. This “league” thing; eh.

20. Sew a button. I’ve done it. It takes me forever, and I do it badly.

21. Argue with a European without getting xenophobic or insulting soccer. OK.

22. Give a woman an orgasm so that he doesn’t have to ask after it. OK, but oy. Among other things, it assumes heterosexuality.

23. Be loyal. Depends.

24. Know his poison, without standing there, pondering like a dope. Sure.

25. Drive an eightpenny nail into a treated two-by-four without thinking about it. I can drive it, but I’m always thinking about it, or rather, my fingers.

26. Cast a fishing rod without shrieking or sighing or otherwise admitting defeat. I haven’t fished since I was a child.

27. Play gin with an old guy. I used to play with my grandfather when I was in high school. The same guy who took me fishing.

28. Play go fish with a kid. I have.

29. Understand quantum physics well enough that he can accept that a quarter might, at some point, pass straight through the table when dropped. ‘Fraid not.

30. Feign interest. I used to be better at it.

31. Make a bed. I can do this. I never actually do this, but I can, which I guess is the important thing. Bed-making has never struck me as being a terribly useful or important thing.

32. Describe a glass of wine in one sentence without using the terms nutty, fruity, oaky, finish, or kick. Sure – it’s yummy.

33. Hit a jump shot in pool. I did it once; it was an accident.

34. Dress a wound. I’ve done it.

35. Jump-start a car (without any drama). Change a flat tire (safely). Change the oil (once). I’ve done them all successfully, but so long ago that I’m not sure I could replicate.

36. Make three different bets at a craps table. Never played.

37. Shuffle a deck of cards. Actually quite good at it.

38. Tell a joke. No, I suck at it. I can say funny things, but I can’t even REMEMBER jokes.

39. Know when to split his cards in blackjack. I’ll just check here; even before looking at that, I knew you always split 8s, but I didn’t know why.

40. Speak to an eight-year-old so he will hear. I have.

41. Speak to a waiter so he will hear. I have.

42. Talk to a dog so it will hear. I have, but not very often.

43. Install: a disposal, an electronic thermostat, or a lighting fixture without asking for help. Well, a light bulb.

44. Ask for help. Absolutely.

45. Break another man’s grip on his wrist. Hasn’t come up.

46. Tell a woman’s dress size. If women’s dress sizes were standardized, maybe this would be useful.

47. Recite one poem from memory. “There once was a girl from Cape Cod…”

48. Remove a stain. I have.

49. Say no. Sometimes, more now that before.

50. Fry an egg sunny-side up. Yes.

51. Build a campfire. Another skill everybody should have, probably.

52. Step into a job no one wants to do. Happens a lot.

53. Sometimes, kick some ass. Define.

54. Break up a fight. Have done this.

55. Point to the north at any time. Sometimes, not always.

56. Create a play-list in which ten seemingly random songs provide a secret message to one person. Have done.

57. Explain what a light-year is. I can do this.

58. Avoid boredom. I’m almost never bored, left to my own devices.

59. Write a thank-you note. I can, but don’t do enough.

60. Be brand loyal to at least one product. There must be one; it’s not coming to me.

61. Cook bacon. Yes.

62. Hold a baby. Yes, but not until Carol was pregnant.

63. Deliver a eulogy. Yes.

64. Know that Christopher Columbus was a son of a bitch. Sure.

65-67. Throw a baseball over-hand with some snap. Throw a football with a tight spiral. Shoot a 12-foot jump shot reliably. I used to; I have by accident; I suck at basketball.

68. Find his way out of the woods if lost. Have done it.

69. Tie a knot. Have.

70. Shake hands. It IS skill. Yes.

71. Iron a shirt. Can. Don’t like to.

72. Stock an emergency bag for the car. Yup.

73. Caress a woman’s neck. Oh, yes. And speak the language of love! (Not French, either.)

74. Know some birds – But only ornithologically.

75. Negotiate a better price. I hate haggling. I’ve done it, but was more of “I just won’t pay that much” and the dealer started the offering me a deal.

ROG

Almost Another Ghost Bike

Last Monday, my daughter Lydia needed to see her allergist, who was located in Corporate Woods, same area as my office, so I didn’t take my bike to work. In small recompense for that, I decided to ride to the local CVS drug store to drop off her prescriptions, then after dinner to ride back and pick them up.

I’m on West Lawrence Street at Madison Avenue, heading south, when I hit a red light. So I opted to turn left into the Mobil station. Suddenly, I see a car bearing down on me; the driver must have gotten his or her license from the Starman* school of automobile operation, as it had crossed Madison actually on the red light. I scream the s-word, one of those times that I think cursing is definitely appropriate. (Another time was getting a nail in my foot in 2000.)

I brake, of course, but I’m already over the center lines, so I also lean to my right and back. Somehow, I end up on the ground. Did the driver stop? No, but then he or she didn’t hit me, only almost did so.

When I catch my breath, I realize that I’m really sore on my left side. I drag my bike and myself to the grassy area in front of a theater, #10 Steamer Company, and just sit there for a few minutes. An EMT is stopped at the light, talking on a phone; I almost try to signal him, but choose not to. A couple minutes later, a woman drives by to see if I’m OK. I lie and say I’m fine. Finally, I get up, walk to the CVS, drop off the scripts, and ride home on the sidewalks. (Yes, I know I know I’m not supposed to, but I was feeling a little shaky, and walking was taking too long for the pain I was in.)

I tell the tale to my wife Carol, and she agrees to drive me to the urgent care place on Patroon Creek, parallel to Washington Avenue, after dinner. We figure that this is probably a better choice than the ER of a hospital. Of course, Lydia has to come too.

It is a bit surreal. I walk into the place, and I see a TV showing an episode of Seinfeld, with Jerry, George, and Elayne waiting in a hospital waiting room. This episode also features Jerry, Newman and Kramer waiting at a bedside of someone, George forgoing a trip to the Cayman Islands, and Drake coffee cakes. The next show, some CW soap with Blake Lively and Kelly Rutherford, I was trying to distract the four-year old daughter from watching.

Finally – and it was less than a half hour – I get taken into a room, and have my vitals taken. It was peculiar that I was feeling both hot and cold. Then I was examined by the doctor. Somehow, old Bill Cosby routines came rushing into my head. “Doctors are wonderful people, but they’re always touching something. ‘Does that hurt?’ YEOW! Does that hurt! Does that hurt!'” He asks me where I’m in pain, and I’m trying to use my right hand to show him where on my left side I’m bothered. Then he starts poking around. YEOW! Does that hurt! Does that hurt!

I go to get x-rays. Like Cosby’s doctor’s stethoscope, the x-ray machine felt as though they stored it in the refrigerator. Diagnosis: broken 6th rib on the left side, under my armpit, possibly from the handlebars, but I don’t know for sure. Treatment: rest; they don’t tape you up for this anymore. Also, be sure to breathe deeply and cough regularly, lest I develop pneumonia.

My wife takes the daughter and me home, then gets my pain reliever prescription filled at an all-night CVS; the one I dropped the daughter’s Rx is closed. Carol’s sleeping pattern skews early, so for her to go out at 10:30 pm to take a 15-minute ride to Colonie, wait 30 minutes for it to be filled, then drive the 15 minutes home is quite remarkable.

Unfortunately, my daughter became very wary of me ever since she jumped on me that night, and I screamed, “Lydia, no!” I apologized the next day. She will play Candyland with me, but there was definitely arm’s-length tension there until Saturday.

I’ve been sleeping in the recliner ever since, with a sofa pillow next to my left side because I can’t find anywhere else to sleep without tremendous pain. Other things that cause discomfort:
*the recommended deep breathing
*the recommended coughing
*laughing
*burping
*hiccuping
*bending over
*reaching with my left arm
*lifting things too heavy, even with my right arm
*walking down stairs (up is not so bad, though for the first couple days, I had to stop ever other step to catch my breath)

Also, the medicine can make one constipated. Gotta love those dried apricots.

The bad news is that I find it difficult to focus on reading or writing, and sleep is intermittent throughout the day, though the reading became easier as the week progressed. The good news is that I’ve caught up on watching JEOPARDY! Hey, there was a winner from East Greenbush, Pat Roche, a couple weeks ago!

The better news is that I did not end up being commemorated with a ghost bike, as a number of folks in this area have recently. A single broken bone and a couple bruises is a far better outcome than I quite literally feared.

* Jenny allows the alien to drive the car when he peels out. Jenny screams at the Starman that she thought he said he could drive. Starman replies: “I watched you very carefully. Red light stop, green light go, yellow light go very fast.”
***
I figure I’d been watching Jim McKay from the time I was 8 or 9, usually watching ABC’s Wide World of Sports with my grandfather, through dozens of different sporting events, including the 1972 Munich Olympics, until I saw him anchor football game coverage only a few seasons back. So we’re talking well over 40 years of “the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat.” CBS News had a nice piece on him here, not that surprising since 1) he started on CBS, and 2) his son, Sean McManus is the head of CBS Sports. Here’s an extensive, 2 1/2 hour interview with McKay in six parts. I particularly recommend the last segment, only 10 minutes long, where he talks about others.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

ROG

A gay pride march

Back on March 9 of this year, there was this story in the Times Union by Jennifer Gish titled “Humanity in ‘Laramie’: High school actors project offers lesson on more than gay tolerance”. It was about Bill Ziskin, a teacher at Schenectady High, directing his young actors in Moises Kaufman’s “The Laramie Project.” Gish writes: The play is based on interviews conducted by New York theater students with the townspeople of Laramie, Wyo., after the 1998 ultimately fatal beating of gay college student Matthew Shepard. Because of its mature nature and strong language, Ziskin did
run the idea by school administrators before going ahead with it… Today, it’s hard for some of the kids to imagine that kind of brutality.
One of the actors was quoted as saying, “When they told us about it I thought it was something that happened a while ago, like the ’70s or the ’80s.”

Ah, the optimism of youth. Earlier this year, though the stories I read were about a month after the fact, a Gay California student’s slaying sparks outcry, and “Activists demand that middle schools do more to teach tolerance.” Lawrence King — Student Who Was Murdered For Being Gay — To Be Honored With National Day Of Silence. I heard there was a similar case in Florida recently like the California case cited.

As for that day of silence, in some places such Mount Si High School in Snoqualmie, WA, it was anything but, as I read this Seattle Times account Lynn Thompson. Unfortunately, I actually sort of know one of the people protesting against gay acceptance.

As New Yorkers almost surely know, the governor of the state has ordered government agencies to recognize gay marriages that were performed in states and countries where they are legal. While, for at least one of my gay blogging colleagues, marriage is not such an overriding issue, for others ,it is of paramount importance.

I note all of this as my church plans once again to participate in the gay pride parade next Sunday. that same gay blogger I know opined that the idea of a march might have been diluted by corporate interests. I think we agreed that MAYBE in locations with a large gay population, such as New York City and San Francisco, it has lost its urgency. I’m convinced, however, that it still has meaning and efficacy in places like Albany, NY.

ROG

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