NY Interleague Play…just can’t beat it down

Of course many of my postings revolve around political issues, hot topics and current follies.  Though, perhaps as a surprise, a worthy blog trivia question might be to ask: what was the topic of the first post in Christopher’s Views?

Hint: When driving in my car, besides occasionally flipping back and forth between right and left wing talk radio for a few chuckles, I tune in to WFAN NY.  

Tomorrow will be fun.  I actually got through to the prime time afternoon program once, back in the Mike and the Mad Dog days.  I was the first caller into the show that day and got in some of my thoughts on Darryl Strawberry.

Anyway…without digression…the lines will be fully lit as fans of the hapless Mets will not be able to get the thoughts out of their heads fast enough to quell their exuberance since just completing a 4 game regular season series sweep of the 27 time World Series Champion NY Yankees.  

Displaced fans will be calling from everywhere.  So much so that if the Mars One project had been in place already I’m sure the afternoon drive spot would take a call on the cell from Mike from Mars.

And it would probably go something like this:

The baseball God’s were NY Mets fans this week.  Sure we know that the Yankees had key players still out rehabbing injuries.  And yes three of the four games were close scores and could have gone the other way except for a play or an at-bat or two.

But three consecutive hits off the great Mariano in the ninth?

Could the mortal Terry Collins, all on his own, channel Ruben Tejada’s pick off blunder into the resolute turning point of the series by kicking around some bases and being thrown out of a game? 

12 strikeouts recorded by Dillon Gee?

Events such as these are not possible without big-time spiritual intervention.  

And what about the slow grounder by John Buck that rolled down the line to hit the exact center of third base?  Spirits…Spirits…Spirits.  

And they were just having some fun while giving payback for the ball they popped out of Luis Castillo’s glove a few years back.

© 2013 Christopher’s Views

Besides some digression I apologize for the loose references that only fanatics may get.

Remembering…because they can’t forget

I could skip into my garage, pirouette with my arms fully extended and not risk the domino effect of tumbling bikes, beach chairs and shovels.  And I have not been able to say or do that since 1999.  

This long Memorial Day weekend has been a success.  I cleared out behind the garage, thinned out the rafters above and delivered many items of no useful value to the curb.  Some of these objects were big and heavy and some were dated remnants of the previous owner.  I fear that the sanitation collectors will not be happy tomorrow.  My own exuberance is set to grow even greater though when the last of three window air conditioners and the carefully packed area rugs are soon hauled off to their new homes.

It rained hard in the early part of this 72-hour unofficial entrance to summer.  On Saturday morning our thermostat even began to call the boiler for heat before I shut it down.

So we took shelter through indoor visits, IHOP pancakes and fully engaging my fav bud as we watched ‘42’ on the big screen with Doritos and Arizona iced teas in hand.

And given that I have no musical ability I was then fully engaged watching MFB playing with kids mostly two grades older as the school band joined the VFW to honor the fallen along our finally sun soaked local streets this morning.

I never served in the military and I usually don’t pay attention to the various Memorial Day parades.  Ballgames, trail runs, golf and BBQ’s usually steal the time away.   

I know only of second hand stories.  And my father use to well up into too many tears to amply convey the tremendous amount of death, carnage and suffering the world endured to bring forth a change of directions during World War II.

But in a different business and a different time I was in my mid thirties when I helped impart some sales skills to a twenty-something year old veteran of Desert Storm.  

I remember one lunch break in particular.  We stopped at a Deli or Café of sorts with outside tables and chairs.  He took out some photos he had taken while the tanks had stopped.  The pictures were like no others I had ever seen.  They were images that would never make it to news reports, documentaries or even the most notable and honored films.  They were painfully harsh, unforgiving and merciless.  I was in shock upon viewing.  He was seemingly proud and excited.

We started back to my car and to our next scheduled appointment of the day.  Halfway there this young and strong man started to breathe oddly.  He then started to complain about palpitations and chest pain.  I rushed him to a nearby doctor I knew in the area.  The doctor took him in immediately and spent at least 45 minutes or perhaps an hour by his side in the examination room.  Luckily for him, this physician was experienced in treating PTSD.

An hour or two later we quietly left.  We quit work early; we had enough action for the day.  I never heard about those pictures again.  

I am confident, however, that the real reel still haunts and replay’s the gory camera roll in the mind of that former Marine each and every day.

Yes, a day to remember indeed.

© 2013 Christopher’s Views

first to follow

There is a person among us with an unbeatable resume

She’s a nurse, a doctor, a vet and a shrink

I often see her coach, teach, chauffeur and cheer

She is a fortune teller

And a professor of history

She can play a good cop or a bad cop

And not be seen as taking sides

She is your most worthy critic

And your staunchest advocate

If you could find someone you could trust more

You have spanned the threshold to Nirvana

Her simple sandwich cannot be duplicated

And her kitchen dually serves as a confessional

You will never find a better guide

A more welcoming lighthouse

Or a better pillow

She could requisition a fortune

Yet she lives only for love

And from atop the mountain

She thinks that you are the best

Happy Mother’s Day

© 2013 Christopher’s Views

sequestration…part of the journey I suppose

In remembering the list of the seven deadly sins of lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride what stands out to me is that the order is of no consequence.

There is no single transgression that is more foreboding than another.

An unchecked obsession with any of the indulgences can equally bring on a life filled with chaos leading to a downward spiral.

Today I think of pride.

I think of months, years, and decades of self-importance masquerading as service before self.  

I think of uncompromising, unreasonable, egotism masking insecurities.

I think less about the sequestration and more about the infestation of smugness and arrogance on both sides of the aisles.

I think of little connection to cooperation, rationality and humility.

I think of acquiring diplomas and degrees and exercising scant intelligence.

I think of one step forward and two steps backwards.

I think of confidence lost.  

I think of years of doing and years of undoing.

I think about a casino mentality over capitalism and free enterprise.

I think of endless poker nights rather than checks and balances.

I think about winning over being right and personalities over principles.

I think about being upside down and backwards.

I think about dysfunction and progression and getting worse before getting better.

I think of taking a haircut by someone wearing a blindfold, chancing the desired length, but expecting no smiles returned by the outcome.

I think about exploring the cliff’s edge verse living on the cliff’s edge and about toughness verse madness.

Hopefully I think wrong.  

© 2013 Christopher’s Views.

first pull

Thankfully I am physically fit.  In my 53^rd year, however, shoveling snow has lost the last threads of any luster it may have momentarily held.

I fall into the category of fairly handy as well.  My neighbor to the right, a couple of years older, meets the benchmark of being expertly skilled with tools and craftsmanship.  Even so, sometimes snags with tasks can occur that can slow us down tremendously.

A few years ago during a winter storm both of us headed to our garages to fire up our snow blowers.  Simultaneously we discovered that our gas was stale, our carburetors were gummed up and changing the spark plugs or adding doses of starting fluid was of no help.  We were quite peeved that we had to hand shovel more than a foot of snow that was lining two driveways, yards and sidewalks.

So each year now I attend to my aging apparatus in the fall for a light tune-up, a test run and a self certified seal of inspection.  Then I cross my fingers of course.

Especially crossed because I know there are many days and weeks that traverse the calendar between mid October and mid February while my machine may sit idle.  Enough time in fact to cause me to break out into an easily recognizable case of throttle anxiety as I await the real test imposed by a big drop in barometric pressure and blizzard conditions.  

Fair lady certainly sensed my fear today as I unsuccessfully tip-toed back to our bedroom to grab a pair of warm socks while interrupting her last few minutes of dreams.  

I hope you don’t plan on making noise outside before 9 o’clock, on a SATURDAY, was her phrasing.  

The new guy diagonally across the street already blew out his whole driveway was my informed response at 7:45 am. 

Yes, and that was totally annoying came the retort.

Anxiety often gains the upper hand though.  Rules or no rules I couldn’t wait until the late hour of 9am to learn my fate.  I suited up for go time.  

My elderly neighbor to the left is a woodsman.  He spends much time traveling in the far North Country and has planted evergreen tree saplings in his yard that have grown to dwarf the surrounding homes and yards.  Even in the dead of winter there is enough wildlife nesting up in his sanctuary that most days our awakenings are timed to a Cardinal or Blue Jay happily plucking a berry, seed or nut and then making a flyover outside of our hallway window.  Some days a squirrel will miss a step from high above and slide down our shingles.  

This morning was different.  Time for change I suppose.  At precisely 8:05 am Eastern Standard Time I poured a half gallon of fresh gasoline into my cold and inactive assistant in the hopes of bringing it to life.  I carefully primed the engine with nine pumps, as a friend of mine who is into Feng shui recently clued me into the goodness of nines.  

I backed off, adjusted the choke to a spot I felt lucky, and moved the red lever to the on position.  I clumsily stood behind the rear bar and yanked the pull cord while my feet wobbled on a patch of ice.  The rope snapped back sooner than I preferred and for a split second I felt doomed...visions of ice picks circled my dizzying head.  Then suddenly and magically my world changed.  

As if the engine was briefly shaken by the same patch of ice, it vibrated and transformed itself from a near stall out sounding tremor to being all revved up and then it spewed out an ironically large, healthy puff of smoke from the exhaust.  The start held.  It was solid.  I was not feeling doomed.  I felt great.

No Cardinals, Blue Jays, transplanted Orioles or falling squirrels would beat me to it now.  The rest of the block was to be awakened by my uncontrollable and glorious reaction as I proclaimed it across the driveway drifts, ‘FIRST PULL BABY…F-I-R-S-T P-U-L-L'.

© 2013 Christopher’s Views