Forget MLB in Japan. Forget the opener of Nationals Park last night. Today is the real opening day. Hope springs eternal on one of the great sports days on the calendar. Even the Orioles, for a few more hours at least, are undefeated.
In honor of the O's opener I've posted this link to a YouTube video of former O's Superfan Wild Bill Hagy (RIP Wild Bill, RIP). If you were an O's fan in the 80's you know that Wild Bill was the scraggily-bearded cabby that led the crowd in cheers-most notably spelling out O-R-I-O-L-E-S from the upper deck. The video is kinda long (about 7 minutes), but I promise it is entertaining from start to finish. A Baltimore news magazine follows Wild Bill through a typical gameday experience. From cab, to bar, to game and beyond. You'll laugh and be wistful for those days when the O's were actually competitive.
Today also marks my first foray into fantasy baseball. I'm hoping for some beginner's luck this summer, but I'm afraid I'm off to a foreboding start. My starting second baseman has been placed on the disabled list to heal from an anal fissure. That can't be good; hopefully that doesn't mean my fantasy team is in for a similar fate.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
So Convoluted, I Had To Root For The Bleeping Rangers.
Leave it to playoff hockey to get me off my ass to write again. I say playoff hockey because, even though the regular season isn't over, the race for the last spots in the Eastern Conference is essentially do-or-die each night. The Caps, after tonight's shootout win in Carolina are 2 points out of eighth place and 4 points out of the division lead. It couldn't be much tighter and my heart couldn't be beating much faster. With the Caps stinking in recent years I had forgotten how fun/difficult/gut wrenching that it can be to watch these games. I lean in to every shot, wince at every pinged post and generally dance around like a dope. Tonight, I didn't sit for the entire third period. I'm not sure I'll make it if the Caps actually reach the postseason.
Tonight's Caps game had all the disheartening elements of previous Washington playoff disappointments. As a Caps fan you almost expect the fluky deflection from 40 feet out and a goal that should have been waved off because Erik Cole plowed into the goalie's head before the puck scooted across the line. (I know the defenseman pushed Cole into Huet, but that was only after Cole initiated contact with the goalie.) The dubious refereeing was also disappointing. By dubious, I don't mean bias or favoritism against Washington; if anything I think the NHL would want Ovechkin and the Caps in the playoffs. I just think the officiating is as poor as it is inconsistent. Numerous hooks, holds, trips and cross-checks went uncalled while both teams were nailed for silly, ticky-tack infractions. Make up your mind zebras-call them all or none.
Despite all the disheartening stuff I still believe, if they get in (which is a huge if), that this Caps team can slay the Ghost of Playoffs Past. Alex Ovechkin and the other youngsters have a determination and resillency that past teams have lacked. They will certainly make things exciting. Like eight years as President prematurely ages a man, I think eight weeks of playoff hockey might speed my calendar. Oh well, I'd gladly wash that gray right outta my hair (which I need to do anyway) in exchange for attending a Stanley Cup parade.
Tonight's Caps game had all the disheartening elements of previous Washington playoff disappointments. As a Caps fan you almost expect the fluky deflection from 40 feet out and a goal that should have been waved off because Erik Cole plowed into the goalie's head before the puck scooted across the line. (I know the defenseman pushed Cole into Huet, but that was only after Cole initiated contact with the goalie.) The dubious refereeing was also disappointing. By dubious, I don't mean bias or favoritism against Washington; if anything I think the NHL would want Ovechkin and the Caps in the playoffs. I just think the officiating is as poor as it is inconsistent. Numerous hooks, holds, trips and cross-checks went uncalled while both teams were nailed for silly, ticky-tack infractions. Make up your mind zebras-call them all or none.
Despite all the disheartening stuff I still believe, if they get in (which is a huge if), that this Caps team can slay the Ghost of Playoffs Past. Alex Ovechkin and the other youngsters have a determination and resillency that past teams have lacked. They will certainly make things exciting. Like eight years as President prematurely ages a man, I think eight weeks of playoff hockey might speed my calendar. Oh well, I'd gladly wash that gray right outta my hair (which I need to do anyway) in exchange for attending a Stanley Cup parade.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
"Get on your bikes and ride!"
Figuring that I need to do more to raise my heart rate than put more salt on my fries, I've been riding my bicycle lately in an effort to get more fit. I have a simple coaster-brake, beach cruiser that is a blast to ride. I rarely have a destination; the fun is in the journey. Besides, most destination trips would be problematic. For instance, I can't carry shopping bags and I wouldn't want to show up at work pouring sweat. Riding my bike makes me feel young again, racing across the town the same way my friends and I did in the pre-driver's license days. I know that I don't look young, however, and I think that explains the funny looks I get from passing drivers.
In auto-centric America people seem genuinely perplexed as to why I would ride a bike when I could drive. I get looks that say, "Oh look, that poor dear is too stupid to know that someone invented a machine made of steel, rubber and glass that allows you to travel without manually propelling yourself."
The second look I get is a mix of disdain and pity. "A bike? Well that guy must not have a car or worse yet, is homeless because otherwise he wouldn't be on a bike." Granted, I'm dressed neither for fashion nor obvious fitness cycling. (No spandex here, thank you.) A beat-up sweatshirt, ragged shorts, backpack and tobogan possess a tiny whiff of poverty. (Or coach of the New England Patriots.) On cold days I may even be forced to don that symbol of giving up on life-the sweatpant. I feel like showing the passing motorists that my bag is not loaded with all my belongings, but only some keys, a water bottle and a wallet that sometimes even has money in it.
If passing motorists think I ride because I must, there is another group that thinks my cycling is completely contrived. I sometimes cut across campus at off peak hours because it is one of the few places in town to ride without worrying about traffic. The students cast glances that say, "Nice try, buddy, but we know you're old. No luck fitting in here." I feel like a pervert suspected of riding across campus for the sole purpose of stealing glances at co-eds. Really, it's just becuase I prefer to not be hit by cars. (The exception-The first warm day of spring when every red-blooded man in town wishes he had a justifiable excuse to be on campus.)
The only demographic that gets me and my riding habit is the shabbily dressed walkers I pass on the road. A nod or wave welcomes me to their club of car-free travelers. Maybe they too are out for fitness or possibly to save some gas money. Nah, they are probably just homeless.
In auto-centric America people seem genuinely perplexed as to why I would ride a bike when I could drive. I get looks that say, "Oh look, that poor dear is too stupid to know that someone invented a machine made of steel, rubber and glass that allows you to travel without manually propelling yourself."
The second look I get is a mix of disdain and pity. "A bike? Well that guy must not have a car or worse yet, is homeless because otherwise he wouldn't be on a bike." Granted, I'm dressed neither for fashion nor obvious fitness cycling. (No spandex here, thank you.) A beat-up sweatshirt, ragged shorts, backpack and tobogan possess a tiny whiff of poverty. (Or coach of the New England Patriots.) On cold days I may even be forced to don that symbol of giving up on life-the sweatpant. I feel like showing the passing motorists that my bag is not loaded with all my belongings, but only some keys, a water bottle and a wallet that sometimes even has money in it.
If passing motorists think I ride because I must, there is another group that thinks my cycling is completely contrived. I sometimes cut across campus at off peak hours because it is one of the few places in town to ride without worrying about traffic. The students cast glances that say, "Nice try, buddy, but we know you're old. No luck fitting in here." I feel like a pervert suspected of riding across campus for the sole purpose of stealing glances at co-eds. Really, it's just becuase I prefer to not be hit by cars. (The exception-The first warm day of spring when every red-blooded man in town wishes he had a justifiable excuse to be on campus.)
The only demographic that gets me and my riding habit is the shabbily dressed walkers I pass on the road. A nod or wave welcomes me to their club of car-free travelers. Maybe they too are out for fitness or possibly to save some gas money. Nah, they are probably just homeless.
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