A couple of years back now, I was standing there trying to lift my left arm from its resting position at my hip, upwards and away, so that it might become parallel with the ground and perpendicular with my torso. Two days before I had smashed the back of my left shoulder into a tree while sliding uncontrollably down the side of a mountain I had hoped would be entirely covered with snow. Before I hit the tree I had a rather distressful impact and landed directly on the same shoulder. This occurred about one second after ejecting out of my skis. Skis are supposed to stay on your feet while skiing, but it’s hard for them to do this while speeding over rock. Normally I try to avoid rock while skiing; instead snow is a much better friction limiting surface that you can dig your edges into. Evidently the place I chose to ski was too steep to hold all of the snow (that thin layer of snow dust sure looked convincing) and I realized this mistake as I hurdled down the mountain unable to stop myself. Although my field of vision was screened by the cloud of snow I created from clawing furiously but frivolously at the mountain side, I knew that the area was littered with boulders and spruces. They would surely be able to slow me down. Balling up, protecting your head and waiting for an impact is a hell of an experience. Just when you get to thinking about all the things you still want to do with your life...WHAM! And now I couldn't get my left hand more than a foot from my left hip without a grimace, a groan, and - like a jackhammer in your pillow at 3am - a shot of pain that prevents you from realizing any imaginable thing but it.
Years later the arm hasn't fully healed and I can't throw like I used to. I'm pretty sure I won't ever be able to. Throwing a baseball, one of the things I used to like to do more than anything, now saddens me. Oh I can throw it around and get it from one place to another, but the zip is gone. You see, I never realized that it wouldn’t be there. It’s not something to think about.
The thing is that I'm not a major leaguer, a minor leaguer, or any kind of leaguer and it still pisses me off (frustration comes before the sadness). What must it feel like for Mark Prior? He was a phenom from USC that was drafted by the Cubs and went 18-6 in 2003 leading them to a fantastic season, bringing them within five outs from the World Series (it would have been their first series in 58 years). Soon after he injured himself and now he no longer pitches in the major leagues. I bet he relives that eighth inning all the time. What if Alou caught that foul ball? Or what if Gonzalez hadn’t booted that grounder?
There was another player in the late 80’s named Dave Dravecky. I remember him being a very good pitcher for the San Francisco Giants. One day cancer was discovered in his left arm. Dave was a left-handed pitcher and it was surmised that his pitching days were done. The drive to not give up was so great in Dravecky that, after a surgery removing half his deltoid muscle, he fought his way back to the majors. In his first game back he defeated the Los Angeles Dodgers 4-3. I have trouble imagining just how sweet winning that game must have felt after defying cancer, painfully battling back and rehabilitating from a circumstance that most everybody thought to be career-ending. Whatever feelings he had, they only lasted five days. In his second game back Dravecky’s arm snapped in half while delivering a pitch. He never threw another major league pitch and his left arm was eventually amputated.
If given a glimpse into the future would these men change anything? I don’t know. What I do know is that the future isn’t predictable and sometimes things don’t work out how you expect them to, especially if you leave them sitting around directly in chance’s line of fire.
This summer I had an opportunity to take trains across the country, see friends and family I miss, meet people I never knew, watch baseball, and write all about it. Goddamn, it was a chance for the adventure of a lifetime. I’d always wanted to do this and I was horrified by the thought of one day wondering what it would have been like. I thought and thought about how it could be done. I surely didn’t have the resources to be able to pull something like this off. Knowing full well that it wasn’t a very responsible way to spend my summer I pushed on, refusing to acknowledge there wasn’t a creative solution.
I came up with the idea that I might be able to get sponsored. But who would sponsor a guy going to baseball games? Well, I figured if I could make my trip worthwhile and was visible enough (facebook, twitter, newspaper stories, etc.) I might get a few takers, especially if the trip revolved around a meaningful issue. Why not alternative transportation and its many benefits? I could ride the trains around, take my bike with me to get places once off the train, and write down my experiences for people to read. I would take pictures of all the people I met, tell some stories and do my best to generate interest in something very important, while having fun. Bikes, trains and baseball games? No. Summer training? Maybe. But the spark was there.
I contacted kickstarter about my idea so folks could donate to my cause. I thought - perhaps naively - that this was something people could really get behind: a young man’s journey around the country touting high-speed rail, bicycle riding, friendship, cooperation and baseball. All of it would be in the form of a blog full of written words and photographs. Because I was wary of people thinking it was just a long vacation I set a target date well into the future. Possible contributors could watch as the trip progressed and decide if it was worthy of their support.
Kickstarter said no to giving me a spot on their site to raise money. I was confused. What did they have to lose? Was my idea not as good as I thought it was? Friends I talked to about it praised me for my creativity and social consciousness. Strangers thought it was fantastic and urged me to go for it. Kickstarter, on the other hand, told me that the idea wasn’t based on creative output and that nobody would support the thing because it hadn’t begun yet. I wanted to ask them why they didn’t regard the written word as creative output. I also wanted to ask them to change their name to “safe bet”.
So I set out to see if I could generate support in a different way.
There was never a doubt that the majority of the trip would be done on Amtrak. To spend the summer riding the rails from city to city sounded exciting to me. As far as modes of transportation go, trains are my favorite and I don’t understand why our country hasn’t made more of an effort to imitate other countries and implement high-speed rail. Are we really so out of it that we don’t understand the effects of our oil addiction? Regardless of our national mindset, I thought Amtrak was a prime candidate to support a happy, well-spoken, enthusiastic advocate of their future.
I started researching the advantages of rail travel, the cost of our national oil dependence, where the oil Americans use comes from, figures on public support for high-speed rail, Amtrak’s sponsorships and marketable areas of interest, etc. I wrote papers, gave speeches and engaged in as many conversations as I could about the topic.
I had visions of throwing out the first pitch at Wrigley Field in an Amtrak t-shirt (rides trains on the front, sees games on the back). More reasonably I thought my idea to combine different spheres of interest (my friends and family, the hundreds of people I met along the way, train enthusiasts, fans of baseball, fans of the environment, fans of a healthy economy, fans of adventure, etc.) around one central theme was worthy of a conversation. With a little support I knew I could turn my trip into a topic of discussion amongst quite a few people. Essentially I was prepared to work for Amtrak for peanuts and it would have been my pleasure.
No dice. My great American adventure hadn’t even begun, I had no support and my efforts to get a little help had me exhausted. It became clear to me that if I was to have a successful trip, by successful I mean enjoyable, some things were going to have to change. Just looking at the twitter page increased my blood pressure, so I decided to forget about that. Then I read a story about a guy bicycling from stadium to stadium. I was deflating. Right or wrong, this combined with my previous disappointments to discourage me from contacting any newspapers about my journey. To be a mobile, high-profile proponent of alternative transportation I was going to have to do it through my actions and my blog.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Friday, October 28, 2011
Hope, Errors and Game Six
"This rabid loyalty also lends itself to opportunities for swelled hope. Although they are not officially eliminated from the hunt, St. Louis is not going to the playoffs this year. By looking and listening to the fans in the stadium it'd be hard to tell. They were adorable the way they clung to post-season hopes, watching and rooting for their team. While they carefully observed the happenings on the field with one eye, they kept their other eye on the out of town scoreboard, jeering the Milwaukee Brewers. I'm sorry to break you the bad news St. Louis, but not this year."
I wrote these words after the St. Louis game on September 11. That was foolish of me. I love the game of baseball and following and playing it over the years has reminded me time and time again that, in the immortal words of Yogi Berra, "it ain't over 'til it's over." This very true statement, that wobbles in the waves of its own simplicity, was hardly more evident than in game six of the 2011 World Series played in the very place where I had previously left hope for dead, scoffing at its persistence: St. Louis, Missouri.
Last night I sat on the edge of my chair for more than three straight hours as the Texas Rangers and St. Louis Cardinals played one of the most thrilling baseball games I've ever seen. The St. Louis Cardinals for Pete's sake. I kept thinking, as the camera panned the often breathless crowd, about how I had dismissed the Cardinals and their chances for October baseball as hopeless during my visit to their home stadium. This same ballpark, surely filled with many of the same people as on September 11, was now hosting one of the great World Series' games. A game that acted as a transition, for fans and players alike, from the brink of certain despair to pure, incredulous joy.
Of course I didn't know at the time that it'd end up all hugs and kisses for St. Louis in the end. During the game however, I could easily recognize the wrap of hopelessness at the door. I watched on television. I found myself ignoring the knocks and, just like those people in the stands, hoping for a miracle. All of those wonderful St. Louis fans were inspiring me now and I thought about how beautiful it'd be if St. Louis came from behind to win. After all, they'd already come from 10 1/2 games back to improbably catch the Braves and squeak into the playoffs. Once in the playoffs they'd squarely defeated the two teams holding the best records in the National League. Why couldn't they come from two runs down with two outs and two strikes in the bottom of the ninth against the Texas Rangers?
They did just that. David Freese, down to his (and the Cardinals) last strike tripled to deep right, just over the outstretched glove of Texas rightfielder Nelson Cruz. Incredible. The drama was palpable. Alas! Texas is a very good team too and when Josh Hamilton hit a two run homer in the top of the 10th it seemed that all of our previous hoping was now in vain. A comeback couldn't possibly happen again, could it? I imagined that even the strongest of Cardinal fans was finally ready to succumb. Of course it did happen again and perpetuated, as I already said, one of the most thrilling games I've ever seen.
Games so incredible and filled with such dramatic moments can only occur in baseball. That's my belief and it's because there is no artificial time limit telling you when it'll be over. In fact, as the suspenseful games draw nearer to their finish the play seems to slow down and the contest between pitcher and hitter becomes magnified by the pitch-to-pitch anticipation. Additionally, without a clock a team can presumably bat forever as long as they do it well enough. Or a team can be stuck in the field forever if they can't pick up the ball. Of course these things don't even happen in Little League, let alone the World Series. But that is not the point. What is the point is that the game truly isn't over until it's over. And sometimes, sandwiched between those thoughts, is when a memorable experience can be shared.
As I hooted and hollered along with the other patrons at the Greeley Avenue Bar & Grill I thought about some of the other great baseball games I knew of and wondered if this one could possibly compare. Although there are many great baseball moments (Kirk Gibson's 1988 home run off of Dennis Eckersley for example), there are few games that can be hailed as classics. Interestingly, the two that first came to mind were also game sixes: 1975 Reds vs. Red Sox and 1986 Mets vs. Red Sox.
In a post-game telephone discussion with my dad we observed that a few specific circumstances must be in place in order for a game to be so dramatic: the game must be a World Series game, it has to be late in the series and one team (if not both) is facing elimination, the team facing elimination must come from behind, and as an added bonus: the come from behind team must be the home team.
All three of the aforementioned games met the conditions. Now within those conditions there must be, among a variety of other scenarios, questionable managerial decisions; timely hitting; strong pitching; memorable plays and a dramatic finish. I wasn't around in 1975, but I've heard enough stories and seen enough highlights to know that all of these things happened. I'm of the opinion that the game between the Red Sox and Reds is still the greatest game ever played. From everything I've learned it was a perfect game. A hunch tells that is due to the glorification of reminiscence retold. I don't care.
Unfortunately last night's game and the one in 1986 were marred by errors and this is what generates a distinction. The memorable play in '86 was Mookie Wilson's grounder rolling under Bill Buckner's glove to give the Mets the victory and Buckner a life filled with suffering. In 2011 the memorable play was David Freese hitting a home run. Of course this is the very same David Freese that, in the top of the fifth, dropped a pop up that my sister could have caught; the most memorable of the five (five!) errors during the game.
But reflecting on these three games and David Freese's transition from goat to hero, I realized something about errors and the very real opportunities they can create. For instance, I made an error in judgment when I wrote off the Cardinals back in mid-September. I could have easily gone back into the blog and erased what I had written; pretending that it hadn't occurred (not that it would matter to anybody but me), but I didn't. Why? Because it had occurred. Now, I realize that sitting and watching the Rangers vs. the Cardinals carries an added point of interest for me. I'm more connected to the World Series and the St. Louis Cardinals than I had previously thought. Sitting in a bar in Portland, Oregon I can easily remember those fans I talked to and how remarkably loyal and hopeful they were. Say what you will about the merits of sports spectatorship, but those fans are real people and I have very real memories of dismissing their hopes as fantasy. Here's the point: the sixth game of this year's World Series was extremely entertaining but, because of my error in judgment, I had a better time watching it than if I hadn't have erred in the first place.
I wrote these words after the St. Louis game on September 11. That was foolish of me. I love the game of baseball and following and playing it over the years has reminded me time and time again that, in the immortal words of Yogi Berra, "it ain't over 'til it's over." This very true statement, that wobbles in the waves of its own simplicity, was hardly more evident than in game six of the 2011 World Series played in the very place where I had previously left hope for dead, scoffing at its persistence: St. Louis, Missouri.
Last night I sat on the edge of my chair for more than three straight hours as the Texas Rangers and St. Louis Cardinals played one of the most thrilling baseball games I've ever seen. The St. Louis Cardinals for Pete's sake. I kept thinking, as the camera panned the often breathless crowd, about how I had dismissed the Cardinals and their chances for October baseball as hopeless during my visit to their home stadium. This same ballpark, surely filled with many of the same people as on September 11, was now hosting one of the great World Series' games. A game that acted as a transition, for fans and players alike, from the brink of certain despair to pure, incredulous joy.
Of course I didn't know at the time that it'd end up all hugs and kisses for St. Louis in the end. During the game however, I could easily recognize the wrap of hopelessness at the door. I watched on television. I found myself ignoring the knocks and, just like those people in the stands, hoping for a miracle. All of those wonderful St. Louis fans were inspiring me now and I thought about how beautiful it'd be if St. Louis came from behind to win. After all, they'd already come from 10 1/2 games back to improbably catch the Braves and squeak into the playoffs. Once in the playoffs they'd squarely defeated the two teams holding the best records in the National League. Why couldn't they come from two runs down with two outs and two strikes in the bottom of the ninth against the Texas Rangers?
They did just that. David Freese, down to his (and the Cardinals) last strike tripled to deep right, just over the outstretched glove of Texas rightfielder Nelson Cruz. Incredible. The drama was palpable. Alas! Texas is a very good team too and when Josh Hamilton hit a two run homer in the top of the 10th it seemed that all of our previous hoping was now in vain. A comeback couldn't possibly happen again, could it? I imagined that even the strongest of Cardinal fans was finally ready to succumb. Of course it did happen again and perpetuated, as I already said, one of the most thrilling games I've ever seen.
Games so incredible and filled with such dramatic moments can only occur in baseball. That's my belief and it's because there is no artificial time limit telling you when it'll be over. In fact, as the suspenseful games draw nearer to their finish the play seems to slow down and the contest between pitcher and hitter becomes magnified by the pitch-to-pitch anticipation. Additionally, without a clock a team can presumably bat forever as long as they do it well enough. Or a team can be stuck in the field forever if they can't pick up the ball. Of course these things don't even happen in Little League, let alone the World Series. But that is not the point. What is the point is that the game truly isn't over until it's over. And sometimes, sandwiched between those thoughts, is when a memorable experience can be shared.
As I hooted and hollered along with the other patrons at the Greeley Avenue Bar & Grill I thought about some of the other great baseball games I knew of and wondered if this one could possibly compare. Although there are many great baseball moments (Kirk Gibson's 1988 home run off of Dennis Eckersley for example), there are few games that can be hailed as classics. Interestingly, the two that first came to mind were also game sixes: 1975 Reds vs. Red Sox and 1986 Mets vs. Red Sox.
In a post-game telephone discussion with my dad we observed that a few specific circumstances must be in place in order for a game to be so dramatic: the game must be a World Series game, it has to be late in the series and one team (if not both) is facing elimination, the team facing elimination must come from behind, and as an added bonus: the come from behind team must be the home team.
All three of the aforementioned games met the conditions. Now within those conditions there must be, among a variety of other scenarios, questionable managerial decisions; timely hitting; strong pitching; memorable plays and a dramatic finish. I wasn't around in 1975, but I've heard enough stories and seen enough highlights to know that all of these things happened. I'm of the opinion that the game between the Red Sox and Reds is still the greatest game ever played. From everything I've learned it was a perfect game. A hunch tells that is due to the glorification of reminiscence retold. I don't care.
Unfortunately last night's game and the one in 1986 were marred by errors and this is what generates a distinction. The memorable play in '86 was Mookie Wilson's grounder rolling under Bill Buckner's glove to give the Mets the victory and Buckner a life filled with suffering. In 2011 the memorable play was David Freese hitting a home run. Of course this is the very same David Freese that, in the top of the fifth, dropped a pop up that my sister could have caught; the most memorable of the five (five!) errors during the game.
But reflecting on these three games and David Freese's transition from goat to hero, I realized something about errors and the very real opportunities they can create. For instance, I made an error in judgment when I wrote off the Cardinals back in mid-September. I could have easily gone back into the blog and erased what I had written; pretending that it hadn't occurred (not that it would matter to anybody but me), but I didn't. Why? Because it had occurred. Now, I realize that sitting and watching the Rangers vs. the Cardinals carries an added point of interest for me. I'm more connected to the World Series and the St. Louis Cardinals than I had previously thought. Sitting in a bar in Portland, Oregon I can easily remember those fans I talked to and how remarkably loyal and hopeful they were. Say what you will about the merits of sports spectatorship, but those fans are real people and I have very real memories of dismissing their hopes as fantasy. Here's the point: the sixth game of this year's World Series was extremely entertaining but, because of my error in judgment, I had a better time watching it than if I hadn't have erred in the first place.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
More to come
I've finished my trip. Now, I'm back in Portland doing a mix of reflecting and readjusting. Some people probably call it decompression, but I call it feeling weird.
At this time I still have plenty more to write about. I want to catch up on all of the games I've seen, places I've been and people I've met. Over the last month I got pretty far behind. As the trip wore on it became increasingly difficult for me to keep up with the blog. I seemed to meet more people and have less time to write. It's also very true that I tired of writing on a daily basis. But all of this doesn't mean that I'm not looking forward to finishing, I am.
I plan on adding the rest of my adventures to the blog over the next month or so. For now I'd like to say thank you to all of the lovely friends, family and strangers that helped me along my way. The trip was a huge success only because of so many people's generosity and incredibly enjoyable because of my shared experiences. I'd also like to thank all of the people that have been following along with my blog, leaving comments and encouraging me to continue. It's been an unreal summer, incredible from start to finish.
Here are some pictures from one of the craziest weeks of the unreal summer (NYC on Sunday to Pittsburgh, Minneapolis, Chicago and finally Detroit on Friday):
At this time I still have plenty more to write about. I want to catch up on all of the games I've seen, places I've been and people I've met. Over the last month I got pretty far behind. As the trip wore on it became increasingly difficult for me to keep up with the blog. I seemed to meet more people and have less time to write. It's also very true that I tired of writing on a daily basis. But all of this doesn't mean that I'm not looking forward to finishing, I am.
I plan on adding the rest of my adventures to the blog over the next month or so. For now I'd like to say thank you to all of the lovely friends, family and strangers that helped me along my way. The trip was a huge success only because of so many people's generosity and incredibly enjoyable because of my shared experiences. I'd also like to thank all of the people that have been following along with my blog, leaving comments and encouraging me to continue. It's been an unreal summer, incredible from start to finish.
Here are some pictures from one of the craziest weeks of the unreal summer (NYC on Sunday to Pittsburgh, Minneapolis, Chicago and finally Detroit on Friday):
 |
| The Pennsylvanian |
 |
| Blogging in the lobby of the William Penn Hotel in downtown Pittsburgh |
 |
| Wet Labor Day parade in Pittsburgh |
 |
| My daily acceptance of the rain |
 |
| Pittsburgh Pierogies (found at PNC Park) |
 |
| PNC nestled up to the Allegheny |
 |
| I took pictures of Chicago during a layover |
 |
| Chicago River |
 |
| Nice sky, hills, the Mississippi |
| Me, Aunt Margo on the shore of Lake Calhoun in Minneapolis |
 |
| The Chicago Skyline from the White Sox ballpark |
 |
| Jay and Cory at the Tigers game |
 |
| Comerica Park has a ferris wheel |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)