Baseball, Life, and Other Stuff

The History of . . . the Dirty Face

Readers of this blog know that I enjoy history and therefore, will not be surprised to learn that I watched the first episode of the History Channel's The History of Us this past Sunday night.  It's no small feat, attempting to tell the history of the United States in a series of two-hour episodes.  The premiere installment, which covered the time from Jamestown through Yorktown, was generally well-done and the reenacted scenes were particularly colorful, and to my amateur eye, accurate.  The program brought out the importance of relatively little known figures such as Baron Von Steuben and Daniel Morgan, as well as that of relatively little known events, such as the American victory at Saratoga.  Especially well done was the discussion of natural rights as espoused by the Declaration of Independence.

An interesting array of commentators, many of whom are journalists or politicians, appear throughout the program.  One in particular stood out, however, a Marine sergeant.  He looked every bit a Marine, as though his visage had been chiseled from granite; his battle ribbons filled the entire left side of his chest and his uniform was so sharply creased that appeared as if it could slice an orange.  He spoke about Washington's leadership at Valley Forge, concluding with the (paraphrased) words, "I wish I could have been there to have seen it.  I wish I could have served under him."  This was the most inspiring statement in the entire two hours.

One noticeable error occurred during the recreation of Paul Revere's Ride, when the actor playing Revere uttered the famous and incorrect line, "The British are coming!"  What Revere actually said was "The Redcoats [or Regulars] are coming!"  This is because Revere and all the other "Americans" at that time were still British subjects and thought of themselves as such.  Indeed, Revere's ride took place almost 15 months before the Declaration of Independence.  For an excellent discussion of this fact and the entire history of the occasion, read Paul Revere's Ride by David Hackett Fischer.

There was one element of the show, however, that went from noticeable to annoying to hilarious and, therefore, tended to distract from the information itself.  Every single reenactor was made up to have the dirtiest face possible.  Faces were smudged and streaked in ways that real dirt just does not smudge and streak.  It would be understandable for scenes of Valley Forge, but even scenes depicting the Continental Congress made it appear as if the delegates had chased each other through Independence Hall with their quill pens and ink pots, trying to draw whiskers on one another.

If you missed the first episode of The History of Us, the "us" apparently being the great unwashed, then it is being rebroadcast tomorrow night at 10:00.  It is worth your time if you want a refresher on American history, but it will want to make you take a bath by the time you finish viewing.

Last Night's Capitals' Game

The Editor of this blog would again like to apologize for the fact that our staff cartoonist has not improved any since his last effort.

Happy Birthday, Ann-Margret!

My second favorite redhead turns 69 today!  Ann-Margret is famous for her roles in movies such as Bye, Bye Birdie and Viva Las Vegas.  Those who think that her acting career was mere fluff should recall that she was twice nominated for an Academy Award for her performances in Carnal Knowledge and Tommy.  As a boy growing up, all I knew of was her stunning beauty.  What has impressed me most over the years about Ann-Margret Olsson, however, is that her stunning beauty seems to shine as brightly on the inside as on the outside.

Ann-Margret was a stalwart supporter of our soldiers in Viet Nam.  First performing with Bob Hope in 1966, she has remained inspired by the sacrifice of "her gentlemen from Viet Nam."  You won't find any self-serving tributes from vets to Ann-Margret on her website.  You will find her very brief Viet Nam Veterans Reunion speech from 2005 which I encourage all of you to read.  And for those of you who have heard the story of Ann signing an old photo for a vet at a book signing and making him the center of attention, well truthorfiction.com has researched the story and found it to be true.

So, here's to Ann-Margret, who never let her looks or her success alter her values and appreciation for what others were doing for her.

Alas, Poor Shirt; We Hardly Knew Ye

Montreal has tied the series with the Capitals.  The Shirt is done.  Our staff cartoonist has summed up the situation better than any writer could.

(The Editor would like to apologize to Melissa Dodge for the rendition of her arm in this illustration.  Her arm hasn't been broken in 12 places and her fingers aren't pointy.  Our staff cartoonist isn't very good. . . . He stinks, really.)

Please Relief Me

Is there no one in professional baseball who can see that the way bullpens are used today is totally ridiculous?  Every team now has a left-handed specialist, a right-handed specialist, a 7th inning guy, an 8th inning guy, and a closer.  These roles start in the lowest minors and continue right through the big leagues until a pitcher is brainwashed into thinking that indeed, he is an 8th inning pitcher.  Bring this brainwashed hurler into the 9th inning with the game on the line and you just about have to show him in which direction home plate lies.  An out is an out, boys! 

Modern scoring helps promote this silliness given how the "save" is defined.  If a pitcher begins the 9th with a 3 run lead, he can give up two (giving him an ERA of 18.00) and still record a save.  Naturally, if one pitcher is designated as the 9th inning guy, this creates a domino effect of "roles."  How about this for a role:  A relief pitcher's role is to keep getting outs until the game is over, the same role as the starting pitcher!

Nothing illustrates the idiocy of modern bullpen management like a couple of examples that occurred in two different ballgames yesterday.

In the Oriole/Red Sox game, Boston hurler Daniel Bard struck out the side in the top of the 9th.  For this sterling performance, he was  removed in favor of Scott Atchison who began the 10th.  Atchison promptly gave up 3 runs and the Red Sox lost the game.  The guy strikes out the side and Terry Francona removes him???

In the Frederick Keys game, Keys reliever Brandon Cooney came on in the top of the 8th to record the final out of the inning and preserve a 7-4 Frederick lead.  The Keys then go on to score 8 runs in the bottom of the 8th to go ahead 15-4.  Conney pitches the 9th and gets credit for a save!  This is because Cooney entered the game with the tying run in the on-deck circle and then finished the game. The tying run wasn't even at the plate!  He could have given up 10 runs in the 9th and still been credited with a save.

Give us relief from the modern bullpens.

Dodging a Loss With a Rockin' Red Shirt

It is abundantly clear to the Gisriel family why the Washington Capitals have taken a commanding 3-1 lead over the Montreal Canadians in the opening round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs.  It is because Melissa Dodge, Rebel Team Photographer Extraordinaire, is wearing a magical shirt.

You see, Charlie and Melissa spent last Saturday night at our house after attending a wedding over in Myersville, MD.  They arrived during the 3rd period with the Caps trailing 4-3.  They sat down and, of course, we agreed that if the Caps scored, then they could not switch seats.  Indeed, the Caps tied it, but with a little more than 5 minutes to go, Montreal went ahead.  Clearly, there was no Cosmic Influence coming from the chairs and so the Dodges felt free to get up and change out of their good clothes and into their play clothes.  (You have to be of an age to understand those terms.)  Melissa came back to the living room in a Caps crimson tee shirt and in no time, defenseman John Carlson sent a rocket to the back of the net with precious little time remaining to tie it for Washington.  We all recognized immediately that the Cosmic Influence was coming from the shirt.

For you doubters, consider this:  Melissa has donned The Shirt (unwashed, of course, lest the magic rinse, spin, and cycle, down the drain) for each of the last two games against Montreal and each time the Caps have won.  Naturally, tonight she will be wearing it again.  Charlie, meanwhile, will be attending the game with their son Noah.  Should Washington lose, then we'll know that Charlie must be in close proximity to The Shirt for it to work its magic.  I'm confident, however, that the shirt is independently powerful.  Way to go, Melissa!

P. S.  Does anyone have a magic shirt to wear for the Orioles?

Pragmatism and Politics

Monday I wrote about how rooting for a sports team is like belonging to a tribe.  Unfortunately, we think this way far too often when it comes to politics, rooting for Team Republican or Team Democrat, when we should be rooting for what works.  Chris Graham at Augusta Free Press was kind enough to publish an essay of mine on this subject entitled, "Pragmatism and Politics."  To read it, please click here.

For those of you who've had too much politics lately, and I can certainly understand, here's a nice photo of the lacrosse stadium at Roanoke College:  

Love, Birds

From the time I began following the Orioles in 1964 when I was 7, to 1985, my sixth year of marriage, the Orioles suffered through only 1 losing season.  I lived 30 minutes from Memorial Stadium; Brooks Robinson came to our Little League opener one year.  Reliever Dick Hall used to bring his copies of World Series films to our junior high for us to watch when it was too wet and rainy to go outside for gym class.  It was a wonderful, glorious time to be a child, learning to be an Orioles fan.

Being a fan of a team touches a deep archetype within us, a primal instinct to belong to a tribe.  We paint ourselves in the tribe's colors and repeat the legends and myths of our heroes.  We celebrate the important anniversaries of our tribe's history.  When we travel into foreign territory, say on vacation, we take comfort at the site of a fellow tribesman whom we identify by his orange and black.  We nod, smile and then celebrate or commiserate as the case may be.  This is especially true of people who were born into the tribe as I was.

The Orioles, of course, have begun the season 1-11.  They have lost 3 times when leading after 8 innings, a sickening occurrence that happened only 4 times all of last year.  While some fans have become angry because the team has let them down, those of us in whom the primal instinct runs deep, wonder what we have done to let the team down.  Maybe we sat in the wrong chair, turned the game on too late or too soon or wore the wrong shirt.  No amount of logic or education can get us over this notion that we share in the failure.  With every loss, we have fewer and fewer tribesmen on whom we can count to help us carry the embarrassment.

Dealing with such losing actually gets harder as you get older.  I lived through the 0-21 start of 1988 and believed that the next game was the game that would turn the team around; that we were about to see the game that would begin a winning streak, that would be a good sign for next year.  Experience tends to dampen that kind of optimism.

As I write this, the Orioles are leading 8-3 against Oakland late on Sunday afternoon, but with one out in the bottom of the 9th, the A's got a base runner.  Immediately, Becky said, "If they lose this game, I don't think I can watch the Orioles for the rest of the season."*

The fun is out of this season already.  I can't watch Baseball Tonight because my tribe's embarrassment is there for all the other tribes to see.  That's my embarrassment.  If you're not a fan, you probably think that I'm crazy.  If you're a regular fan, you vaguely understand what I'm talking about.  If you're a real fan, a primitive fan, then you know exactly how I feel.

*The Orioles won 8-3, running their record to 2-11.  I think this is the beginning of a roll . . .  It's early in the season . . . The percentages are in our favor . . . By next Sunday, we'll all be anxiously awaiting Baseball Tonight.

Happy Birthday, Sarah!

 

Sarah Elizabeth Gisriel turns 18 years old tomorrow.  It has been fun, fascinating, and exasperating watching her grow over the years. I suppose all parents who marvel at the changes that take place in that innocent little bundle, fresh from the hospital, feel this way.

She has learned so many life lessons in just 18 years about other people and about herself.

She holds on to some things so tightly; the little stuffed bear--"Da-doh"--seen here in her crib, still has a place in her bed.

Other things she has never bothered to embrace.  What do you need shelves for when the floor holds stuff just as well?

And it's a wonder that at 3 years old, she was not trying on a hard hat because that's about the time that she decided that she would take the road less traveled even if there was a brick wall across that road and she had to run her head through it.

During all this time that Sarah has been learning, she's been teaching, too.  I've learned that she is a hard worker; I would never have survived 10 months and counting at Dairy Queen as she has done.  I've learned to appreciate the perspective of a visual artist, for whatever Sarah may do in life, she is in fact, an artist.  I've learned that viewing the world differently (sometimes, real differently) is not only acceptable (actually, that one took a while for me) but valuable.

I've even learned that you can be a good person who's fun to be around even if you DON'T like baseball all that much.

It's hard to watch her run her head through that wall as I stand on the side of her chosen path, pointing out that a two-step detour would  save her a headache.  Lately, I've tried to yell fewer instructions and instead quietly point the way.  We clash less now, I think.  I marvel at what the next 18 years will bring; or even simply the next year.  I can't wait to see and yet, I'm in no hurry . . .

May tomorrow be all that you hope for, Sarah, and all that you deserve.  We love you.

"Twitter" is Aptly Named

One of the most oft repeated pieces of advice that is given to writers these days by bloggers, speakers, publishers, and agents is that in publicizing ourselves, we should take advantage of the new "social media," including Twitter.  This strikes me as completely bizarre.  I can understand the use of Twitter as sort of an instant electronic bulletin board which might contain a useful message such as "Game called on account of rain."  Otherwise, I don't understand the point.  I just can't imagine that anyone would want to read about the process of my writing--140 characters at a time.

Hey everyone, after 15 minutes of agonizing, I decided to change a semi-colon in the last paragraph to a comma.

Did anyone need to know that?  Does anyone care?  I don't even care.  (For the record, that was just an example.  I don't agonize over punctuation in any case, especially commas.  I'll throw in a comma every now and then at random just to show that I keep a supply at the house, but otherwise, I'm not particularly concerned about them.)

Actually, I can think of one Twitter message that I would send in order to publicize myself:  Buy my book!  If you already bought one, buy two for your friends.  If you've done that, buy 2 more for the friends you haven't made yet.

As communication technology grows increasingly accessible we have fewer intelligent thoughts to communicate and Twitter seems to be the ultimate example of that premise.  The current commercial for a new phone (Verizon?) actually makes fun of the banality of most Twitter messages with a newsman at a desk saying something to the effect of "This just in:  Mary is psyched for sandals weather."

At least this new technology is aptly named:  Twitter is for twits.

P. S.  If any of my readers Twitter, then I sort of apologize.  And buy my book.