Life is what happens...
Life has a way of creeping up on you. John Lennon famously said, “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” How true indeed. One December evening in 1980, he was shot for no apparent reason. Makes one wonder how many plans he had been making when his life was suddenly over.
Time is nothing but an aggregated collection of moments, not unlike a motion picture. One of the more interesting web meme I’ve seen in a long time is Project 365 - where participants simply post a picture of themselves each day, and at the end of the year they have a shot for every day of the year. I look back at my wedding pictures or really even a picture of myself from a few years ago and think, “what happened to all of that hair?” or perhaps more disturbingly, “when did I get so fat?” I kind of wonder if I should start that 365 Project. I mean, I’m sure people start doing it on January 1 or on their birthday. What about some random Tuesday in the middle of the month? I looked a recent picture of myself today and realized that as much as I joke that I’ve got a colossal receding hairline, I actually have a colossal receding hairline. When did that happen? I go to open the sunroof in the car and all I can see in the rearview mirror is how thin my hair is and where it’s not grey, it’s turning grey. Yipes! So I do what any rational middle-aged Gen-Xer goes - grow more hair on my face to counteract that which has been lost up top. The great thing about being a guy is the complete and utter ability to over-compensate for shortcomings. For those who may have seen the first “Shrek” movie, think Lord Farquaad and his castle. So, for all the good reasons to participate in 365 Project, I can think of a good number of others not to. First, I’m kind of lazy and disorganized. It takes a certain degree of commitment to do this every day...kind of like going to the gym. There are all kinds of ways to create an excuse not to go. I am a MASTER at the excuse not to go to the gym. Second, is that I like to say that I cannot be OCD simply because I don’t have the discipline to keep doing the same thing over and over. It kind of seems to me that it takes a certain degree of OCD to do this every day. Although, now that I think about it, it shouldn’t be THAT hard to do. I mean, for what I lack in discipline, I do more than make up for in narcissism.  Third, and probably most important, I can imagine that at the end of a year going back over specific shots could lead to some shocking revelations: “OH, so THATS when my freaking hair fell out...February 5, 2011. See that???” Does anyone really want to know the answer to that question? Isn’t that one question best left unanswered for the barstool or the gathering of friends? I was conversing with a guy with whom I graduated high school and we were talking about past careers - “back when I was a cop, many moons ago...” - and computer saavy - “I swear it’s been at least 10-years since I used...” - and it occurred to me that we were saying these things without irony...because it had been many moons. Sometimes, it’s not a bad thing to lose track of time - “did that happen this year?” “Michael Jackson has been dead a year already?” We remember the moments, and sometimes that should be enough, without having to remember the minutiae of every day life.All of that having been said, I guess for a few seconds every day, I can take a minute out of making plans and just kind of document life. John Lennon died a few months after his 40th birthday. I’ve already done a little bit better than that, so maybe it would be a good idea to see what I’m doing with all that time. My 365 Project is at 365project.org/morrisseyweb/365. Who knows, it may wind up being 047 Project or 001 Project, but we’ll see. A year is kind of a long commitment to make on a whim. I enrolled in an MBA program on a whim, so I have either bitten off more than I can chew or I'm disciplined as hell. I'm thinking I may have just bitten off more than I can chew The No Judgement Zone
When kids come home from college over the Thanksgiving break of their Freshman year, their families typically notice a most interesting thing has changed - their clothes don’t seem to fit too well, usually because of the additional heat in the dryer of course. It seems that over the last month or so, my dryer has been shrinking my clothes at a rather alarming rate as well. It seems that with a little idle time, my mouth may have been doing a little more exercising than the rest of my body.
So, this week I made the pledge to myself that I was going back to the gym. It’s been a while due to a multitude of reasons - I keep telling myself that it was the hand surgeries that was keeping me away, but the fact of the matter is that...well, I hadn’t been in a while before I messed up my hand. So, up and attem first thing in the morning. Discovered that my gym had apparently doubled in size - which is good, because it kept me from feeling like the only one that had - and I was all discombobulated at first. Where the hell are MY machines? Eventually I found them...and in so doing I came to find how much muscle mass I’d lost. Back to square one, but man when those endorphins start popping, it completely changes the outlook for the day. That is until I realized that the Central Air Conditioning about which I was gloating how cold it was making my house 24 hours before, had crapped out and leaked all over the basement carpet. One wet/dry vac and a few hours later, those popping endorphins were doing a lot less of it. Not to mention the feeling the next day when it seemed to me that I had aged about 30 years over night. Needless to say, the gym wasn’t in the cards that next morning. It felt like my arms were going to snap off if I moved them much beyond shoulder level. Let’s just say that under no circumstances am I taking up yoga any time soon. I spent that day pretty much on ice and in the pool. I made it back to the gym the day after and worked on those same muscles. It can be quite amazing what muscles remember...like the pain of the last few days of having been asked to, you know, do something other than lift a potato chip to my mouth. It’s feeling pretty good to actually be in the gym and lifting, but man those creaky muscles are giving me what for, So I decided to reward my good behavior with trading in cardio time for the tanning bed. And I wonder why I’m not stronger. Now, I belong to a gym that calls itself “The No Judgement Zone.” The fact is though, I do feel judged. I walk in and the woman tells me I owe them $40...I’m like I haven’t even been here in months. Just the look in her eye told me I was being judged. I didn’t think much of the tattoo on her neck, but I didn’t judge. Then I walk over to the bench press, and those dudes are judging me. What am I going to do, though? Go to the front counter and complain that these guys are breaking the gym rules? That I’m being judged? This “no judgement” thing is all well and good, but I arrived one morning to find a spread of bagels and cream cheese - Bagel Tuesday. The first Monday night of the month is Pizza Monday. Seriously? Don’t you think you’re taking this no judgement thing a little too seriously when you have a pack of fatties showing up, scarfing down 4-slices of meat-lovers’ pie and then going off to do 5-minutes on a treadmill? I mean, I’d only eat 3-slices and do at least 10-minutes, but you can just imagine some folks just taking advantage of the situation. In addition, this place has this insane early 90’s thing going on - purple and yellow themed EVERYTHING. When I originally signed up at this place I said to the kid that the 90’s would be calling for their stuff back at any moment. He then led me over to this chair shaped like a hand to sign a contract. I was getting these freakish “cult” vibes, but for $20 a month, I’ll deal with the freaks...you know, when I actually wind up going. Sometimes you have to suck it up, but man this cult-like adherence to passe color schemes, bad disco music on the sound system, and “lunk” alarms kind of freak me out. And, oh by the way, if someone decides someone else is being a “lunk” (defined as one who drops weights or “judges”) isn’t that kind of a judgement, too? I mean, that thing goes off and the entire place looks at you and makes you feel pretty small...not that it’s ever happened to me, of course, but that’s clearly a judgement. Am I right? I mean, I’m resisting the temptation to judge the “nude dude” in the locker room with his 50” waist which has the tendency to cover up his junk - which is a good thing for everyone else in there. As an aside, one of my favorite websites is passiveaggressivenotes.com where they have all these pictures of really funny stuff - like the roommate complaining about her stuff being eaten and the like. I had a moment where I’m standing in the middle of what must’ve been 3/4 of a can of talc on the floor, and I look up to find a notice on the wall about being courteous when using powder in the locker room. I sooo wanted to snap a picture of it, but given that the nude dude was about, I didn’t want him to think I was some kind of “prevert.” Despite all of this negative reinforcement I’m fighting through, I’m still mustering up the emotional energy to get to the gym this morning and do it all over again. If nothing else, I’ll at least get some bagels and some quiet mediation in the tanning bed....oh yeah, and stronger muscles and stuff. Just don't judge me. Most of the time, the Ump gets it right...then there are those other times....
We've now all had some 24 or more hours to digest the catastrophe that should have been baseball's 21st perfect game. We've heard the calls for instant replay grow louder. We've heard umpire Jim Joyce apologize for having blown the call. We've seen the two proverbially kiss and make up on Thursday night. Bud Selig announced that he would not overturn the call and so, despite the human error involved, the record books will forever record a one-hitter.
There are so many points to be made on the back of Mssrs. Joyce, Galarraga, and Selig, I don't even have to come up with a silly theme to knit disparate stories together. I am here to accept the mantle of arguing the unpopular position on a more than one count, and defending the largely unpopular people.
The basic premise of my argument is that we all know the rules before the game starts. An OUT is one of the three required retirements of an offensive team during its time at bat. It is the discretion of the umpire as to whether a batter or runner is deemed "out." And according to baseball's rule 9.02: Any umpire’s decision which involves judgment, such as, but not limited to...whether a runner is safe or out, is final.[my emphasis added] No player, manager, coach or substitute shall object to any such judgment decisions.
Umpire Don Denkinger notes that while he has publicly acknowledged that he blew the essentially same call in the 1985 World Series (and some argue that robbed a team of a World Series), he has never apologized for blowing the call. Nor should he have. The umpire is a professional and is charged with representing Major League Baseball in his professional capacities. As the representative of my organization, I can admit having made a mistake, but to "apologize" for having made a mistake accepts regret for having made it and therefore the consequences of it. To apologize for having made this mistake is unprofessional. It's fine to apologize for failing to do your job - but whether or not he blew it on the first play of the game or on batter 27, it doesn't matter. He didn't fail to do his job, he just did his job poorly on that one play. He should be held to account, but not held to account for costing Galarraga a perfect game - he should be held to account for blowing a call. Joyce by apologizing for his call compounds the issue for me. He's a professional. He made a mistake, as people will oft do. His biggest mistake for me was not in making the call as he did. If he is to be sorry for something, it should be for failing to ask a colleague for another opinion. Buck up, man, and admit to the mistake - and a big one it was, to be sure - but it was his discretion not to ask. We all know the umpire's ruling on the field of play in terms of judgment is final. And we know the umpire is human and prone to the same mistakes humans make. He used poor judgement in failing to ask for a second opinion. Sometimes poor judgment is part of the human experience, but we accept that as part of the game.
Sure, we can eliminate almost all mistakes with the technology of the day. We can add microchips to the balls and to the field to determine whether or not a ball is fair or not. We can submit to QuesTec calling balls and strikes, and high resolution cameras to capture the plays on the field to determine safe/out. While we're at it, why not simply impose a pitch clock, like the one in basketball clicking to make sure a player doesn't hold onto the ball for more than 5-seconds? Instant replay would not supplement the umpire. It usurps his authority on the field.
By the time the 1985 World Series was played, there had been some 82 series. By design, there's a series every year...more or less. Of the hundreds of world series games, Denkinger's blown call is the one that sticks out. Maybe because it happened only some 25 years ago and we have footage. Maybe it was the worst call in world series history. It may be the worst call in over 100 years of World Series baseball. Consider this for a moment - it arguably changed the history of baseball. The Kansas City Royals won their only title as a result of having a bite of the apple they might not deserved. Granted, the Cardinals had their chances to demonstrate they should have won before that, and they allowed their emotions - completely unprofessional - to guide them in their smack down loss in Game 7. But Denkinger never apologized. There was no reason to - he is a professional adjudicating a game played by professionals. He shouldn't have to.
Joyce made an error of judgement. It cost a perfect game for a young pitcher because it was on batter #27. Galarraga came as close to a perfect game as you can without doing it and there was nothing more he could have done to demonstrate he should have accomplished it. There was no next play you could make. There was no earlier play that could've been made. There was no "tomorrow." I respect this man for his grace in accepting that Joyce blew it. He didn't pout and throw things. He went back to the mound and finished the game. He immediately retired batter #28. That's a cold, calculating professional. In a way, I respect Joyce for calling the runner safe when he thought he was safe - he knew that if he made the wrong call, he would be vilified...as he has been. And he made it anyway. All of that is out the window with an apology.
Would you be as pissed about it if he had blown the call on batter #1? Would he apologize then?
I hate that I defend Bud Selig's decision that he cannot overrule the umpire - presumably on the basis of "the best interests of baseball." I think Bud is one of the biggest tools in sports. He can't over turn it. Can't. It sets such a dangerous precedent: would you retroactively overturn the call in 1985's game 6? I do feel so much better about myself and my world view when I can tear open a new one even when I agree with a Selig decision. "There is no dispute that last night's game should have ended differently," he says (damn, I hate agreeing with him - even if he spouts a truism), but then he says baseball will "examine our umpiring system, the expanded use of instant replay and all other related features" Why? There is no difference between this call and any other botched call. I also like criticizing Selig inadvertently as it may be, because he praised Joyce's handling of the situation. I hate the DH. I hate interleague play. I hate instant replay on home runs. So I'm an antique. BUT, the game is not perfect unless the umpire says it's perfect. And he didn't say it was. Even though he says he made a mistake. Galarraga was robbed, but the rules in play at the moment that call was made were the same rules that were in play at the beginning of the game. It was a possibility, however remote, but it was a possibility. Sometimes things like this happen.
Ronnie James Dio 7.10.1942 - 5.16.2010
There has not been a great wealth of writing done here as of late. Sometimes I just find it hard to pull together enough emotional energy to put more than 140-characters together with which to communicate to the outside world. Today is a little different and this is an actual blog entry. I was taken aback this evening to learn that one of my childhood favorites had passed away.  Ronnie James Dio died this morning from stomach cancer at the age of 67. Dio meant a lot to me for more than a few reasons. I enjoyed his music - in fact, "The Last In Line" tour was the first concert I had ever attended. I was one of the 8000 at the Providence Civic Center that August evening in 1984. I went with my very first friend, Dave, who at the age of 32 passed away of natural causes. One of the few living links to my childhood and to my friend Dave died today.Dio may never receive the attention of the music world - at the age of 40, it came as a surprise to learn that he had announced he had cancer last year. Not one word in the mainstream press as to his condition. Sure, we hear about Brittney's mental catastrophes and Jon & Kate - media darlings all - but nothing about Ronnie. I can be so plugged in on so many levels, but that connection to my own history has lapsed. Had it not been for a casual and cursory glance through my Facebook connections would I have even learned of his passing. However, he holds a special place in my heart. Back in the 1980's, concert shirts, and specifically the baseball style shirts, were the rage. I remember wearing that shirt - heather grey, with black sleeves, the "Last In Line" album over on the front with tour dates on the back - for the better part of a week and a half...every day. Those who knew me then can attest. I remember the waning weeks of the summer, the last few before starting the first great transition of my life - from Junior High School into High School, at a new school in another town, away from all the people I had known in elementary school - enjoying the summer, enjoying the time away from school and enjoying life. I had the safety of the neighborhood, the people I had always known, and everything I had always known. It was probably the last time in my life, I knew exactly what to expect. And so with Ronnie James Dio's passing today, yet another brick in the wall of my childhood has come loose. Every time I think the last piece is gone, another one crumbles. As I get older, those connections to those summer days in 1984 grow fewer and those which remain seem more tenuous.
My beloved grandmother passed away in 1998 and at that point it seemed like the last remaining connection to my childhood had passed away. The Halloween parties in her barn, the Christmas family-get-togethers, the minutiae that we tend to take for granted. Then in 2002, that horrible phone call I got from my father telling me that Dave had had "an accident." As it turns out, it was a cerebral accident. He had heard through the grapevine and I processed it as an auto accident - I remembered those teenage times, riding through the streets of my hometown in his Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme as a passenger sitting on nothing more than a milk crate - and it made sense. Only afterward when I realized what had really happened did it make no sense at all. Then in 2008 it came time for my father to be called to the great beyond, and that significant piece of my life passed with him. This was a man who was always there for me, asked for so little, and in return probably got what he had asked for.
I am a father now, and I think of what my life means to those around me. Someday it shall be my children and possibly their children considering their own mortality at my passing. Some day, many years from now, their musical heroes will pass away. I hope to God not, but perhaps their childhood friends will pass much too soon and they will feel this sense of loss.
For now, though, it is my own feelings of sadness which find me writing. Oddly enough, it is not for the loss of an artist - his music will live on and his memory will survive - it is for my own childhood and the memories his music holds for me and that time which it represents that has suffered. Reminding me yet again that time is fleeting and how important it is to remain close to those who knew you when you were young.
Rest in peace, Ronnie James Dio. You are missed. He shared a birthday with my mother - they were born the same day in 1942. My mom is alive and well, although time has taken it's toll. Take a moment to remember those who are still in your life and who still remember you as a child. They grow fewer as the years grow longer.
Doctor Moz is in the house
If you've got an issue, then we have a prescription cure for it. So this week, Dr. Moz will be discussing some common ailments in professional sports. Narcolepsy. We all know someone at work who all of a sudden just falls asleep. Here you were thinking that the meeting was pretty darn boring but my gosh, when he was called upon to make a presentation he is just sitting there sleeping. Even kids fall asleep at inappropriate times. This ailment can usually be counteracted by Anti-social Personality Disorder, but this has nasty side effects.
Anti-social Personality Disorder. This is a condition in which those affected possess an antipathy for social gatherings and positive communications while acting out. For instance, upon hearing news critical of one co-worker, one co-worker will challenge the other co-workers to fisticuffs. This will often change the behavior of those co-workers such that they will engage in passive aggressive behavior and antisocial personality behaviors. The good news is that this can be cured by showing those afflicted by this a little love.
Psychological Projection. Going back to Freudian theory, psychological projection is the denial of one's own failures and ascribing them to someone else. For instance, let's take the General Manager of a baseball team. This is the person responsible for managing the team payroll budget, signing players, and generally the operations of the organization. When this person's team continually fails to meet these expectations, one means by which this person manages his own self image is through psychological projection. This manifests itself through the pointing of the finger of blame and through the termination of those under him, because clearly it was the on field machinations of this person that resulted in a 12-23 record 35-games into the season. This allows the general manager to replace the "under performing" underling with another individual who has clearly demonstrated his capacity in delivering results and to replace a .422 manager with a .477 manager.
Passive Aggressive Disorder. This is a pattern of negativistic traits and passive resistance to demands for adequate performance. It is characterized by the failure to accept responsibility and to attack authority figures. A fine example would be the failure of an organization to disqualify an award recipient of an ill-gotten accolade and to instead thrust upon others to recast their original decision. Whereupon those called upon to cast judgement act in a passive aggressive manner by acting against the organization who put them in the position to begin with. It is a difficult situation to treat, as there's always a rational sounding reason why it is someone else's fault.  Encopresis. This is a disorder in which one vacates his bowels in places other than the toilet. For instance, when someone talks out of their butt and winds up dropping a heaping load of feces on an unexpecting public. This will commonly happen when the leader of an organization which is successful in spite of itself, cannot seem to figure out how to get out of his own way and he realizes he's incompetent to the task. He may wind up making the right choice, but doesn't know why and will likely experience encopresis while trying to explain the decision. This condition can often be cured by removing one's cranium from his rectum. Although in the most extreme cases, the individual may ultimately be removed from his position.Failure to Thrive. Our last disorder today is the failure to meet expectations. This is manifested by the failure to close out a lesser-performing opponent despite three opportunities to do so leaving only a sudden death performance once this lesser-performing opponent levels the playing field...er ice. Another high profile example of this would be the failure of a high profile player to overcome adversity and allow a lesser team to take control of destiny, going on a roller coaster ride of exceptional performance to inferior performance and to eventually allowing his opponent to claim victory. This often leads to passive-aggressive disorder mentioned above. With care and attention, any of these disorders can be treated effectively. Those affected need severe aversive therapy including but not limited to public outrage, boycott, and the most effective means by which therapy becomes effective is to simply hit the individual with some blunt object...repeatedly. Draft Day
In 1970, the Vietnam war was in full swing. The military was not, as it is today, an all-volunteer service. Men were selected for enlistment via a draft. In December 1969, Days of the month were loaded into a container and drawn out. September 14 was the first date drawn and if you were between 19 and 26 on January 1, 1970 and born on September 14 (numbered 001), you were all but assured of making the long journey to the South East Asian jungle. I suspect there were a bunch of men who would've preferred to have been watching Mayberry RFD that evening. Jimmy Buffett wrote, "...and when they tried to draft me, I earned a college degree..." Throughout military history, we have honored the service of others, it seems, while trying to avoid service ourselves. Remember a WWII pilot who was replaced in office by a man who had some questionable activities keep him from having to go to Vietnam? Then that WWII pilot's son handily trounced a Vietnam Veteran in a recent national election, not to mention the fact that our current President defeated a bona fide war hero POW. I remember the day I registered with selective service - I did my own little passive aggressive thing and registered a day after my grace period had expired. Normally when we're talking "draft," we're talking hops and barley. This time we're talking a little something different. In 1936, a draft of a different sort had it's start and it is that draft to which we turn our attention in this weeks roundtable. Like that evening in 1969, men were being selected to head into battle. Unlike that evening, these men largely wanted to be selected...well except the very first one. Not unlike the men selected "001" for 1970 induction, Jay Berwanger wanted nothing to do with being inducted. The very first man ever drafted by the National Football League, was drafted by the Philadelphia Eagles and made no bones about his lack of desire to play there.
The first man selected in the 2010 NFL draft - Sam Bradford - has to feel not wholly dissimilarly. Quarterbacks being selected by 1-15 team don't generally fare well. I can't help but remember Drew Bledsoe being selected by the 2-14 Patriots, he spent so much time on his back it was amazing he had a career. Kind of like David Carr.
Like Bledsoe, Bradford will probably start right out of the gate - never really a good developmental path for a QB. Bledsoe was one of those guys who was always the biggest, strongest guy around and never had to improve...until it became evident that he wasn't improving and making the same mistakes over and over again. Like Bradford, he didn't have a solid veteran presence to help him. The Rams have AJ Feeley and a dude named Craig Null. You're going to trust AJ Feeley to mentor your franchise? Of note, four of the first six picks were guys out of Oklahoma State. Pretty amazing - I'm also thinking if you're a Cowboys fan, you might be in for a bit of a rough season.
Draft day is kind of like baseball's opening day. Nothing but hope and promise. Like on draft day 1998. "I'm looking forward to a 15 year career, a couple of trips to the Super Bowl, and a parade through downtown San Diego." Ryan Leaf collected a hefty $11-million signing bonus, was an NFL player for parts of 4-years and is largely considered to be the biggest draft bust ever. He finished his career with a 50.0 QB rating and some 3600 yards passing. $11-million, four draft picks and two players traded to acquire 4 wins over 3-years. The draft is littered with the debris of bad decisions - Lawrence Phillips and "The Boz" - but it's also ripe with stories of the unexpected find. While Drew Bledsoe was the touted name, #1 overall pick, Troy Brown was an 8th round pick but played some 15-years with the Patriots. As a Pats fan myself, I can't imagine Super Bowl XXXVI without Troy Brown. Yet he was waived/cut. Re-Signed. Then there's that guy that replaced Mr. Bledsoe as the starting quarterback in New England. So, who will be this year's Peyton Manning and who will be Ryan Leaf?
Then, there are the other issues that arise. Leaf was a head case on the field. The dude just came unglued. Big Ben Roethlisberger has become the latest in a string of high draft picks to come unglued off the field. This is a guy who has won 2-Super Bowls - the first one of which made him the youngest ever to win, despite an incredibly poor performance - but has crashed his motorcycle in a near fatal accident, and now multiple allegations of sexual assault, to the point that he's now been suspended. I've heard so many conversations asking the question how he could be suspended when charges have no been filed. The fact is that the NFL policy is not linked to criminal code. He only needs to have brought dishonor to the shield. Why bring this up? Well, rumor had it the Steelers were shopping him for a top 10 pick - all because he's apparently a miscreant. If I were the Rams, I think I'd be more interested in a Roethlisberger than a Bradford. Seems like a no-brainer, but then again, maybe - just maybe - there are more than just a few questions about Ben that teams just don't want to touch.
We'll get through the first round Thursday night, and then we'll get started on round two today. Short Time
First things first, my friends. The Tavern has been newly outfitted with a whirlpool tub in the lobby. Yessir. We go high class here. In the newest installment of what kind of random destruction has Mo caused, we find the Lowes delivery people screwing the pooch on my contractor, so he goes off and does a smaller job while the Lowes delivery people are supposedly off doing their jobs elsewhere when guess who shows up? Yup. Not knowing where to put the stuff, they delivered the tub into my living room. This makes sense of course.
My contractor, ever the humorist, calls me and says they never showed up. Which sends me into an apoplectic fit. Until he laughs at me and says they in fact did...except....
This is my life. Embarrassing. Which brings me to the actual tale of the Roundtable forum this week: the length of baseball games.
It's just so embarrassing and a disgrace when it takes so long to get to the end of a night out at the ballpark. I mean, I just hate it when the game takes 4-hours when I've got some places to go after chilling out, and paying $8.50 for a can of Bud Light. All I'm doing is waiting. Good grief, this is so boring. Whether or not you agree with the premise that Joe West assumes in his criticism of the duration of play when the Red Sox and Yankees play, much like when paying attention to who funds research behind pharmacological research, you have to pay attention to this one significant piece in this report from NorthJersey.com: umpires are evaluated on how quickly a game moves. So, tell me again why it is embarrassing for a team to use pitch count as strategy and to take as long as it takes? That's right, it's embarrassing for the UMPIRE when it takes that long - he gets two demerits. Got it. 
What is truly embarrassing, Mr. West, is the recent study showing that American parents are among the worst behaved in the world at kids sporting events. THAT, Joe West, is embarrassing, not a game that goes an hour-and-fifteen-minutes longer than an average game. What is embarrassing is when an umpire can't make up his mind in a timely fashion or just wants to dick around with someone. THAT'S the disgrace and embarrassment. What the players do in playing the game is not embarrassing.
Take a good look at this guy. Ask yourself if this is a guy that should be worried about how embarrassing other people present in public? That ad homenem aside, he goes on to talk about these two teams being the best in baseball. Um, it's possible that there's a reason for that. Not claiming cause and effect, but I am saying it's about as competitive as baseball gets when the Yankees and Sox play. You think that it could be a respect thing?
2009: Red Sox 9 - Yankees 9 (Yankees Win World Series) 2008: Red Sox 9 - Yankees 9
2007: Red Sox 8 - Yankees 10 (Red Sox win World Series)
3-year span and 54 games. In that period the Yankees have beaten the Sox two more times than the Sox have beaten them. That's pretty freaking competitive. So, Joe, do a baseball fan a favor? Stop worrying about your own evaluation, and start worrying about baseball. Calling the balls and strikes, and the integrity of the game. Although rumor has it he was seen in the airport with his wife recently, this rumor is false. And just what makes these teams so damn competitive? Well, for one thing, they're in the big leagues. Used in this context, the meaning is not "major leagues," but "Big Leagues," as in money and business. Their respective ownerships are heavy financial players and when you get to the level at which they are, business is not a game.
Forbes just released the highest valued major league franchises. Numbers 1 and 2? The only thing that needs to be said addressing the meanings of those designations is $1.6 B-b-b-billion and $870 Million. There really is no guessing which team is where, is there? For further context, the average MLB team is worth $491 Million. The Red Sox also happen to be second in terms of operating income with $40 Million, and although the Yankees have revenues almost twice that of the Red Sox, their operating income is almost half; their debt to value is 89% which is that 89% of their value is taken up with debt - in this category they're #2. Then again, they have a kick ass new stadium and a shiny new Commissioners' trophy. The Yankees are the only MLB team valued over a billion dollars, but are in the company of The New York Giants & Jets.
We're three, maybe four games into the season. Of 30 teams, there's but one without a win. The Houston Astros. That's a bummer, kids. Even the Marlins and the Royals have won a game.
Meanwhile, I've been dealing with some labor unrest here at the Tavern. Seems that people don't like when you tell them they just can't drink beer on their lunch break. I do appreciate you fine readers are here crossing the picket line. Of course, the whirlpool in the lobby doesn't hurt business any. Now, if I could get Beeze out of it, someone else my get a chance. Speaking of Beeze, this week was my wedding anniversary, so I thought I'd leave you with a little love song he and I wrote together. Over Taxed
It is 10 PM on April 15 and I'm sitting on the phone trying to get my 2008 Adjusted Gross Income from the IRS. Now, you'd think I'd have remembered the nice round $100, but it slipped my mind. So, after 20 minutes of waiting and listening to some sickening musak, it occurred to me that I didn't file the taxes on my work computer last year, I filed them on my desktop computer upstairs. On top of the time invested in running around looking for my damn W2's, 1099's, 1088's, WD-40's, and 12oz-PBR's, and the time completing the BS forms, I wasted that much more of my life with the federal government. To compound matters, I get to the end, and find that there could be a coupon code for money off the filing fees. I find one such coupon and come to find out, if I wanted to use that coupon, I'd have to re-enter all my data. Really? Would $15 be worth re-entering an evening's worth of information? I guess it will be when I go to buy coffee in the morning and I find out my bank account is overdrawn by $13. Damn IRS. Damn H&R Block. THAT'S IT! I get screwed enough by the government. I refuse to do business with these people again. It always helps in these situations to pile onto people when they're down. So that's what I'm going to do. Big Ben Roethlisberger finds himself in big heap trouble AGAIN. Now, when last we visited this place, I found myself arguing the point that it was highly unlikely that this was a dude who needed to make up a story about crappy A/V equipment and that this chick was out to figure a way to score a big jock and a big payday. Now, however, comes another allegation. Ben hasn't figured out that it's not a safe thing for him to go out and "drink like a champion" with underaged college girls - even with a cadre of "friends."
Who knows what happened, and based on the stories, Ben probably doesn't even know what happened. While it matters to those involved, from the outside looking in, it doesn't matter for our purposes. What matters here though is that he's just not real bright. He's 28 years old. You'd think after winning a couple of big games, he'd know just what he has to lose. Instead, he crashes his motorcycle - I told my boss that I wanted a bike and he said, "let me tell you about the guy who came into the ER without an ass" - and is dogged by alcohol-fueled sexual-assault charges. The man doesn't learn.
So, we've now seen Donte Stallworth suspended for a year for vehicular manslaughter. We've seen Chris Henry (may he rest in peace for he knew so little of it while he was alive) suspended for all kinds of things, Tank Johnson, Pac Man Jones, and Plaxico Burress. What would be appropriate discipline for a franchise quarterback for having these allegations follow him around? We don't know if he's actually broken the law, because these things have a way of disappearing, but certainly there is an issue, certainly there is continued failure to learn good behavior, and more importantly a failure to keep oneself out of these situations. Eventually, this has the cumulative effect of damaging the league, and hence the NFL's Personal Conduct Policy and specifically the following: So, if he's not charged with anything, how does this work? The NFL and the legal system are two different entities. The personal conduct policy is the law of the NFL and as such they have the right to hold the "covered persons" to account. Enter Big Ben and Big Dick. The only thing to prove here is whether or not he engaged in prohibited personal conduct, and not being considered "guilty" under civil or criminal proceedings are not the determining factor. Ben needs to be suspended and it needs to be substantial. I believe the Steelers organization when they say they want a piece of Ben first. The Pittsburgh Steelers have been the class of the NFL, and I believe they have had enough of the shenanigans.
Thursday was Jackie Robinson day in baseball - when all players wear the "42" Jackie wore on that fateful day 63 years ago. This is one of those moments when the cynicism I feel about the management of baseball is mitigated somewhat. They do the right thing when they honor Jackie Robinson, but it's hard to tell if it's for the right reason. Do they honor the man for what he accomplished, for what his life meant to others, and what his lasting impact has been, or do they do it to look good and sell more merch? In this respect, I have to believe it's for the right reasons.
By honoring Robinson, they acknowledge the blemish of racism on the game - you cannot honor the man who broke the color barrier without acknowledging there was a color barrier to begin with, and to open up that discussion. By honoring him yearly, by retiring his 42 in every ballpark, it's a constant reminder of what had been. I want to believe, and I will try.
Now, sadly enough, the team that was Mr. Robinson's - the Brooklyn Dodgers - are no more. They are the Los Angeles Dodgers, a team as oddly named as one of the NBA entries from LA - the former Minneapolis Lakers. A city without lakes nor trolley cars has teams named for each. At any rate, what Los Angeles misses in soul, they make up for in party. Now, from the outside, we know that LA don't know baseball, and that a hardcore Dodger "Fan" is someone who shows up to the game before the third inning and stays past the seventh. But, they do like their parties, which makes the news that for this years' opening day, the LAPD busted 130 "fans" while they tailgated their arses off. Read the article and you know that the game is just another excuse to have a frat party. Of course I can say that because as much as I like a good frat party, I'm a Bostonian and we take our baseball just a little more seriously than they do in Los Angeles. That, and I'd hate to rub into Big Ben partying his tail off there too. Good Friday
Good Friday. In the Christian tradition, this is the celebration of the crucifixion of Christ, albeit somewhat oddly named. Growing up in the Catholic church, what Good Friday really meant for me was that we weren't necessarily expected to keep eating fish and "holy cow!" the Easter Bunny would soon be coughing up some goodies. Now that I'm fully grown - although I shan't say "fully grown adult" because as anyone who reads this column on a weekly basis knows that my social skills are somewhat weak and that any indication that my motor skills have developed beyond that of a juvenile orangutan is simply not evident - Good Friday still holds for me some roots of my childhood (that would be that the Easter Bunny is coming to cough up some of those aforementioned goodies) as well as something even more important to the Bostonian in me. Baseball season is nigh. Yes, opening day is but 2 days away. I guess Easter is too, but really it's opening day that has be with a spring in my step. That's really how you know that the grass will eventually be green, the rain will eventually stop, and leaves will come back on the trees. It's always the hardest time of the year between the Super Bowl and Opening Day. Spring training doesn't really do it for me - too many unknown faces, too little competition. I love baseball, but I guess I'm developmentally unable to take any real pleasure from spring training games. Most of the guys know it doesn't mean anything, and for the guys who are trying their damnest to make the cut they're facing an uphill battle. I get excited about spring training because it means REAL baseball is right around the corner, but I take note of what is going on around me kind of like most people watch the 4th game of the NFL preseason.
In other words, Opening Day is a big F*#king deal. All kinds of boffo crap goes down on Opening Day. The first game of the season? The World Champion New York Yankees (for the 27th time) against the Boston Red Sox. The Sox are riding a 5-opening day win streak, and the Yankees lost last year, but won the previous 11 times. The most the Sox have ever scored on opening day was 15 runs in 1973...against the Yankees. The most that's ever been scored against them on opening day was 15 in 1950...by the Yankees. Good times. Opening day is the day that everyone has a chance - the deck is cleared. The day where the league's leading hitters are batting 1.000, the Kansas City Royals are as close to the playoffs as the Yankees, Red Sox, or Angels, and for one game anyone can become a cult hero. Baseball has done a bunch of things to consistently whittle away at the traditions of the game - for 60 years the league consisted of 16 teams, in completely segregated leagues, winner of each league took all and went to the World Series. When economy and competition from other sports began to creep into the game, the real changes started. First relocation began with the exodus to the West Coast. Then Expansion. Then the 162-game schedule. Then divisions and the requisite playoff series. The designated hitter. The international opener. The list goes on, and we can argue the relative merits of these changes for good or ill, but changes nonetheless. One thing that has remained constant for over 110 years - Opening Day is a big f*#king deal. The Cincinnati Reds no longer "open the openers," but they do always open the season at home. Tradition and pageantry remain important at some level in this game. The Red Sox always play an early game on Marathon Monday. The Reds always open at home. And this year the Yankees open the season as World Champions. Regardless of the fact that Opening Day is, in fact, Opening Evening, it is still the beginning of the marvelous 6-month marathon through the soggiest of spring, through the hottest days of summer, and the chilly - if not downright cold - days of late October. Injuries to star players, role-players who step up, streaks of all kinds, scandal and controversy, but ultimately the excitement of competitive baseball culminating on the field of play in two baseball stadia for the right to call one team World Champion. Sunday is the day that even the most hapless of teams share the spotlight and promise of hope that they too will possess the Commissioner's Trophy.
In the meantime, the fans can settle back into the routine of hot dogs, overpriced and over-watered ballpark beer, and enjoy the take that is a trip to the ballpark. Life begins to slow down just a little bit while we take in the only major sport without some kind of play clock ticking down, where an increment of time is variable - one-third an inning can be completed as quickly as one pitch to one batter or longer than the drive between exits on Interstate 80 in Utah (fyi, this highway has the longest stretch between exits on an interstate highway).
So, this year, screw the colored eggs and the chocolate bunnies (we all know it's not real chocolate and the bigger they are the less likely they are to be anything but hollow anyway), and make your way into one of the two remaining holy shrines of major league baseball and worship at the altar of the sacrifice fly. Throw that woolen lid on your head, and cheer on the home team.
Okay, tell you what. You can still enjoy a "Peeps" show, but when you're done there, come to the church of baseball for your true calling.
Pipes
 Sometimes, pipes just burst or a discharge hose erupts. People have even been known to deliberately cap off their pipes because it's no longer desirable for those pipes to continue to operate. And sometimes accidents can simply break your pipes. Some like to simply relax with their pipes. My weekend was something of a memorable one - in a negative sort of way - but I like to think of the entire experience as the universe looking down favorably upon your somewhat slow witted and dullard scribe.It seems that I had set my mind to doing some home improvement right about the time one of my bathroom pipes had decided that it had come to the end of its useful life. The end result was some 20 hours spent knee deep in fiberglass insulation, plumbing fixtures, copper tubing, and Sawzalls. Long about 2 AM Monday morning, I had finally gotten the state of affairs together enough to be able to turn the house water back on. As I climbed into bed - as I found a few hours later as I was getting ready for work, I spent the night sleeping encased in the wonderful insulating quality of fiberglass - I thanked my wife for not having killed me for destroying the house and having had to cut through the shower to gain access to the tub pipes. The wonderful new water feature in my kitchen below the bathroom wasn't as warmly received as I had hoped it would be.
As it happens, though, a claim on the homeowners insurance has led to the kitchen wall and ceiling being cut open and dehumidified. Honest to God, I can see the bathroom through the ceiling/subflooring exposed in the kitchen. So, there it is. I am officially an idiot. Plumbing is not for slow witted, dull writers and folks who are generally poorly conditioned to working with their hands.
How is it, then, that the universe could've been looking out for me? Well, it seems that the kitchen will now receive the professional paint job it should've had when we remodeled the place some 18 months back, and the late 1980's color-motif in the master bathroom will have to be gutted out and will be replaced with something a little more contemporary and a little less "Florida Marlins." I hope. So, it was almost like New Years' at the Mo Compound what with the promise of better things to come and all.
We had our guy in today to give us a quote on repairing the kitchen ceiling and walls...and replacing the cabinets that he had put up some 18 months ago. I figure he'll give us a quote for a new tub and plumbing and a new shower as well. ... and what the hell, throw in a new vanity. Everything including the bathroom sink. But the week of Mo hasn't quite ended - while driving Mrs. Mo's Jeep today, it seems I clipped a mailbox and ripped off her antenna and gouged the side of the truck. So, things COULD be worse...I mean over the last week including today, I've just bought myself about $1000 of deductable, but at least I'm insured. Right? Good Thing My Daily Luck was 99%
I'm feeling good about myself and my life. I've got growing motivation - actively going about my life, doing some things around the house that needed doing. Redid the small bathroom just off the kitchen. Did a fine job, if I do say so myself. Fixed the crappy shower fixtures with nice new shiny chrome. Just all around good vibes, you know?
So, I decide that I'm going to redo the big bathroom upstairs. Change out the crappy old brass jets on the whirlpool tub, repaint the place. All that. I had my Saturday all planned out. Super Bowl XLIV - Colts. Saints.
Football at its most pure. Tonight the Colts and the Saints battle for the right to call themselves champion. And this year there will be a true champion. Its the first time in over twenty years the top teams in each conference face each other. The Colts literally gave away a perfect season in the name of playoff preparation. The Saints at 13-0 were still battling for the top seed with the Vikings. Peyton Manning - son of the face of the New Orleans Saints - faces his home town team in the only professional uniform he's ever worn. Drew Brees, cast off from the Chargers when Phillip Rivers became their choice to head the franchise, leads the once moribund Saints to their first Super Bowl and with him and his team, the hopes of a devastated city. This should be an epic, offensive battle. Enjoy. Super Bowl XLIV: Colts vs. Saints
The Super Bowl is played every year in a neutral site chosen several years in advance. There has never been a Super Bowl played in which one of the participants called that site their home stadium. This year, the game will be played in Miami's Sun Life Stadium, home of the Miami Dolphins. The game has been billed as being in "South Florida" given the name of the stadium has been somewhat in flux and without a clear long term sponsor: Land Shark Lager had an 8-month naming deal which expired on January 5. The facility opened in 1987 and has gone by the names Joe Robbie Stadium, Pro Player Park, Pro Player Stadium, Dolphins Stadium, Dolphin Stadium and Land Shark Stadium.
The histories of the two teams could not be more different, yet the franchises are entwined in one important way: Archie Manning, father of Colts Quarterback Peyton Manning, is the Saints' all time passing leader with 21,734 yards. Manning raised his family in the New Orleans area, and Peyton grew up in Louisiana. Lessons from a Simple Cut
So, no sooner have I started to write again, I'm incapacitated. Yes, the tools of the author came unavailable to me - it seems that while I suffered no nerve damage in my recent encounter with a creative way to hurt myself and as such this is good, I did sever a tendon. Sooo, I went under the knife, got my hand carved up - which certainly looked a lot worse than the original cut - and had my hand bandaged up and was out of typing commission for a while.
2009 NFL Postseason Begins
Getting the Finger
Happy New Year
No One Likes A Quitter
Sunday @ 1 or "Boxing Helena Day"
Happy Holidays
|
