Baseball, Life, and Other Stuff

The Music of Love

We will get back to baseball on Monday, but as I am still basking in the glow of Wedding Week, I thought that I would share an observation inspired by Becky and Jesse's wedding.  The music that they selected for the reception was a wonderful blend of eras and moods.  Their first dance was to "Lucky," a current love song for lovers of any age; and indeed, there were lovers of many ages at the wedding from Becky and Jesse up to Martha's Aunt Alice and Uncle Jack, and Aunt Jo and Uncle Bob who have been married 51 and 52 years respectively.

What was interesting to me was that when the DJ played Rod Stewart's version of the classic "These Foolish Things," I looked around the dance floor to discover that it was Martha and me, and the 5 groomsmen and their dates.  Just us and the kids!  There is something about the songs, particularly the love songs of the '30s and the WWII era that command attention from the grandchildren of the vets who fought that war.  I think it is the fact, that so many of those songs were written for adults.  They contain images and suggest moods that only those who have lived some and loved a great deal can truly appreciate.  We can continue this discussion of music in the future.  For now, however, let's end Wedding Week with that classic song to which I referred and dedicate it to lovers of all ages, most especially the newest pair, Becky and Jesse.

As I Looked Into My Angel's Eyes

I've never seen my little girl look so happy.  "Stunning" is a word often used to describe the appearance of brides, and I was stunned all right, but not by her beauty.  Her beauty is familiar to me on a daily basis.  It was the happiness that radiated from her heart and through her eyes and her smile that made her so stunning.  I'm still in awe and so grateful that she found a man who makes her feel this way.

Never was her happiness more apparent than when the officiant reached that part of the ceremony that began with the words, "And now by the power vested in me by the Commonwealth of Virginia . . ."  As these words were spoken, Becky's smile broadened even further, which seemed impossible, and even more light came into her eyes.  She seemed to rise up on her tiptoes anticipating the words that would follow, signifying the very moment that she would become Mrs. Jesse Dice.  It was as if--and I know she will appreciate the analogy--she had risen to watch a soaring, game-winning home run; the kind that you know is going out, but is hit so high it takes a bit longer to leave the park.  The kind that allows you to enjoy a moment of anticipation before the moment of joy.  I've never seen that reaction in a bride or a groom before.

I had said in an earlier entry on October 9th that I didn't think that the ceremony would be emotional for me, but that the traditional father/daughter dance might be, especially since the song we chose was "The Riddle."  I didn't want to become overwhelmed on the dance floor because I wanted to stay in that moment.

The batter swings and the summer flies

As I look into my angel's eyes

And I did, as those words floated through the hall.  If a picture is worth a thousand words, then the look that Becky gave me at that moment was worth a million.

Of course, reflecting on that moment and so many others from the wedding is a different story, and should "The Riddle" start playing on the radio when I am driving down the road, I'll need windshield wipers for my face.  And they won't be set on intermittent, either.

Then there was Sarah's toast, telling her sister that she loved her and telling Jesse that he is the big brother that she always wanted.  I could go on and on, but here.  I probably should have just posted the following photo with no commentary.  It says it all:

Photo courtesy of Aunt Terri.

The Fisherman

Good morning, faithful readers!  There has not been any time (or energy) to put down any reflections about Jesse and Becky's wedding yet; expect them in my next entry.  Suffice it to say it was wonderful and while I remember very little about my own wedding, I'll recall a thousand moments from theirs.  Therefore, I'll present something that I haven't presented, heretofore:  a poem.  If you like it, I did indeed, write it.  If you don't, the author is anonymous.

The Fisherman

Cigar, solitude, and a day off work;

The fisherman had it all

Except a fish.

I watched him as he cast his baited hook into the languid Potomac

And I realized that he was, indeed, a wise man

For clearly, he didn't care about the fish.

Game 4 Goofiness

Yes, Becky is getting married tomorrow, but there are still many important world events taking place that deserve to be blogged about.  Of course, by "important world events" I mean the baseball playoffs and if you were watching, then you know that Game #4 of the ALCS deserves special commentary.

The highlight of the game was seeing Umpire Tim McClelland's version of "Who's On Third?"  In yet another example of atrocious baserunning, the Yankees Jorge Posada was being chased back to third as teammate Robinson Cano made his way there from second on a comebacker.  Posada had broken for home on contact, which was fine, and it was fine that he allowed himself to be put out while Cano advanced a base.  However, it was definitely NOT fine when Posada overran third base and Cano pulled up short, so that no one was occupying third.  Angel catcher Mike Napoli, who had been chasing Posada, alertly tagged them both.  McClelland, who was all of 5 feet from the play called Posada out, but Cano safe, saying later that he essentially just figured that Cano was on the bag.

Of course, earlier in the game, McClelland ruled that Nick Swisher had left third too soon on a fly ball, when the replays showed that 1) he in fact, did not and 2) that McClelland wasn't even looking at Swisher during the play!  For his part, Swisher shouldn't have even been on the bases because a couple batters before, he had been picked off second by a wide margin, but was ruled safe by second base umpire Dale Scott.

Major League Baseball issued a statement yesterday, saying that McClelland would not be allowed to yell, "Hey Abbott!!!" rather than "Play ball!" to start the game.  Neither McClelland, nor his seeing-eye dog, Polyphemus had any comment.

The umpiring errors which have occurred throughout the playoffs demonstrates the need for instant replay in baseball--to evaluate umpires at the end of the season.

And speaking of umpires, why was it up to Napoli to adjust his crouch behind the plate to allow home plate umpire Jerry Layne to see the pitches?  Hey, Jerry, how about standing up straighter so that you can see over the catcher?  How about losing 60 pounds so you can see your feet?

Posada wasn't really with it during the whole game either, as later in the contest, he headed for the dugout after the Yankees turned a double-play.  The only trouble was that those were the first two outs of the innning and there was still a runner on third.

While nauseating to see the Yankees win, it was refreshing to watch C. C. Sabathia throw 8 excellent innings on only three days rest.  Attention MLB owners and general managers:  Everyone used to do it this way.  That's one of the reasons pitching was better 40 years ago.

It was also nauseating to watch Scott Kazmir pitch.  Requiring 80-some pitches to record 10 outs, Kazmir kept launching balls into the dirt and running up full counts while taking forever between pitches.  Napoli had to make so many trips to the mound, and block so many balls with his body, that it's a wonder he didn't collapse from exhaustion by the 5th.

Did anyone else spot Pat Sajak and Kurt Russell in those dugout seats behind home plate?  Those have to be the worst seats in the house because the only view those folks have of the plate is the southern end of a north-facing umpire.

Finally, I do have acknowledge Tim McCarver for providing insight in a way that gave credit to his audience for being both observant and knowledgable.  Glad you dropped that, "I'm the only person in the stadium who knows what's going on!!!" approach, Tim.  Keep it up.

The Moment Arrived Last Friday

I walked out through the back door and up the driveway to get the morning paper last Friday, just as I do almost every morning and it hit me:  Becky's wedding is in a week and a day.  Perhaps it hit me because the quiet of the morning reflected the quiet that had descended upon the house last week.  All the planning and worrying and running around on the part of the bride (and, therefore, the groom) that has been taking place since graduation in May ceased last week.  In this time immediately before the wedding, even the smallest part of life's routine--such as getting the paper--does not seem routine at all.

For example, yesterday, I got a hair cut because, well, I needed a hair cut, only this became my haircut for the wedding.  The next time I get a hair cut, Becky and Jesse will be back from the honeymoon and establishing their own routines and I suppose, we'll be adjusting ours.  The spotlight that we shine on big events also illuminates the fact that every event, even little ones, take place in a single moment that is connected to all the other moments big and small.  To remember that is to remember that all of life, therefore is "momentous."

It is interesting how people at weddings and other similar occasions will say to the featured party, "Oh, I'm so happy for you!" which does not indicate at all how they feel for themselves.  Well, I am happy for Becky and Jesse, immensely so.  I am happy too, but this wedding also leaves me bewildered; I'm bewildered because I can't get over the fact that the further downstream one floats on the river of time, the faster the current.

Perhaps my bewilderment stems from the fact that there are no more moments to be gathered from the Time Before the wedding such as taking Becky to the bus stop for first grade to packing up all her stuff and moving it home from Roanoke College.  I know that there are many wonderful moments yet to be collected--I can imagine many, and I can't wait for those delightful ones that I can't imagine, but right now, I'm in between and it is very quiet around here . . .

America's Birthday

Happy Birthday, America!  Most people believe that America was "born" on July 4, 1776, but that is our country's conception day, so to speak.  Several times over the course of the next 5 years, it appeared that the United States would be still-born, but with a steady George Washington as mid-wife, America drew her first breath on this day in 1781, for today marks the British surrender at Yorktown.

We tend to look back on history as a series of foregone conclusions, but that is a mistake.  There was nothing certain about America's existence.  To read the history of America's Revolution is to read a story so preposterous that it's hard to realize that it's all true.  The escape from New York, the victories at Trenton and Princeton, the struggle at Valley Forge . . .

Yorktown, Virginia is still a very small town surrounded by the national park.  The surrender field has been kept intact and very little traffic mars the profound stillness that covers it.  An octagon has been built overlooking that field, a temple as it were that provides a view of where a miracle took place.

While you're in Williamsburg visiting Busch Gardens and Water Country USA and the pottery store, take the time to venture out to Yorktown and contemplate the siege lines and that empty surrender field.  Allow your imagination to fill in what it must have looked like, what it must have felt like to be there on America's birthday and I suspect you'll enjoy a thrill greater than any roller coaster could give you.

 

British Redoubt #9.  When the French seized this position; and the Americans, under Alexander Hamilton, took Redoubt #10 on the night of October 14, the end of the Revolution was in sight.

"Bobbing Head Statuettes"!

Wow!  There is much to say about this old order form c. 1963 or 1964 for "bobbing head statuettes"!  I'm not sure of the etymological evolution that left us with "bobble heads," but while the new term is less clumsy, there is something classy about owning a "statuette."  Furthermore, check out those prices!  Any bobbing head only cost $1.00 and you could get an entire league set for only $9.00.  Wonder what the set is worth now?  You'll note that the 4 1/2" statuettes have a magnet in the base.  Anyone my age knows what that was for:  It allowed you to stick it on the steel dash of your all-steel, 20' long, chrome-rigged, non-seat belted American car.

These bobbing heads were made of some kind of plaster or paper mache, back in the day before resin.  This explains why my Oriole bobbing head has a dent in the bill of its cap.  Hmmm, and upon closer inspection, I see that he has been glued back together just below the knees, by my late father, no doubt.  I can only imagine the crying I did the day that fell off the shelf.

I know I'm prejudiced, but the Oriole bobbing head does stand out, doesn't it?  You also have to love the Indians and Braves bobbing heads, which are 3-D representations of the teams' respective logos.  And Cincinatti's 1876 Baseball Head is a classic, too.

As you can see, Sport Products Co. not only offered team bobbing heads, but bobbing heads of Roger Maris and Mickey Mantle, although they could just as easily be Ray Boone of the Indians or Richard Boone of Have Gun Will Travel, for all they look like Maris and Mantle.

If anyone out there owns one of these babies or something similar, send me a photo!  Heck, tell me the story of your bobbing head as I'm certainly open to guest bloggers.  After all, if you still have something like this from your childhood, then you definitely have something to say about baseball, life, and other stuff, since such a keepsake represents all three subjects.

Thoughts on the Divisional Series

The Divisional Series have concluded and they provided some highly entertaining, if not well-played  baseball.  When did the base-running in the big leagues become so atrocious?

It was wonderful to see "the genius" Tony LaRussa get shot down in three straight games.  LaRussa overmanages more than anyone in baseball and is the most overrated skipper since Gene Mauch.

It was also wonderful to see the Red Sox fall down in three straight, especially with Jonathon Papelbon taking the loss in game #3.  There's something about that guy that I don't like.  I don't know what it is . . . maybe it's that stupid face he makes before every pitch.  He just gives off the vibe of being a knothead.  The Angels invasion of Red Sox nation was the most successful push since Germany invaded France.  That took three days, too, didn't it?  In any case, everyone here in Williamsport has extra incentive to root for the Angels . . .

The broadcast teams were solid and spoke to us as if we actually know something about the game.  Buck Martinez is especially insightful.  God help us when Fox's Joe Buck and Tim McCarver start blathering on as though none of us knows in which direction first base lies.  If there's a full count in the first inning, you'd think that we had arrived at the most important post-season moment since Babe Ruth called his home run in 1932.  By the way, Tim, you're not funny.

By far the best commercial was the one for MLB featuring the 1991 Twins winning the World Series and the cutaway shot to young Joe Mauer who, we are told was trying to get in to see it.  Now, of course, he will do everything he can to make sure he sees it.  Finally, MLB has done something to market what baseball is truly all about.

The worst commercial was for Viagra in which a guy is walking down the street, sees his reflection in a store window, and the reflection starts talking to him about their erectile dysfunction. . . . You know, I was going to comment further on this commercial, but upon writing "the reflection starts talking to him about their erectile dysfunction" what else is there to say?

Bring on the Championship Series!

Even the Manners Were Reenacted

A trip to Byron Memorial Park in Williamsport this weekend was a trip back to the days of World War II.  Many reenactors displayed uniforms, tents, jeeps, mortars, medical gear, and a variety of weapons that brought about Allied victory.  The event that really took folks back in time was a USO dance in the massive Springfield barn on Saturday night.

Perhaps half a dozen soldiers stood at the entrance, which immediately made the mood.  Taking us further back in time was the excellent band, Jump Alley, that dressed the part and played such '40s favorites as "I'll Be Seeing You," "Sentimental Journey," and "Chattanooga Choo-Choo."  Many dancers, both men and women were in period uniforms or civilian dress.  A couple of ladies even wore hose with seams up the back.  The most exciting element of the evening was the dancing of the Hub City Lindy Hoppers.  Their moves were amazing, featuring twists, spins, and routines that made us feel as if we were on a movie set.  The ladies were often lifted into the air and twirled over the backs of their zoot-suited gentlemen friends!

The most inspiring moment of the evening occurred when Jump Alley played a medley of service songs and asked armed forces members and former members to stand whenever the song representing their particular branch was played.  At the end of the medley, the band played "God Bless America" with an up-tempo beat and everyone stood.  At that moment, there were no Democrats or Republicans in the room, only Americans.

Nothing made us feel as if we had traveled backwards in time more than witnessing a reenactor of perhaps 16 years, dancing with a young lady, to whom he bowed and said, "Thank you" upon the conclusion of the dance.  Old times, indeed.

 

Reenactors in Byron Memorial Park, Williamsport, MD

Wedding Reflections

Two weeks from tomorrow Becky and Jesse Dice will be married.  Much to my surprise, I haven't posted any musings on the subject and I think that part of the reason is that when you live at Ground Zero for all wedding planning, there are so many details and so much anguishing pertaining thereto, that there is no energy left for any sentimental reflection.  This is, I think, a good thing.  It tends to keep one from wandering around in an emotional stupor, especially if that "one" is the father of the bride.

For a long time, I imagined myself being overwhelmed with emotion when it would come time to escort Becky down the aisle, but now I don't think that will happen.  This is because the ceremony is part of the "show," and I don't mean that in any condescending way.  Martha and I will be sitting there sweating out the enactment of those ceremonial details:  Will they remember their vows?  Did Sarah remember the ring?  Did the photographer get that shot?  When's the DJ getting here?

No, I think the moment will strike during that daddy/daughter first dance, when Becky and I will be alone on the dance floor; when whatever detail hasn't been attended to will remain forever incomplete.  This is especially true since we have selected "The Riddle" as the song to which we will dance.  Those of you who know me and know that one line in the song are right now saying to yourselves, "Oh, man!"

~The batter swings and the summer flies~

That line gets to me when I think about the end of the baseball season much less so I can only imagine how it will affect me on the 24th!  Baseball has always been a special connection for Becky and me anyway.  I coached her in Little League, I watched her perform as a Hagerstown Suns promo girl, and I taught her to keep score at Rebels' games.  I have this feeling that many summers will fly before my eyes out there on the dance floor.

In any case, there has been one little detail that has given me a reflective pause: Those boxes, packed with stuff that is going from Becky's room to the Dice's apartment seemed to whisper, "This chapter's coming to an end, Dad!  Time to start writing a new one," every time that I walked past them.  Well, I'm looking forward to "reading" it, especially knowing that Becky couldn't have picked a better co-author.

Two weeks and counting . . .