Today's thoughts

Category: OLD SPORT SHORTS (Page 64 of 68)

An old guy’s perspective on all sports

Retirement is not without Hassles: The Hill #188

It’s day two of the bachelor life.  I slept a little later, did a hilly, four-mile run, and walked the dogs.  I’ll  try another two miles this afternoon, but my thighs feel like concrete, and I didn’t even come close to conquering the hill today.  I have managed to shed about ten pounds over the past two weeks, with longer runs on more challenging terrain.  I also have a two-day growth of beard, and have that youthful feeling of an athlete in training.  Unfortunately, I still can’t regain any of my former speed, so I’ll have to be satisfied with endurance.

I always imagined what it would be like to be an Olympian.  Your only job would be to train.  I’m not sure I’m ready to give a full 8-hour day to training, but I will commit a couple of hours each day.  There is a medal at steak here, and my team is counting on me to give it my all.  There’s only 31 days until race day, and I’d like to lose at least another five pounds.  I’ll need every advantage to combat the mileage, hills, and lack of sleep associated with the event.  I should be just taking it easy in my rocking chair, but instead trying to find that guy inside me who ran track in high school 50 years ago.  Insane but true!

I did hear back from the fellow “streaker” that I wrote to yesterday.  No, we don’t run naked in public, as Ray Stevens describes in the lyrics of his hit song, “The Streak.”  We simply run every day at least once.  She and her husband operate a local running store, and have had a lot of experience with the Hood to Coast relay.  I read their blog, and was invited to run with them any Saturday morning.  Oh, you mean “everyone else is home day.  (Post #66).  I also know it as “movie night,” “popcorn dinner night”, or “run with the dogs” day, since Saturday is no longer a part of my new retirement language.  Every day is the same now and that includes birthdays, holidays, weekends, and vacations.

Speaking of movie night and/or popcorn dinner night, we did go to see the new “Spider-Man:  Homecoming” movie.  I wasn’t particularly impressed.  I’m not a consistent fan of these comic book action movies, but I did like “Wonder Woman.”  We’ll probably go see “Dunkirk” next, especially after our recent trip to Normandy.  I’m also not a big war movie fan, but the historical significance in that time frame just before D-Day is appealing.

I made a bachelor’s lunch platter of mini-peanut butter sandwiches.  It’s various combinations with honey, banana, mayonnaise, and pickles on thin-sliced french bread.  I’m apparently channeling Elvis, Kinsey Millhone, and Dale Earnhardt Jr. while watching the Cubs play the White Sox on television.  These sandwiches are not exactly low on calories and hardly on any Olympic training table, but should give me enough energy to complete another two miles this afternoon, and another attempt at the hill.

I hope to get some sun this afternoon, read some more of Dennis Lehane’s novel, Prayers for Rain, and maybe pray for strength to get me up that hill that has challenged me since we moved into the neighborhood.  I’m originally from the Midwest, so I’m intimidated by steep hills.  It’s not Boston’s Heartbreak Hill or Hurricaine Point at Big Sur, but it is as tough as it gets in this hilly neighborhood.   Before I load into that van at 2 a.m. on August 25th to head to the starting line, I want that hellish hill to be just a routine part of my daily run.  Give me strength and some Advil!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Birthdays #187

Most of last week’s hassles are now behind me.  The plantation shutters are going to be replaced, the dog has stopped itching, and the air conditioning is working.  Costs were under $500, but there was a lot of dining out, and even some antique shopping to expand on that total.  It just goes to prove that when you dodge a bullet of expense, it is logical  justification to spend it on something else.   I will someone spend all this retirement money I saved – and quickly – even if it kills me!  Let’s hope it doesn’t.

I’m celebrating a birthday today – my son turned 43.  He just reminded me that I was a year off, having  turned 21 for the second time last year, so that was worth a toast.  I can’t even remember his 21st birthday, although I think we went to a baseball game.  Since he has never been a drinker, it was not a much-anticipated event.  He is probably working today at his restaurant, anxious to get home to some cake.  It’s hard to believe that half of a lifetime has passed since he was born, and that I will be very fortunate if I can live long enough to see him reach my age. We’ll celebrate his 43rd in San Francisco in two weeks, and work on spending more of my retirement nest egg.

The birthday of a son or daughter is a mortality wake-up-call, often more sentimental than our own birthday celebrations.  After all, I’ve stopped celebrating my birthday!  (See post #58)  I do remember, as if it was yesterday, the rush of excitement the day he was born.  I wasn’t quite 24 years old, working in a factory while I searched for a career in-line with my college marketing degree.  I was certainly not ready to be a father, but I was surely proud to be one, and shared my enthusiasm with my co-workers by passing out blue bubblegum cigars. He’s much bigger than I am now, but I prefer to see him as that tiny, helpless bundle of joy.   He’s given me more birthdays to celebrate with a daughter in-law and two grandchildren.

With my wife out of town on business for a couple of days, I’m being a temporary slob.  It’s four o’clock in the afternoon and I haven’t shaved or showered.  I’m not usually this lazy, but the dogs can relate to me better when I’m sweaty and stinky.  I just finished my second run of the day (see Post #186), that was hot and grueling.  I’ll relax here at the computer for a while longer before I hit the showers.  I’m trying to lose about 10 pounds by the end of August, but had a bit of a setback yesterday evening with a typical bachelor’s dinner of fried chicken, deep-fried potatoes, biscuits, and beer.  I’m staying in tonight and watching the calories.  Another training day tomorrow-maybe I can get up that hill!  I thought that at age 40, you were over the hill – I guess I’m not there yet.

The only things that I have that are older than I am are in my collections.  Some Photos, a baseball bat, jewelry, a cash register, coins, stamps, baseball cards, and some antiques have all “out-lived” my years.  When I’m gone, they will become unwanted, sold, or donated.  It doesn’t bother me what happens to my “stuff,” since they can’t be buried in some tomb along with me.  I also won’t need them to pay the tolls on my final journey to the afterlife. Besides, a Sherm Lollar baseball card isn’t going to get me far.  My only legacy will be these daily posts that will also someday disappear from the internet cloud.  Today, however, I will celebrate the birth of my son, wishing that his life turns out as good or better than mine.

 

 

 

 

Old Sport Shorts: Decatur Staleys #185

As I was writing yesterday’s post #184, I realized that I had not yet told the story of the Decatur Staleys.  I lived in Decatur, Illinois in 2007 when the Chicago Bears played the Indianapolis Colts in Superbowl XLI.   A friend of mine worked for Tate & Lyle, a British sugar company founded in 1859.  In 1988, they acquired Decatur’s A.E. Staley Manufacturing Company and took steps to become the sole manufacturer of SPLENDA.  In a tour of the plant, I was shown a framed document that established the formation of the modern-day Chicago Bears under “Papa Bear” George Halas.

George Halas was a member of the 1918 Illinois Big Ten football championship team, and while at Great Lakes Naval Training Station was named MVP of the 1919 Rose Bowl.  As a great athlete, he also played for the New York Yankees in 1919 before a hip injury ended his baseball career, but went on to star for the Hammond Pros. After a year with the Pros, he moved to Decatur to work for the A.E. Staley Company, then a starch manufacturer, as a sales representative.  The company’s general superintendent, George Chamberlain, made the hire and A.E. Staley’s direction.  Chicago-born Halas also played outfield for the company sponsored baseball team and served as player/coach for the Staleys football team.  He personally selected the orange and navy blue uniform colors of the team, based on his University of Illinois alma-mater.

In 1920, the American Professional Football Association was formed consisting of eleven teams:  The Canton Bulldogs, Rock Island Independents, Muncie Flyers, Decatur Staleys, Massillon Tigers, Chicago Cardinals, Hammond Pros, Dayton Triangles, Cleveland Indians, Akron Pros, and Rochester Jeffersons.   Jim Thorpe was elected president and a $100 franchise fee was established but apparently never collected. The league formation might have been influenced by a letter from George Halas, expressing the need for organization and scheduling. The first Staley’s game against the Moline Tractors was set for October 3, 1920.

The Staleys finished that inaugural 1920 season in 2nd place at 10-1-2, their only loss to the Chicago (Racine) Cardinals 7-6.  They had a chance to win the championship in a season-ending game against the Akron Pros, but time ran out in a scoreless tie.  George Halas had relocated this game to Cubs Park in Chicago, attracting a record 12,000 fans, compared to the 3,000 typically drawn at Staley Park, and this led to a move of the team to Chicago in 1921.  They were called the Chicago Staleys during that first year of transition, out of respect for their roots.

The Chicago Staleys played the majority of the 1921 season at Wrigley Field, and were renamed the Bears by Halas following a historic championship season at 9-1-1,  The Great Depression had its economic impact on the company, and Eugene Staley had to dig deep to salvage the company and his teams.  His offer of the team franchise to Halas that I saw displayed on the wall of Tate & Lyle, included $5,000 to help cover expenses that first year. Other sources state that Halas paid Staley $100 for the rights to the team, but it was probably Staley’s money anyway and just a formality.  I liken it to paying someone to haul away your gallery of original Monet paintings.  To this day, “Staley the Bear” continues to be the Bears Mascot, perhaps the only remaining connection to the Staley name.

My personal opinion is that A.E. Staley should probably be known as “Papa Bear.”  He died in 1940, and his family in Decatur has restored his mansion to include a museum.  The Decatur corporate location  was originally an abandoned starch plant that was purchased and retooled in 1909.  It produced the famous American brand, Staley Starch, that now belongs to a British sugar giant.   The city of Decatur should have taken steps to establish the Football Hall of Fame before Canton, Ohio stole the thunder.  All that’s left in Decatur is a welcome sign that says, “Original home of the Chicago Bears.”  It’s interesting to note that most early football and baseball franchises started in small communities, but eventually migrated to the big cities to attract larger crowds. However, the Football Hall of Fame is still in Canton, while the Baseball Hall of Fame is in Cooperstown. I applaud these small towns for bucking the trend.   Go Bears!

 

 

 

 

 

Old Sport Shorts: Rolaids #184

O.K., I was wrong, again!  The Cubs win streak did not get to 23.  It didn’t even get to 7!  The 1935 Cubs 21-game game streak didn’t happen until September, so there is still time for the 2017 squad to equal that record.  The 1935 Cubs managed to win seven straight games in the month of July, exceeding the 6-game current steak that just ended yesterday.  All was going well until the top of the 8th when the Cardinals suddenly erupted for 9 runs and an 11-4 victory.  The Cubs somehow outhit them and had two fewer errors, but “relief” pitching was hardly comforting.  It was a real momentum killer! (See Post #181)

The battle today against the arch-rival Cardinals had the right outcome, but the ending was equally disturbing.  It had a happy ending, but the Cubs pitching once again failed in the 8th, with John Lester giving up two solo home runs.  He had a one-hitter through 7, and maybe that extra inning of work was a mistake.  Who could blame Madden for sticking with him after yesterday’s relief debacle?  The Cubs rallied in the bottom of the 8th with 3 runs to take the lead, and Wade Davis finally shut down Yadier Molina, after back-to-back walks.  (See Post #174)  We were once again on the edge of our seats, getting out the Rolaids! (See Post #174).  Rolaids offered an annual “Relief Man Award” from 1976 to 2012.  Cubs winners included Bruce Sutter in 1981 & 1982 and Randy Myers in 1993.  “R-O-L-A-I-D-S spells relief.”

It was a similar scenario that we saw at the All-Star Game.  Wade Davis was on the mound with the game on the line, and Yadi was at the plate – this time with a bat.  The two things that were different : Yadi was not wearing his obnoxious, gold plated amour and Davis did not give up a game-deciding home run.  It started a streak of one for the Cubs, with the series-deciding game tomorrow night.  Jose Quintana will make his Wrigley Field debut for the Cubs after a sterling 12-strikeout performance in Baltimore.  Quintana was traded from the cross-town White Sox, so finding a new home won’t be a problem.  He may also get to face his old teammates next week.

The White Sox continue to struggle, losing their seventh straight game since the All-Star break.  The wrong kind of streak!  In the course of this disastrous run, they are beginning to build for the future.  Yoan Moncada, their brightest new star, tripled in yesterdays loss showing-off some of the power and speed he displayed in the minors. White Sox fans are excited to watch him play, with little else to look forward to this year.  Although, the team will probably quickly rebound, if only for the short-term, just in time for the Cubs series next week.  It’s why they play the game!

I always struggle with these Sox-Cubs games every year.  It’s like my conscience splits in half, with the 10-year old me rooting for the Sox, and the retired me pulling for the Cubs.  Normally, I would be content if they split the series, but the Cubs need to sweep to maintain any chance to win the Central Division.  Given the talent they have, the White Sox will have their chance in two more years.  I will say that if I had become the Cubs fan that my dad wanted me to be, I would have had to wait an additional 11 years for a World Series victory.  As luck would have it, I was running an NBC affiliate in Illinois during the 2005 World Championship season, and was able to attend both games in Chicago, featuring home runs by Jermaine Dye, Joe Crede, Paul Konerko, and Scott Podsednik.   Two great victories set the stage for the sweep in Houston.  I made the decision to become a White Sox fan in 1959, despite their World Series loss to the Dodgers.  I was able to tell my dad that I made the right choice 46 years later.  Unfortunately, he wouldn’t live long enough to see the Cubs win in 2016. (See Post #25).

I can’t imagine the mind-struggles I would have and the Rolaids I would need if the Sox and the Cubs played in the World Series.  It hasn’t happened since 1906, so don’t buy me a case yet!  I had the same problem when the Bears and the Colts met in Superbowl XLI.  I grew up a Baltimore Colts fan, following the aging Johnny Unitus.  It was his replacement, Earl Morrall, that eventually pulled out the victory in Superbowl V, following a rib injury to Unitus in the second quarter.  I was much more a baseball than football fan, with White Sox catcher Sherm Lollar a much bigger sports hero to me than Unitus,  (See Post #5).   Maybe my dad had the same influence when he convinced me to move my allegiance from the New York Yankees to a team closer to home?  For some unknown reason, I began to follow another Chicago team, the Bears, and temporarily abandoned the Colts.    When I moved my family to Indianapolis in the mid-80’s, the Colts moved there as well.  My job involved selling for the Colts radio network, and began to get to know the coaches and players quite well.

The teams you associate with in childhood always seem to win the battle of allegiance.  Even though I watched the Bears win the 1985 Superbowl, and was a huge fan of Dick Butkus, Walter Peyton, and Jim McMahon, I drifted back to the home-team Colts and Peyton Manning.  I was living in Decatur, Illinois, the original home of the Chicago Bears, when Superbowl XLI in February of 2007 happened.  I was miserable trying to decide who to support, electing not to attend in person.  The people in Illinois were for the Bears, and my friends back in Indiana were for the Colts.  I was like a ping-pong ball – talk about the need for Rolaids!

I’ll write more after tomorrow nights Cubs vs. Cardinals game.  In the meantime, hopefully the White Sox will get it together against the Kansas City Royals and stop the bleeding.  As you can see, there are a lot of emotions that come into play for me in the world of sports fan-hood.  It’s Young Me vs. Old Me, Cubs vs. White Sox, and Bears vs. Colts.  You need a program to follow-along, while I just need a couple of Rolaids!  “R-O-L-A-I-D-S spells relief.”

Old Sport Shorts: Cubs Streak #181

The Cubs are streaking, with hopes on improving their dismal first half of the season.  They have the day off today, after winning their first 6 games since the All Star Break.  This has not happened to a Cubs team in 81 years.  If they can continue to emulate that 1935 team, they can get back to the World Series.  The 1935 Cubs finished the regular season with a 21-game winning streak, to match the 1880 record when the Cubs were known as the Chicago White Stockings.  Their cross-town American League rival then shortened that name to White Sox in 1901, and stole the 1906 World Series from the National League Cubs.  This despite the best winning record and winning percentage in modern baseball history to date  (116 games .763).  The two Chicago teams have not met in the season Finale since, and it’s not likely to happen this year.

The White Sox continue to struggle but have arguably the best stable of prospects in baseball.  I’m encouraged that in a couple of years this will transpose into victories where we might see a Cross-Town World Series once again.  The Cubs can equal their historic back-to-back World Series winning feat of 1907 and 1908, with the 2017 Championship.  That was not looking promising prior to and including the All-Star break.  The Cubs entered the break two games below .500, including a devastating six- game losing streak in their road trip to California.  (Posts #98 and #101).  Kyle Schwarber and Anthony Rizzo also struck out in the fashion department, sporting “Anchorman” leisure suits in a mis-played attempt to stay loose for the trip.  Schwarber was eventually sent down to the minors for some swing rehabilitation, while every Cub from last year’s All-Star team, including Rizzo, failed to get the necessary votes.  Only Coach Madden, his assistants, and Wade Davis traveled to Miami.  Cub frustration continued at the end of the All-Star game, as both Davis and Madden were credited for the National League loss.

After the California road disaster, the Cardinals series proved to be the necessary healing toxin.  With the current six-game win streak on the road, it’s the Cardinals once again that can make or break the Cubs season.  This rivalry was refueled in Miami, as golden-boy, Yadier Molina, seemed destined to win the MVP.  Instead, Davis made it possible for Robinson Cano to earn that distinction.  Cardinal fans were furious, conveniently forgetting about last year’s game where their man, Aledmys Diaz, killed a potential winning rally by hitting into an inning-ending double-play.  That cost the Cubs home field advantage for the Series, whereas the Davis pitch, that Yadi might have called, had no effect on the Cardinals team whatsoever.

The Cubs are currently only one game out of the Central Division lead and four games over .500.  It’s a great start to the second half of the season, especially if they can go on to sweep the Cardinals at Wrigley.  The Cubs did get immediate benefit out of their White Sox trade, bringing Jose Quintana to the starting rotation.  The move bolstered the White Sox future with the addition of two promising top prospects.  Also, the trade of Todd Frazier and David Robertson to the Yankees opened the door for Yoan Moncada to make his much anticipated White Sox debut.  In addition, more future prospects from the Yankees camp were added to the White Sox team of the future.  The bottom-feeding White Sox, stripped of their veterans, were predictably swept by the top-ranked Dodgers, and the streaking Cubs can make a powerful statement to the Cardinals, while taking another bite out of the Brewer lead in the Central.

As much as I hate the Damn Yankees, I have to give credit to Aaron Judge.  I’m trying really hard to tolerate him and his enthusiastic entourage of obnoxious, gavel-pounding Big Apple fans.    He was awesome to watch in the Home Run Derby, but I was glad that he didn’t win the MVP, as well.  Apparently he’s now joined the ranks of Kyle Schwarber in that roller coaster ride to greatness.  The “Mighty Schwarber” (Post #64) was humbled in his fall to the minors, but is now occasionally back in the Cubs line-up.  “The Judge” is apparently experiencing a similar Freshman slump, hitting a miserable .115 since the All-Star break.  Maybe he’ll get to play the White Sox again?  The Cubs get to play the Sox four times after the Cardinals come to town.  Will they have a 13-game winning streak after leaving Guaranteed Rate Field?  Maybe 17 straight after leaving Milwaukee?  Then they get a day off to think about 5 more consecutive victories at home against Arizona and Washington to surpass the 1935 Cubs.  In fact, I could see them in San Francisco on Monday, August 7th, going for their 23rd consecutive victory!  Dream on…..

Go…Cubs…Go

Retirement is not without Hassles: Another Day in a Routine Life #179

I’ve settled back into my routine the last couple of days, as have the dogs.  Tinker was napping on the rug in the warm sunlight off the back deck, while Tally was asleep on the couch, content in the cool shade.  They are resting up from a busy day at the dog spa, sporting their stylish haircuts.  Tally played hard with the other dogs, while Tinker showed little interest in interaction.  Two very different dogs that are now my 8 to 5 co-workers, along with Frankie the cat that prefers the darkness of the bedroom.   I wonder if they know that it’s “Date Night” day.

While the dogs were getting groomed, my wife had some serious dental work yesterday, so we will dine-in tonight.  It will make the pups happy to have our company on a night that we’re typically out on the town.  I prepared a corn and tomato salsa to be served over a grilled flank steak.  I also joined my wife for a light lunch today at the Cornell Cafe Oaks located near her office.  I broke the news to her that we would be baby-sitting my grand kids our first night in San Francisco in a couple of weeks.  She was expecting something more romantic, but we settled on a Mary Poppins sing-along to keep her and them entertained.  I’m just glad to have some one-on-one time with them next month.  My son tends to be a bit possessive of his kids, but he’s also a good father.

I’ve been slowly increasing my mileage and speed in anticipation of the Hood to Coast relay.  I’m a potential last minute substitute on a team of 12 that will race 199 miles from Timberline Lodge on Mount Hood to the Seaside, Oregon beach.  Each team member will run about 17 miles over the course of two days.  Since it ends the day before my 66th birthday, I will most likely get to run a portion of the relay, as several of the regulars are nursing injuries.  It will be something to cross off my bucket list. Today was my 3,125th consecutive day (8.556 years) of running at least one mile a day.  I’ve easily averaged 2.5 miles a day over this time frame, with my current daily mileage exceeding 3.25.  In total, I’ve “easily” run over 7,800 miles since I started my present streak, more than enough to get to New York City and back.  As part of preparation for this relay, I’ve concentrated on steeper inclines the past few weeks, as the Hood to Coast route will be extremely hilly.

There was an abundance of good sports on TV this morning.  The Cubs won their 6th straight, a first for this season, and the first time since 1935 that the team has won six consecutive games following the All Star break.  The 1935 team fell short, losing to the Detroit Tigers in the World Series, but managed to win a hundred games, a Cubs feat that wasn’t accomplished again until last year – 81 years later.  They also achieved a 21-game winning streak late in the 1935 season to clinch the pennant, tying the franchise record set in 1880 when they were the Chicago White Stockings.  This year’s team will need a similar run to return to the World Series.   Later in the day, I also watched the debut of Chicago White Sox prospect, Yoan Moncada.  (Post #157).  I participated in a charity drawing in a recent visit to Guaranteed Rate Stadium in Chicago, formerly Comiskey Park, and received an autographed baseball from this Cuban phenom.  I’ve been following his progress in the Minor Leagues, anxious for him to get the promotion that happened yesterday.   He wears #10 – the same number as my White Sox childhood hero, Sherm Lollar.  It seemed almost prophetic that I randomly selected his baseball from a “mystery” stack of current and prospective players.

I also watched the Tour de France this morning, reminding me of my high school and college days on a bicycle.  My friends and I would do 50 and 100 mile rides on our non-geared bicycles, navigating a very flat Indiana terrain.  It was Stage 17 of the Tour today, and the route was through the scenic Alps.  It was mesmerizing to watch them cruise at 60 miles an hour along narrow, winding mountain roads.  I held my breath in anticipation of a life-threatening accident over the steep drop.  We didn’t have those bicycling concerns back in Indiana.  The truly painful part was watching them ascend to the peak, knowing the muscle strain and conditioning necessary to get there.

After these summer bike marathons, thee next stage of my bicycling career came entirely by accident.    Before the movie Breaking Away, the Little 500 at Indiana University got limited attention.  I had never heard of the event when I transferred to Indiana in 1971.  It was my only connection with the fraternity, since I had pledged at another college, and saw this as an opportunity to make some new friendships.  A two-week trip to Florida to train sealed the deal, but I had no idea what I was getting into.  It’s now the largest collegiate intramural sporting event, and part of the “World’s Greatest College Weekend.”  It’s been going on for 66 years, with the women’s race celebrating 29 years.  The event started the year I was born, and was founded by the son of an Indianapolis 500 winner, hence many of the similarities, including 33 four-person teams and 500 laps.  The race was originally run on a cinder track, and I have the scars to prove it.  The fact that there were no gears to shift made it a grueling experience that led to embarrassing hemorrhoids instead of the winner’s circle.

I’m no longer an athlete and don’t even own a bicycle.  I’m just a retired guy who has faint aspirations of running another marathon, contributing to the Hood to Coast relay team, hitting a home run, and maybe even winning a bicycle race.  I now live vicariously through the accomplishments of others in the sporting world, imagining that I was better at sports than I actually was.  As they say, “the older you get – the better you were.”   Sherm Lollar #10 will forever be my baseball hero and Lance Armstrong once dominated my cycling dreams, but turned out to be a grave disappointment.   I was reminded of this poem, although it’s a repeat from Post #120.   Even though tomorrow’s another day of my routine life, I don’t want to relive any portion of it.  I’m truly satisfied with what I’ve accomplished and content in simply watching the Super Hero of tomorrow take shape.  Right…Yoan Moncada?

Super Hero

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The older you get,

The faster time goes.

Anyone who’s been there,

And done that…knows.

.

Many a decision,

Is made on the spot.

You just have to know,

When to take your shot.

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Don’t hesitate,

Bask in the sun.

Take it in now,

Have some fun.

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From the moment you’re born,

Until your last day.

Don’t let “I can’t,”

Get in your way.

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Time will fly by,

Middle age will pass.

Make some memories,

Get off your ass.

.

Cause when you get older,

You’ll start to reminisce.

And you’ll be sorry,

For chances you miss.

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Just go out and do it,

Grab the brass ring.

Then you’ll never regret,

Having missed a thing.

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Sometimes success,

But often you’ll fail.

And you’ll try to recall,

Every detail.

.

But if you miss out,

It won’t really matter.

Your memory fades,

As you grow fatter.

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The older you get,

The better you were.

Your flaws from the past,

Become a big blur.

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You were faster,

Sexier and stronger.

So Much Braver,

And lasted longer.

.

A Bronze God

Our Super Hero.

When you really,

Were a big ZERO.

.

So you stretch the truth,

Exaggerate a bit.

When you struck out,

It’s now a hit.

.

The older you get,

The better you were.

You were the best,

You remember for sure.

.

You made more money,

Drove fancier cars.

Where there was darkness,

You now see stars.

.

You’ve seen the sights,

Even if not.

You don’t know it all,

But you know a lot.

.

The older you get,

The better you were.

Did it happen like that?

You’re really not sure.

.

And that’s the beauty,

Of growing old.

No one can counter,

White lies that you’ve told.

,

Copyright May 2015 johnstonwrites.com

Retirement is not without Hassles: Sax Story #176

I spent several days with “old,” dear friends.  By old, I mean retired like myself, and dating back to high school and beyond.  One of the biggest challenges of our time together was trying to remember details of events in the past.  When was it?  What happened?  Who was there?  Where were we?  Why did we do it?   Each one of us seems to have a different memory of the same occasion.  For example, it took us three days to figure out the name of an artist that we saw together in Portland back in 1980.  We searched our memories, googled, and discussed this particular event every day, but just couldn’t put it together.  As old retired guys, our memories are admittedly shaky and we have too many to possibly remember.

I recalled it was 1980 only because Mount St. Helen’s had just blown her stack in the weeks prior to my first visit here.  The city was covered in ash and a smoky haze filled the air, so the true beauty of the city of Portland was hidden.  I never once saw even Mount Hood, or any of the vistas that my friends had boasted about in tempting me to visit.  Two others remembered that the concert was at the Paramount Theater, and in driving by I had recognized the name on the marque and offered to buy tickets.  One of them remembered that Robben Ford played as part of the group, but none of us could remember the headliner.  Names like David Sanborn,  Bob James, Tom Scott, Branford Marsalis, Grover Washington, Jr.,  and Jean- Luc Ponty were suggested, but none of us could agree.

I was the only non-musician of the five of us, but had at least tried on several occasions to learn.  There was a song flute competition in my grade school music class that determined the draft selection order on a limited supply of band instruments.  I wanted to play the drums, but apparently so did everyone else, so there were no drums available when it came my turn to pick.  I then reluctantly selected the saxophone as a disappointing second choice.  Learning to play a reed instrument was even more disappointing!  It didn’t occur to me that I would have to stick a dry, wooden object in my mouth.  I’m having trouble even writing about it, as thoughts of the vibration against my tongue and teeth, are causing a gag reaction.  I can’t imagine what I was thinking when I selected the saxophone?  I think my older cousin played the saxophone in the Purdue marching band, so he might have been an influence.   All that effort to make even a squawk of a noise, especially on a winters day after it sat in a cold car, makes my mouth pucker with disgust.  Not to mention, all the saliva that it took to soften the reed so it was bearable, and having to drain the spit valve after playing a few sour notes is not exactly appetizing.  The experience did however make me appreciate a good saxophone player, but I still cringe when I hear a bitter chord.

I also tried my hand at the piano, but never got beyond the Marine’s Hymn (post #104).  Just like the saxophone, I had private lessons, but never found the time to practice and always regretted going to appointments and recitals.  I wasted a lot of my mom’s money on trying to learn, but apparently didn’t have the talent or interest.   I’ve even bought a ukulele to try to learn to play in retirement, but haven’t really touched it.  I must say that I am envious when these friends of mine sit down and play together.  A lot of our time these past few days were spent talking about, listening to, or playing music, and I’m always the outsider.  We were also all in the choir together back in high school, but after six procedures on my vocal chords, I also don’t have much of a voice.  My friends collect guitars, make guitars, travel to guitar stores, read about guitars, and talk guitars.  All I can say is that I once took a tour of the Gibson guitar factory in Memphis.

I knew we were close with the names we came up with, as the topic resurfaced over and over again.  It was most likely a sax player that caught my eye.  Sanborn, Washington, James, and Scott were all part of my album collection in the late 70’s.  I loved the sound of a saxophone, as long as I didn’t have to play it!  I was also enamored with the artist’s ability to play a soothing melody that had a smooth, jazzy sound.  I was the only family man of the group at that time, so my taste in music had changed from rock-and-roll to jazz fusion.  When the name John Klemmer finally surfaced, I knew immediately that he was the missing artist.  He had Chicago roots, so his name was big in the Midwest, where we were all from originally.  The mystery was finally solved, but it took a lot of wine and beer to get there!

After our four days together – “Big Chill” style – there were still a number of unsolved mysteries, so maybe time apart will allow us to put together the puzzle pieces.   I personally will be searching for the date of this particular concert.  Although we all grew up in the same town and went to the same high school, it was not until college that we really got to know each other.  I’m a year older and our high school was huge, so it is not at all unusual that we weren’t friends earlier in life.  I also did not realize that my one friend and I attended the same grade school and went to the same basketball camp, so we might have played together during recess, or competed on the round-ball court.  The school we attended was Rice Elementary and our team nickname was the “Rice Krispies” – snap, crackle, pop!  I then transferred to become a Beardsley “Bomber,” before we all got to high school and became “Blazers.”  (Post #37)   All in all, it was great to get together with some fellow “Hoosiers,” and share a few “sax stories” here in Portland.

 

 

 

Retirement is not without Hassles: Links of Friendship #175

It’s good to be home and at my desk once again.  I’ve added another 6600 miles to my retirement travel log, bringing my total to nearly 40,000 for the year. Not bad, for someone my wife calls a “homebody.”  It’s always great to get together with family and friends, explore new places, and get some fresh air, but there’s no place like home.   I get to stay in our house now for about three weeks before our trip to San Francisco to meet up with the grand kids.  My desk is cluttered with unopened mail, bank statements, bills, receipts, souvenirs, and travel brochures.  I was just looking at a 2019 Viking cruise from London to Norway to see the Northern Lights, so it’s easy to get distracted when your mission is simply to reorganize.   Several loads of laundry await my attention in the next room, as I still have some unpacking to do.

I got back from Miami in the middle of the night, and got up early to take the dogs to the Coast, so last night was my first good sleep in my own bed.  The dogs sure enjoyed their romp on the beach, as the tide was out, exposing a great deal more sand than usual.  Their big dog friends played in the surf, while Tally, our youngest schnauzer, searched for an escape route up the steep cliffs.  I swear she’s a mountain goat, and would normally keep her on a leash, but she was securely contained in a canyon bordered by water and rocks, much too high for her to scale.

While the dogs played, I spent the afternoon with a group of my home town cronies, reminiscing about our high school and college days.  All of us are married, but this was the first of several days planned for just the boys.  There will be five of us for a weekend of guitar playing, dining, beer drinking, wine tasting, live music, and just catching-up.  In a way, I’m the outsider, since I’m a year older and none of them was ever a college room mate.  The other four lived together at one time or another, so they have a lot more history.  Plus, they’ve all been good about staying in touch,while I drifted in and out of their lives.  I was the first one married, and wasn’t part of the original migration to the West Coast.  While three of us now live in Oregon, one currently lives in Denver, and the other two in San Francisco.  Since I’ve only lived on the West Coast for three years, I hadn’t seen Eric for nearly 30 years until just recently when he and his wife visited.  It had been over 17 years since Mike and I reunited yesterday, and nearly 10 years have passed since Dan and I were together in Maui.  It’s definitely a “Big Chill” weekend.

This first year of retirement has been filled with 15 instances of re-connection, starting back in February (Post #15).  According to my wife, who dabbles in numerology, I’m going into a “Nine Year,” the end of the numbers cycle,  when people from the past re-enter your life as part of reflection and review.   Face Book has played a role in two of these coincidental encounters with people from my past.  My college room mate and I got together in Tucson after 45 years, and just a couple of weeks ago I found another lost friend after 10 years at a Chicago White Sox game.  There have been an inordinate number of chance reunions with former bosses, neighbors, co-workers, friends, and clients already this year.  I’ve also made arrangements for two more get-togethers in the next few months, as others continue to re-enter my life.  I can’t remember another year with so many of these rewarding encounters with long-lost acquaintances.

With today’s Social Media outlets, it’s more difficult to lose friends and easier to stay in touch.  Also, you get to know people before you meet them.  A good example was a friend of mine’s parents who I just met in Florida.  I had seen their photos posted for years, so as I was introduced, it felt like I’ve always known them.  Furthermore, there’s no longer that shocking surprise of not seeing someone for a long time because you’ve watched them change via Social Media.   Even though I don’t see my grand kids on a regular basis, I can at least watch them grow-up through daily picture sharing.  I can remember when the first thing you said to a kid was, “wow, you’ve really grown tall!”   Nowadays, you aren’t surprised at all, and they aren’t embarrassed by the obvious.  By the same token, about 90% of Face Book posts seem to be related to good news – promotions, vacations, achievements, accomplishments, and friendship.  The bad news is communicated in a much slower manner.  Obituaries, illnesses, misfortune, and pain are still typically delivered by phone.  It’s tough to get those phone calls, and to think about all the broken links in life.

The dogs are quiet today, resting up from an exhausting yesterday.  As I enjoy the quiet here at home, I’m glad that people from the first quarter of my life are still around in the third quarter, even if they were missing in the second quarter.  Who knows who will be around for the fourth quarter – if there is a fourth quarter?  I’m in the second half of the third quarter, enjoying retirement and savoring friendship.  I hope there are many more missing links from my life that get reconnected, and wondering if there will be reunions in the afterlife?   There are a number of people that I would love to talk to, as we all try to make sense of the good, bad, and ugliness of life.

Old Sport Shorts: Yadi…Yadi…Yadi #174

If you’re familiar with the Travelocity Gnome, who roams around the world searching for the perfect vacation spot, then you “might” appreciate this post.   The Gnome could appear in a colorful garden, on the mantle of a historic home, or just checking through airport security.  The are many variations of these strange Gnomes, often with beards and pointed heads.  Travelocity created a television campaign to promote their travel services and gave the common garden Gnome international popularity. Suddenly,  Gnomes and Elves were being kidnapped from quiet garden settings and front porches to be transported all over the world.   Photos cleverly capturing them in sometimes compromising positions are then mailed back to their owners along with a ransom note as a silly prank.  Months later, after a well documented adventure,  the unharmed Gnome mysteriously reappears in its original setting.  Gnome.  Sweet.  Home.

If you can relate to this Gnome phenomena, then you might understand this female friend of mine.  She loves to take pictures, making the most of her travel experiences.  As a school teacher, she uses her summer months to travel and take pictures.  She’s also a die-hard St. Louis Cardinals baseball fan, and her favorite player is Yadier Molina.  “Yadi” is a Puerto Rican professional baseball catcher.  He has been with the Cardinals exclusively for 13 years and in 8 of those years made the National League All-Star team.  He’s won 8 Golden Gloves, and in last night’s All Star Game appeared in a solid gold helmet and chest protector, looking like something out of a Star Wars movie.

Wherever my friend travels, she takes an 8″ version of “Yadi” with her.  Mini-Yadi lives in her purse and looks just like the Travelocity Gnome.  I think that adults that work regularly  with youngsters need to regularly express their “inner-child.”  Because of this, I’m sure her students absolutely love her “mischievous” side.  She enjoys posing “Yadi” in humorous situations, posting the pictures on Face Book.  In my limited travel experience with her, “Yadi” been threatened with a butcher’s cleaver at the Seattle fish market, buried in the sand on the Oregon Coast, and has battled giant lobsters in a Red Lobster holding tank.  Yadi is very brave, and maintains the same stoic look on his face no matter the circumstances. Yadi has somehow lost the very top of his pointed head, like Mt. St. Helen’s, but continues to play along.  What a sportsman!

I just spent three days with my son, Yadi, and my two friends watching baseball in the city of Miami.  She was with her fiancé, who I’ve known much longer, but even he doesn’t get as much attention as Yadi.  It’s Yadi this…Yadi that…Yadi…Yadi…Yadi.  I personally think that it should be kidnapped by a Cubs fan and painted blue.  I can see him hanging from a Championship Banner at Wrigley Field or thrown on to the field, like a opposing team homer run, by the Cub bleacher bums.  I can easily imagine some meaner pranks to pull on her poor, defenseless Yadi doll, but friendship is at stake!

We had lunch at Versailles, a popular Cuban restaurant.  ESPN happened to be doing a series of live broadcasts from there to capture some of the local, Miami flavor.  Eduardo Perez, a former Cardinals’ player and current sports analyst, was on the air, while his cameraman encouraged my friends to approach.  They were both dressed in Cardinals jersey of….you guessed it….Yadier Molina.  Perez had some fun with with them on national TV and posed with mini-Yadi for a photo.  Yadi…Yadi…Yadi.  I think you can begin to see where I’m going here!

We were sitting high up in the 200 level seats for last night’s game, and my friend actually believed the real Yadi waved at her during player introductions.  Maybe he did?  Granted, she was dressed in red with a crazy, straw Cardinals hat.  It was a premium giveaway at Busch Stadium during the Fourth of July series, and I didn’t see another one like it in the crowd.  Perhaps she did catch his eye.  I do know that Yadi has eagle-like vision behind the plate and an arm like a cannon.  Yadi then proceeded to hit a home run and her shrieks of joy rattled the rafters of Marlins Park.  I thought I saw mini-Yadi cover his ears, as I did.

My son, dressed in his wardrobe of Cubs jerseys, patiently tolerated the exploits of Mini-Yadi throughout the week.  I was used to it!  Also, for once, the Cubs and the Cardinals were on the same National League team.  There was temporary peace between rivals!  I had purposely worn neutral colors to avoid fueling any more boastful behavior from my Cardinal friends.  In fact, I was even hoping that Yadi would score the winning run.  We were all enjoying the festivities, and my son had even out-wrestled a couple of other fans for a treasured foul ball.  I had my picture taken with Southpaw, the Chicago White Sox mascot, and was hoping to get a glimpse of Sox legendary shortstop, Luis Aparicio, who was to throw out one of the opening pitches.  His poor health apparently prevented his presence during the ceremony.

Cardinal fans are bitter today because rival Cubs pitcher, Wade Davis, gave up a ninth-inning home run, sidetracking Yadi’s bid for the MVP and a Cardinal red Corvette.  At the end of the game, Yadi was left stranded on third base after Corey Seager of the Dodgers struck out.  I’m not sure if a Cubs pitcher can throw to a Cardinals catcher, so just maybe Yadi called for the wrong pitch?  On the other hand, Cubs fans thought that Yadi’s golden outfit was a bit obnoxious, perhaps befitting of Cardinals’ fans.  The rivalry is already back in full gear!  Mini-Yadi is probably still cheering for a Gnome Run.

Old Sport Shorts: I.U. Wins It All! #161

We recently returned to Indianapolis, and while my wife took her mother to see an ear doctor, I spent some time with some old friends.  We went to Syd’s Tavern in Noblesville and shared some sports memories.  He is a sports memorabilia collector and she was a former client, who bought radio and television advertising.  I hadn’t seen them in nearly a decade, but we quickly reconnected like time wasn’t really a factor.  I had met Bill as a result of my business relationship with her, and discovered much in common, including the Chicago White Sox and Indiana University.  I would love to have many of the items in Bill’s massive collection, and built my modest “man-cave” because of his influence.  We’ve attended many games together, but our most memorable experience occurred in March of 1987.

Indiana University, our Alma Mater, was the NCAA Tournament #1 Seed in the Midwest Regional, and won its first two games in our then home town of Indianapolis.  My good friend Peter and I were there to watch them easily beat both Fairfield and Auburn, on what was essentially I.U.’s home court, just up the road from Bloomington.  At that time, conversations started brewing about following the team through the tournament, as the next game was also close-by in Cincinnati against Duke.  I conveniently planned to be in Cincinnati that Friday on business, so I was able to score a single ticket and watch Coach Bob Knight’s Hoosiers defeat Coach K’s Blue Devils 88-82.  The excitement was building!  The Regional Championship game in Cincy against L.S.U. was on Sunday, so Peter and I were forced to watch it on TV.   I.U. was nine points behind with less than 5 minutes remaining, and I remember that our dreams of going to the Final Four in New Orleans were in deep jeopardy.  Somehow, with six seconds on the clock an injured Ricky Calloway, who grew up in Cincinnati, put in the winning shot for an Indiana 77-76 victory.  After the game, we decided to go to New Orleans, whether we had tickets or not!

Bill, through his University connections, was able to get good tickets and called in need of a ride.  Peter had a place for us to stay, so my job boiled down to securing a vehicle.  We were meeting two of Peter’s friends in Bowling Green, Kentucky and added one other passenger, Mark, from Indianapolis.  The plan was to leave from my office parking lot with the four of us and pick up the other two at the Holiday Inn, just off of I-65.  The final piece of the puzzle came together after a business acquaintance of mine was able to get us a van.  We’d take Friday off, leave late in the day on Thursday, share the all-night driving responsibilities, and get to New Orleans sometime on Friday.  It was about an 850 mile trek that would take 12 to 13 hours to complete, so it seemed easy enough with each of us driving a couple of hours on four-lane highways.  We decorated the van with red and white signs and team flags, and I sat in my office eagerly anticipating a 3 p.m. departure.

About two hours before we were ready to leave, I got an emotional call from Peter, who was the main instigator of the trip.  He was the one who had the connections for our rooms in New Orleans, and had extended the invitations to the two guys in Bowling Green and to Mark.  Unfortunately, Peter’s father had just passed away in upstate New York, so he wouldn’t be able to go with us.  As a result, Bill and I would be traveling with three total strangers to the Final Four.  Plus, we didn’t even know each other that well back then.  I was certainly sympathetic for Peter’s loss, but he wanted the trip to go on despite his absence.  I was concerned, but the van was packed, tickets were in-hand, and five willing drivers were anxious to hit the road!

The three of us from Indianapolis met in the parking lot and made the appropriate introductions.  Mark seemed like the great guy, as Peter assured me he would be.  I volunteered to drive first and anxiously turned the ignition key.  Nothing happened!  The battery was dead, so I went back into the office and called for assistance.  Keep in mind, there were no cell phones at that time, so communication was a little more difficult.  A tow-truck arrived about an hour later.  In the meantime, the car dealer who loaned me the van had decided that another van would be the best option, so the revised plan was to follow the tow-truck to the dealership and make the exchange. The tow-truck driver was intent on removing the signs and flags from the vehicle, but we couldn’t lower the windows that secured the flags, so he had to take the time and trouble to jump-start the battery.   Apparently, the flags were blocking his vision behind the van-in-tow.  I was beginning to think he was a jealous Kentucky fan! Another hour passed.

We all hopped in one car and drove to the dealership that was inconveniently located on the opposite side of town.  The dealer then had to transfer the plates and paperwork, while we redecorated the van.  As we were exiting that parking lot, the van died.  Fortunately, the battery in that van was still working, so we were easily able to remove the flags and move to our third van of the afternoon.  Another two hours had gone by, and we were forty-five minutes north of where we initially started.  I was just glad that we didn’t break-down in a remote highway location.  However, we were supposed to be in Bowling Green already, instead we were at least four hours away.!  Furthermore, none of us in the van knew these other guys, what their names were, or how we were supposed to get in contact with them?  Peter was already on a flight to New York to make funeral arrangements, so he couldn’t help.  I didn’t think to ask those details while we were talking about his father.  A cell phone would have come in handy!

Finally, we were on the road and decided that since we were so late, we should call the Holiday Inn in Bowling Green.  We stopped just south of Indianapolis to use a pay phone, and a half-hour later, I finally got through to the bartender.  While I was in the phone booth, Bill moved over to take my place in the driver’s seat.  While he accelerated, I recounted the conversation, explaining that Peter’s friends had gotten to the bar early for Happy Hour, so they were already through a six-pack.  We were still over 3 hours away from picking them up, so they undoubtedly wouldn’t be fit to drive once we arrived.  At least. they knew we were on our way.  They had not been aware that our mutual friend had lost his father, but at least they knew the people we were supposed to stay with in New Orleans.  Fortunately, Bill  didn’t drink alcohol, so he continued to drive, while Mark and I enjoyed a couple of beers.  They were already starting to get warm after the cooler had been moved from van to van. Unfortunately, a traffic accident blocked our way!

Ten hours after the time when we originally had planned to leave, we arrived at the Holiday Inn.  It was approaching 1 a.m, and nearly seven hours later than anticipated. Our two new friends had been pounding beers since Happy Hour, so our first encounter with these strangers was worthy of a comedy skit.  They didn’t say their names and preferred to be called by what they were drinking.  As a result, they were know as “Bud” and “Lite Beer by Miller” for the rest of our time together.  Mark tried to catch up with them, as they passed a couple of  joints between them. I did not join them at the time, as Bill had no interest.  We stayed alert while the “Three Stooges” thankfully soon passed out in the back seat.  My sober collector-friend, Bill, was still at the wheel as a blanket of fog completely blocked our vision.   I kept an eye out for cops as our highway speed dropped to under 25 m.p.h., and the snoring in the back escalated.  As the hours slowly passed, I eventually relieved Bill at dawn after a short nap, so he could get some well deserved shut-eye.  About that time, “Bud” started to rally and graciously offered to buy Bill dinner for staying up all night.  He and Bill hit-it-off quickly, relieving my anxiety about Bill’s reaction to the pot smoking.  He didn’t say anything, but I only really knew him through his wife.  Mark and “Lite Beer by Miller” were still out cold, as we continued our foggy journey through Alabama.  It was quickly approaching “high” noon, as the van filled with marijuana smoke and empty beer can rattled against each other under the seats. It was also nearly 20 hours since our original departure time, and we still weren’t there.

There was more beer drinking and pot smoking, as Bill preferred to stay behind the wheel.  He had a restless couple of hours sleep, as I continued to fight the fog, but once the “beer twins” woke up, the van started rockin’.  They found a radio station to their liking, and continued to charm Bill.  They guided him into New Orleans and to our residence just across the river from the Superdome.  The reality of finally getting there was starting to set in, as we had all become fast friends.  There was a rally that night at the Hilton, official team headquarters, and Bourbon Street to explore.  No one seemed too concerned about where we were staying, until we walked in!

The location was great and we had plenty of room, but the entire duplex was stripped to the bare two-by-fours.  Red spray paint, marking the construction plans, looked more like the Manson murders had just happened before we arrived.  Did we somehow miss the crime scene tape on the way in?  The only pieces of “furniture” were one mattress and four lawn chairs situated around the table saw.  There was saw dust everywhere and you could see through the floorboards.  Furthermore, it was unusually cold outside, and there was no heat.  We all agreed to let Bill have the mattress, since he did most of the driving, and we bought him dinner at Pat O’Brien’s that night to further show our appreciation.   Prior to dinner, we met our fellow fans, Coach Knight and the players at the hotel that was directly across the river from our luxurious quarters.  We wore our red, sang the fight song, and wished the team well in their game against once-defeated #1 U.N.L.V.  Their only loss was to Oklahoma after a disputed bucket was incorrectly ruled two points instead of three.  The “Runnin’ Rebels” fan-base were all decked out in attitude and gold chains, as they displayed blatant overconfidence.  We tried to ignore them and spent most of the night on French Quarter bar stools, before taking the ferry back to the wrong side of the river.

I left the “comfort” of my lawn chair bed on Saturday morning with a gnawing headache.  There was one more rally before the big game, so we crossed the Mississippi from Algiers Point, once again.  “Bud” and “Lite Beer by Miller” did not come back last night to take their place around the table saw, stacked precariously with empty beer cans.  The place was starting to look more like a Frat House and less like a murder scene.  Bill, Mark, and I at least tried to get some sleep rather than prowl the bars. Hopefully, the Hoosier team was getting a good night’s rest, and the beer twins had been entertaining the “Runnin’ Rebels” all night.   We would need all the help we could get!  When we got to the Hilton, there was a giant I.U. banner hanging above us, that apparently I just couldn’t live without.  It was attached to a projection screen that moved up and down via a switch in the control room.  If I could get someone to lower the screen, I could easily run off with the banner.  Obviously, I had alcohol poisoning and wasn’t thinking clearly, but I went to maintenance and told them, “Coach Knight wants us to get that banner over to the Dome.”  I think he was ready to flip the switch and lower the banner, but changed his mind once he spoke to a supervisor.  It could have been a focal point of Bill’s collection, or mine, if I had been able to pull that off.   We walked to the Dome empty-handed.

The five of us had a variety of seat locations at the Dome, none of which were together.  Bill had the best seats, so I sat with him.  Mark had met some woman named Mary, and was up in the nose-bleed section sucking face with her.  I hope his wife didn’t mind!  “Bud” and “Lite Beer by Miller” were probably still drinking Hurricanes on Bourbon Street.  I’m not sure they were even at the game.  It was the first NCAA tournament where the players had the benefit of the three-point shot, that would surely be to Steve Alford’s benefit.  It was like the movie, Hoosiers, as most of the experts didn’t think that Indiana would be able to contain the dynamic U.N.L.V duo of Armon Gilliam and Freddie Banks.  Others felt that I.U. would have to slow the pace of the game down to even have a chance.  It was stacking up to be the classic battle of the “Good Guys” against the “Outlaws.”  I didn’t realize it at the time but we were part of the largest crowd to ever see a college basketball game.  Bob Knight elected to run with the Rebels and devised a plan to beat their full-court pressure.  The result was a 97-93 victory, despite a record ten 3-pointers from Freddie Banks.  Coach Jerry Tarkanian, “Tark the Shark” choked on his towel.  Steve Alford had 33 points for the “Good Guys,” and we’d be staying in New Orleans for at least two more days!

“Ain’t no Sunshine when she’s gone,” became the U.N.L.V. parting blues song on Bourbon Street.  “Ding-Dong the witch is dead,” as Indiana prepared for Syracuse on Monday night.  Bill continued to show his maturity, while the rest of us acted like kids in a liquor store.  He got some rest while we sampled the wares up and down The Quarter.  After all, he had the mattress and we had the lawn chairs.   Mark continued to hang out with Mary, so I partied with “Bud” and “Lite Beer by Miller.”  We probably had 3 hours of sleep in the four nights we were there.  There was another rally on Monday, but the banner was missing.  Maybe someone else stole it?  Being in the Championship Game in New Orleans was almost like a dream.  I sat next to Bill and covered my eyes as Syracuse dominated the game.  It wasn’t until the last few minutes that I peeked through my fingers, as Rony Seikaly continued to miss free throws for The Orangemen.  I simply couldn’t watch as Keith Smart launched the winning shot.  However, Bill  pried my hands away, insisting that we didn’t drive this far to not watch the end.  “The Shot” a famous photograph that captured that historic moment, must have been taken very near where we were sitting.  Also, CBS produced the very first  “One Shining Moment,” following that exciting 74-73 finish.  It’s been a tournament tradition ever since.  I’m glad that Bill made me watch!

We left for home immediately following the game, since we all needed to be back at work the next morning.  Honestly, none of us really expected to stay through Monday, but somehow scraped our funds together,  The room was at least free, but they should have been paying us to stay there.  The construction crew had returned that morning to wake us up, so we packed everything into the van and parked near the dome for a quick get-away after the game.  Bill volunteered to drive us back, probably for his own safety.  He even battled the darkness and a freak, blinding snow storm, reminiscent of the fog on the trip down.  We were all powered by adrenaline, having witnessed a moment of sports history we will never forget.  Mark daydreamed about Mary.

As I write this story over 30 years later, I’m sure I forgot a few details and exaggerated everything but the extent of our drinking.  I see my friend Peter on a regular basis, and just had the reunion with Bill.  Peter continues to stay in touch with “Bud” and “Lite Beer by Miller,” and I’ve followed them both through Facebook.  Mark is still with his wife, with Mary as a faint memory.  I had been to New Orleans in 1982 for my very first Final Four experience, so to return with my Indiana team as the victor made it even more special.  Coincidentally, I recently stumbled across a framed copy of the front page of the Indiana Daily Student, dated March 31, 1987. (See Post #60).  I was surprised to find it in Portland, Oregon of all places, where pot is now legal, by the way.  It hangs in my office, where the I.U. banner from New Orleans should have hung, if that maintenance guy would have just flicked that switch.  The headline reads, “IU Wins It All!”  I know – I was there!

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