Lightning Storm
South Dakota
Merging of Multiple Lightning Strikes using Photoshop
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Annaliese is One
I had planned to spend this week discussing the effect of social disorder on communist Russia, but I have instead succumbed to the pleas of my ‘fans,’ who screaming loudly through their fingertips, demanded a recounting of Annaliese’s first birthday party.
Signs of a massive fiesta still litter our house. Leftovers fill our refrigerator, odd toy packaging is strewn about the living room and all the chairs have yet to find their original homes. Thus, I sit upon my steadfast friend, Pedro – succor to my need – and tell the tale of this weekend past.
It’s not everyday your little girl turns one. And it’s not every day the Springfield Hofners throw a party. So when we do (or she does), we do our best to go all out. My best count lists 28 friends and family crammed into our little house, perhaps 1-2 short of our record which was set at Mollie’s 30th birthday party. They came from all over, Springfield, Chicago, Iowa, just to partake of the spectacular fare that they knew would be set before them. I hope they were not disappointed by the hand-pattied ‘scramburgers,’ Mollie’s homemade baked beans (a very plain name for a very decadent recipe) and lastly, the laboriously decorated cake!
I have two recipes that I have spent the last few years attempting to improve. Almost a year ago, I recounted my Adventures in Chili-making. The other recipe upon which I hang my chef’s pride is my burger recipe. This year, a few guests were subjected to experimental burgers, ones with apple added to the exceedingly long ingredient list. The reviews were mixed, but at least good enough to necessitate a second study.
Where food was concerned, the cake was the talk of the party. When Annaliese was (let’s say, for humor’s sake) young, the nurses in the NICU gave her a knitted ladybug hat. As year one neared its conclusion, Mollie chose this as the inspiration for Anna’s birthday decorations. The cake was a grass-green sheet with a large red and black ladybug . . . words do not seem to do it justice. If you promise not to skip reading the rest of the blog, I’ll promise to include a picture at the end.
I’m having a very difficult time deciding which parts of the party really need description and how to express them. It seems, at this moment, that much of what I have to say is best reserved for pictures. What better way to show the smile that appeared on Anna’s face when she opened a furry monkey, or how the monkey held her affection until she was presented with a baby doll tiny enough for her to hold.
So I will spend the rest of my allotted ‘blog time’ giving my fingertips a rest. Instead, I will devote my brainpower to finding and sharing a few pictures (and perhaps a video!??!) to effectively and efficiently share my daughter’s first birthday with the world.
(An exceedingly bright flash fills your room.)
I hope you enjoyed that time traveling adventure, for what seemed to you as just a short glance between two paragraphs, was in fact a three hour jump into the future. In this new time and space, the pictures and videos have been posted. If you continue down the page, you shall find them patiently awaiting.
And I patiently await the return of my family. In a house so recently filled to bursting, I now sit alone, its sole human occupant. Yes, I have Samwise and Pedro to keep me company, but the giggles and cries of my last homebound daughter are now mingled with the sounds of other children at her new daycare. So while I anticipate news of possible future employment, I am left to fill my silent house with the incessant pecking of fingers upon keys. So long as it keeps me company, so long as it keeps you entertained, I shall persist.
And now, on with the show!
Signs of a massive fiesta still litter our house. Leftovers fill our refrigerator, odd toy packaging is strewn about the living room and all the chairs have yet to find their original homes. Thus, I sit upon my steadfast friend, Pedro – succor to my need – and tell the tale of this weekend past.
It’s not everyday your little girl turns one. And it’s not every day the Springfield Hofners throw a party. So when we do (or she does), we do our best to go all out. My best count lists 28 friends and family crammed into our little house, perhaps 1-2 short of our record which was set at Mollie’s 30th birthday party. They came from all over, Springfield, Chicago, Iowa, just to partake of the spectacular fare that they knew would be set before them. I hope they were not disappointed by the hand-pattied ‘scramburgers,’ Mollie’s homemade baked beans (a very plain name for a very decadent recipe) and lastly, the laboriously decorated cake!
I have two recipes that I have spent the last few years attempting to improve. Almost a year ago, I recounted my Adventures in Chili-making. The other recipe upon which I hang my chef’s pride is my burger recipe. This year, a few guests were subjected to experimental burgers, ones with apple added to the exceedingly long ingredient list. The reviews were mixed, but at least good enough to necessitate a second study.
Where food was concerned, the cake was the talk of the party. When Annaliese was (let’s say, for humor’s sake) young, the nurses in the NICU gave her a knitted ladybug hat. As year one neared its conclusion, Mollie chose this as the inspiration for Anna’s birthday decorations. The cake was a grass-green sheet with a large red and black ladybug . . . words do not seem to do it justice. If you promise not to skip reading the rest of the blog, I’ll promise to include a picture at the end.
I’m having a very difficult time deciding which parts of the party really need description and how to express them. It seems, at this moment, that much of what I have to say is best reserved for pictures. What better way to show the smile that appeared on Anna’s face when she opened a furry monkey, or how the monkey held her affection until she was presented with a baby doll tiny enough for her to hold.
So I will spend the rest of my allotted ‘blog time’ giving my fingertips a rest. Instead, I will devote my brainpower to finding and sharing a few pictures (and perhaps a video!??!) to effectively and efficiently share my daughter’s first birthday with the world.
(An exceedingly bright flash fills your room.)
I hope you enjoyed that time traveling adventure, for what seemed to you as just a short glance between two paragraphs, was in fact a three hour jump into the future. In this new time and space, the pictures and videos have been posted. If you continue down the page, you shall find them patiently awaiting.
And I patiently await the return of my family. In a house so recently filled to bursting, I now sit alone, its sole human occupant. Yes, I have Samwise and Pedro to keep me company, but the giggles and cries of my last homebound daughter are now mingled with the sounds of other children at her new daycare. So while I anticipate news of possible future employment, I am left to fill my silent house with the incessant pecking of fingers upon keys. So long as it keeps me company, so long as it keeps you entertained, I shall persist.
And now, on with the show!
Anna's First Birthday Video
Here is my first attempt at uploading video to my blog. If it works, it may prove useful in the future (like, for instance, when I expect a part of my blog to be read in a specific voice . . . !!!)
Please enjoy (and please let me know if you have problems! - No, not those problems. Problems with the videos!)
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
When Life Gives You Lemons . . . Give Them to Your Kids
From behind me, there came a low, painful cry. I turned around to see Andrew standing in the middle of the living room, his hands were covered in bright red, his chin and half open mouth were dripping with crimson. I calmly stood up and reached my fingers into his sticky mouth, saving his burning tongue from the Fireball I had heard Mollie giving to him a few moments earlier.
I laughed, asked him if it tasted good, then offered it back to him. He accepted. A few seconds later, the fire alarm rang and I was again pulling the goopy sphere from his mouth. One alarm later, all that remained was the sweet interior of the diabolical treat. We washed his hands and ‘The Boy’ continued on his merry way, repeating to Mollie my warning that ‘we don’t bite Fireballs.’
Until he began to cry again. I listened from downstairs as he explained to Mommy that “fireball got dirty.” I can only assume it fell on the carpet at the top of the stairs. Then, as though lessons learned were for lesser men, he asked for another.
I don’t yet have a moral to my story, nor a direction in which I intend to head, but this whole episode struck me as something that needed to be shared. Perhaps I am amused by the reckless abandon (of course with all heed paid to the child’s safety) with which a parent can allow their child to explore and experience the world. It would have been easy enough to take the hot candy from Andrew, throw it away, and wonder aloud why Mollie would have given him such a treat. But that’s not any fun. It doesn’t promote an acceptance and enjoyment of things that may be uncomfortable, yet surprisingly satisfying at the same time.
Lemons. How many of you parents have been sitting down to dinner at your favorite restaurant when your infant child reaches for the bright yellow atop your glass of water? What did you do? For both of our children, Mollie and I have granted their wish, allowing them to taste the lemon. The end result is always amazing. The child pulls away from the sour taste, scrunching their face into a sour pucker. A moment later, they recover and lean forward for another taste.
With Andrew, this would continue until Mollie or I remembered that the lemon, mixed with milk, seemed to accelerate his all too common practice of reverse-eating. With Anna, there has never been a reason to stop. She will munch on a lemon until the cows come home . . . a very strange site in a Chili’s . . . or until it is time to give her some ‘real food’ to eat.
A child’s exploration and discovering of their world is amazing to watch. This thing rattles, that thing makes a loud noise when I bang it on the floor, the other thing growls and yelps when I grab onto it. As they continue their learning adventures, they develop favorites and the occasional aversion. Annaliese loves to play with the TV remotes. I cannot figure out why. Andrew, having received and finished a much more succulent treat from his mother, just went running into the kitchen yelling, “I want another one!”
They were probably a good buy. Aldi had a bag of some 50 ‘freezer pops’ for sale . . . you know the kind, long, plastic sleeves you can never quite open as you struggle to tear into them with your teeth? The funny thing about them is Mollie probably likes them as much as Andrew; she is the one who usually suggests they partake of them. ‘The Boy’ is just a happy tag-a-long.
My little tag-a-long is about to start daycare. This Monday, Annaliese will wander alone into the vast world. And I will be left home, without a child to tease, teach or treat. It is somewhat unsettling to think that for much of the next twenty one years, she (and Andrew) will be reliant upon others to raise and teach them throughout the daylight hours. Not that I have any plans to abandon my part, but so much of the rest of their youth will be spent away from home. Will those I entrust them to give them the same freedom of curiosity, encouraging them to take adventurous risks as they learn and grow? Or will they . . . I must stop. This is getting depressing.
I do know of one great adventure of exploratory significance that is soon approaching. Anna is turning one. As is tradition, she will be allowed the opportunity to excavate a large concoction of flour and chocolate that will be laid before her. Andrew made such a mess. I can only imagine my rebel-daughter making an even bigger one.
Which reminds me . . . I need to make a cake!
I laughed, asked him if it tasted good, then offered it back to him. He accepted. A few seconds later, the fire alarm rang and I was again pulling the goopy sphere from his mouth. One alarm later, all that remained was the sweet interior of the diabolical treat. We washed his hands and ‘The Boy’ continued on his merry way, repeating to Mollie my warning that ‘we don’t bite Fireballs.’
Until he began to cry again. I listened from downstairs as he explained to Mommy that “fireball got dirty.” I can only assume it fell on the carpet at the top of the stairs. Then, as though lessons learned were for lesser men, he asked for another.
I don’t yet have a moral to my story, nor a direction in which I intend to head, but this whole episode struck me as something that needed to be shared. Perhaps I am amused by the reckless abandon (of course with all heed paid to the child’s safety) with which a parent can allow their child to explore and experience the world. It would have been easy enough to take the hot candy from Andrew, throw it away, and wonder aloud why Mollie would have given him such a treat. But that’s not any fun. It doesn’t promote an acceptance and enjoyment of things that may be uncomfortable, yet surprisingly satisfying at the same time.
Lemons. How many of you parents have been sitting down to dinner at your favorite restaurant when your infant child reaches for the bright yellow atop your glass of water? What did you do? For both of our children, Mollie and I have granted their wish, allowing them to taste the lemon. The end result is always amazing. The child pulls away from the sour taste, scrunching their face into a sour pucker. A moment later, they recover and lean forward for another taste.
With Andrew, this would continue until Mollie or I remembered that the lemon, mixed with milk, seemed to accelerate his all too common practice of reverse-eating. With Anna, there has never been a reason to stop. She will munch on a lemon until the cows come home . . . a very strange site in a Chili’s . . . or until it is time to give her some ‘real food’ to eat.
A child’s exploration and discovering of their world is amazing to watch. This thing rattles, that thing makes a loud noise when I bang it on the floor, the other thing growls and yelps when I grab onto it. As they continue their learning adventures, they develop favorites and the occasional aversion. Annaliese loves to play with the TV remotes. I cannot figure out why. Andrew, having received and finished a much more succulent treat from his mother, just went running into the kitchen yelling, “I want another one!”
They were probably a good buy. Aldi had a bag of some 50 ‘freezer pops’ for sale . . . you know the kind, long, plastic sleeves you can never quite open as you struggle to tear into them with your teeth? The funny thing about them is Mollie probably likes them as much as Andrew; she is the one who usually suggests they partake of them. ‘The Boy’ is just a happy tag-a-long.
My little tag-a-long is about to start daycare. This Monday, Annaliese will wander alone into the vast world. And I will be left home, without a child to tease, teach or treat. It is somewhat unsettling to think that for much of the next twenty one years, she (and Andrew) will be reliant upon others to raise and teach them throughout the daylight hours. Not that I have any plans to abandon my part, but so much of the rest of their youth will be spent away from home. Will those I entrust them to give them the same freedom of curiosity, encouraging them to take adventurous risks as they learn and grow? Or will they . . . I must stop. This is getting depressing.
I do know of one great adventure of exploratory significance that is soon approaching. Anna is turning one. As is tradition, she will be allowed the opportunity to excavate a large concoction of flour and chocolate that will be laid before her. Andrew made such a mess. I can only imagine my rebel-daughter making an even bigger one.
Which reminds me . . . I need to make a cake!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Success
What is success?
I was brave enough to look through my old tax returns to see if I could measure success by what I’ve made. Being my father’s nerd, I have my W-2s dating back to 2002, the first year I was let loose upon the real world. The numbers have been rounded off to protect the innocent:
2002 – $33k
2003 – $44k (a good start!!!)
2004 - $38k
2005 - $32k
2006 - $29k
2007 - $11k
2008 - $9k
2009 - $21k (more on that later)
2010 – approximately $3k to date
The way I see it, the way the world sees it, those numbers seem to be going in the wrong direction. (Please excuse me for one moment, I have to go change a poopy butt.)
So I am forced to sit and consider why this downward trend exists. Firstly, there is location, location, location. 2002 was in St. Louis and 2003 and part of 2004 was in Chicago. After that, the local cost of living, and thus salary, dropped significantly when we moved to central Illinois. The second culprit, beginning in 2007, is a little more difficult to discover by only staring at the numbers. (Please excuse me again, I have to keep my little girl from pulling all the books off my shelf.)
Why was there such a significant drop from 2006 to 2007. We all know I am a teacher (or those of you who don’t, you do now.) The school year runs through half of two consecutive years. The number from 2007 looks almost as if I only worked half the year.
That’s it! In 2007 . . . (Please excuse me once more, I don’t know what she has now, but it sounds bad . . .) . . . in 2007, Andrew was born. Mollie and I decided we wanted one of us to raise our child, at least for his infant years. So I spent much of the next year and a half at home or working part time as a substitute.
But what about 2009? Why the sudden jump? That was the year I began working at St. Patrick Catholic School. I started as a part-timer, but about 1 month into the year, I was ‘promoted’ to part-time teacher / part time fill-in-principal. That was the year Andrew went to daycare full time. That was before . . . (I’m sorry for the near constant interruption, but Annaliese just pulled my chain mail shirt (see Picture or Post) off the chair and onto her leg.)
Where was I? Right! The Declaration of Independence is important to the basic structure of the American way of life because . . .what? Not where I was? Oops, sorry . . .
That was before Annaliese was born. Like with Andrew, I was again given the task of raising her throughout her infant years, before we all too soon have to relinquish her to daycare. (Allow me a quick break to make sure the paper shredder is off . . . baby fingers are so small!)
So where in all of this mess I call my life is my success? The numbers don’t show it. Is there any? Please afford me the opportunity to tell a little story.
Almost three weeks ago, I tried and teach Anna to stand up. She had been army crawling around the house for the last couple month and more recently, she had begun to pull herself up to a kneeling position. I made a corporate decision that it was time for her to stand. So, like any good father would do, I got her fully interested in a toy, then put it up on our bed, in sight but out of reach. She was quickly kneeling beside the bed, trying to reach the small hedgehog, but it was still too far. With a little help from Daddy, we managed to get her feet beneath her and she was up, smiling broadly as she held the hedgehog close.
I laid her down and, again like any loving father would, I took the toy away and put it back on the bed. She once more made it to about the same place, her tiny legs not yet able to find the right leverage to stand. Daddy helped her once more and the day’s lessons were through.
I expected to revisit the lesson in the next few days, but there wasn’t a need. The seed had been planted and the amazing machine of learning and exploration that is my daughter was on her feet less than 24 hours later.
So there it was, one tiny success amidst my muddled life. I had taught my daughter to stand. Of course, there are a hundred-thousand more successes I’ve seen, experienced and taught over the last three years. As the time nears for both children to spend their waking hours at daycare and as I begin my attempt to re-enter the working world, I only hope that I will not be missing out on all that has made the last three years so great. Now if you’ll excuse me one last time, “Anna, take my phone out of your mouth!”
(Editor's Note: It's come to my attention that the links in recent posts have not been working . . . something about MS Word having an argument with the blogspot website. Both sides have been visiting a counselor and while I cannot promise compete future cooperation, they seem to be working out their differences!)
(Blogspot.com's Note: MS Word thinks it's SO fancy when it makes quotation notes look all crooked, but I don't recognize them as quotation marks. Therefore, I add 'real' quotation marks so the browsers know what Mike is talking about, but your stupid squiggly quotation marks mess everything up! So Mr. Fancypantsdotdoccreator, if you want to . . . (Mike breaks back in) Hey, cut that out! You're not making things any better by berating Mr. Word! Say you're sorry and give him a hug. Now play nice!)
I was brave enough to look through my old tax returns to see if I could measure success by what I’ve made. Being my father’s nerd, I have my W-2s dating back to 2002, the first year I was let loose upon the real world. The numbers have been rounded off to protect the innocent:
2002 – $33k
2003 – $44k (a good start!!!)
2004 - $38k
2005 - $32k
2006 - $29k
2007 - $11k
2008 - $9k
2009 - $21k (more on that later)
2010 – approximately $3k to date
The way I see it, the way the world sees it, those numbers seem to be going in the wrong direction. (Please excuse me for one moment, I have to go change a poopy butt.)
So I am forced to sit and consider why this downward trend exists. Firstly, there is location, location, location. 2002 was in St. Louis and 2003 and part of 2004 was in Chicago. After that, the local cost of living, and thus salary, dropped significantly when we moved to central Illinois. The second culprit, beginning in 2007, is a little more difficult to discover by only staring at the numbers. (Please excuse me again, I have to keep my little girl from pulling all the books off my shelf.)
Why was there such a significant drop from 2006 to 2007. We all know I am a teacher (or those of you who don’t, you do now.) The school year runs through half of two consecutive years. The number from 2007 looks almost as if I only worked half the year.
That’s it! In 2007 . . . (Please excuse me once more, I don’t know what she has now, but it sounds bad . . .) . . . in 2007, Andrew was born. Mollie and I decided we wanted one of us to raise our child, at least for his infant years. So I spent much of the next year and a half at home or working part time as a substitute.
But what about 2009? Why the sudden jump? That was the year I began working at St. Patrick Catholic School. I started as a part-timer, but about 1 month into the year, I was ‘promoted’ to part-time teacher / part time fill-in-principal. That was the year Andrew went to daycare full time. That was before . . . (I’m sorry for the near constant interruption, but Annaliese just pulled my chain mail shirt (see Picture or Post) off the chair and onto her leg.)
Where was I? Right! The Declaration of Independence is important to the basic structure of the American way of life because . . .what? Not where I was? Oops, sorry . . .
That was before Annaliese was born. Like with Andrew, I was again given the task of raising her throughout her infant years, before we all too soon have to relinquish her to daycare. (Allow me a quick break to make sure the paper shredder is off . . . baby fingers are so small!)
So where in all of this mess I call my life is my success? The numbers don’t show it. Is there any? Please afford me the opportunity to tell a little story.
Almost three weeks ago, I tried and teach Anna to stand up. She had been army crawling around the house for the last couple month and more recently, she had begun to pull herself up to a kneeling position. I made a corporate decision that it was time for her to stand. So, like any good father would do, I got her fully interested in a toy, then put it up on our bed, in sight but out of reach. She was quickly kneeling beside the bed, trying to reach the small hedgehog, but it was still too far. With a little help from Daddy, we managed to get her feet beneath her and she was up, smiling broadly as she held the hedgehog close.
I laid her down and, again like any loving father would, I took the toy away and put it back on the bed. She once more made it to about the same place, her tiny legs not yet able to find the right leverage to stand. Daddy helped her once more and the day’s lessons were through.
I expected to revisit the lesson in the next few days, but there wasn’t a need. The seed had been planted and the amazing machine of learning and exploration that is my daughter was on her feet less than 24 hours later.
So there it was, one tiny success amidst my muddled life. I had taught my daughter to stand. Of course, there are a hundred-thousand more successes I’ve seen, experienced and taught over the last three years. As the time nears for both children to spend their waking hours at daycare and as I begin my attempt to re-enter the working world, I only hope that I will not be missing out on all that has made the last three years so great. Now if you’ll excuse me one last time, “Anna, take my phone out of your mouth!”
(Editor's Note: It's come to my attention that the links in recent posts have not been working . . . something about MS Word having an argument with the blogspot website. Both sides have been visiting a counselor and while I cannot promise compete future cooperation, they seem to be working out their differences!)
(Blogspot.com's Note: MS Word thinks it's SO fancy when it makes quotation notes look all crooked, but I don't recognize them as quotation marks. Therefore, I add 'real' quotation marks so the browsers know what Mike is talking about, but your stupid squiggly quotation marks mess everything up! So Mr. Fancypantsdotdoccreator, if you want to . . . (Mike breaks back in) Hey, cut that out! You're not making things any better by berating Mr. Word! Say you're sorry and give him a hug. Now play nice!)
Sunday, August 8, 2010
What is Sunday Best?
In another show of my concerted effort to organize my blogging life, I have decided to create a feature I am tenatively calling 'Sunday Best.' What is 'Sunday Best,' you ask? Please allow me to explain.
Way back in the day, when I was blogging each and every, I was also including a daily photograph that I'd taken. This, of course, required more time, work, committment, etc. When I was reinstated to my blogging duties, that task fell by the wayside.
Which leads me back to 'Sunday Best.' It is my current plan, though I have not yet set a weekly alarm in my phone, to resurrect the hobby of posting photos. Some will be artsy-fartsy stuff (like this week's), while others will be family pictures displaying the Springfield Hofner's in all their glory (cough).
Quite conveniently and name appropriately, I hope to have your weekly dose of photographic exploration ready for you by 12:01 AM each and every Sunday.
The first installation of 'Sunday Best' is below! Enjoy! (and feel free to comment.)
Way back in the day, when I was blogging each and every, I was also including a daily photograph that I'd taken. This, of course, required more time, work, committment, etc. When I was reinstated to my blogging duties, that task fell by the wayside.
Which leads me back to 'Sunday Best.' It is my current plan, though I have not yet set a weekly alarm in my phone, to resurrect the hobby of posting photos. Some will be artsy-fartsy stuff (like this week's), while others will be family pictures displaying the Springfield Hofner's in all their glory (cough).
Quite conveniently and name appropriately, I hope to have your weekly dose of photographic exploration ready for you by 12:01 AM each and every Sunday.
The first installation of 'Sunday Best' is below! Enjoy! (and feel free to comment.)
Reflecting Pool 1
Reflecting Pool 1
at First Church of Christ, Scientist
(and definitely not Scientology)
Boston, MA
Thursday, August 5, 2010
What does three up and three down mean to you? – End of an Era
As I found myself ranting aloud to an uninterested crowd at Buffalo Wild Wings, I realized it was probably time to get this off my chest. I have long been a Yankee hater, but these days I’m dishing out my ire a little more carefully.
When I think of the Yankees, two modern players instantly come to mind. Perhaps the same two have miraculously popped into your head, one standing solemnly in a long line of Yankee greats, the other daintily bobbing his inflated head alongside Barry, Sammy and all that crowd.
From what I’ve seen, Derek Jeeter is a true baseball legend. Even a hater like me has to stop and appreciate his baseball prowess and apparent integrity. But he’s not why I’m writing today. It’s the other guy I can’t stand. Actually, it’s not so much him, but how he and his roid enhanced career is continually lauded by baseball’s media elite (if there truly is such a thing).
Tonight was the last straw. As A-Roid disappointed all onlookers by merely lacing a double into the right field corner instead of hitting his 600th career homerun, the MLB talking head couldn’t help himself. Out of his vacuous mind came something to the effect of, “Rodriguez does not yet take his place as the greatest ever . . .” It was too much. I was half screaming aloud in a crowded restaurant, all guise of sanity lost to the obvious truth that I was berating an unknown announcer through an aging television set. “He’s a cheater!!! There’s a reason he’s going to be the youngest player to reach 600 home runs . . . It’s because he was pumped full of roids!”
I cannot understand how the aforementioned media elite can continually view the ballooned statistics of this era’s equally ballooned players and somehow raise them upon a pedestal equaling or surpassing those who were truly great! Why is it that the goofballs at ESPN or MLB network can’t subdue their feigned ignorance and tell their audience some semblance of truth. Here’s a suggestion:
“With that double, A-Rod falls short of his next great achievement, what we all are waiting for, his 600th career homerun. Even in an era of inflated statistics, reaching the 600 homerun plateau is an astounding feat and deserves mention among baseball’s truly great.”
Is that minor admittance of wrongdoing too much to ask for? I find it much more reasonable than what I would truly like to hear:
“As A-Rod doubles down the right field line, he misses out on this opportunity to hit his 600th career homerun. Of course, we all know his statistics are ‘enhanced’ and although he would be a great ball player regardless, in a fair world we would be equally anticipating his 400th career homerun.”
So how does the average fan filter out all the garbage of the last 25 years? Who can we look at and say, “Wow, he was a great ball player, and he did it right!”? With the widespread impropriety, I find it hard to answer that. I am not naive enough to simply peruse the White Sox roster and declare them all decent, upstanding human beings. I take a look at players’ performances in years past and pass my judgment – so and so may have been a user. Yet among all the disappointment, I can still name a few players I hope and/or believe did it right. If Derek Jeeter truly has the respect for the game that he is lauded for, then I hope he’s done it right. Ken Griffey Junior is another player I hope did it right. With the most beautiful home run swing I have ever witnessed in my semi-young life, I cannot help but believe it was naught but God-given talent.
There is only one modern player that I have heard to be above reproach when performance enhancers are concerned. I have been told this player was disgusted enough to speak out against their use long before it was popular and that he was one of the few in MLB who willingly spoke to Congress. I was also lucky enough to grow up watching this player earn his place in history as he set new standards for White Sox prowess – Frank Thomas.
I can only hope that the next twenty five years bring with it an era of purity in the game of baseball. It’s not that I don’t want to see exceptional athletes performing amazing feats. It’s just that when my son sees the next player approaching his 600th career homerun, I hope he can celebrate the fact that the player is not some man-made behemoth, but rather a naturally occurring phenomenon of baseball beauty and grace.
When I think of the Yankees, two modern players instantly come to mind. Perhaps the same two have miraculously popped into your head, one standing solemnly in a long line of Yankee greats, the other daintily bobbing his inflated head alongside Barry, Sammy and all that crowd.
From what I’ve seen, Derek Jeeter is a true baseball legend. Even a hater like me has to stop and appreciate his baseball prowess and apparent integrity. But he’s not why I’m writing today. It’s the other guy I can’t stand. Actually, it’s not so much him, but how he and his roid enhanced career is continually lauded by baseball’s media elite (if there truly is such a thing).
Tonight was the last straw. As A-Roid disappointed all onlookers by merely lacing a double into the right field corner instead of hitting his 600th career homerun, the MLB talking head couldn’t help himself. Out of his vacuous mind came something to the effect of, “Rodriguez does not yet take his place as the greatest ever . . .” It was too much. I was half screaming aloud in a crowded restaurant, all guise of sanity lost to the obvious truth that I was berating an unknown announcer through an aging television set. “He’s a cheater!!! There’s a reason he’s going to be the youngest player to reach 600 home runs . . . It’s because he was pumped full of roids!”
I cannot understand how the aforementioned media elite can continually view the ballooned statistics of this era’s equally ballooned players and somehow raise them upon a pedestal equaling or surpassing those who were truly great! Why is it that the goofballs at ESPN or MLB network can’t subdue their feigned ignorance and tell their audience some semblance of truth. Here’s a suggestion:
“With that double, A-Rod falls short of his next great achievement, what we all are waiting for, his 600th career homerun. Even in an era of inflated statistics, reaching the 600 homerun plateau is an astounding feat and deserves mention among baseball’s truly great.”
Is that minor admittance of wrongdoing too much to ask for? I find it much more reasonable than what I would truly like to hear:
“As A-Rod doubles down the right field line, he misses out on this opportunity to hit his 600th career homerun. Of course, we all know his statistics are ‘enhanced’ and although he would be a great ball player regardless, in a fair world we would be equally anticipating his 400th career homerun.”
So how does the average fan filter out all the garbage of the last 25 years? Who can we look at and say, “Wow, he was a great ball player, and he did it right!”? With the widespread impropriety, I find it hard to answer that. I am not naive enough to simply peruse the White Sox roster and declare them all decent, upstanding human beings. I take a look at players’ performances in years past and pass my judgment – so and so may have been a user. Yet among all the disappointment, I can still name a few players I hope and/or believe did it right. If Derek Jeeter truly has the respect for the game that he is lauded for, then I hope he’s done it right. Ken Griffey Junior is another player I hope did it right. With the most beautiful home run swing I have ever witnessed in my semi-young life, I cannot help but believe it was naught but God-given talent.
There is only one modern player that I have heard to be above reproach when performance enhancers are concerned. I have been told this player was disgusted enough to speak out against their use long before it was popular and that he was one of the few in MLB who willingly spoke to Congress. I was also lucky enough to grow up watching this player earn his place in history as he set new standards for White Sox prowess – Frank Thomas.
I can only hope that the next twenty five years bring with it an era of purity in the game of baseball. It’s not that I don’t want to see exceptional athletes performing amazing feats. It’s just that when my son sees the next player approaching his 600th career homerun, I hope he can celebrate the fact that the player is not some man-made behemoth, but rather a naturally occurring phenomenon of baseball beauty and grace.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
