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17
Apr 26

The greatest minor league baseball game ever

It started out as a joke, I guess. My godsisters-in-law (just go with it) have five highly active children between them and everyone works and travels and lives full lives and so they are calendar fiends. We get calendar invites for things to which we are invited. And we started getting calendar invites to things which are obvious jokes. Some family things aren’t meant for me, but they’re legendary, and so you’re always welcome, thanks but no thanks. You know the sort. Also, I don’t partake in handbag bingo.

But I do enjoy a good game of bingo. Maybe I should go to that.

Anyway, sometime just before last Christmas I got a calendar invite to one of the kid’s concert performance at the minor league ball park. He was taking part in an orchestra and of course we were going to that. THat was tonight.

So we got to the venue and got seat just behind home plate and our guy and his viola and a bunch of his classmates and students from other schools, apparently, all flood the field and they play their song. It was great. It was cute. Parents were proud.
Everyone had a nice time.

I met the mascot, who took a selfie with my phone.

After the performance was the game, of course. It’s high A, and the starting pitcher has been at this level since 2021. In the first inning he hit the leadoff pitcher, got the second guy to ground into a double play, walked the third batter on four straight. The next batter drove that guy in, but was thrown out at third. It was a chaotic top of the first inning.

I looked at both rosters, the oldest guy on either team was born in May of 1999. Only four of the guys in either dugout are 20th century kids.

At one point, a right fielder lost a ball in the sun. The ball was on the ground at the time.

High A ball is great fun!

Eventually the godnephews and godniece (just go with it) came and sat with us. The visiting pitcher was throwing a no-hitter through five. His team was out ahead. A reliever came in and the wheels flew off.

This is how you know the wheels flew off. The alternate mascot makes his way onto the field. Mr. Celery happened by accident. He has no mythological backstory. They’re a bit sketchy on the actual backstory. The prevailing version goes that there was some health food initiative in years past, and whoever was putting that on left a few mascots behind. The team found it in storage, and then decided, for no reason at all, to put an intern in that outfit. And every time the home team scores Mr. Celery comes out and runs around a bit.

And, tonight, he ran around a lot.

That reliever recorded one inning pitched, and the loss. He allowed five runs on three hits, two walks, and two strikeouts. He now has a 30.86 ERA.

Sitting behind us was a fraternity from one of the local universities. They were there supporting one of the kids who was involved in the pregame festivities. They were loud and funny and pleasant. They started the wave. They invented a new cheer.

Our godnephews were completely taken with them and the frat boys welcomed them into their night. Those guys were great. They were very kind and generous to the kids, and they didn’t necessarily have to be. They indulged their enthusiasms, so there was the 2nd grader, coaching the fraternity into doing the wave, and, thus, the entire stadium. He and his brother started picking spots for the new cheer, “Get your rocks up!” which involved throwing your two fists into the air and making a lot of noise. They were giving the boys high fives and posed for photos and you would have thought they hung the actual moon.

At one point, I looked at my godbrother-in-law-in-law (just go with it) and said of his son, “I believe he’s found his tribe.”

Indeed, I think the 2nd grader now knows the secret handshake.

Somehow he got a foul ball. He got one of the field crew to sign his ball for him. All the kids got to high five the mascots. They did just about everything but launch the fireworks.

I’m making shirts for the next game.

We’ll be back.

adventures / Friday / Ireland / memories / photo / scholarship / sports / video — Comments Off
10
Apr 26

If you’re gonna blow something up give it meaning

For my part in the conference today I spoke on panel titled Games of Power: The Weaponization of Sport for Political Gain.

The premise of the panel acknowledges the long history of sport as a battleground, the interrelationships of politics and sport, and the dynamics of regional and national interests that are oftentimes at play. The topics included how sport functions as a contested space where political actors, institutions, and movements seek to assert power, shape narratives, and mobilize public opinion, often while using sport as a weapon.

I talked about identity fusion theory, within the context of nationalism, using the Winter Olympics and the men’s locker room hockey phone call example.

I later asked the question, “What is it to be a 28-year-old athlete, on a gold medal high, and laughing at a punchline from the president of the United States?” I also talked about sport as a soft power, and how that political influence and persuasion might be changing. (The Global Soft Power Index seems to think the U.S. numbers are softening.)

Ultimately, I said this should perhaps be a conversation about sport in a new era. If that sounded wise it was only because of what my colleagues on the panel said after that.

I will take part in two more panels tomorrow. The rest of my day I spent in various audiences, doing the Academic Nod.

This evening, before dinner, we caught some fireworks almost by chance.

Call me old fashioned, but I think fireworks should be memorialized. That’s a lot of sound and fury … and some money … that someone is exploding for no real reason. The least we can do is record it and view it from every conceivable angle.

This series of percussive explosions wasn’t even about nationalism. Call me old fashioned again, but I miss the days when fireworks displays meant something. They told a story, dagnabbit!

Don’t mind me, I’m going to go yell at this cloud of sulfur dioxide, carbon dioxide, and carbon monoxide.

I’m still living in the happy memories of our wonderful Irish vacation. So, I’m sharing extra videos that we didn’t get to at the time. It was a great vacation. I have a lot of footage. This will go on for some time. Enjoy it with me, won’t you?

That is Cuan na hAisléime … (still not a series of letters that comes readily to my typing fingers) another casual side-of-the-road view that would be an absolute show stopper most anywhere else.

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3
Apr 26

The flowery content begins

Right by the corner of the garage we have an oversized shrub. It shows off these deep crimson leaves, a few branches of which will need to be trimmed back this year, for ease of navigation purposes. But, right now, as one of the many heralds of spring, it is giving us the seasonal show.

The more spring the merrier. And this one is quote variable, which the science tells us is a sign of the times. It has been 84, 61 and 76 degrees the last three days. We also had a late seasonal freeze. Now we’re waiting to see what crops will be hurt by all of this. (Quite a bit, would be my guess.)

But that shrub looks lovely!

Happy weekend!

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27
Mar 26

Not every idea is marketable

I didn’t step outside, or even poke my head up from the computer, until the sun was going down. Meetings and emails and work and such. Here’s the view from the front porch. We face the west, but we turn wherever the best views are to be found.

A home on a lazy Susan. There’s an idea. I imagine one person standing out at the corner, squatting low, putting their back into it, slowly spinning the house. It’d be like a pushing a dead car, difficult at first, but you’d build a little momentum. The trick would be stopping at the right time. You wouldn’t want to overshoot the sunset or whatever you were aiming at.

The next trick would be managing the electrical connections. There are a lot of wires and pipes and things.

OK, so we build in some flexibility. Use that silly straw technology.

We’d need giant ball bearings. I suppose we’d need a giant ball bearing plant. The plant, itself, would need to be rather large. We’ve also got to figure out a way to transport those. That’s certainly doable, but would be costly. And replacing those, when the time comes, would be a chore.

Then you’ve got to keep leaves out of way of the things. This is starting to become a rather involved idea.

But only a few steps after we’ve invented a giant ball bearing plant.

This million dollar idea might need a little more work.

This was one of the windier places you’ll be that doesn’t involve a storm. I left in the nat sound to prove it.

That is the view from Sky Road.

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20
Mar 26

Horn Head

This was our last stop on the day, our next to last day discovering the Wild Atlantic Way. The golden hour here is delightful. And it’s quiet, and mostly empty. At the first point two guys were briefly there. Pictures and laughs and gone. At the second stage there were three cars in the small car park, but they were getting set to leave as we arrived. The only downside was the wind, which brought in the chill as the sun retreated. But it was beautiful, nevertheless. This is Horn Head.

First is the way point, with the marker and the tourist sign. They want you to know about the seabirds. This is the summer home of the largest bird colonies in the country. Right now, the birdies are flying in, and in all they’ll be right here by the thousands. And it’s a regular haunt, the same birds, the puffins, the guillemots, the kittiwakes, come to these cliffs, which grow more than 650 feet above the sea. It was all carved by ice and the ocean, of course, and the cliff faces themselves are safe spots for nests.

The fulmars use the bare ledges, as do the kittiewakes and the guillemates. The puffins burrow into the grassy slopes. There are razorbills here, too, and when they aren’t sitting on eggs they’re diving for fish. They put on a great show for the shags, which raise their babies at the foot of the cliffs, with nests made of seaweed.

They surely picked a scenic spot.

Just a little over a mile away is the other part of Horn Head, where we saw the small parking lot, and the small group of people leaving. Once you’re parked you walk up this rock path.

Not too far away is a Napoleonic era watchtower. The idea was that the Irish were looking for French ships looking to invade. That spot was off limits. Dangerous path and old structures and all that. But there was a little World War 2 blockhouse nearby, and we walked there. It was a simple cinderblock room. A window to the front, facing the ocean, a small fireplace in the back. One door, through which some watchmen would surely have sprinted should they have seen some bad guys popping up on their coast.

The best part of the little blockhouse was that it still has its roof, and it kept us out of the wind, which was pretty intense, being just off the water as we were. We stood in there awhile and I waxed on about what those guys were doing and tried to figure out how they did it. My lovely bride was patiently waiting while I tried to figure out if the chimney was a bad idea. Probably not. Bad guys would surely assume that a watch station would be there, anyway, why waste rounds on that, and it’s better to be warm than cold. That’s why we stayed in there, after all.

Once again, the chief strategist of the trip is this one. She’s planned a great trip.

Though I prefer this photo. I can’t recall if she was laughing at me or the wind. Probably the wind.

Tomorrow is our last day out on the Wild Atlantic Way. We’ll surely make it count. Every one them has!