Down the Hall on Your Left

This site is a blog about what has been coasting through my consciousness lately. The things I post will be reflections that I see of the world around me. You may not agree with me or like what I say. In either case – you’ll get over it and I can live with it if it makes you unhappy. Please feel free to leave comments if you wish . All postings are: copyright 2014 – 2019

Archive for the category “Sports”

Throwback Thursday From July 2016 – “The Good, The Bad, And The So-So”

Throwback Thursday From July 2016 –

The Good, The Bad, And The So-So

skill1

I’M GOOD AT GROCERY SHOPPING. I’M NOT GOOD AT DANCING.

Everybody has those little slices of life where they excel and others where they stink like the next morning in a fraternity house. No matter how hard we try to master a certain skill it evades us.

For example:

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Throwback Thursday – “100 Years Of Turning Left”

Throwback Thursday – “100 Years Of Turning Left”

Indy 1946

Indy 500 – 1946

AUTO RACING IS BIG, VERY BIG IN INDIANA. This year it is even bigger.

“Why, Oh, why?” I hear someone ask.

The reason is that this year is the 100th edition of the Indianapolis 500 race. This year, as in every other year, 33 cars will tear around the 2.5 mile track for 500 miles – turning left the entire time.

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Throwback Thursday from March 2017 – Joey Who?

Joey Who?

joey1

IT LOOKS LIKE SPRINGTIME IS FINALLY HERE. I see robins and cardinals and they don’t look worried about frostbite. There are giant Vs overhead going north and there are new baseball stars on the horizon.

Major League Baseball teams have been heavy into Spring Training for over a month and just like the new flowers that pop up in the spring so do new young players.

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Siss – Boom – Baaaa

HERE WE ARE IN LATE JANUARY and, strictly by coincidence, I have not seen any football – College, Pro, or local High School, this year. Some people might interpret that in terms of over-extended Socio-Economic-Historic-Politico-Religious opining.

Nah.

I’ve just been either sick or busy. Mainly sick. Sick of being busy too. I don’t mix Sports and any Politico-Etc. ideas I may harbor. The Sports part is much too important.

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OK, So I’m Whining.

 

WHINE, WHINE, WHINE.

Excuse me while I whine.

WHINE, WHINE, WHINE.

There! I feel better now.

What am I whining about? I’m whining because it’s January and I miss Baseball.

I miss the crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd, and their collective gasp as the ball arcs through the air into the Gap. Ahhh, the sensual glory of The Game.

The Sights, the Sounds, and the Smells are all a vital part of the Baseball experience. Without reveling in these basic sensations the game might as well be on television.

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Maybe I Need A Hobby

IS THIS THE FUTURE? ARE THESE THE THOMAS EDISONS OF TOMORROW?

I was flipping through the 237,812 channels on our TV the other day. There I found much to be ignored. I suppose that someone, somewhere, on some combination of medications might find some of these channels entertaining or informative. Me? I really have my doubts that “Ancient Aliens” built everything from the Pyramids of Giza up to and including the Astrodome.

But I did find one program that was both fascinating and appalling at the same time (Other than the Evening News). It was something called “Battlebots” or “Robot Wars,” or something like that.

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Is it Next Year Yet?

I HAVEN’T WRITTEN MUCH ABOUT BASEBALL THIS SUMMER. Why? Because it’s hard to keep from swearing while I have tears soaking the page.

It has not been a good season for my Giants. Things weren’t very good last year either, but with some sterling offseason acquisitions it looked like 2018 was going to have the Giants in the hunt for the Pennant once more. Appearances can be deceiving.

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All Hail The Fighting Sycamores!

 

ONE ADVANTAGE TO LIVING IN A “COLLEGE TOWN” is all of the activities that are open to the “Townies” – That’s us. There are Concerts, Plays and Recitals all the time. And Sporting events too. It’s the last item there that has just swung into action.

Football Season is here!

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“The Thrill of Victory! The Agony of Defeat! The Problem of Where I Set My Beer!”

 

WE ARE NOW INTO THE BALMY DAYS OF SUMMER and the world of sports is in full bloom and then some.

The other night after a hearty workout of watching my SF Giants on TV I was just exhausted. It was quite a workout and my cardio goals had been achieved – I still had a cardio.

It was getting late as I crawled up the stairs and stumbled into bed. I flipped on the TV and, still feeling the Muse of Sports calling my name, I did my digital exercises and tuned the tube to ESPN.

I don’t think I’ll ever be the same.

My timing was off by just a nanosecond or I would have been able to catch the broadcast of a major Pickle Ball tournament.

Pickle Ball = Tennis for the Pacemaker Set.

One of the regulars every morning at St. Arbucks is into Pickle Ball. He is 80 years old and a National Champion. I kid you not.

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In The Big Inning

IN THE OFFICIAL LITURGICAL CALENDAR the Sunday after Easter is called Bright Sunday, but in the Unofficial calendar it is known as “Holy Hilarity Sunday” when God’s sense of humor is celebrated. What better way to celebrate that and the new season of Major League Baseball than with the following creation.

Today’s blog is “The Opening Day Genesis” by Glenn Birkemeier published in “McSweeney’s Internet Tendency”

 

OPENING DAY GENESIS

Shoeless Joe Jackson

In the big inning, God created Heaven on Earth. And it was without form, and void. God separated the dirt from the grass. He called the grass Outfield and the dirt He called Infield. God made the Infield a 90-foot square and the Outfield not less than 400 feet to center and 320 feet down the lines. He declared this Fair Territory. All other territory, God then declared, was Foul.

And God divided the players into two teams of nine players each, under direction of a manager, to play The Game on His field. God called some of these players Pitchers and some of them Hitters. He placed a Pitcher precisely 60 feet 6 inches from a Hitter. Then God commanded that it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out at the ol’ Ballgame.

And God granted jurisdiction of The Game to lesser Gods, whom He called Umpires. God said the Umpires are infallible, blessed with Heavenly authority, whose judgment is not to be questioned under penalty of expulsion from The Game. And God looked at his creation and He was pleased. Then God created the Infield Fly Rule to confuse nonbelievers.

And God said, Let there be light beer, and there was. And, God said, let there be peanuts and hot dogs and overpriced souvenirs and let there be frosty chocolate malts with little wooden spoons that you can buy nowhere else except at this Heaven, which God called a Ballpark, and there was. God looked at His creation and it was good.

And the Lord God formed, from the dust, a collection of elite players in His own image. The Lord God then breathed the breath of life into His creation. God called this creation the National League.

And God said, It is not good for the National League to be alone. The Lord God shall make it a mate. And thus, while the National League slept, God took several of its top players and created the American League.

And God blessed The Game, saying, Be fruitful and multiply. Put teams in every city with deserving fans, God added, even if this occurs at the expense of starting-pitching depth.

From time to time, God understood, The Game would be corrupted by the Serpent. The Serpent was more cunning than any other beast and he would take many wicked forms: the Black Sox, segregation, the Designated Hitter, the Reserve Clause, dead balls, juiced balls, spit balls, corked bats, George Steinbrenner, AstroTurf, the 1981 strike, collusion, lockouts, Pete Rose, the 1994 strike, greenies, cocaine, HGH, Andro, steroids, $20 parking, corporate mallparks, Scott Boras, Donald Fehr, and Bud Selig.

Ty Cobb

But, God said, the goodness in The Game shall always prevail. As needed, the Lord shall bestow upon The Game a Savior. And the Savior, like the Serpent, can take many forms. The Savior shall remind Fans how blessed The Game truly is. The Savior shall be called by many names, including Cy, Matty, Honus, Big Train, the Babe, Wrigley Field, Fenway Park, Lou Gehrig, Branch Rickey, Jackie Robinson, Buck O’Neil, Hank Greenberg, Red Barber, Harry Carey, Vin Scully, Jack Buck, Satchel Paige, Bill Veeck, Roberto Clemente, Ernie Banks, Hammerin’ Hank, Cool Papa, Dizzy, Lefty, Whitey, Stan the Man, Big Klu, the Say Hey Kid, Campy, Duke, the Mick, the Splendid Splinter, the Gas House Gang, the Big Red Machine, the Damn Yankees, Pudge Fisk, Pudge Rodriguez, Yaz, Pops, the Wizard of Oz, Fernando, George Brett, Moonlight Graham, Roy Hobbs, Wild Thing Vaughn, Bingo Long, the Ryan Express, Donnie Baseball, Rickey, Eck, the Big Unit, the Cactus League, Cal Ripken, Tony Gwynn, Camden Yards, Rotisserie Drafts, Web Gems, Derek Jeter, Dontrelle Willis, Vlad Guerrero, and, from the Far East, Ichiro. And, God guaranteed, there are many more to come.

God looked upon His creation and He was very pleased. And God spoke, yelling,PLAY BALL!

A Season Of Hope

 

ONE OF MY GREAT JOYS IN LIFE, aside from my wonderful wife, Dawn, Family, and Coffee, is Baseball. We are now into the 2018 Season and, of course, I am rooting for my team – The San Francisco Giants.

Last year the Giants sucked like an overworked Hoover vacuum. This year we are hoping that they will do better. In 2017 my boys lost 98 games. The season is 162 games and you aren’t going to get into the postseason playoffs winning only 64 games – not unless you buy a ticket like everybody else.

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It’s A Fine Line

 

WE HAVE BEEN WATCHING A LOT OF THE OLYMPICS LATELY. Well, not a lot – “some” would be more accurate. “Some” of the Olympics, the part that involves watching people slip, slide, and fall over. I can do that, but nobody offers to give me a Gold Medal.

I’m lucky if I can get a helping hand to get up from the ground. When I slip, slide, and fall over people either laugh and point or pretend to ignore me. I have yet to hear anyone say, “That will cost him at least one and a half points.” I’m just thankful it doesn’t cost me a broken hip. At my age when you break a hip the world starts to measure you for a pine box. Maybe I’d get more respect if I started to wear some Spandex and too much Make-up.

Maybe a little glitter.

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I Can Almost Hear It Now

I KNOW…I KNOW. WE ARE STILL IN WINTER. There is snow on the ground and the first Robin of Spring is still frozen solid, but I just gotta talk about Baseball.

Spring Training is underway as players descend on Florida and Arizona to get into condition and to fight for their jobs against up and coming youngsters and newly acquired veterans holding on for dear life.

Thus has it ever been in the world of Baseball.

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Veeck (As In Wreck)

THERE ARE INVENTORS, CREATORS, AND INNOVATORS and then there was Bill Veeck.

If you are a baseball fan, a REAL baseball fan, you already know about Bill Veeck. Even if you are just a casual fan of The Game you are aware of his influence of the game.

The ivy on the walls of Chicago’s Wrigley Field? Thank Bill Veeck. That was his idea. He was always coming up with something. Honestly however, not all of his ideas were successful or appreciated.

Veeck would tell the story that in the early 1940s, when he was part owner of the minor league Milwaukee Brewers; he installed a portable screen that raised the height of the outfield wall. When the opposing team was at bat the screen would go up – and it was lowered when the Brewers were at bat. That lasted all of one day before the league banned it.

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Waking Up From A Dream

I REALLY HAVEN’T WRITTEN MUCH ABOUT MY SAN FRANCISCO GIANTS LATELY. There is a good reason – they are not having a good year. No, it’s worse than that – they are stinking up the joint.

For the first time since the 1980s they have a chance to lose 100 games this season. That hurts.

I remember going out to games at the old Candlestick Park and watching them lose day after day. It was not easy to be a witness to that. Since then they have had some glorious years – winning three World Series rings in a three year period. But that was then and this is now.

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A Few Days For Ourselves

LOUISVILLE – WHICH IS NOT PRONOUNCED “LOUIE-VILLE,” is where we have been for a nice long weekend. 3 ½ days is not long enough to really qualify as a real vacation, but you take what you can.

This long weekend is our first real time just for ourselves since our Ireland trip last year. For this trip we had no meetings or family obligations.

 We had not made any plans for our trip beyond Sleep, Eat, Nap, Eat, Sleep, etc – plus two actual things to do that would require putting on our shoes.

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Throwback Thursday From May 2015 – “I Have No Rational Explanation”

Throwback Thursday

barroom-brawlWHAT WITH ALL OF THE TALK and remembrances yesterday about various bars (Where I was never actually thrown out) it stirred up a cauldron of memories.

That can be either good or bad. I’d even settle for innocuous.

I used to work with a fellow in Cleveland, let’s call him “Jim” because that was his name. Jim was an intelligent, hardworking guy who had a cadre of friends that I could only describe as “Freakin’ Nuts.” Jim liked me and on occasion he would invite me along for an evening of hijinks and alcohol.

I’ve never been much of a drinker. I don’t like the way most drinks taste, the way they make me feel or how much it costs to get me into such bad shape.

I haven’t had anything to drink in close to 10 years now, but “Back in the day” it was another story.

For reasons I never could deduce Jim said that he was a hockey fan. There was no hockey team in Cleveland. Jim had never played hockey. He couldn’t even tell me the name of any NHL hockey team. That didn’t seem to matter. Jim had found a bona fide “Hockey Bar” where he fit right in.

The first time I went with Jim to his favorite hockey bar we arrived just in time for their favorite sporting event: Golf.

Of course, their version of Golf varied from the standard game played on grassy courses worldwide.

The hockey bar was located on one of the busiest streets in the City of Cleveland. A mere detail to the members of the DGA (Drunken Golfers Association).

Their game was more about accuracy than distance. The first and only tee was one of the rubber floor mats from behind the bar. It was relocated to just inside the front door of the tavern. With the golf ball teed up the object was, using only a nine-iron, to hit said golf ball into the air, over the heavy traffic, and to see who could come the closest to the front windows of the K Mart across the street.

I know, I know. This whole concept was a bagful of flaws just waiting to be opened.

Abandoning all good sense I just sat at the bar and watched. When they abruptly slammed the front door and hid the golf club behind the Juke Box I assumed that someone had gotten a little too close to the K Mart. At least that is what the police asserted when they arrived.

Jim decided, after the Pabst Blue Ribbon Open Golf Tournament ended suddenly, that it was time for us to go. It was the only good decision made that night.

However…

Being a man with a sometimes inconvenient bladder I told Jim that I needed to hit the Men’s Room before heading out. In retrospect I should have just grit my teeth and probably wet myself.

When I opened the door to the Men’s I headed straight for my objective. It wasn’t until I tried to wash my hands that I saw – I swear to God Almighty that I’m not making this up – standing on the counter next to the sink was a dead pig. A dead pig with a lit cigarette in its mouth.

I don’t know.

Don’t ask me.

I didn’t try to find out.

I never went back to that hockey bar again. I felt that it could only go downhill from there.

This is a Stunt Pig for purposes of illustration.

A New Game In Town

IF THERE IS ONE THING YOU CAN SAY about Terre Haute (That’s French for “What time does the game start?”) it is that this town loves Sports. Basketball is the King of Sports around here. It is as close to a secular religion as one can get without taking vows. After basketball you can always find an organized football game going on any time of year.

Terre Haute is the home of the Terre Haute Rex minor league baseball team. Just about any sport you can name will find avid aficionados here along the banks of the Wabash, but now a newcomer has joined the list of sports being enjoyed here: Cricket.

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A Fact Finding Mission

boxingWAIT! WAIT! LET ME HEAR THAT AGAIN!

This morning as I was sitting on the edge of the bed, barely awake, and still trying to figure out how socks work, I thought I heard something.

I had the TV on and there was an ad running for a local Terre Haute (That’s French for, “We need more wrapping paper.”) store – a place called Boot City. They sell boots and then some.

Doing the commercial was a young lady (obviously a relative of somebody from the store) and she was doing her best “I’m just a little ol’ country girl” accent. In her best Daisy Duke impression she rattled off a list of what they sold at the store.

And that was where either my brain shorted out or Boot City was branching out.

“We have over six million pairs of boots, and thirteen million pairs of denim jeans. We also have tons of Cowboy Jewelry.” (That alone should have gotten my attention.) Then she added something to the inventory that had me dropping my socks.

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Maz, The Mick, And Me

ball1IT IS APPROXIMATELY 4 ½ MONTHS BEFORE BASEBALL SEASON BEGINS AGAIN. Until then the skies will be overcast, the winds will blow cold and nothing in the Universe will be quite right.

But, don’t think that I miss it all that much.

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