I don't care if you celebrate Christmas. I don't care if you're offended by something so simple as the mention of the word. I don't care what you think at all.
I want Christ to bless you this Christmas regardless.
Merry Christmas!
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Friday, December 22, 2006
Quote of the Week
"Christmas is a time when people of all religions come together to worship Jesus Christ." - Matt Groenig
Saturday, December 16, 2006
A Salute To My Enemy
Jeff Bagwell is retiring from baseball, and despite my hatred for all things Houston Astros, I will pay him this compliment: I always held my breath when Bags stepped to the plate against my beloved Redbirds.
Stamp your ticket for Cooperstown Jeff, and thanx for many years of spirited competition.
Stamp your ticket for Cooperstown Jeff, and thanx for many years of spirited competition.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
From the Airwaves
Recently heard on O'Hare ground control frequency on a day when weather sucked and the visibility was extremely low:
Controler: "United 1234, where are you and what are you doing?"
United 1234: "I'm in the cockpit reading the newspaper. How about you?"
Controler: "United 1234, where are you and what are you doing?"
United 1234: "I'm in the cockpit reading the newspaper. How about you?"
Quote of the Week
"Never allow the airplane to take you to a place your mind has not already visited 5 minutes earlier." - Aviation Truism
Friday, December 08, 2006
Drum On
"The Little Drummer Boy"
Come they told me
pa ra pa pum pum
Our newborne King to see
pa ra pa pum pum
Our finest gifts we bring
pa ra pa pum pum
To lay before the King
pa ra pa pum pum ra pa pum pum
So to honor him
pa ra pa pum pum
When we come.
Baby Jesus
pa ra pa pum pum
I am a poor boy too
pa ra pa pum pum
I have no gifts to bring
pa ra pa pum pum
That's fit to give a king
pa ra pa pum pum ra pa pum pum
Shall I play for you
pa ra pa pum pum
On my drum?
Mary nodded
pa ra pa pum pum
The ox and lamb kept time
pa ra pa pum pum
I played my drum for him
pa ra pa pum pum
I played my best for him
pa ra pa pum pum ra pa pum pum
Then he smiled at me
pa ra pa pum pum
Me and my drum.
You're probably wondering why I took to the time to spill out the lyrics to this famous Christmas song here. The reason is that it is my personal favorite Christmas song. (It also happens to be my mother's favorite.) The music is catchy and the sung out drum line is entertaining, but the message in the song is what grabs me.
Essentially, the song tells a story. Here is a poor little boy who probably has nothing in the world besides his drum. I imagine the drum is old, dirty, and considerably worn. None-the-less, the boy is invited, as all of us are, to go and see Jesus. It is an interesting picture if you think about it: Three Kings from the east bearing fine gifts and a haggard-looking local beggar boy with a drum. Different as they are, they are all called to the baby Christ.
Three wealthy Magi arrive at a manger, and deliver three kingly gifts to the newborn savior of the world. Tagging along is a poor boy with no gift to give. What possible gift could he bring? Unbeknownst to him, he is about to provide the Christ Child with the greatest gift he could ever bestow.
The Lord did not bless the poor boy with wealth. He likely has no education. He may not eat for days. He was, however, blessed with a talent. He plays his drum. He plays his best. And the baby Jesus smiles at him.
To do the best with the talents we are given. Our greatest gift back to the Lord.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
The Pact
The third iteration of the Pact saw Russell and I journey to the hills of San Francisco. No, we did not wear flowers in our hair. Truth be told, Russ doesn't have any hair to wear a flower in anyway. We did, however, have an excellent time in a beautiful city that I had never been to.
Just like the San Diego trip, this journey began with some travel difficulties. Russ, having the entire day off, was going to attempt to visit Santa Ana, CA before heading up to San Francisco. (you pilots out there understand why.) He departed Charlotte, NC, and stopped in Denver and Las Vegas before figuring out he could not make it to SNA, so he headed north to Frisco where he waited 2 hours for my arrival. Theoretically, Russ and I should have arrived at SFO at about the same time. However, westbound departures were stopped at DFW, and my flight sat on the ground for 2 hours before departing for the northwest. 900 miles and 6 hours in the jumpseat later, I greated Russ just outside of gate 63.
With the traveling adventure behind us, we checked into the Sheraton at Fisherman's Wharf. The hotel was well-appointed, and in a great location. We grabbed a remarkably expensive drink at the bar, and hit the sack for what would be a busy second day. Our first order of business the following morning was to take the famous San Francisco cable car to Chinatown. We walked around a bit before settling on a Dim Sum style restaurant to have some lunch. For those of you who don't know, Dim Sum is a kind of moving buffet. Waitresses come to your table with different dishes to show you, and you make your selections. Unfortunately, none of the help speaks very much English. This led to a serious problem. The first woman approached our table with a collection of delicacies, and began pointing at them and babbling in Chinese. I'm not sure why she thought a short hispanic kid and a bald white guy would understand any Chinese, but she tried it anyway. Eventually she started pointing at dishes and saying things like, "Ping tao yea mao tsi chicken." Upon hearing the word, "chicken," I nodded my head and she presented to me a small plate piled high with something I assumed was a strangely breaded and fried dish. She left Russ what we determined to be some BBQ pork, we ordered some shrimp balls, and lunch was served. The shrimp balls were excellent, and Russ approved of his cold but tastey pork dish. The chicken, however, became a source of great amusement for Russell, and great consternation for me. I dipped a weirdly shaped piece of chicken into some dipping sauce, and took a bite. After supressing a gag, I dropped the cold, chewey, clammy, disgusting "chicken" back where it came from. The woman at the table next door must have thought this to be pretty amusing as she leaned over and said, "excuse me sir, those are chicken feet." While Russell began laughing uncontrollably, I merely stared back at the woman. "Chicken feet?" I asked. "Yes, chicken feet," she replied. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I ate chicken feet. I suspect that for as long as I live Russell will not allow me to forget this occurence. In fact, the long list of distinguished nicknames I've acquired in my years now includes "Chicken Feet." Personally, I prefer "Airworthiness."
After paying and departing the chicken feet restaurant, we headed down to the wharf where we boarded a ship on our way to tour Alcatraz Island. Any of you history buffs out there who have not yet experienced this tour need to make the trip. The tour is extraordinary, and the view of San Francisco from the island is breath-taking. "The Rock" was home to such famous criminals as "Machine Gun" Kelley, Robert "The Bird Man" Stroud, and perhaps the most famous gangster of all, Alfonse "Scarface" Capone. The interesting thing about the island, however, is the things that existed there before and during it's years as a federal penitentiary. Originally a military fort, then a military prison, and during it's years in federal service, a home to several families who lived and worked and raised kids on the island. By the way, when I say the view of San Francisco is breath-taking, I mean it will damn near bring you to tears...
Our tour of the rock completed and our journey back to the mainland over, we made our way next door to Pier 39. Upon Pier 39 is built a tourist trap with multiple stores and restaurants. We killed some time here before sitting down at the Neptune Palace restaurant, located at the very tip of the pier. The view was spectacular once again, and the food was equal to the view. We began our traditional splurge of a meal with an excellent pair of dungeoness crab cakes that came prepared with four different dipping sauces, before moving on to two of the finest entrees available. Russell selected the filet mignon and baby lobster tails, and I opted for the half lobster and half dungeoness crab, both steamed and served with mixed veggies and butter. Two words: Double Wow... The meals did not dissapoint in any way shape or form, and dessert held the standard up as well. Russ, as is his habit, chose the creme broule, and I decided on a 7 chocolate cake which was extraordinary. As part of our dinner tradition, Russ and I discussed the possible destinations that have a chance to be a part of Pact trip #4. The short list: Atlanta, San Antonio, Memphis, and Kansas City.
Fat, dumb, and happy, we departed the restaurant, changed clothes at the hotel, and once again boarded the cable car that took us to the BART, which took us to the airport. We parted ways on seperate United red eye flights, his taking him to Dulles and mine taking me to snow-covered Chicago, another Pact journey fullfilled.
Just like the San Diego trip, this journey began with some travel difficulties. Russ, having the entire day off, was going to attempt to visit Santa Ana, CA before heading up to San Francisco. (you pilots out there understand why.) He departed Charlotte, NC, and stopped in Denver and Las Vegas before figuring out he could not make it to SNA, so he headed north to Frisco where he waited 2 hours for my arrival. Theoretically, Russ and I should have arrived at SFO at about the same time. However, westbound departures were stopped at DFW, and my flight sat on the ground for 2 hours before departing for the northwest. 900 miles and 6 hours in the jumpseat later, I greated Russ just outside of gate 63.
With the traveling adventure behind us, we checked into the Sheraton at Fisherman's Wharf. The hotel was well-appointed, and in a great location. We grabbed a remarkably expensive drink at the bar, and hit the sack for what would be a busy second day. Our first order of business the following morning was to take the famous San Francisco cable car to Chinatown. We walked around a bit before settling on a Dim Sum style restaurant to have some lunch. For those of you who don't know, Dim Sum is a kind of moving buffet. Waitresses come to your table with different dishes to show you, and you make your selections. Unfortunately, none of the help speaks very much English. This led to a serious problem. The first woman approached our table with a collection of delicacies, and began pointing at them and babbling in Chinese. I'm not sure why she thought a short hispanic kid and a bald white guy would understand any Chinese, but she tried it anyway. Eventually she started pointing at dishes and saying things like, "Ping tao yea mao tsi chicken." Upon hearing the word, "chicken," I nodded my head and she presented to me a small plate piled high with something I assumed was a strangely breaded and fried dish. She left Russ what we determined to be some BBQ pork, we ordered some shrimp balls, and lunch was served. The shrimp balls were excellent, and Russ approved of his cold but tastey pork dish. The chicken, however, became a source of great amusement for Russell, and great consternation for me. I dipped a weirdly shaped piece of chicken into some dipping sauce, and took a bite. After supressing a gag, I dropped the cold, chewey, clammy, disgusting "chicken" back where it came from. The woman at the table next door must have thought this to be pretty amusing as she leaned over and said, "excuse me sir, those are chicken feet." While Russell began laughing uncontrollably, I merely stared back at the woman. "Chicken feet?" I asked. "Yes, chicken feet," she replied. Yes ladies and gentlemen, I ate chicken feet. I suspect that for as long as I live Russell will not allow me to forget this occurence. In fact, the long list of distinguished nicknames I've acquired in my years now includes "Chicken Feet." Personally, I prefer "Airworthiness."
After paying and departing the chicken feet restaurant, we headed down to the wharf where we boarded a ship on our way to tour Alcatraz Island. Any of you history buffs out there who have not yet experienced this tour need to make the trip. The tour is extraordinary, and the view of San Francisco from the island is breath-taking. "The Rock" was home to such famous criminals as "Machine Gun" Kelley, Robert "The Bird Man" Stroud, and perhaps the most famous gangster of all, Alfonse "Scarface" Capone. The interesting thing about the island, however, is the things that existed there before and during it's years as a federal penitentiary. Originally a military fort, then a military prison, and during it's years in federal service, a home to several families who lived and worked and raised kids on the island. By the way, when I say the view of San Francisco is breath-taking, I mean it will damn near bring you to tears...
Our tour of the rock completed and our journey back to the mainland over, we made our way next door to Pier 39. Upon Pier 39 is built a tourist trap with multiple stores and restaurants. We killed some time here before sitting down at the Neptune Palace restaurant, located at the very tip of the pier. The view was spectacular once again, and the food was equal to the view. We began our traditional splurge of a meal with an excellent pair of dungeoness crab cakes that came prepared with four different dipping sauces, before moving on to two of the finest entrees available. Russell selected the filet mignon and baby lobster tails, and I opted for the half lobster and half dungeoness crab, both steamed and served with mixed veggies and butter. Two words: Double Wow... The meals did not dissapoint in any way shape or form, and dessert held the standard up as well. Russ, as is his habit, chose the creme broule, and I decided on a 7 chocolate cake which was extraordinary. As part of our dinner tradition, Russ and I discussed the possible destinations that have a chance to be a part of Pact trip #4. The short list: Atlanta, San Antonio, Memphis, and Kansas City.
Fat, dumb, and happy, we departed the restaurant, changed clothes at the hotel, and once again boarded the cable car that took us to the BART, which took us to the airport. We parted ways on seperate United red eye flights, his taking him to Dulles and mine taking me to snow-covered Chicago, another Pact journey fullfilled.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
As Himself
KP As Himself proved why he is so unique. He posted his comment under a topic that had nothing to do with him. Definitely an example of KP, As himself.
Dearest Karen
Dearest Karen
Thank you so much for expressing your thoughts here. (KP, As himself - March 2006) So you've been dating Kevin for 3 years and had no idea that KP existed? It seems to me that the fat man has some explaining to do...
Has he told you about the former Miss Teen Rhode Island? Perhaps he mentioned spring break in Destin...? Perhaps he mentioned his run-in with Kelly Clarkson...? Ask him about Paul and his chin sometime...
Truth be told, most of the best stories can be told by another contributor on this forum. My esteemed colleague BenDo would know more on the subject of embarrassing KP stories than I would. He'll tell you all about the night he drove all the way to Daytona from some distant land, only to have to drive a drunken KP and Fish back to their apartment.
Alas, I have not seen KP since Fisher's wedding, although I did share a brief greeting with him on the Boston Center frequency. Perhaps the next time I overnight in Providence we can catch up on some old times, and establish a new corner somewhere for KP to pass out in...
Thank you so much for expressing your thoughts here. (KP, As himself - March 2006) So you've been dating Kevin for 3 years and had no idea that KP existed? It seems to me that the fat man has some explaining to do...
Has he told you about the former Miss Teen Rhode Island? Perhaps he mentioned spring break in Destin...? Perhaps he mentioned his run-in with Kelly Clarkson...? Ask him about Paul and his chin sometime...
Truth be told, most of the best stories can be told by another contributor on this forum. My esteemed colleague BenDo would know more on the subject of embarrassing KP stories than I would. He'll tell you all about the night he drove all the way to Daytona from some distant land, only to have to drive a drunken KP and Fish back to their apartment.
Alas, I have not seen KP since Fisher's wedding, although I did share a brief greeting with him on the Boston Center frequency. Perhaps the next time I overnight in Providence we can catch up on some old times, and establish a new corner somewhere for KP to pass out in...
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Happy Thanksgiving
I'd like to wish all of you who take time out of your lives to include this blog a Happy Thanksgiving! Thanx for reading and leaving comments, enjoy your holiday, and be safe.
P.S. Those of you who don't have to work like I do had better eat a little extra for me!
P.S. Those of you who don't have to work like I do had better eat a little extra for me!
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Quote of the Week
"Never let your persistance and passion turn into stubbornness and ignorance." - Anthony J. D'Angelo
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Election Results
Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of the United States of America, prepare to be taxed...
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Quote of the Week
"Let us have a care not to disclose our hearts to those who shut up their's against us." - Francis Beaumont
What Have You Done For Me Lately Part III
Vanquishing the favored Padres: A nice play by Belliard, a Pujols homer, and strong pitching from Carpenter.
Defeating the favored Mets: Jeff Suppan's magic, Jeff Weaver's heart, and Yadi's 2 run blast.
Disposing of the favored Tigers: Edmonds being Edmonds, Eckstein's energy, and Wainwright's fastball.
RAISING THE WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONSHIP TROPHY: PRICELESS!!!!!
WAY TO GO REDBIRDS!!!!!!!!!!
Defeating the favored Mets: Jeff Suppan's magic, Jeff Weaver's heart, and Yadi's 2 run blast.
Disposing of the favored Tigers: Edmonds being Edmonds, Eckstein's energy, and Wainwright's fastball.
RAISING THE WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONSHIP TROPHY: PRICELESS!!!!!
WAY TO GO REDBIRDS!!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
October
October. By now the leaves have changed color and fallen, and the refreshing chill in the air has a distinct bite to it. The sun begins to hide itself more and more, and winter's bitter frost is just around the corner, but there is still some magic left in October.
There is baseball in October, and not just any baseball: there is October baseball. 30 teams play 162 games each as the end of spring kicks off the baseball year. The long sweltering summer season sweats out the weak, and just 8 teams are left once september is gone. 30 teams, in 27 cities, with millions of fans each, all of them dreaming they will play October baseball. Only 8 will live that dream, and only two will live the ultimate dream: To play baseball late in October, when the caress of summer's warmth is completely gone.
October baseball is magical. With the flick of a pitcher's wrist, or a swing of a batter's magic wand, October can turn anyone into a hero, and it can turn any hero into a legend. Every moment in October baseball oozes importance. Each pitch, each swing, every flash of brilliant leather has a chance to change October destiny.
There, at October's bitter end, is that destiny. The last days of October are cold and dreary. They are ruled by cloudy, short days, icy rain, and razor sharp wind. The summer gave us thrills and memories, but October, despite all its gloom, summons up all of its magic and energy in its finale. One final, white hot, exciting moment. One last glorious gasp of summer. One team of destiny.
Long Live October!
There is baseball in October, and not just any baseball: there is October baseball. 30 teams play 162 games each as the end of spring kicks off the baseball year. The long sweltering summer season sweats out the weak, and just 8 teams are left once september is gone. 30 teams, in 27 cities, with millions of fans each, all of them dreaming they will play October baseball. Only 8 will live that dream, and only two will live the ultimate dream: To play baseball late in October, when the caress of summer's warmth is completely gone.
October baseball is magical. With the flick of a pitcher's wrist, or a swing of a batter's magic wand, October can turn anyone into a hero, and it can turn any hero into a legend. Every moment in October baseball oozes importance. Each pitch, each swing, every flash of brilliant leather has a chance to change October destiny.
There, at October's bitter end, is that destiny. The last days of October are cold and dreary. They are ruled by cloudy, short days, icy rain, and razor sharp wind. The summer gave us thrills and memories, but October, despite all its gloom, summons up all of its magic and energy in its finale. One final, white hot, exciting moment. One last glorious gasp of summer. One team of destiny.
Long Live October!
What Have You Done For Me Lately, Part II
The Padres were supposed to dispose of us easily. The Mets should have wiped the floor with us. Both are now watching us play in the World Series. Now we're supposed to be the Tigers' doormat. Anyone notice a trend?
P.S. Kenny Rogers is a cheating bastard.
GO CARDINALS!!!
P.S. Kenny Rogers is a cheating bastard.
GO CARDINALS!!!
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
What Have You Done For Me Lately?
Lately, all the Cardinals have done is play great baseball on their way to their third straight NLCS appearance. All you columnists, sports writers, and commentators who aren't giving us a chance in this playoff series either can kiss my ass!
GO CARDINALS!!!!!!!!!
GO CARDINALS!!!!!!!!!
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Quote of the Week
"You can love somebody, you can love them forever, but you won't like them all of the time." - Billy Joel
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
"Quote of the Week"
"I believe that every human has a finite number of heart-beats. I don't intend to waste any of mine running around doing excercises." - Buzz Aldrin
Monday, September 18, 2006
City Search
Closing in on 3 years as an airline pilot now, and I've been to lots of exciting places, like Peoria, Lacrosse, and Harrisburg. Joking aside though, I have seen some cool things, met some interesting people, and slept in some strange places. Here's a rundown of some of the best and worst places for whatever reasons:
Most boring place: Marquette, MI. My hatred for all things Michigan aside, this place in the Upper Peninsula is the # 1 worst city I've ever been to. The hotel is an abandoned barracks, and the most exciting thing to do is watch the snow fall. If you're lucky up here, summer will fall on a weekend.
Most exciting place: Charlotte, NC. Downtown Charlotte is an awesome collection of great restaurants and bars, beautiful people, and good times. A years worth of weekends wouldn't be enough to check out all the cool places to hang out and have a good time in Charlotte.
Place you would think was cool, but sucks: Dallas, TX. What can you say about Texans other than they're abnoxious.
Place you would think sucked, but is cool: Norfolk, VA. Cool museums, neat tours, awesome restaurants, and a battleship you can tour for free. Norfolk is a town with lots of history and life, not just a boring military dump.
Rudest People: Philadelphia, PA. The people in Philly are rude, arrogant, abnoxious, and proud of it. No wonder we call it Filthadelphia.
Nicest People: Greenville, SC. There is still something to be said for Southern Hospitality. The people in Greenville are warm and friendly, despite the fact that their town is boring and stupid. Imagine a place where complete strangers will stop to ask if you need help while you and your crew try to figure out how to get back to the hotel... It's happened to me here 3 times.
Lamest place to spend an afternoon: Moline, IL. Imagine it's Friday night at 10 O'clock, and all the bars in downtown are closing for the night. No, it's not a Twilight Zone episode, it's Moline.
Coolest place to spend an afternoon: Montreal, QB. More specifically, old Montreal. Coblestone streets, amazing restaurants and bars, neat little museums, and one enormous Basilica make this an incredible place to spend not just one, but many afternoons.
Dirtiest place: Detroit, MI. Apparently they stopped clearing the burned out cars a century ago.
Cleanest place: Miami, FL. South Miami Beach is incredible! You could eat off the streets! Not to mention the high roller crowd and cool nightlife...
Well, that's the list as of right now. If you want to add a city or town or a category, leave a comment...
Most boring place: Marquette, MI. My hatred for all things Michigan aside, this place in the Upper Peninsula is the # 1 worst city I've ever been to. The hotel is an abandoned barracks, and the most exciting thing to do is watch the snow fall. If you're lucky up here, summer will fall on a weekend.
Most exciting place: Charlotte, NC. Downtown Charlotte is an awesome collection of great restaurants and bars, beautiful people, and good times. A years worth of weekends wouldn't be enough to check out all the cool places to hang out and have a good time in Charlotte.
Place you would think was cool, but sucks: Dallas, TX. What can you say about Texans other than they're abnoxious.
Place you would think sucked, but is cool: Norfolk, VA. Cool museums, neat tours, awesome restaurants, and a battleship you can tour for free. Norfolk is a town with lots of history and life, not just a boring military dump.
Rudest People: Philadelphia, PA. The people in Philly are rude, arrogant, abnoxious, and proud of it. No wonder we call it Filthadelphia.
Nicest People: Greenville, SC. There is still something to be said for Southern Hospitality. The people in Greenville are warm and friendly, despite the fact that their town is boring and stupid. Imagine a place where complete strangers will stop to ask if you need help while you and your crew try to figure out how to get back to the hotel... It's happened to me here 3 times.
Lamest place to spend an afternoon: Moline, IL. Imagine it's Friday night at 10 O'clock, and all the bars in downtown are closing for the night. No, it's not a Twilight Zone episode, it's Moline.
Coolest place to spend an afternoon: Montreal, QB. More specifically, old Montreal. Coblestone streets, amazing restaurants and bars, neat little museums, and one enormous Basilica make this an incredible place to spend not just one, but many afternoons.
Dirtiest place: Detroit, MI. Apparently they stopped clearing the burned out cars a century ago.
Cleanest place: Miami, FL. South Miami Beach is incredible! You could eat off the streets! Not to mention the high roller crowd and cool nightlife...
Well, that's the list as of right now. If you want to add a city or town or a category, leave a comment...
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Win or Die Trying
There is a month and a half left in the season, and my Redbirds are clinging to a 2.5 game lead by their toenails. I better start loading up on antacids...
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Quote of the Week
"America will never run, and we will always be grateful that liberty has found such brave defenders." - G. W. Bush
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
The Ballad of I Hate French People
Everyone should go see Talladega Nights, if only because it rips on French people mercilessly.
Monday, August 07, 2006
"Quote of the Week"
"My seat assignment should have said '3/4 of 17C because the woman in 17B is the size of a VW Golf.'" - Ben Dolan
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Finally!
The Redbirds snapped out of their second 8 game losing streak last night. If things don't start coming together pretty quick, we could find ourselves in trouble here...
Mark Mulder, get healthy and find your mechanics!
Jeff Weaver, get hurt and stop pitching for us!
Albert, you just keep being you.
Mark Mulder, get healthy and find your mechanics!
Jeff Weaver, get hurt and stop pitching for us!
Albert, you just keep being you.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Quote of the Week
"It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not." - Andre Gide
Monday, July 24, 2006
51
In St. Louis, the number 51 means a few things. It means hustle, hard work, and humility. It means talent, competitiveness, and all out effort. It means Willie McGee.
Let's be honest: There have been many Cardinals who were better baseball players than Willie. The list of Cardinals more beloved by the fans, however, is short indeed.
In St. Louis, we're not all that hard on our ballplayers. We want to know that you're giving your best effort, and we want to be able to like you as a person. If you're a good ballplayer, well, that's a plus too. The list of fan favorites in St. Louis includes incomparables like Ozzie Smith, Bob Gibson, and Stan Musial. It also includes the likes of Bo Hart, Fernando Vina, and "Super" Joe McEwing. Consider as further evidence, the case of JD Drew. Drew may be the most naturally talented baseball player ever, but his apathy for the game landed him in the St. Louis fan doghouse.
The one ballplayer everyone can point to in Cardinal history as the embodyment of all the things we as fans appreciate, is Willie McGee. With Willie, it wasn't about trying hard, or trying harder. It was about trying your hardest. All the time, no exceptions, no matter what the score, or the inning, or the number of games back. Willie was never the most talented guy on the field, but NO ONE in the HISTORY of the game ever got so much out of so little. God didn't need to give Willie great talent. He gave Willie a great heart instead.
You would think an MVP and Gold Glove winning star athlete would carry himself above the rest of us meager folks. He would strut in his bling and his fancy car, and look down his nose at the little people. Not Willie McGee. Willie is shy. He hates the spotlight. All he wanted was to do his best when he took the field. The fan's adoration always embarassed Willie just a bit, and that was one of his most endearing qualities.
The movement is on to retire Willie's #51, not because his achievements on the field were otherworldy, but because there may be no more beloved Cardinal in the team's history, and because a man of Willie's quality deserves all the adoration and accolade that he humbly and shyly accepts.
Follow this link and sign the petition:
http://www.insidestl.com/retire51/
Let's be honest: There have been many Cardinals who were better baseball players than Willie. The list of Cardinals more beloved by the fans, however, is short indeed.
In St. Louis, we're not all that hard on our ballplayers. We want to know that you're giving your best effort, and we want to be able to like you as a person. If you're a good ballplayer, well, that's a plus too. The list of fan favorites in St. Louis includes incomparables like Ozzie Smith, Bob Gibson, and Stan Musial. It also includes the likes of Bo Hart, Fernando Vina, and "Super" Joe McEwing. Consider as further evidence, the case of JD Drew. Drew may be the most naturally talented baseball player ever, but his apathy for the game landed him in the St. Louis fan doghouse.
The one ballplayer everyone can point to in Cardinal history as the embodyment of all the things we as fans appreciate, is Willie McGee. With Willie, it wasn't about trying hard, or trying harder. It was about trying your hardest. All the time, no exceptions, no matter what the score, or the inning, or the number of games back. Willie was never the most talented guy on the field, but NO ONE in the HISTORY of the game ever got so much out of so little. God didn't need to give Willie great talent. He gave Willie a great heart instead.
You would think an MVP and Gold Glove winning star athlete would carry himself above the rest of us meager folks. He would strut in his bling and his fancy car, and look down his nose at the little people. Not Willie McGee. Willie is shy. He hates the spotlight. All he wanted was to do his best when he took the field. The fan's adoration always embarassed Willie just a bit, and that was one of his most endearing qualities.
The movement is on to retire Willie's #51, not because his achievements on the field were otherworldy, but because there may be no more beloved Cardinal in the team's history, and because a man of Willie's quality deserves all the adoration and accolade that he humbly and shyly accepts.
Follow this link and sign the petition:
http://www.insidestl.com/retire51/
Monday, July 17, 2006
Thoughts on the Word Cup
Now that the pain of Argentina's loss in the Quarterfinals has subsided, I can look back on what was one of the finest tournaments of my lifetime. Although this was a low scoring tournament it was not a display of defensive boring soccer like the 98 cup. Most teams attacked with reckless abandon, even the Italians, long known as a counterstriking squad. Here's a rundown of my thoughts:
Best story: The Ivory Coast played much better than their record would suggest, giving both Argentina and the Netherlands a scare in the first round. What was amazing, however, was the fact that a civil war in their country was placed on cease-fire in order for the nation to pull together and support their World Cup team, which was composed of players from both warring factions.
Most Entertaining Teams: The honors go to Germany, Argentina, Portugal, and Ghana. Ghana??? Yes. Ghana. Anyone who watched the Ghanaians thuroughly out-play Brazil in the round of 16 would agree with me. What Ghana has is two of the finest midfielders in the tournament in Michael Essien and Stephen Appiah. What they lacked was a world class finisher. Chance after glorious chance evaporated in front of goal for Ghana. The addition of a top flite striker to the African side would have sent Brazil home in tears a round earlier...
Most Entertaining Players: Andrea Pirlo, Italy; Tomas Rosicky, Czech Republic; Deco, Portugal; Arjen Robben, The Netherlands; Carlos Tevez, Argentina. Of the 5 players mentioned here, you'll notice that 4 of them are midfielders. The lone exception is Carlitos Tevez, Argentina's talented young forward who figures to become a megastar in the game of soccer. That Tevez is the only forward also underscores an unfortunate phenomenon in world soccer. Strikers are more and more becoming nothing more than target men. They are large bodied, underskilled players who's only job is to turn on the goal and strike. Ah, but a precious few talented forwards remain, and the future is bright in Argentina. Tevez is joined by young teammates Javier Saviola and Leonel Messi, and all three are dribbling magicians, wonderfully imaginative, and lethal finishers. Saviola is the eldest and most experienced, and Messi is the most talented, but Tevez is a rare bird who combines polished finesse with a bulldog, target-man approach. Opposing nations will fear the Argentine duo of Tevez and Messi for many, many years.
Best Player: Fabio Cannavaro, Italy. The fact that Zinedine Zidane was awarded FIFA's Golden Ball award as the tournament's finest player is a travesty. Imagine for a moment that Zizou had not headbutted Matterazi in the final, and Cannavaro is still the best player in the tournament. He is a defender in the best Italian mold, following in the tradition of men like Paolo Maldini and Carlo Rossi. Intelligent, relentless, and without fear, Cannavaro was the heart and soul of the Italian team, and he deserved to raise the trophy as much as any player in the tournament.
My All Tournament Team:
Goal Keeper - Gianluigi Buffon, Italy. An easy choice. Buffon was spectacular in his stretched out saves, dominated his penalty area on corners and crosses, and distributed accurately and intelligently from the back. Buffon is the best goalkeeper in the world.
Sweeper - Fabio Cannavaro, Italy. See above!
Center Back - Roberto Ayala, Argentina. Ayala, much like Cannavaro, is a fearless, crunching tackler and highly intelligent defender. Although just 5'7", Ayala is excellent in the air, but his greatest strength is in his one on one defending, where even the most talented strikers find themselves lacking.
Left Back - John Pantsil, Ghana. Pantsil was everything you would want from a left sided defender. A fierce tackler, a smart distributor, and a man with ridiculous pace. Pantsil's runs up and down the left flank, combined with quality service into the box made him a dangerous part of the attack as well.
Right Back - Alessandro Nesta, Italy. Nesta, as he has been for nearly a decade, was solid and dependable for Italy. Not a flashy defender, Nesta simply makes no mistakes and clamps down on nearly every enemy movement on the right flank.
Defensive Midfielder - Javier Mascherano, Argentina. Mascherano is an easy choice because he adds a second dimension to the defensive mid position. Yes, he is a solid tackler, and an intelligent defender, but he is also extremely valuable in attack. His superb vision and excellent distribution allow his attacking teammates more space, which proves devastating to opponents trying to mark the likes of Riquelme and Crespo.
Attacking Midfielder - Deco, Portugal. Deco's creativity, nose for goal, and precise passing make him dangerous no matter where he is on the pitch. What makes Deco so lethal, however, is his mastery of dribbling. He is impossible to disposes, which draws defenders to him in droves and allows his teammates more space to attack.
Left Wing - Arjen Robben, The Netherlands. Robben was a one man show in the the Netherlands' victory over Serbia and Montenegro in the first round. Unbelievable speed, a powerfull shot, and remarkable ball skills make him the most dangerous flank player in the game today.
Right Wing - Tomas Rosicky, Czech Republic. When Rosicky has the ball at his feet and begins running at you, he instills the fear of God. Such is his pace and precision. Rosicky is the kind of player that makes you sit on the edge of your seat whenever he recieves the ball. Exciting, talented, the adjectives just roll off the tongue.
Strikers - Carlos Tevez, Argentina. See above!
Strikers - Miroslav Klose, Germany. Klose, the Golden Boot Winner as the tournament's top scorer, is a target man who realizes some skill is still required to play the game. More than just a shooter, the Polish born striker is also solid with the ball on his feet, and creates space for his striking mate to run on to. Most importantly, he is deadly lethal in front of goal.
4 Long years seperate us from the next World Cup. Good thing there's Baseball in between...
Best story: The Ivory Coast played much better than their record would suggest, giving both Argentina and the Netherlands a scare in the first round. What was amazing, however, was the fact that a civil war in their country was placed on cease-fire in order for the nation to pull together and support their World Cup team, which was composed of players from both warring factions.
Most Entertaining Teams: The honors go to Germany, Argentina, Portugal, and Ghana. Ghana??? Yes. Ghana. Anyone who watched the Ghanaians thuroughly out-play Brazil in the round of 16 would agree with me. What Ghana has is two of the finest midfielders in the tournament in Michael Essien and Stephen Appiah. What they lacked was a world class finisher. Chance after glorious chance evaporated in front of goal for Ghana. The addition of a top flite striker to the African side would have sent Brazil home in tears a round earlier...
Most Entertaining Players: Andrea Pirlo, Italy; Tomas Rosicky, Czech Republic; Deco, Portugal; Arjen Robben, The Netherlands; Carlos Tevez, Argentina. Of the 5 players mentioned here, you'll notice that 4 of them are midfielders. The lone exception is Carlitos Tevez, Argentina's talented young forward who figures to become a megastar in the game of soccer. That Tevez is the only forward also underscores an unfortunate phenomenon in world soccer. Strikers are more and more becoming nothing more than target men. They are large bodied, underskilled players who's only job is to turn on the goal and strike. Ah, but a precious few talented forwards remain, and the future is bright in Argentina. Tevez is joined by young teammates Javier Saviola and Leonel Messi, and all three are dribbling magicians, wonderfully imaginative, and lethal finishers. Saviola is the eldest and most experienced, and Messi is the most talented, but Tevez is a rare bird who combines polished finesse with a bulldog, target-man approach. Opposing nations will fear the Argentine duo of Tevez and Messi for many, many years.
Best Player: Fabio Cannavaro, Italy. The fact that Zinedine Zidane was awarded FIFA's Golden Ball award as the tournament's finest player is a travesty. Imagine for a moment that Zizou had not headbutted Matterazi in the final, and Cannavaro is still the best player in the tournament. He is a defender in the best Italian mold, following in the tradition of men like Paolo Maldini and Carlo Rossi. Intelligent, relentless, and without fear, Cannavaro was the heart and soul of the Italian team, and he deserved to raise the trophy as much as any player in the tournament.
My All Tournament Team:
Goal Keeper - Gianluigi Buffon, Italy. An easy choice. Buffon was spectacular in his stretched out saves, dominated his penalty area on corners and crosses, and distributed accurately and intelligently from the back. Buffon is the best goalkeeper in the world.
Sweeper - Fabio Cannavaro, Italy. See above!
Center Back - Roberto Ayala, Argentina. Ayala, much like Cannavaro, is a fearless, crunching tackler and highly intelligent defender. Although just 5'7", Ayala is excellent in the air, but his greatest strength is in his one on one defending, where even the most talented strikers find themselves lacking.
Left Back - John Pantsil, Ghana. Pantsil was everything you would want from a left sided defender. A fierce tackler, a smart distributor, and a man with ridiculous pace. Pantsil's runs up and down the left flank, combined with quality service into the box made him a dangerous part of the attack as well.
Right Back - Alessandro Nesta, Italy. Nesta, as he has been for nearly a decade, was solid and dependable for Italy. Not a flashy defender, Nesta simply makes no mistakes and clamps down on nearly every enemy movement on the right flank.
Defensive Midfielder - Javier Mascherano, Argentina. Mascherano is an easy choice because he adds a second dimension to the defensive mid position. Yes, he is a solid tackler, and an intelligent defender, but he is also extremely valuable in attack. His superb vision and excellent distribution allow his attacking teammates more space, which proves devastating to opponents trying to mark the likes of Riquelme and Crespo.
Attacking Midfielder - Deco, Portugal. Deco's creativity, nose for goal, and precise passing make him dangerous no matter where he is on the pitch. What makes Deco so lethal, however, is his mastery of dribbling. He is impossible to disposes, which draws defenders to him in droves and allows his teammates more space to attack.
Left Wing - Arjen Robben, The Netherlands. Robben was a one man show in the the Netherlands' victory over Serbia and Montenegro in the first round. Unbelievable speed, a powerfull shot, and remarkable ball skills make him the most dangerous flank player in the game today.
Right Wing - Tomas Rosicky, Czech Republic. When Rosicky has the ball at his feet and begins running at you, he instills the fear of God. Such is his pace and precision. Rosicky is the kind of player that makes you sit on the edge of your seat whenever he recieves the ball. Exciting, talented, the adjectives just roll off the tongue.
Strikers - Carlos Tevez, Argentina. See above!
Strikers - Miroslav Klose, Germany. Klose, the Golden Boot Winner as the tournament's top scorer, is a target man who realizes some skill is still required to play the game. More than just a shooter, the Polish born striker is also solid with the ball on his feet, and creates space for his striking mate to run on to. Most importantly, he is deadly lethal in front of goal.
4 Long years seperate us from the next World Cup. Good thing there's Baseball in between...
My Triumphant Return
Due to a password snafu at Blogger, I was unable to post in quite a bit of time...
I have returned, and I'm just as dangerous as before...
I have returned, and I'm just as dangerous as before...
Monday, June 26, 2006
Tears and Glory
Mired in a six game loosing streak, the Cardinals are battling to keep control of the NL Central while attempting to weather their recent run of awfull pitching. Were it not for the World Cup, I'd be in the worst mood you've ever seen me in right now. Thankfully, Argentina has strung together several strong performances, and head to the quarterfinals against Ze Germans on Friday. The month-long celebration of Futbol comes at the perfect time, and hopefully the Cardinals will find their stride again before the tournament is over, otherwise it's gonna be an awfully long summer...
In the meantime:
VAMOS, VAMOS, ARGENTINA! VAMOS, VAMOS A GANAR! VAMOS, VAMOS, ARGENTINA, QUE ESTA BARRA NO TE DEJA DE ALENTAR!!
In the meantime:
VAMOS, VAMOS, ARGENTINA! VAMOS, VAMOS A GANAR! VAMOS, VAMOS, ARGENTINA, QUE ESTA BARRA NO TE DEJA DE ALENTAR!!
From the Airwaves
Recently heard on Cleveland Center's frequency:
Controller - "Eagle 1234, descend and maintain flight level 330, and contact the Chicago Center on 133.35."
Eagle 1234 - "Ok, we'll descend to 350, and call Chicago on 135.30, Eagle 1234"
Controller - "No sir, the altitude is 330, the frequence is 133.35"
Eagle 1234 - "Geez, I couldn't get anything right."
Controller - "Yeah, it's like being married."
Controller - "Eagle 1234, descend and maintain flight level 330, and contact the Chicago Center on 133.35."
Eagle 1234 - "Ok, we'll descend to 350, and call Chicago on 135.30, Eagle 1234"
Controller - "No sir, the altitude is 330, the frequence is 133.35"
Eagle 1234 - "Geez, I couldn't get anything right."
Controller - "Yeah, it's like being married."
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Quote of the Week
"Never pretend to a love which you do not actually feel, for love is not ours to command." - Alan Watts
Monday, June 19, 2006
From the Airwaves
Recently heard on Kansas City Center's frequency:
Controller - "Cactus 1234, contact the Chicago Center on 128.57."
no response
Controller - "Cactus 1234, contact Chicago Center on frequency 128.57"
no response
Controller - "Cactus 1234, how do you hear Kansas City?"
Cactus 1234 - "I'm sorry Kansas City, I had you confused with the voices in my head, what frequency did you want me to call?"
Controller - "Cactus 1234, contact the Chicago Center on 128.57."
no response
Controller - "Cactus 1234, contact Chicago Center on frequency 128.57"
no response
Controller - "Cactus 1234, how do you hear Kansas City?"
Cactus 1234 - "I'm sorry Kansas City, I had you confused with the voices in my head, what frequency did you want me to call?"
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Quote of the Week
"No passion so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear." - Edmund Burke
Thursday, May 25, 2006
A Song for Bendo
Since Dolan complained bitterly about not being awarded an intro song a few posts ago, I've decided to atone. There were several songs I thought about before settling on one appropriate tune. Candidates included Weezer's, "I'm a Loser Baby," Peter, Paul, and Mary's, "Right Field," Phill Collins', "I Can't Dance," and Sarah McLachlan's, "Angel." However, in the end, there was just one song that fits best.
Bendo, your song is officially: The Theme from Brokeback Mountain
Bendo, your song is officially: The Theme from Brokeback Mountain
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
The Pact
Jessica - "So you're hanging out in San Diego just for the heck of it?"
Me - "Yes"
Jessica - "I hate you."
Jessica, like a lot of other people, is severely jealous of my ability to go wherever I want, whenever I want, for free. This week I used my benefits to head west to San Diego, where Russell and I enjoyed the second trip of our Pact. For those of you unfamiliar with the Pact, Russ and I have an agreement that each quarter we select a city of mutual interest, go there for 24 hours, see a sight or two, and consume one ridiculously expensive, enormously good meal. Here's the San Diego tail:
Our journey begins in Chicago at O'Hare, where I met up with Russ and we both attempted to jumpseat to San Diego via a United flight. Unbeknownst to us, United's 757's are only equipped with one cockpit jumpseat, as opposed to the standard two jumpseats EVERY other operator of the 757 uses. Since every single seat in the peanut gallery was occupied, we were forced to plan B, the LAX flight next door. Two jumpseats, but one of them occupied. Plan C, Denver and try to connect. Two jumpseats, one of them occupied. Plan D, San Francisco and try to connect. One jumpseat. (All of this gate to gate running around is now taking it's toll on Russ, who's aerodynamicly hairless head doesn't quite make up for his excessive bulk) Plan E, Las Vegas and try to connect. Two jumpseats, both occupied. Plan F, LAX again, almost 2 hours later. This time, we were lucky enough to snag both the jumpseats on an A320. We were supposed to leave for San Diego at 5:30. We left for LAX at 7:20. Thanx to Enterprise Rent-A-Car being accomidating, our reservation was switched to LAX, and when we arrived there at 9:30, we collected the automobile. Our string of bad luck had ended apparently, since they were out of economy cars and set us up instead with a convertable Chrystler Sebring. We took the upgraded vehicle the 2 hours south to San Diego, checked into our hotel, and went to bed.
We awoke to a beautiful morning in San Diego. Sunny and 70 degrees. Out the door by 10am local and we headed for the USS Midway Aircraft Carrier museum. The Midway is a decommisioned ship that is used soley for museum purposes, and it is AWESOME! The free audio tour takes you through several interesting areas of the ship, including the enlisted men's quarters (which are tiny), the mess hall, the infermery, engineering, weapons loading, the bridge, the chart room, the hangar deck, and the flight deck. Several aircraft are on display on the flight deck, and a lot of kind docents are available, most of whom served at one point or another in the Navy. Being the pilot dorks that we are, Russ and I had to try our hand at the F-4 simulators as well. Needless to say, neither of us is any good at dogfighting...
After taking in all the museum had to offer, we set out to locate a battery for my dead watch. The first jeweler we stopped at wanted $60 to swap out the battery. After kindly telling the merchant to pack sand, we located a watch repair shop that did the deed for $10. Go figure...
Well, on to dinner. Since I bucked up for the meal in Seattle several months ago, it was Russ's turn to arrange for the meal in San Diego. He reserved us a table at an establishment called Blue Point Coastal Cuisine, located in the Gas Lamp Quarter. It's a swanky joint, and the menu is a sort of Japanese American mix. We started with an appetizer of shrimp and lobster potstickers which were, to quote Russ, "Oh... My... God!!!" Russell's main course consisted of a seared Ahi Tuna steak, and I chose the roasted rack of lamb. No exclamations were made due to the fact that both of us were far too concerned with the next bite of our delicious entrees. Finally, there was dessert. Russell's selection of a nice Creme Broule was excellent, but I was far more satisfied with my liquid center chocolate cake, which came complete with a scoop of hazelnut ice cream. The only unfortunate part about dinner was our inability to drink an alcoholic beverage due to our status as jumpseaters later in the evening. Dinner, including tip, cost Russ a total of $120.
Alas, our time in San Diego had to come to a close. We headed for Lindbergh Field, dropped off the rental car, and both boarded the next Southwest flight to Phoenix, where we parted ways. Russ headed for Charlotte and me for Chicago, where I had breakfast with the girlfriend, and then on to St. Louis.
Between bites at dinner, as is now Pact tradition, Russ and I discussed options for the next Pact trip. September is the target month, and the front-running destination is Vancouver. San Antonio and San Francisco were also names tossed around, but time will tell as we get closer to the fall...
Me - "Yes"
Jessica - "I hate you."
Jessica, like a lot of other people, is severely jealous of my ability to go wherever I want, whenever I want, for free. This week I used my benefits to head west to San Diego, where Russell and I enjoyed the second trip of our Pact. For those of you unfamiliar with the Pact, Russ and I have an agreement that each quarter we select a city of mutual interest, go there for 24 hours, see a sight or two, and consume one ridiculously expensive, enormously good meal. Here's the San Diego tail:
Our journey begins in Chicago at O'Hare, where I met up with Russ and we both attempted to jumpseat to San Diego via a United flight. Unbeknownst to us, United's 757's are only equipped with one cockpit jumpseat, as opposed to the standard two jumpseats EVERY other operator of the 757 uses. Since every single seat in the peanut gallery was occupied, we were forced to plan B, the LAX flight next door. Two jumpseats, but one of them occupied. Plan C, Denver and try to connect. Two jumpseats, one of them occupied. Plan D, San Francisco and try to connect. One jumpseat. (All of this gate to gate running around is now taking it's toll on Russ, who's aerodynamicly hairless head doesn't quite make up for his excessive bulk) Plan E, Las Vegas and try to connect. Two jumpseats, both occupied. Plan F, LAX again, almost 2 hours later. This time, we were lucky enough to snag both the jumpseats on an A320. We were supposed to leave for San Diego at 5:30. We left for LAX at 7:20. Thanx to Enterprise Rent-A-Car being accomidating, our reservation was switched to LAX, and when we arrived there at 9:30, we collected the automobile. Our string of bad luck had ended apparently, since they were out of economy cars and set us up instead with a convertable Chrystler Sebring. We took the upgraded vehicle the 2 hours south to San Diego, checked into our hotel, and went to bed.
We awoke to a beautiful morning in San Diego. Sunny and 70 degrees. Out the door by 10am local and we headed for the USS Midway Aircraft Carrier museum. The Midway is a decommisioned ship that is used soley for museum purposes, and it is AWESOME! The free audio tour takes you through several interesting areas of the ship, including the enlisted men's quarters (which are tiny), the mess hall, the infermery, engineering, weapons loading, the bridge, the chart room, the hangar deck, and the flight deck. Several aircraft are on display on the flight deck, and a lot of kind docents are available, most of whom served at one point or another in the Navy. Being the pilot dorks that we are, Russ and I had to try our hand at the F-4 simulators as well. Needless to say, neither of us is any good at dogfighting...
After taking in all the museum had to offer, we set out to locate a battery for my dead watch. The first jeweler we stopped at wanted $60 to swap out the battery. After kindly telling the merchant to pack sand, we located a watch repair shop that did the deed for $10. Go figure...
Well, on to dinner. Since I bucked up for the meal in Seattle several months ago, it was Russ's turn to arrange for the meal in San Diego. He reserved us a table at an establishment called Blue Point Coastal Cuisine, located in the Gas Lamp Quarter. It's a swanky joint, and the menu is a sort of Japanese American mix. We started with an appetizer of shrimp and lobster potstickers which were, to quote Russ, "Oh... My... God!!!" Russell's main course consisted of a seared Ahi Tuna steak, and I chose the roasted rack of lamb. No exclamations were made due to the fact that both of us were far too concerned with the next bite of our delicious entrees. Finally, there was dessert. Russell's selection of a nice Creme Broule was excellent, but I was far more satisfied with my liquid center chocolate cake, which came complete with a scoop of hazelnut ice cream. The only unfortunate part about dinner was our inability to drink an alcoholic beverage due to our status as jumpseaters later in the evening. Dinner, including tip, cost Russ a total of $120.
Alas, our time in San Diego had to come to a close. We headed for Lindbergh Field, dropped off the rental car, and both boarded the next Southwest flight to Phoenix, where we parted ways. Russ headed for Charlotte and me for Chicago, where I had breakfast with the girlfriend, and then on to St. Louis.
Between bites at dinner, as is now Pact tradition, Russ and I discussed options for the next Pact trip. September is the target month, and the front-running destination is Vancouver. San Antonio and San Francisco were also names tossed around, but time will tell as we get closer to the fall...
Monday, May 15, 2006
Quote of the Week
Since I saw him tonight, the quote comes from a good friend:
"ARE YOU SERIOUS???" - Tim Fisher
"ARE YOU SERIOUS???" - Tim Fisher
Monday, May 08, 2006
Quote of the Week
Two quotes for this week:
"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed." - Carl Jung
"It's the friends you can call up at 4 a.m. that matter." - Marlene Dietrich
"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed." - Carl Jung
"It's the friends you can call up at 4 a.m. that matter." - Marlene Dietrich
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Plate Introductions
At any big league ballpark you go to, when a batter from the home team is announced a portion of a song is played to introduce the would-be hero. Typically, the song is the proper mix of non-explicit lyrics and badassness. (Is badassness a word?) Take, for example, Scott Rolen. The Cardinal third baseman walks to the plate to a refrain from Limp Bizkit. "Keep rollin' rollin' rollin'! Keep rollin' rollin' rollin'!" Obviously appropriate, even if the rest of the song might not be. Intros are not just for batters. Trevor Hoffman, San Diego's fearsome closer, is introduced to the sound of "Hells Bells" by ACDC.
When the autopilot is on and there's nothing else to do, I've often wondered about player intro music, and what would be played if the most appropriate tune could be selected. Shouldn't Jason Isringhausen trot in from the bullpen to the sounds of circus music, for example? More often than not however, I end up thinking if any of my friends or I happened to find ourselves in the Show, what songs would introduce us? KP, "As Himself" would clearly have to be introduced to some George Thoroughgood. "One Burbon, One Scotch, and One Beer!" Tim "Are You Serious?" Fisher would come to bat to the tune of Manfred Mann. "Blinded By the Light!" Jim Roach would stride to the plate with Huey Lewis in the background. "The Power of Love."
What about Dan "The Postman" Higa though? Van Halen, "Where Eagles Fly"? Meatloaf, "Bat Out of Hell"? Queen, "I Want to Break Free"? LL Cool J, "Mama Said Knock You Out"? Who knows, but I'm sure several of you will be happy to comment on what I'm sure I'll consider some inappropriate tunes.
On a final note: Albert Pujols is currently introduced to a contemporary Christian song. All well and good, but I think there is a much more fitting tune for "El Hombre." How about the theme from the Natural? As Max Mercy says in the movie, "Everything he wants to hit, he hits. Everything he wants to do, he does!"
When the autopilot is on and there's nothing else to do, I've often wondered about player intro music, and what would be played if the most appropriate tune could be selected. Shouldn't Jason Isringhausen trot in from the bullpen to the sounds of circus music, for example? More often than not however, I end up thinking if any of my friends or I happened to find ourselves in the Show, what songs would introduce us? KP, "As Himself" would clearly have to be introduced to some George Thoroughgood. "One Burbon, One Scotch, and One Beer!" Tim "Are You Serious?" Fisher would come to bat to the tune of Manfred Mann. "Blinded By the Light!" Jim Roach would stride to the plate with Huey Lewis in the background. "The Power of Love."
What about Dan "The Postman" Higa though? Van Halen, "Where Eagles Fly"? Meatloaf, "Bat Out of Hell"? Queen, "I Want to Break Free"? LL Cool J, "Mama Said Knock You Out"? Who knows, but I'm sure several of you will be happy to comment on what I'm sure I'll consider some inappropriate tunes.
On a final note: Albert Pujols is currently introduced to a contemporary Christian song. All well and good, but I think there is a much more fitting tune for "El Hombre." How about the theme from the Natural? As Max Mercy says in the movie, "Everything he wants to hit, he hits. Everything he wants to do, he does!"
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Quote of the Week
Not a quote this week. A poem instead.
Impressions of a Pilot
Flight is freedom in it's purest form,
to dance with the clouds which follow a storm;
to roll and glide, to wheel and spin;
To feel the joy that swells within;
To leave the earth with its troubles and fly,
And know the warmth of a clear spring sky;
Then back to earth at the end of the day,
released from the tensions which melted away.
Should my end come while I am in flight,
Whether brightest day or darkest night;
Spare me your pity and shrug off the pain,
Secure in the knowledge that I'd do it again;
For each of us is created to die,
And within me I know,
I was born to fly.
-- Gary Claud Stokor
SMB - 05/12/80 - 04/12/03
"The flight west my friend, is a flight we all must take for a final check."
Impressions of a Pilot
Flight is freedom in it's purest form,
to dance with the clouds which follow a storm;
to roll and glide, to wheel and spin;
To feel the joy that swells within;
To leave the earth with its troubles and fly,
And know the warmth of a clear spring sky;
Then back to earth at the end of the day,
released from the tensions which melted away.
Should my end come while I am in flight,
Whether brightest day or darkest night;
Spare me your pity and shrug off the pain,
Secure in the knowledge that I'd do it again;
For each of us is created to die,
And within me I know,
I was born to fly.
-- Gary Claud Stokor
SMB - 05/12/80 - 04/12/03
"The flight west my friend, is a flight we all must take for a final check."
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Quote of the Week
"And now ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in the New Busch Stadium, lets play ball!" - John Ulett, Busch Stadium Announcer
The Moment
Many people have asked me at one time or another what is so great about baseball. What many of them don't seem to understand is this: baseball's greatness comes from split second moments. Baseball truelly exists in the tiniest fractions of time.
It takes approximately .38 seconds for a 96 mph fastball to travel the 60 foot distance between the pitcher's mound and home plate. The moment begins when the ball leaves the pitcher's hand. It's not even enough time to hold your breath, but in your brain a thousand possibilities are brewing... A swing and a miss? A pop foul? A seeing eye single? A bomb to straight away centerfield? Blink, and you might miss it. But you don't dare blink. You don't even move. If you were chearing, or clapping, or sipping your beer, you stop. All you do is watch the pitch. In that moment, even in the most pressure packed situation, even in the loudest stadium, everything goes silent, for almost exactly .38 seconds. And then silence gives way to the eruption of cheers, or perhaps groans...
It takes approximately .38 seconds for a 96 mph fastball to travel the 60 foot distance between the pitcher's mound and home plate. The moment begins when the ball leaves the pitcher's hand. It's not even enough time to hold your breath, but in your brain a thousand possibilities are brewing... A swing and a miss? A pop foul? A seeing eye single? A bomb to straight away centerfield? Blink, and you might miss it. But you don't dare blink. You don't even move. If you were chearing, or clapping, or sipping your beer, you stop. All you do is watch the pitch. In that moment, even in the most pressure packed situation, even in the loudest stadium, everything goes silent, for almost exactly .38 seconds. And then silence gives way to the eruption of cheers, or perhaps groans...
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Quote of the Week
"I fly because it frees my mind from the tyranny of petty things." - Antoine de St. Exuperry
Monday, April 03, 2006
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Reasons not to fly French-built Airplanes
Check out this video of an Airbus A320 attempting to land in Lisbon Portugal...
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=2367849993821094040&q=crosswind&pl =true
http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=2367849993821094040&q=crosswind&pl =true
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Sick Leave
I was looking forward to going to work today. Good trip, good crew. Alas, came down with a nasty virus or something. I feel like the fire hydrant at the dog park...
Monday, March 27, 2006
Quote of the Week
"Air traffic controlers and pilots have a lot in common. If a pilot makes a mistake, the pilot dies. If an air traffic controler makes a mistake, the pilot dies." - Aviation Truism
A Battle of Wits Against the Unarmed
Our new enemy, Anonymous Junior, either doesn't keep up well enough with the blog, or simply lacks the mental capacity for thought progression. Otherwise, our dull-witted adversary would know that on several previous occassions I have addressed the topic of grits, the Affle House, and the South. If Anonymous Jr. truely believes the grits eaten at an Affle House in Cincinnatti are any different from grits eaten at an Affle House in Valdosta, GA, they are sorely mistaken. A Big Mac tastes the same in LA as it does in Times Square, so it is with Affle House grits.
Anonymous Junior, if you are incapable of keeping cerebral pace with my postings, please refrain from commenting.
Anonymous Junior, if you are incapable of keeping cerebral pace with my postings, please refrain from commenting.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
Affle House
I ate an an Affle House in Cincinnatti the other day. I tasted grits. They were, without a doubt, some of the nastiest things I've ever eaten. I now know exactly what grits are. They are corn mush, soaked in butter. And they look like chunky snot.
How people in the south can eat this sort of food is beyond my ability to comprehend, but I'm sure the intellect necessary to enjoy grits is the same intellect that believes the Civil War was actually the "War of Northern Agression."
The south will never rise again as long as chunky snot is their signature dish.
How people in the south can eat this sort of food is beyond my ability to comprehend, but I'm sure the intellect necessary to enjoy grits is the same intellect that believes the Civil War was actually the "War of Northern Agression."
The south will never rise again as long as chunky snot is their signature dish.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Monday, March 20, 2006
A New Threat?
Is there a new anonymous, or is the old anonymous too unoriginal to come up with new material? Whatever the case, we have a copycat on our hands. This is unacceptable...
Quote of the Week
"The difference between a moral man and a man of honor is that the latter regrets a discreditable act, even when it has worked and he has not been caught." - H. L. Mencken
KP, As Himself
Ah, yes. Thank you Dolan, for bringing up the great KP, as himself. KP, born Kevin Piascik, was a buddy of ours in college. He was, for lack of a better word, a drunk. Rather that try to get him help, we just pointed at him and laughed. A lot. KP was a regular at all of our keg parties, and it took about half an hour for him to become intoxicated. Soon, he wound up passed out in the corner, and it was always the same corner. This occured with such regularity that we named that particular part of the apartment, "KP's Corner." It was an otherwise non-descript patch of living room formed by the end of the entertainment center and the continuation of the wall. Completely unremarkable, unless of course, KP was occupying it. When I say occupying, I mean, he took up the WHOLE corner. You see, KP is a large man. I felt very sorry for Fish and Dolan on the nights they had to carry a very inebriated KP out of our apartment after a night of shananigans.
So the next time your raise your beer, think for a moment about KP's corner. KP, As Himself, This High Life's for you!
So the next time your raise your beer, think for a moment about KP's corner. KP, As Himself, This High Life's for you!
From the Airwaves
Heard on a windy day in Miami on the Tower frequency:
Controller - "American 1234 I thought I saw some trash blowing across the runway down there, can you see anything?"
American 1234 - "No sir, that was just an Airbus clearing the runway."
Controller - "American 1234 I thought I saw some trash blowing across the runway down there, can you see anything?"
American 1234 - "No sir, that was just an Airbus clearing the runway."
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Wanted: Soccer Chics
The indoor team needs girls! If you, or someone you know has soccer experience and wants to play on Tuesday nights, let me know!
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
I Should Have Known
I knew from the very begining that Anonymous was a coward. I also knew from the very begining that Anonymous was very feminine. It should, therefore, have been plainly obvious that Scott was the pestering nuisance of this blog. The same Scott who refuses to fly if the wind is more than 5 degrees off the runway, or if a cloud has been sited within 100 miles of the airport. On one of the first occasions Scott and I flew together, he emerged from the airplane white with fear, his face a reflection of the snow that had obscured our vision and coated the runway. Thankfully, I was able to empart a portion of my considerable knowledge upon our gutless friend, who earned his instrument ticket after my work was done. Now, he can fly when the wind is 10 degrees off, and when the weather reports "few" clouds in the area.
The fact that I did not uncover this mystery sooner can only be attributed to mental block...
The fact that I did not uncover this mystery sooner can only be attributed to mental block...
Quote of the Week
"Hope begins in the dark. The stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait, and watch, and work. You don't give up." - Anne Lamott
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Quote of the Week
"Some women are good for you, and others are bad for you. The difference is indistinguishable to you." - Anonymous
Monday, February 27, 2006
Quote of the Week
"... And when with silent lifted mind I've trod
the high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God." - John G. Magee
the high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God." - John G. Magee
From the Airwaves
Recently heard on Chicago Center's frequency:
Controller - "Airshuttle 1234, reduce speed to 210 knots."
Airshuttle 1234 - "How about we trade you 210 knots for direct O'hare?"
Controller - "How about you give me 210 knots or I put you in holding for an hour or two?"
Airshuttle 1234 - "Airshuttle 1234, slowing to 210, thank you sir, may we have another?"
Controller - "Airshuttle 1234, reduce speed to 210 knots."
Airshuttle 1234 - "How about we trade you 210 knots for direct O'hare?"
Controller - "How about you give me 210 knots or I put you in holding for an hour or two?"
Airshuttle 1234 - "Airshuttle 1234, slowing to 210, thank you sir, may we have another?"
Hell hath no wrath...
Yes Anonymous, it's true. I'm falling into the middle age crisis like a chunk of blue ice. I pay bills, I go to work, I complain about my job, I run errands. And, just like Rodney Dangerfield, I get no respect. Least of all from you. To borrow from George Lucas, you are the Phantom Menace. The evil cloud that threatens each and every post on this blog. Worse, you are a coward. You strike, and then hide from view, unwilling to confront the retribution that you most certainly deserve...
There was a time, Anonymous, when you would leave subtle clues, but no longer. Am I too hot on your tail, or to quote Biff Tannen, "What's the matter McFly? Yellow?"
The time will soon come, Anonymous, when I will drop the hammer and dispense some indiscriminant justice...
There was a time, Anonymous, when you would leave subtle clues, but no longer. Am I too hot on your tail, or to quote Biff Tannen, "What's the matter McFly? Yellow?"
The time will soon come, Anonymous, when I will drop the hammer and dispense some indiscriminant justice...
Monday, February 20, 2006
Quote of the Week
This week there are two quotes again. I couldn't resist putting the second one in there...
"I am wealthy in my friends." - William Shakespeare
"I like alcohol!" - Jessica Adams
"I am wealthy in my friends." - William Shakespeare
"I like alcohol!" - Jessica Adams
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Monday, February 13, 2006
From the Airwaves
Recently heard on O'Hare ground on a foggy day:
Mexicana 1234 - (heavily accented) "O'hare ground, Mexicana 1234 could you see us from your position?"
Ground Controller - "Mexicana negative, I can't see the surface from here."
Mexicana 1234 - "Uh, we believe we may be lost."
Ground Controller - "Attention all aircraft on the ground at O'hare, everyone stop and use caution for Mexicana."
Mexicana 1234 - (heavily accented) "O'hare ground, Mexicana 1234 could you see us from your position?"
Ground Controller - "Mexicana negative, I can't see the surface from here."
Mexicana 1234 - "Uh, we believe we may be lost."
Ground Controller - "Attention all aircraft on the ground at O'hare, everyone stop and use caution for Mexicana."
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Quote of the Week
This week there are two quotes because they are both appropriate.
"I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain." - Frank Herbert
"In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade. And he carries the reminders of every blow that laid him down or cut him, 'till he cried out, in his anger and his shame, 'I am leaving, I am leaving!' but the fighter still remains." - Simon and Garfunkel
"I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain." - Frank Herbert
"In the clearing stands a boxer, and a fighter by his trade. And he carries the reminders of every blow that laid him down or cut him, 'till he cried out, in his anger and his shame, 'I am leaving, I am leaving!' but the fighter still remains." - Simon and Garfunkel
Monday, February 06, 2006
Quote of the Week
"People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do . I stare out the window and wait for spring." - Rogers Hornsby
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Priorities in order
So two weeks ago was kindof a rough week at work. Two diversions in the span of 4 days is pretty bad, considering in my 2 years of airline service I've only done a total of 5 diversions. We departed Minneapolis for Chicago on Friday night with 47 people on board and lots of gas due to the deteriorating weather in Chicago. We made it as far as the Janesville radio beacon (JVL for you pilots), which is a fix on the Janesville 4 arrival into O'hare. About 50 miles from JVL we were told to expect holding. (Again for you pilots, here's what the ATIS at ORD reported at the time: 260/12 1/4sm +sn fzfg vv100) The captain and I groaned, copied our holding instructions, and went to work figuring out how much fuel we could afford to burn while turning circles in the sky. A few mental gymnastics later, we determined that we could afford to waste 20 minutes in the hold before being banished to an alternate airport. 20 minutes later, we were banished to Green Bay. As stupid as your average traveler is, most of them know that Green Bay and Chicago aren't the same place. This makes them angry. After all the passengers had deplaned there was one man who waited until everyone else was off the plane then came up to the front to "speak" to us pilots. To quote this individual, "You two are incompetent. I can't believe this, your job, your number one priority is to get us to Chicago. What good are you people?" Before we could overcome our shock, he walked off the plane. My number one priority? Unbelievable. I have exactly 4 priorities at work, and they come in the following unchangable order:
1. Everyone that gets on my airplane gets off my airplane alive.
2. The airplane does not get bent.
3. We get where we're going.
4. We arrive near the time we advertised.
These priorities are non-negotiable, iron-clad, and no circumstance will ever supplant the first two priorites.
"The best safety device in any aircraft is a well trained pilot..." - Flight Safety Intl. Motto
1. Everyone that gets on my airplane gets off my airplane alive.
2. The airplane does not get bent.
3. We get where we're going.
4. We arrive near the time we advertised.
These priorities are non-negotiable, iron-clad, and no circumstance will ever supplant the first two priorites.
"The best safety device in any aircraft is a well trained pilot..." - Flight Safety Intl. Motto
Monday, January 30, 2006
Quote of the Week
"Superior pilots use their superior judgement to avoid situations where they might have to use their superior skills." - Anonymous
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Help Wanted
I'm applying for work flying bigger airplanes for more money, so anyone who reads this and is inclined to pray is requested to include my plight for career advancement in their prayers. Thanx!
Monday, January 23, 2006
Quote of the Week
"Now the trouble with trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that you very often succeed." - C. S. Lewis
The Warrior
I was sitting in my hotel room a few weeks ago watching "Inside the NFL" on HBO. Hotels are my only oppurtunity to view the show, since I don't get HBO at home. Each week there is a special feature story. This week, the special feature opened with a scene of a large, young, black man hobbling down the stairs in his house. He grasped at the railings on either side and looked as though he could lose his balance and topple down the steps at any moment. It was Monday, the day after game day, and the man was Jerome Bettis.
Bettis, "The Bus," is the reason I'm rooting for the Steelers in two weeks during the superbowl. Not blessed with Bo Jackson speed or Barry Sanders agility, "The Bus" has used what gifts God has given him to square up his shoulders, run straight ahead, bury opposing defenders, and become one of the all time leading rushers in NFL history. Simply put, Jerome Bettis earned his yards the hard way, pounding the football for 13 seasons.
Over the course of those 13 seasons he has endured countless injuries, surgeries, and rehabilitations. Through it all, "The Bus" came back. Now, at age 32, Bettis can hardly walk the day after his game. The week leading up to game day is one long rehab project preparing him for 60 minutes on Sunday. Why does he do it?
He does it because he is driven. He is driven to help his team win, and he must have more guts than any man in the NFL. He will almost certainly suffer the long term effects of the physical beating his body has absorbed in 13 years. So will his opponents. Players who play defense pride themselves on hitting, but the fact of the matter is; you don't hit "The Bus." "The Bus" hits you.
You do not read about Bettis in the newspapers, criticising teammates, complaining about not getting the ball enough, ripping on his coaches. You do not see Bettis in the endzone doing silly dances. There is no sharpie, no cell phone when "The Bus" finds paydirt. He pumps his fists, celebrates a few high fives with his teammates, and relinquishes the field to his field goal unit. Of all men with reason to tout their own exploits, this man does not seek extra attention. Neither does he look for excuses when the job does not get done.
Jerome Bettis is a warrior who loves his game. When he steps on the field despite all the aches and pains, it's his heart that keeps his legs churning forwards. In all his courageous 13 years in the NFL, "The Bus" has yet to earn a Superbowl Ring. It's about time he did. Go Steelers.
Bettis, "The Bus," is the reason I'm rooting for the Steelers in two weeks during the superbowl. Not blessed with Bo Jackson speed or Barry Sanders agility, "The Bus" has used what gifts God has given him to square up his shoulders, run straight ahead, bury opposing defenders, and become one of the all time leading rushers in NFL history. Simply put, Jerome Bettis earned his yards the hard way, pounding the football for 13 seasons.
Over the course of those 13 seasons he has endured countless injuries, surgeries, and rehabilitations. Through it all, "The Bus" came back. Now, at age 32, Bettis can hardly walk the day after his game. The week leading up to game day is one long rehab project preparing him for 60 minutes on Sunday. Why does he do it?
He does it because he is driven. He is driven to help his team win, and he must have more guts than any man in the NFL. He will almost certainly suffer the long term effects of the physical beating his body has absorbed in 13 years. So will his opponents. Players who play defense pride themselves on hitting, but the fact of the matter is; you don't hit "The Bus." "The Bus" hits you.
You do not read about Bettis in the newspapers, criticising teammates, complaining about not getting the ball enough, ripping on his coaches. You do not see Bettis in the endzone doing silly dances. There is no sharpie, no cell phone when "The Bus" finds paydirt. He pumps his fists, celebrates a few high fives with his teammates, and relinquishes the field to his field goal unit. Of all men with reason to tout their own exploits, this man does not seek extra attention. Neither does he look for excuses when the job does not get done.
Jerome Bettis is a warrior who loves his game. When he steps on the field despite all the aches and pains, it's his heart that keeps his legs churning forwards. In all his courageous 13 years in the NFL, "The Bus" has yet to earn a Superbowl Ring. It's about time he did. Go Steelers.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Quote of the Week
"If you are distressed by anything external, the pain is not due to the thing itself, but to your estimate of it; and this you have the power to revoke at any moment." - Marcus Aurelius Antoninus
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
A Glimmer of Summer
Baseball. Say the word to yourself a few times. Close your eyes and repeat it over and over. Before long you'll realize you might as well be saying the word, "America." In the over 200 years of our country's existance there has always been baseball. Our nation and our national passtime grew up together and today the game is as intregal a part of our society as freedom of speech or the right to vote. Throughout all the upheavals, the contraversies, and the unrest our society has navigated, baseball has stood by our side and reminded us of what is still good and pure. It is something that we as Americans can call our very own.
The game of baseball is captivating. It is, after all is said and done, a simple game. There are only two lines on the field, and never more than 13 players walk that field at one time. There are no rigid time constraints, no yellow flags to enforce obscure rules, and no need to distract the patronage of the game with a 15 minute show in the middle of each contest. It is, however, the intricacies hidden within the simplicity of the game which make it so alluring. The mystery of pitch selection, the alignment of the defense, the strategy of the bunt, the sacrifice fly, and the intentional walk. All of these sideplots and asighs in a game that looks so simple on the surface are what make it so great.
Baseball is more than a game, it is a sensation. Or rather, a mix of sensations. In these cold dark winter months I miss the game, but what I long for are the sights and sounds and smells. The fresh cut, emerald grass, the smell of the concession stands, the sound of hard leather meeting harder wood. All of these things blend together to form the perfect experience that is a day at the ballpark.
Above all other things, baseball is a bond. It brings our nation together, it brings our communities together, and it brings our families together. Forget the multi-million dollar athletes, the expensive uniforms, and the enormity of the baseball stadium. Baseball is about family. Your dad taught you baseball just as his dad taught him. When you were a kid you'd play catch in the backyard with your old man, not because you were preparing for anything, but because you got to enjoy a piece of the game together. Your dad, or your grandfather, or your uncle took you to your first game. He patiently answered your questions, he explained the game to you, and then he sat back in his chair, watched the wonder that was surely present on your face, and smiled to himself.
Baseball will be back soon...
The game of baseball is captivating. It is, after all is said and done, a simple game. There are only two lines on the field, and never more than 13 players walk that field at one time. There are no rigid time constraints, no yellow flags to enforce obscure rules, and no need to distract the patronage of the game with a 15 minute show in the middle of each contest. It is, however, the intricacies hidden within the simplicity of the game which make it so alluring. The mystery of pitch selection, the alignment of the defense, the strategy of the bunt, the sacrifice fly, and the intentional walk. All of these sideplots and asighs in a game that looks so simple on the surface are what make it so great.
Baseball is more than a game, it is a sensation. Or rather, a mix of sensations. In these cold dark winter months I miss the game, but what I long for are the sights and sounds and smells. The fresh cut, emerald grass, the smell of the concession stands, the sound of hard leather meeting harder wood. All of these things blend together to form the perfect experience that is a day at the ballpark.
Above all other things, baseball is a bond. It brings our nation together, it brings our communities together, and it brings our families together. Forget the multi-million dollar athletes, the expensive uniforms, and the enormity of the baseball stadium. Baseball is about family. Your dad taught you baseball just as his dad taught him. When you were a kid you'd play catch in the backyard with your old man, not because you were preparing for anything, but because you got to enjoy a piece of the game together. Your dad, or your grandfather, or your uncle took you to your first game. He patiently answered your questions, he explained the game to you, and then he sat back in his chair, watched the wonder that was surely present on your face, and smiled to himself.
Baseball will be back soon...
Monday, January 09, 2006
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Quote of the Week
"What you are is God's gift to you. What you make of yourself is your gift back to God." - Fr. Tim Daly
What is, was, and has yet to be...
The New Year was ushered in while I was soundly asleep at the Hilton University Place in Charlotte, NC. In reality, New Years never meant that much to me. Everyone seems to think it's this great time of renewal, a time to set goals for yourself, and a time to think about how you could be a better person. Shouldn't that be all the time? And I'm sick of New Year's resolutions. Let's face it: The lower you set your goals, the less dissappointed you'll be when you don't achieve them.
I'm just kidding...
2005 was not a remarkable year in my life. I did add a nephew, which was awesome, but aside from that, nothing of great importance occured. John Henry (the new nephew) was by far the high point of the year, as his arrival marks the second nephew I will have the oppurtunity to mold in my image. The low point of the year occured on October 19th, at Busch Stadium. When Yadier Molina flied out to center field he ended the hopes of Cardinal Nation for a repeat World Series appearance. It was a bitter sweet moment, as I can now say I was at the last game ever played at the "old" Busch Stadium.
2005 was also the first full year I have spent as an airline pilot. Due entirely to the fact that I did not flight instruct at all or spend much time in small airplanes, it is the first year I don't need both hands to count the number of times I nearly died in an airplane over the course of the previous 12 months.
So what for 2006? I have set but one professional goal for myself: To get hired at Continental Airlines. I wish to find my aviation home for the rest of my career, and Continental is not only hiring pilots, but they appear to be on the verge of a very successful next couple of years. Please don't misunderstand: I'm not trying to leave Eagle because I don't like it there. Very much the contrary in fact. However, I want to fly bigger airplanes, longer distances, and make more money. As for personal goals, well, those are personal.
I'm just kidding...
2005 was not a remarkable year in my life. I did add a nephew, which was awesome, but aside from that, nothing of great importance occured. John Henry (the new nephew) was by far the high point of the year, as his arrival marks the second nephew I will have the oppurtunity to mold in my image. The low point of the year occured on October 19th, at Busch Stadium. When Yadier Molina flied out to center field he ended the hopes of Cardinal Nation for a repeat World Series appearance. It was a bitter sweet moment, as I can now say I was at the last game ever played at the "old" Busch Stadium.
2005 was also the first full year I have spent as an airline pilot. Due entirely to the fact that I did not flight instruct at all or spend much time in small airplanes, it is the first year I don't need both hands to count the number of times I nearly died in an airplane over the course of the previous 12 months.
So what for 2006? I have set but one professional goal for myself: To get hired at Continental Airlines. I wish to find my aviation home for the rest of my career, and Continental is not only hiring pilots, but they appear to be on the verge of a very successful next couple of years. Please don't misunderstand: I'm not trying to leave Eagle because I don't like it there. Very much the contrary in fact. However, I want to fly bigger airplanes, longer distances, and make more money. As for personal goals, well, those are personal.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
