THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS

I am an infrequent blogger now, having said most of what I have wanted to say, but occasionally I am moved to comment further.

In the world of sports, relatively speaking, life is short. Any number of factors can blight athletic careers: injury, poor conditioning, drugs/booze, psychological blocks---and age.

We live in a titan age of superb athleticism where emphasis on physical fitness and health surveillance on a regular basis have created a new breed of athletes. It's a list covering many sports: Tiger Woods, Phil Mickelson, Mickey Cabrera, Albert Pujols, Derek Jeter, Roger Federer, Rafa Nadal, Novak Djokovich, Cristano Ronaldo, Lionel Messi---add your own to the list.

Their bodies are minutely-tuned mechanisms and are as fragile as eggs out of the crate. A tweak here, a spasm there, suddenly they are losing efficiency.

Then the psychological turn of the screw can happen. Perhaps an accident leads to a temporary sidelining and loss of agility. The athlete returns to his sport and gets beaten by a player to whom he has never lost. Or suddenly cannnot putt or find the natural rhythm of his swing.

Once he has lost his invulnerability, strange things begin to happen. He cannot hit or can't keep the ball within the fairway or the tennis court sidelines; Then he starts to lose to people to whom he has never lost before
---all kinds of disarray from physical to psychological factors take place.

Then add in age and the gradual (or sometimes rapid) dimunition of your skill.

We are seeing many examples in sports today.

Look at Tiger Woods whose body is suddenly betraying him so that he no longer dominates the field and has to take time off to repair that body. And a lot of young tigers of the fairway are waiting to pounce and take over his crown.

Look at Rafa Nadal, no doubt the greatest clay court player in the history of tennis. He has lost three straight clay tournaments, the latest of which, Barcelona, he had won seven times in a row, but this year he lost to another Spaniard, Nicolas Almagro, to whom he had never lost. He has also suffered from some traumatic knee injuries over the years due to the excessive torque he exerts on his knees, and such traumas affect your game. As in golf, a host of talented challengers are waiting to seize his crown.

Or, arguably, the best tennis player of all time, Roger Federer, reviving this year, currently ranked fourth, but still losing to people who a few years ago couldn't touch him.

In baseball, Albert Pujols, having signed two years ago, a ten-year contract to swirch from the St. Louis Cardinals to the Anaheim Angels at age thirty-two, went through two disappointing (by his standards) injury-prone years but seems to be off to a fast start this year. In terms of a ten-year contract, how effective and efficient will he be in seven or eight years? (Look at the example of Alex Rogriguez.)

No, many gods exist in sports in this golden (as in money) age of sports, but I think we are beginning to see the twilight for many of these gods. Such is the stuff of life...Sic transit gloria.

WELL, GET BACK, WHERE YOU ONCE BELONGED

                      

Last night, thanks to C.B.S., I turned back the clock to that signal night of February 9, 1960 when The Beatles first appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show and changed the popular musical landscape indelibly.  For two hours I was in a state of minor ecstasy, seeing the original “Fab Five” in black and white, then seeing the surviving Beatles, Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr, both in well-preserved seventies, in the audience and then performing. In addition to  the dynamic duo, the TV audience witnessed a plethora of today’s stars, from pop, to country, to hard rock, pay tribute to The Beatles, playing and singing their songs.

You could see the combination of reverence, appreciation and musical kicks on that C.B.S. stage last night, plus luminaries of stage and screen recapturing their lost youth. It was a love fest, a tribute to the group, more than any other, who made rock n’ roll a household word.

When my wife and I sat with the three of my four kids who were then born to watch that Ed Sullivan Show on February 9, 1964, we were in our mid thirties and simply looking to see what all the fuss from England was about. We were the younger edge of the “square” generations grown up on swing and jazz music. As a jazz buff, I had always liked what was known in the old racist days as “race music”, the rhythm and blues of the early pioneers of what became r & b. I dug Chuck Berry, Muddy Waters, Fats Domino, Leadbelly and the southern blues /folk school and was beginning to like the sounds of that white kid from Memphis who made some of those great black and blue sounds. By the time that show was over, I knew I was witnessing a force of nature, the way those kids synthesized the early "r&b” sounds and gave it their own inimitable twist.

So, thanks and plaudits, C.B.S., for transporting us back in time and reminding us what a legacy and library of great songs The Beatles bequeathed us. Their songs sounded great at the time---and equally well in the hands of modern artists who stamped their songs with their own mark. We got back to where we belonged and heard great music, better than ever after fifty years.  And , let me tell you, those two seventy-year-olds show eternally young souls.

I had a blast from the past and a big wind from today.

YOU, YOU DIRTY RAT!

Remember that line from an old Jimmy Cagney gangster movie, snarled just before he shot the stoolie who gave him away?  Well, I'm repeating it, only literally.

There are many joys to living in southwestern Florida, the best of which is probably the most consistent good weather in the country. Yes, the summers are a steam bath usually, but in a good part of the country you get really hot summers. But, when the big freeze occurs up north, we only get a moderate bit of cooler weather.

But one disadvantage is we have is an incredible number of rodents, snakes and other varmints. As my handyman put it, "Those critters like the good weather, too." One of the nastiest rodents is the palm rat which, as the name implies, loves to inhabit and gambol in the palm trees. Since I live on a golf course fringed with many palms, plus we planted some when we built the house, we have plenty of palm rats. These are nasties with long tails and bodies from 4"-7" and are quite repulsive.

In our first year in the house, we were invaded by palm rats, who happily leave the palms for the warmth of a house and whatever they can grub upon.  Fortunately, they did not get into the living quarters of our house. Living on an island we have to have two storeys, the bottom storey of which is a garage and large storage area because you are not allowed, because of flood possibilities in hurricane season, to live in the lower portion.  A different handyman we had at the time thought he hear a scurrying sound in the insulation and checked out the insulation in the basement which contained batting material held up by a nylon scrim. One of these lovelies RAN DOWN HIS ARM and scurried away. He confesssed, sheepishly, that he screamed. I replied that I would have had to change my underwear if that happened to me!  He found a whole family of the little monsters and got rid of them. We then had the basement sealed off, covvering all the beams.

Things were fine until a couple of weeks ago when I went into our "powder room" to use the facilities and was assailed by a rank decaying odor. It went away but returned last week with a vengeance, especially in the stairwell leading from the basement-garage to the main house. Because of droppings on tthe floor in a certain area of the basement, I had made the bad mistake of using De-Con a couple weeks before instead of setting multiple traps---a mistake my wife has forcibly reminded me of many times this week---and the De-Con poisoned the rats and they crawled away to die.  The handyman had to cut into several areas of drywall and, bingo, he found two biggies in a pool of urine and excrement, quite dead.  He thought they were male and female, and we hope they had not mated to reproduce a colony of babies.

After opening up the garage and basement area totally, garage doors and sliding glass doors and after multiple spraying of Lysol, the smell has almost disappeared. You still get faint whiffs in the stairwell, but it is disappearing. Fortunately, the living area has been fine, although we opened up windows in the bathrooms just to be sure and left them open for several days.

I'm pleased to report my wife is speaking to me again.

We are going to set multiple traps in the various rooms in the garage-basement. The handyman is going to check out all the walls and make sure any small opening, even large cracks, are filled with a plastic goop that even palm rats can't eat though.

I'm on a mission to get those dirty rats!

IN RETROSPECT: JFK

Newspapers and blogs have been filled with reminiscences of Where-I-Was-When-JFK-Died. It was a day etched in our psyches, never to be forgotten.. A plethora of articles on JFK abound these last few weeks, ranging form total adulation to poo-pooing him as a failure as President. I recommend in today's New York Times an analysis on the Op-Ed page by the noted historian Robert Dallek which offers a balanced perspective on his presidency.

One of the salient points made by Robert Dallek was the power of John F. Kennedy's charisma, which was more than charm and magnetism but a positive force to inspire. Who can ever forget his Inaugural speech and the famous "Ask not what your country can do for you but ask what you can do for your country"? Or "Ich bin ein Berliner."  Such were words that elevated us. He was the young President: as he pointed out in his Inaugural address, the first born in this century (the 20th) and thereby a fresh wind blowing in our stale air.

So, forget the womanizing, the lack of legislative action, the cautious politicking of not antagonizing the southern segregationists but remember the Camelot image of the young knight who had the potential to inspire our lives. If he had lived, I believe he would have accomplished many actions to inspire and direct us as a force in the world. I believe he would have emerged as a powerful force for attainment and good.

In these divisive times, I wish for a leader with that inspiring power.

DAYS OF OUR LIVES

Today, November 19, 2013 is an anniversary date in American history and my personal history.

In American history, 150 years ago Abraham Lincoln, on a cold foggy day in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania gave a two minute speech which has become the most famous speech ever delivered and is revered throughout the world.

In my personal history, today is the first anniversary of the death of a beloved nephew, suddenly and unexpectedly and shockingly taken from his and my family.  My wife and I, plus my wife’s sister and her husband, who were good friends of this nephew, are taking his widow to dinner tonight so that she will have companionship and comfort on such a dreadful anniversary.

All of which got me thinking about other signal days in our lives, many of which were shocking. Oh, we remember the good days, too, like the day of a marriage or the birth of children or grandchildren. But, frequently, we remember the horror days, such as, if you are old enough to remember---and I am---December 7, 1941 or November 22, 1963 or September 11, 2001.

These were days that altered our lives, changed our modes of thinking, rewired our emotional responses and modified our lives.

Pearl Harbor Day began a war for America that altered many lives. It cost me the life of a brother and almost a second brother.  It did the same to millions of Americans. It started a chain reaction, not only with the atom bomb, but in world politics that we are still feeling today.

John F. Kennedy’s assassination, in the immortal words of Don McLean, was “the day the music died”: the day the last remnant of our innocence was lost, never to be regained. The Great American Dream vanished in three shots on a Dallas street.

The Twin Towers tragedy tumbled down the last of our smug certitude that we were invulnerable and that our power and might could overcome all obstacles.

We are wandering in darkness, I feel sometimes, not knowing where we are or where we go. I pray we can find some better days of our lives.

ANOTHER SATURDAY MORNING SERIAL

Most of you are too young to remember Saturday Morning Serials that always preceded the Saturday Western or action film.

Once again Hairbreadth Harry and his merry band (a.k.a John Boehner and Republican stalwarts) have caught the fair maiden just as she was toppling over the precipice---in spite of the efforts of the archvillain, Crabby Appleton (a.k.a. Ted Cruz) to thwart the rescue. How many times have we seen this tired old Saturday Morning serial?

And, once again, a bandaid has been applied on a wound requiring stitches and layers of dressing. Will we apply another bandaid in February, or, hope springing eternal in the human breast, will the politicos get serious and really get down to work in a bi-partisan effort to govern; yes, I said govern! Do you remember that word? It’s what governments, by definition, are supposed to do, In the case of Congress, govern means legislate, and legislate means thinking out courses of action for the good of all the people and enacting these actions into law.

I don’t know if it can happen in view of the fractured schismatic cesspool which Congress has become. The ability to sit down seriously together and find common ground seems to be a lost art. I hope I’m wrong.

I love America---and I have never been more ashamed of her government. The rest of the world must be shaking their heads and saying, “What the hell has happened over there?  Have they lost their senses?” The answer, apparently, is yes. How a power of our magnitude can lose its way so violently has to frighten the rest of the world. As the President inferred, our enemies are licking their chops; our competitors are rubbing their hands with glee; our friends are shaking their heads in sorrow. It is not a pretty sight.

The Republicans have rarely stood lower in public esteem, although the Democrats and the President aren’t a helluva lot better in ratings. I note that Big Business America, the bankroll for the G.O.P., is alarmed at the fractious nature of their party and its vociferous active minority called the Tea Party and want to start putting some money into campaigns to support more reasonable candidates. But then you have the cavernous deep pockets of the Koch Brothers supporting the Tea Party. I hope Big Business puts its money where its mouth is.

As an alcoholic attests at an AA meeting, admit we have been drunk and now are seeking sober ways. We have to get back on the path of responsible government. I pray it’s not too late.

UNDER THE BIG TENT

I suppose you could call what is going on in Congress a carnival or circus, except for the fact that circuses and carnivals are supposed to be fun. This display of misplaced intransigence and face-saving by the Republicans reminds me of the old adage about the lunatics running the asylum.

How a minority can hold a country hostage is a travesty against democracy.  The antics of the ringleader and prime voice of this opposition, Senator Ted Cruz, Canadian-born but an American citizen, make one think he is really an alien from outer space.  Cruz is a Magna Cum Laude graduate of Princeton and a Cum Laude lawyer from Harvard Law School, impressive credentials but somewhere along the line his natural conservatism skewed into radical demagoguery fed by a massive ego. But he has a cadre of fellow Tea Partyites in the House, as well as the Senate, who go along with his garish side show. A House Leader who has forgotten how to lead doesn’t help.

America needs contrasting parties: Conservatives vs. Liberals, Federalism vs. States Rights, Pro-Life vs. Choice, Big Spenders vs. Austerity Hawks.  This is how democracy is supposed to work. Above all, however, is the National Interest where the good of the country is first priority. That national interest is being violated by the intransigence that refuses to fund the government and to increase the debt limit, Once more, in the eyes of the world, the American limousine is seen careening toward a deep abyss, and they must shake their heads and wonder.

Oh, I believe at the last possible minute, the debt crisis will be averted, probably with some temporary measure which will have to be dealt with again in the near future. This is not the way to run a government. 

In a divided government such as we have, true bi-partisanship has to be the answer, Lots of things need attention: Obamacare, tax reform, job creation, social security, infrastructure renovation and other pressing problems. Instead of holding the government hostage, pass the necessary legislation to fund the government, raise the debt ceiling and then form a bi-partisan commission to study and make recommendations for our many priorities. Work together, compromise but keep the good of the country the number one priority.

It used to work that way. Have we changed that much? Give it a try. Let’s try statesmanship and end the circus.

AMERICA'S ? CUP

The America's Cup Races just concluded with a stirring 9-8 victory for the American team versus the Kiwis. What made it even more dramatic was the fact that the Oracle team bankrolled by billionaire Larry Ellison came from way behind, won eight races in a row to pull it off, especially after being docked a two-race penalty at the beginning.

But an American victory? Yes, the bankroll was American and one member of the crew. The tactician was the five-time Gold Medal Olympian, Brit Ben Ainslie; the skipper was Jimmy Spithill, an Aussie; the rest of the crew included four Aussies, two Kiwis and, beside the lone Yank, an Italian, a Brit, a Dutchman and an Antiguan. I'm sure Larry Ellison had several Americans in the creation of the boat, but the composition of the team was decidedly international.

The whole international competition---never noted for frugality---has turned into a money sweepstakes, and the millions poured into the candidate boats this year is astronomical. The biggest spender of all, Larry Ellison, won out. In today's monied world where so many championships are bought, the word "amateur" is obsolete,replaced by billionaire sports enthusiasts buying success. But we love a winner, at any cost. Maybe we should change the name from America's Cup to International Money Cup.

A DILEMMA

As most of us are, I am conflicted by the dilemma in Syria. I do hope the “Russian Proposal” (originated in an offhand remark initially by John Kerry) generates a diplomatic solution to this problem. A lot of hard slogging and negotiation will be needed to get this baby to fly. Already Assad is laying down ground rules of no American aid to the rebels (or “Terrorists” as he refers to them). Already we are rejecting such a proposal. And the Russians: aye, there’s the rub.

I find it difficult to swallow the image of Vladimir Putin as a moral reformer, referencing God, disputing American “exceptionalism” and lecturing us on morality. The hypocrisy is overpowering. Here is this former K.G.B. chief telling us how to act, this same tyrant who punishes, imprisons and clamps down on any kind of dissident opinions within his country. The op-ed piece in the NY Times was a master stroke of presumption, smugness, arrogance and just plain bullshit. He wanted to strike while the iron was hot in an effort to stir the pot even more in this country. And can you believe the image of Mother Russia as the Great Negotiator and Statesman who, out of one side of her mouth, preaches morality and fairness to us, all the while she is supplying arms and all kinds of aid to special friend, Bashar al-Assad.? Will the Russians agree not to supply Syria aid if we do not supply such to the rebel forces?

Obviously, the weight of public opinion is heavily against Mr. Obama and any kind of U.S. military involvement. We are all fed to the teeth of fighting in regional wars, gaining nothing in terms of regional democratic success and only achieving loss of American and native blood. Our president is privately kicking himself for the famous “red line” remark, I’m sure, and is looking for an honorable way out. I pity the President who has ultimately to seek a solution. I’m glad I don’t have his job. It will not be easy to be extricated from this dismal swamp, but perhaps diplomatic work and world opinion can pull off a rescue. It certainly will not be due to the “morality” of Vladimir Putin.

THE FORCE OF WILL

I am exhausted after fifteen days of watching the U.S. Open Tennis Championship held at Flushing Meadows NY, which ended Monday night. The tension of those fifteen days was palpable but especially in the last days as the cream of tennis talent rose to the top: numbers one and two, both men and women, vying for the crown. Both finals were gladiatorial in nature.

First, Sunday afternoon, Serena Williams (1) faced Victoria Azarenka (2). Both these ladies had incredible records this year. Azarenka had lost only one hard court match this year and had beaten Serena twice on hard courts. She also won in January the Australian championship, the first of the grand slams. Serena had an equally amazing year, having won the French Open, beating Azarenka in this second grand slam event. She had a bad day at Wimbledon, the third grand slam, and dropped out early, as did Azarenka. Then the fun began. Serena won every event thereafter until in late August on a hard court in Cincinnati, she lost a close one to---you guessed it---Azarenka. So, there’s the scenario.

 It was a windy day with sharp gusts disturbing the ladies’ dresses and the toss of the ball, which is a tennis player’s worst nightmare. Serena was more erratic and flustered by the wind than her opponent, yet they were even at 5-5. Then Serena bore down and won the next two games to take the set. In the second set she started fast, built up a big lead, 4-1---and then lightning struck as Victoria rallied to send the match into a tiebreaker with power ground strokes and serving. The tiebreaker went back and forth with Serena holding match point at 6-5, only to have Victoria rally and take the tiebreaker 8-6. So there we are, one set apiece, final set to be the decider. It is then that Serena Williams summoned up all her experience and power. She has the potency of a volcano ready to erupt, and erupt she did to blast Azarenka off the court, 6-1, and win the title. Serena was unstoppable, a force of nature sweeping everything before it. She willed that championship, her fifth U.S. title and seventeenth grand slam (only one behind Chris Evert and Martina Navritolova). She is almost thirty-two and playing better than she did ten years ago. How many more will she win?

Now the men. Novak Djokovic, number one, the reigning Australian Champion, had lost the French finals to Nadal in a five-set match that lasted almost six hours and then lost Wimbledon in the finals to Andy Murray, the inspired Brit, who brought that title back to England after seventy-seven years of drought. He had lost the final of the previous U.S. Open to Murray. A model of consistent play, the best returner of serves in the game, he seemed ready for another crown. But Rafael Nadal, seeded second, stood in the way. Nadal had started the year on the injured list with knee problems that kept him out of the Australian Open. He had not played tennis for seven months when he made his return in the spring in a tournament in South America, which he lost in the finals. He then proceeded to win nine titles in a row, including the French Open, before losing in the Canadian Open in early August. Nadal then won Cincinnati on hard courts prior to the U.S. Open.

The Open final was filled with the hardest hitting I have ever witnessed. Nadal was constantly on the defensive as the Djoker, as he is known, pushed him around the court, but somehow Nadal clung on. Then suddenly, in the middle of the first set at 3-3, Nadal caught fire and won the set 6-3 with a series of bullets down the line and increased serving power. In the second set, Djokovic returned to his bullying ways and punished Nadal. I didn’t think it was possible to hit harder than he did in the first set, but somehow he amped it up and took the set 6-4. The third set was incredible. The whole match was filled with rallies of twenty times or more across the net; in this set, Djokovic won a rally that lasted fifty-four strokes. Then the magic moment of the match came with the score tied 4-4. Djoker was serving with a 40-love leave to win the fifth game when Nadal, another force of nature, suddenly roared down the mountain, broke Djokovic’s serve, held his own serve and won the set 6-4. The final fourth set was pure unadulterated Nadal. He floated around the court, making impossible returns and winning shots. The air went out of Djokovic, and he collapsed and was beaten 6-2.

Nadal is twenty-seven. After suffering serious knee problems, he has learned the importance of taking time off, plus he has added power to his serve and volleying to make the points shorter to spare his knees (except against Djokovic, who is a human back board). Nadal has won thirteen grand slams; he has a winning record against any player of note today; he is the toughest competitor I have ever seen. I agree with John McEnroe: if he stays healthy, he will shatter Roger Federer’s record of seventeen grand slam titles and be rated the best tennis player of all times.

Serena and Rafa: two forces of nature, who will their ways to victory. We are privileged to see this kind of talent in our time. Enjoy it while we can.

LESSONS LEARNED

It is hard to believe that it has been fifty years since that March on Washington and Martin Luther King Jr.’s timeless speech. I was in my mid-thirties at the time living through a pivotal moment in history, although, at that time, I did not realize how momentous an occasion it was. I think most of us whites were holding our collective breath, hoping that it would not turn into a race riot.

When I grew up in the thirties and forties, prejudice was a fact of life and woven into our pattern of existence. We had black servants and had a warm if paternalistic relationship with them. They were part of the family but at hands’ length. My mother was southern, from Kentucky. Her grandfather had slaves, although he freed them before the end of the Civil War. In fact, our cook had been born a slave on her grandfather’s land, and she had stayed with my mother and her family, emigrating to Ohio with my mother and grandmother. My mother had a warm relationship with Rachel the cook and other black servants but always with that patronizing “we-must-take-care-of-them-because-they-are-only-good-as-servants” inherent attitude. I never heard my mother use the n-word; “darkie” was the milder perjorative used or, more often, colored.

Growing up in Ohio I went to school with blacks, played sports with them. In fact, our cook’s grandson was a friend, and I often invited him to come to my house where we had lots of land, twenty-four acres, to play baseball or touch football. He often came in the house after sports for a refreshing drink, but always in the kitchen where his grandmother held sway. My early days in public school were integrated, and white and black kids played together on the playground. Since only about three percent of the population was black, such could hardly be called integration-at-work. When I went away to private school in the nineteen-forties, I had no black students as classmates. It was only in college in the east that I had black classmates and, proportionately, only a handful at most. I remember we voted my only black classmate as President of our class in my senior year at Hamilton College in upstate New York. We thought we were quite “liberal” and daring in 1950 to vote for this Negro, as we called them then.

My journey through civil rights started with this kind of background, which in many ways was typical of northern American attitudes toward blacks and other minorities. Don’t let anyone kid you into believing that de facto segregation did not exist in the north: this same cook’s son in 1946 in our small town in Ohio led a sit-in at the lunch counter in the Greyhound Bus Terminal where blacks were frowned upon and opened it up for interracial dining. We didn’t have Jim Crow, but his shadow was upon us.

Somewhere in my slow maturation, the truth about discrimination and its shameful existence as part of the fabric of our lives began to seep into me. College certainly kick-started the process and opened my mind to greater understanding. I remember living in New York in my young batchelorhood and early years of marriage. I was a salesman of men's and boy's apparel and covered Manhattan by foot, rolling my sample case over large tracts of that island. Harlem was part of my territory, and I never ran into any racial problems there, except on occasions when the NAACP would have a protest day and young blacks would lock arms and walk down 125th street, daring anyone to get in their way. I would carefully move my sample case and stand in the gutter as they passed by, and they never bothered me.

But it took the Civil Rights movement to bring the elephant in the room into real focus. The March on Washington and the freedom demonstrations in Selma and Birmingham finally grabbed some of Whitey’s attention and, at least to some of us, we began to understand how shameful our complicity and averting our eyes from reality were on us. I remember how awed I was by the courage of both blacks and whites in those traumatic times and wondered if I would have had the courage to participate in those demonstrations with the physical abuse and cruelty of the police of Birmingham and Selma.

Looking back, I realize I was not much different from many of my generation in the north: we paid lip service to the concept of equal rights but did little to make it happen until our noses were shoved in it. We are usually products of our environment and shaped by the circumstances in which we live. It takes those with real moral insight and plain guts to stand up and say that this was wrong, and we needed to do something about it. Those demonstrators one hot August day in Washington in 1963 spoke the truth by their actions. We all should have learned a lesson that day, but look what happened within a year---the death of JFK and MLKJr. We have come a long way since then, but we still have a long journey to understanding and total reconciliation.

We are all interdependent in this world of today but are still riven. I hope in the short time I have left to see America live up to its democratic principles and speed up the laborious process of understanding each other and learning to live together with tolerance. If an old man like I can try, then a helluva lot of younger people should make that effort to live together in racial and economic harmony.

It is the key to a better life for all, not to mention survival.

TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALL GAME...

My wife and I are in Ohio visiting my eldest daughter and family. Her two daughters, who live in Myrtle Beach, have both come home separately, so we have been able to enjoy time with them.

I arranged with my sister, Linda, who is a baseball fanatic like I, to procure tickets to my beloved Cincinnati Reds who were playing a day game last Wednesday against the Oakland A's. Linda outdid herself and had wonderful seats in The Great American Ballpark about ten rows up behind the catcher. Linda rented a van and took her daughter Lisa and husband John, a girlfriend of Lisa. my son Alex and me from Dayton to the ballpark. She even had a handicapped hanger so that my worn-out knees would  be spared, as we parked in the stadium, just below where our seats were located:---a few steps up, an elevator ride and, voila, right by our section and a few easy steps down.

The best part of the actual game was seeing Aroldis Chapman, the Cuban-born fireballing closer for the Reds, who came on in the ninth to protect a one-run lead. Two pitches and two soft fly outs. Then the crowd rose to their feet and started to roar. Three fastballs later, the last of which I couldn't see,  the game was history.

But the real best part was seeing this wonderful spacious ballpark, now ten years old, and the family crowd there on a Wednesday afternoon. It was old-fashioned, dyed-in-the-wool, pure Americana, seeing so many families enjoying the game and enthusing together in a happy comradely atmosphere. You just felt good sitting there!

As if this were not enough, I then got a tour of the Reds Hall of Fame and Museum, a cathedral dedicated to all things Reds. I relived my baseball history, and more, in that fabulous museum. You can even look out a window and see a bed of red flowers with a white patch of flowers in the center, memorializing the spot where Pete Rose lined his record-breaking single on June 11, 1985.

Yes, I was kid again---and loved every moment.  You can take me out to the ball game anytime---and include a brat with the best spicy mustard ever. Thanks, Linda!

THE WEINER WEENIE

The Greeks have the word for it---hubris---overweening pride. And that’s the problem with Anthony Weiner, former congressman and candidate for Mayor of New York: he’s got an overweening weenie, his pride and joy. He just loves to display it on the internet and sextexts under the name of Carlos Danger. He obviously gets his jollies this way.

He loves to compare himself with Bill Clinton as a morally damaged man in high (or hopes to be) office. He thinks by this comparison some of the Clinton magic will rub off on him, and he will be impervious to criticism and can win the Mayor’s race. Again, that’s hubris, because what kind of record of achievement does he have compared to Bill Clinton?

His long-suffering wife continues to stand by her man through this incessant scandal. I’m wondering if she is into self-masochism and just thrives on pain and martyrdom.

Anthony, put your weenie away for another day and don’t inflict this travesty on the voters of New York. Until the most recent revelations, he was the leading candidate, which is either a commentary on the paucity of qualified candidates or the moral code of the average voter.

Just go in the bathroom, Anthony, lock the door and have fun. But before you do that, please drop out of the race. We are sick to death of Weiner’s weenie.

AND THEY NEVER EVEN TOLD ME...

What can I say? I was taken totally by surprise! They never even tipped me off that this was coming. I guess there was enough hooplah going on at the time of the royal birth that they were preoccupied with escaping the paparazzi and staying as low key as possible. I didn't need to be consulted, but I'm surprised they didn't tip me off in advance.

I am referring to the choice of names for the new Prince of Cambridge. It is an honor to have him named for my grandfather, George Alexander and then, totally a shock, to add my father's middle name, Louis. You never know what surprises these royals have up their sleeves.

In any case, I'm thrilled!

THE FOURTH QUARTER

At our ages---both mid-eighties---my wife and I know we are in the late fourth quarter of our game of life. Thank God, we both have our senses, which in this age of increasing dementia, is a blessing. My wife has undergone some health setbacks these last two years, including shunt surgery to restore balance, a mini-stroke of the left eye costing her vision in that eye and wildly fluctuating blood pressure. She is doing much better now and has the blood pressure under control, thank God, after experimentation by her cardiologist in finding the right balance of prescription drugs. As for me, I have the normal aches and pains of someone my age, including arthritis, more tottering on my feet, spinal degeneration in lumbars 4 and 5, causing sciatica on occasions and orthostatic hypotension ( the medical term for blood pressure decreasing on occasions when I stand up after lying down or sitting for long periods causing dizziness if I get up too quickly). Not too bad for someone my age.

We have debated going into care complexes where you pass through the stages of independent living, assisted living and final hospital and/or hospice care. We have two excellent facilities near us; in fact, we put a deposit on one, which was smaller and more attractive to us. But our hearts weren’t really into this kind of group living, plus they are quite expensive---over six thousand a month plus extra expenses like dining in their facilities if you choose not to cook. It is not cheap health insurance.

We have owned for thirty-six years a condominium on the beach here on Sanibel Island in Florida where we have lived permanently for eleven years. We bought the condo in 1977 as a get-away retreat which could be rented when we were not there. Over the years we have built up a sizeable clientele of renters and have earned some good income from rentals. It is a small complex as condos go with only thirty-eight units, and we know many of the owners there. We are particularly close with the board of directors (I served as a director for twelve years) and several of these directors and spouses have encouraged us to move into our condo permanently. They have a harmonious and good life together and take a collective interest in watching out for each other. “Don’t worry,” they say, “come join us and we’ll watch over you.”

So, that’s what we’ve decided to do. We will this fall put our house up for sale. We have started interviewing realtors and are encouraged that the market here is recovering nicely and condos and homes are being sold at improved prices. Sanibel, being a resort, never felt the decline like most places, with a decline of 15-20% maximum, but now prices are rising again and sales activity has increased. Yes, we will be giving up rental income, but the sale of the house should generate sufficient funds to enable us to live comfortably. With a panoramic view directly on a beach overlooking the Gulf of Mexico, life can be lovely.

If you are in the fourth quarter, try to enjoy the game. This solution should work.

LET'S BRING HISTORY TO LIFE

I watched a rerun of "60 Minutes" last night, featuring for most of the show an interview with David McCullough, the noted historian, author and voice of so many of the great Ken Burns documentaries. He was interviewed by Morley Safer in Philadelphia, the site of the writing and signing of the Declaration of Independence, and then in Paris, in the late eighteenth century the hub of great thinkers and ideas where so many of the major figures of the Revolutionary War and the framers of independence were inspired. McCullough's enthusiasm for his subject of American history is infectious and  compelling.

In the course of his conversation he climbed on his soap box to decry the "historical illiteracy" of so many of the young people of today. He mentioned how, some years ago on a college campus where he was delivering one of his stimulating lectures, he was approached afterwards by a female student who thanked him for his speech and said, "I had no idea the thirteen colonies were all on the east coast." DOH! Where did the Pilgrims land and where did the Jamestown settlers enter? And what ocean did they cross? Did she think some went around the bottom of the world to come around both capes to the west coast? McCullough thought this might be an isolated incident---but then it happened several more times at other college lectures.

He also decried the lack of specialists in education. Why, he asked, do you need to major in Education to be a great teacher? Can't you major in History or Chemistry or English and still be an inspiring teacher? I remember in school and college my most memorable teachers were not generalists but specialists in English and Latin and History.

Then he scored another point---one that I have been on the soap box about for some years: why can't families sit down for dinner and talk among themselves? It's amazing how much information can be gathered in such confabs. Being the patriarch of my family, I am by default the historian of family history and general knowledge. Who else can remember World War II, for example? My wife and I did. My wife lived through the Blitz in London; I lost a brother in WW II with another shot down who survived. I was in my teens, but it is still one of the illuminating memories of my life. In family gatherings at the dinner table, this kind of information erupts unexpectedly and haphazardly, but it gives a family a sense of personal history and identity. Ideas can flow when family is gathered and create a feeling of genuine solidarity and intimacy.

I know in our frantic world of activities and distractions of today, dining together is not possible every night, but surely it can be planned on a more regular basis. And, while it is being done, ban the kids of today from bringing their games, smartphones and tablets to the dinner table so that they can listen and talk and think.

Thank you, David, for the assist.

ON WRITING

My old blogger-friend. Bill Boggs (westtexastransplant.blogspot.com), has stirred me from my lethargy and inspired me to return, if only briefly, to the blogger world after reading his latest effort of 6/18/13 on Reading.

He mentioned the influence of William Zinsser's "On Writing Well". Zinsser for many years taught at Yale and this precious book is a writer's necessity. I mentioned in a comment  to my friend's blog on Reading that I keep next to my computer this book by Zinsser as well as E.B. White's "Elements of Style". These two books are the bread and butter of improving your writing skills with their emphasis on clarity and directness. They cover everything from grammar to usage to style, all the ingredients which comprise the magic recipe for good writing.

Take, for example, this gem from E.B. White, one of the mainstay staff members of The New Yorker and author, of "Charlotte's Web", the children's classic:

"Writing is, for most, laborious and slow. The mind travels faster than the pen; consequently, writing becomes a question of learning to make occasional wing shots, bringing down the bird of thought as it passes by."

Or:

"The adjective hasn't been built that can pull a weak or inaccurate noun out of a tight place."

White studied at Cornell and had a marvelous Professor of English,  William Strunk, Jr., who inspired his love of and appreciation of good writing. White took Strunk"s book, "Elements of Style", updated it and added his own section on style in writing. It became a classic.

Zinsser's book is full of the tools for good writing:

"First, then, learn to hammer in the nails and, if what you built is sturdy and serviceable, take satisfaction in its plain strength."                            

"What you write is yours and nobody else's. Take your talent as far as you can and guard it with your life."

I recall some years ago when I was in business and received a memo from an associate proposing a certain course of action. The memo was flowery and unfocused, a sad attempt at being "literary" and impressive, to the extent that the proposed action was unclear. I called the associate into my office and said, "I've got a lot on my plate today. I see your long memo. Would you in your own words summarize it?" The guy, bing, bang, boom, in a succinct logical sequence outlined what he wanted. I said, "Why didn't you write like that in your memo? Remember, writing is like geometry: the shortest distance between two points is a straight line."

So, I recommend: when in doubt, go to Zinsser and White for the elements of writing. They were wise preceptors and can only make what you want to say clear and better. We all can use that kind of help.

CHATEAU LAFITE ROTHSCHILD-1971

I said I might come back to blog on occasions, and I do believe last May 16 was an occasion, as my wife and I hit sixty years of marriage.

We celebrated by going to our youngest daughter's home in Indialantic FL (near Melbourne on the east coast of Florida). My eldest daughter and husband who live outside Toledo OH and my middle daughter from Atlanta joined us for a dual celebration: our anniversary on the Thursday and the graduation from high school of my 18-year old grandson the next day, who incidentally graduated with a 4.0 average for four years from an academic high school where 111 out of a class of 154 had a 3.5 average or better. I have to be a proud grandfather and say that the grandson was one of a select group of valedictorians.

My two sons-in-law, who love to cook, really did it up right. We brought with us a large filet of beef, and then my two sons-in-law went to a local fresh seafood store and bought lobsters, clams, shrimp, crab and scallops, to which they added corn on the cob and sausages, for a real low country boil to augment the steaks. We pigged out happily, as you can imagine.

In addition, I brought with us a bottle of Burgundy I have owned for forty-odd years to be saved for a special occasion. At my wife's and my ages and on such an anniversary, we figured it doesn't get any more "special". I was scared to death that the bottle might have turned to vinegar by this time.

This wine, Chateau Lafite Rothschild, is one of the four premier grand crus (first great growths) ,the original first wines in the French classification of wines. A bottle of this wine today costs between $800-$1000 in its best years. I got a deal on it back in the seventies from a wine merchant with whom I did a fair amount of business and paid under $40.00 for it.

I wish I could tell you that it was the greatest bottle of wine I ever drank---but I can't. But it wasn't vinegar, either.  The cork had started to disintegrate so that the wine had oxidized to some extent, affecting the quality to some degree. It was still good and drinkable, and everyone, kids included, got some. Even if the wine was not at its best, the symbolism was terrific!

A great time was had by all.  Maybe my wife and I can shoot for 70???

AU REVOIR

I have decided to put my blog to temporary, at least, rest. What with the complications of old age, although I have been mercifully spared its worst assaults, I have enough to do with the daily responsibilities of a wife with health problems and maintaining an active schedule of outside activities, especially my church, and keeping my life in order.

I have expressed my opinions for four years on a variety of topics, ranging from personal matters to the state of the world. Frankly, I don’t think I have much more new to add, and I can only be a repetitive old bore.

And, so I ll take a break. I may, from time to time, be inspired to come back to you with something new that’s on my mind. I’ll play that by ear.

Thank you, you few who have read my blog, I appreciate your loyalty. Now I recognize when it’s time to make a graceful exit. Till we meet again!.

THAT'S TEAM---SPELLED U-S!

Now is the time I really get excited about basketball with the NCAA "March Madness" in full swing. And all the more reason this year with our local Fort Myers-based Florida Gulf Coast Eagles flying through the tournament. Whether they can keep it up, who knows? But they have given us locals---and a large part of the basketball nation---reason to celebrate with their verve and audacity.

They are an anachronism in this age of sports egos---a team that refuses to emphasize individual stars and stresses team play. And what play, pure macho, go for it, keep attacking, don't play it safe! Their dunks get the crowd screaming. They have a coach in Andy Enfield whose great inspiration is his confidence in them and allowing them to freewheel as they do.  Of course, they have some exceptional talent: Brett Comer, the point guard, according to Enfield, sees the court and sets things up as well as any N.B.A. point guard. Sherwood Brown is good cream, rising to the top when needed, and the inspirational captain and driving force of their team will.

And all this from a college only founded in 1991 and only eligible for the NCAA this year. What a way to leave your mark. Win or lose next game, they are already winners ---and such fun to have around.

With three Florida teams in the "sweet sixteen", we are excited here. We are especially anxious to see if the Eagles can claw the Gators!