Fulness of Times or Baseball Apostasy?

Our family was the fortunate recipients of some baseball tickets given to us by a very kind lady who was not going to be able to use her season tickets for a recent home stretch of games for the Ogden Raptors. The Raptors are a minor league team. We had two tickets each night for three nights in a row. So my wife, Jenny, graciously told me that it would be a great opportunity for daddy-daughter dates with our three girls. Something tells me that if we had 200 free tickets, Jenny would have graciously offered all 200 to other people. She's just that type of a person, sacrificing so some unfortunate homeless person can catch a ball game, so she doesn't have to.

I was excited for it. I hadn't been to a professional ball game for quite awhile. What we experienced was well worth it. I was hoping to gather in all of the experience by eating peanuts and hot dogs, so I stopped off at a teller machine to empty out my bank account because I knew what type of costs that I was in for. Unfortunately, the teller machine was down. I only had $7 dollars in my pocket. I told Megan that if she could hold out that we would buy food after the game. We were able to scrape enough money together to buy two small hotdogs. The next two nights, I came well prepared to buy all the sugar and fat loaded food that I could get my hands on.

The experience was really entertaining, not only did the Raptors win all three games, but all of the side stuff that goes on in these games really was fun...strange, but fun. You see, baseball is a little bit slower paced that some other professional sports that constantly run up and down a court or field. So this leaves plenty of time for the crowd to get caught up in some wacky stuff. It really is sort of a religious experience in a way, in that the game probably started out in some sort of pure form where the spectators just sat quietly, being proper and not embarrassing themselves in anyway. Over time things have morphed or changed to meet the inner needs of the spectator just like most religions do today to meet the needs of the penitent soul. I mean, at first glance it is as wacky and ritualistic as any fanatic denomination is to the outside observer.

I found myself saying that baseball fans are really weird. They have some sort of catechanistic litany that they unfailingly have to follow. For instance, when the announcer announces the other team before the game starts, everyone has to yell out, "who?!!", after the announcement of each team member. The announcer then repeats the name and then everyone yells, "oh!!!". They do this for every single player announced. Once when the announcer started and after he read the first name and he felt that he didn't get a loud enough mocking response, he started over again so all of the cat callers could get a fair shake at him.

Then, a lady comes down to the front behind the back stop as if to offer an invocations and yells, "What time is it?!!!", which everyone responds, "baseball time, ugh!!!!". This was like her calling in the congregation. Everyone knew her and she did this everygame. There were numerous people in the crowd who had their own individual cheer, that they utterred at specific times in the game, and the crowd was ready to follow along with them. There are die-hard regulars at these games. I felt like a outside pastor listening to the weekly confessions of those who just needed to let everything out.

Then there is the 'organ'. I don't know if there is someone in a small little room playing this thing or if it is totally computerized. This noise, at first, totally got on my nerves. Who could think that this was a pleasant sound. And I know what they are trying to do. It's just like Pavlov and his dogs; once you hear the noise you must respond no matter how hard you try not to. People instantly begin clapping or chanting rediculous phrases like, "Charge!!!", whenever it played. I mean, what were we charging? I would think to my self that these people were mindless sheep, don't they realize that they are being manipulated. Boy, talk about weirdos.

Then there is the things that people wear. All the strange and unnatural things that they do to their ball caps, the monestanastic chanting by the food vendors, the seventh inning rest hymn, etc. Even the umpires had their own quirky styles.

At the first game I was thinking that this experience was just plain weird. At the second game, I came to expect and tolerated the weirdness. By the third game, I was wearing my rally cap, and belting out, "buy me some peanuts and kracker jack...", and once I found myself clapping to the organ.

Has anyone else had a born again baseball experience?

Post Raginess

Well, better late than...well, don't answer that. You'll have to suffer through these regardless. Michael, the guy on the far right of this picture, passed along a few photos from the Wasatch Back race, and these are the ones with adorable little me in them. This is 10 of 12 of our team. That's me in the center with the gray hoodie and ball cap.





















This is at the start of the Guardsman pass climb. Little did I know what was ahead of me. (pain and misery)



















Optical illusion. That girl is about 10 feet behind me. I appear to be grimacing before the start of my Huntsville leg.



















Darin and Jon look on as I contemplate the meaning of life at Liberty park before the start of the Van #2 legs.

Hellenistic Lubrication 101

I walked in late to a meeting this morning. The first words that I heard were from a guy that I hadn't seen before, and he said, "To answer that question, we need to talk about the history of grease." This caught me as strangely funny, and it put a smirky smile on my face, but what made me almost bust a gut was that everyone in the room had an extremely serious look on their faces as if that statement was as common as Obama handing out stimulus checks.

You see this guy was a machine parts lubrication salesman making a pitch to our shop mechanics on the finer attributes of his product over his competitors. Kind of like a corporate version of the jr. high cheer, "we got spirit, yes we do, we go spirit, how 'bout you, and your stinky axle grease."

Has anyone ever noticed in your vocations or circle of peers, conversations, that if someone who was unfamiliar with what you do or haven't caught the original context of a conversation,would come across as really strange to the normal bystander?

Retro #4 - It Will Take More Than That to Lose Me

This is the time of year that most families are taking 'family vacations', and with any luck, I may eventually convince my family to go on one. This reminds me of a day when family trips were a little more death defying: vehicle breakdowns in the middle of nowhere, sleeping in a beat up old tent in the middle of a hurricane, feeding bears as if they were a member of your family, etc. We could really relate to the Brady Bunch on their outings to the Grand Canyon and Hawaii because these were real life situations experienced by us all, including the tiki idols and Navajo boys. Now,it seems like the biggest dilemma that we face is who gets the bed closest to the bathroom and trying to balance out the tv time with the pool time.

Well, I am reminded of one particular life and death type vacation when I was 9-years old. My family took a trip to San Fransisco in the 'old Travelall'. Oh, of course we had our share of broken down vehicles and botchalistic sun baked potato salad, but what I'm reminded most of, is that I got lost twice on this trip. Yes, you heard me right...not once but twice. This seems too much of a coincidence. Could there actually have been a plot to take yours truly out of the picture?

The first time occurred in Palo Alto, California. We were staying at the home of some friends and my brother decided to take me to the local park. After playing for what seemed like a very short time, my brother decided that it was time for us to leave. He sprung this information on me right in the middle of me pumping myself to max height on a swing set. Of course, he must of known that this was an inconvenient time, so by the time that I decided to coast down to idle he was long gone and I didn't quite know for sure which direction that he had taken off in. I didn't panic and like all good boy scouts that get lost in the woods, I did the thing that comes as instinct in these situations...I wandered around aimlessly for a while. About the time that I figured that I was abandoned for good and started making a makeshift shelter out of a covered slide, I heard my mom call out my name. They had come to my rescue. But had they. It seemed like it was quite sometime before they came looking for me. Was my brother in on this alone and he just withheld this information of me being missing for as long as he could, or did this go deeper? Did something go awry in a larger plot? Was it that they realized that Palo Alto is the location of Stanford University and that my siblings, by some twist of fate, like Joseph who was sold into Egypt, would some day come crawling back to me looking for a way to get a higher education after I had become the President of the University? So, maybe possibly, they thought of a better plan.

They laid low until the Travelall broke down in Virginia City, Nevada. My dad and several of my siblings, headed down into town to look for someone to tow our vehicle. Always trying to keep everyone second guessing my moves, I decided to go with them, after they had all ready gone about a block. Everything was going great until, they noticed when I wasn't watching and hid themselves in some side alley. I spent some time looking for them. When I couldn't find them, I eventually decided that I better head back to the car. Well, they had all gotten back to the car before me, and though I had wandered around aimlessly again for sometime (is there a pattern developing here?), no one seemed to have missed me that much.

Now if any of these two incidents had occurred by themselves, I would not have thought much of it, but to have it happen twice within the span of one trip, made me mighty suspicious. From then on, I have kept a close eye on my brothers and sister.

Has anyone else had any interesting 'incidents' happen on any family trips while growing up?

Don't Call Me Sheldon, I Prefer PP

Once again the siren call of home town entertainment beckoned to our family. Jenny and I were part of our town's 4th of July Melodrama in a play called "Pineview Pete's Revenge". I got to be Pete. That's me with the gun.

Jenny got to be 'Town's Woman'. That didn't sound sophisticated enough so she officially named her self, "Ethel". Her sidekick husband was her older brother, who they Named "Emer".

The picture below show's Jenny, her brother (one with the hat), and her niece. We also had our daughters running lights and curtains behind the scenes.

The premise of the play is that Pete is seeking revenge on the local town. On the side he likes to rob banks and leave the bank managers in dresses, or as he would say it, in "Something Frilly, off the shoulder, with a boa." The town, with a clutzy deputy, and a new woman sheriff, come to the rescue and save the town from the affects of Slim's (one of Pete's sidekicks) six alarm chili, and Pete's poor taste in evening gowns and small town theater (you have to see the show to understand this...sorry).

My favorite line from the Play: "You think it's not, but I know that you know that you think it is."

Though the town's people agreed that Pete's initials PP were juvenile, they sure were a lot better than his real name's, Sheldon Orville Bottomly, if you can catch my drift.

The Old Grey Mare

When they say that the old grey mare, she ain't what she used to be, in my case you can leave off the 'what she used to be'. You can just say the old grey mare, she ain't because she never was. At least that's what I feel like when it comes to running. I know I'm not fast, but I love to be competitive. So when I lose, I just whine and complain about getting old.

Well, I ran a 10k on the 4th of July. I finished in 46 minutes 38 seconds. I was hoping to do it in 45 minutes. Conditions were good for running, I just think that I took off a little too fast, which hurt me in the middle miles. I finished 4th in my age group and 13th overall.

Two of my daughters ran in the one mile. They both did great with the oldest finishing 4th in the women's category and winning a ribbon.

I think that my last great hope for glory now resides in the accomplishment of my children. Way to go kids!!!! you did awesome.

The Magic Number is 1.6

Sometimes I wonder if people are setting me up, just to see how I will answer them, so they can laugh at me or if I truly am the straight guy in a comedy routine. Here are two sound bites from recent conversations that I had with a couple of people surrounding the race I ran on the 4th of July:

Conversation One:

Person One: "Hey, what race did you run?"

Me: "The 10k"

Person One: "How far do you run in that race?"

Me: (Not knowing if I'm getting caught in a trap for stating the obvious or if they really wanted to know if I knew that it was 6.2 miles. So I took a gamble and kept up with the straight face routine and said), "10k."

Conversation Two:

Person Two: What race did you run?

Me: The 10k.

Person Two: Did you see that amazing runner that blew everyone away, with the great stride, cross the finish line?

Me: (Worried if I was falling into another trap). "No, that would have meant that I won the race."

From both of their reactions, there must have been option three to these situations...I'm an idiot.

Can You Hear Me Yet?

One of the necessary evils in life is the periodic trip to the local Jiffy Lube for an oil change, and if you are really lucky you get to add in emissions and inspection at the same time. Today was such a lucky day. The long wait is painful enough on its own, but worse than that is suffering through the poor phone etiquette. They place you in a small waiting room, where anything that is said is unfortunately heard. Here are some excerpts from two phone calls I was forced to listen to:

Call One:

Lady: Hey, I'm going to be late, this is taking forever, some jerk got here before me (I'm guessing this is me, because I could see no other jerk besides me there that got there before her)

Call Two: (This guy actually made this call with the speaker phone on)

Guy: I just called the pharmacy and they said that they didn't have my (some drug). I really need it because I am starting to have a panic attack.

Doctor's Office: Oh yes, we want to get you that order called in for you, because we know how bad the last one was. We don't want you to cause any harm to yourself or anyone else around you like last time.

At this point, I kind of had mixed emotions if it was a good thing or a bad thing that I had become so personally acquainted with these people.

I know that I wanted to get on the phone with my doctor and say, "Hey, this is the jerk. I think I'm about ready to have a panic attack."

Has anyone else had any interesting phone conversations that you have overheard?