Tara at 802

Wow! Last night we went to the Farm and as part of a very enthusiastic crowd of over 7,000 full, enjoyed the Stanford Cardinal ending the record setting 90 win streak of UConn. The game was an exciting one, not decided until the last 20 -30 seconds. The sell out crowd roared, as much for the release of tension as for the joy of the accomplishment. The last team to beat UConn was Tara Vanderveer's Cardinal but that was over 2.5 years ago. An incredible record.

For 25 years Vanderveer has been overall, the best coach in the Bay Area, consistently getting her teams to perform at a high level while elevating the quality of the game. Women's basketball is played under the hoop (dunking is not a part of the game-it happens but there really isn't any good reason why it should) and can move as gracefully and as powerful as the men's game. They bang, they score. Vanderveer coached the 1996 Olympics team to a gold medal, a team that Charles Barkley said was the best team he had ever see play; emphasis on team.

Last year in the NCAA Championship game, Stanford had outcoached UConn but UConn pulled out that game with the herculean effort of the great Maya Moore and knowing that Stanford would lose without Jayne Appel, they took their chances with a very injured Appel, who ended up ineffective, and lost a close ugly game.

Amidst the sell out crowd's celebrating, Vanderveer kept the focus on this being one effort, acknowledging UConn's accomplishments and that tonight was about Stanford. Vanderveer has complete concentration on the court but off of it seems a bit out of place. With her self effacing manner and discomfort being the center of press coverage- when she seemingly would prefer to have it directed to her team or the university, Coach still manages to deliver some very funny lines, with the most serious composure.
Vanderveer's teams are always well prepared- if their standards (maintaining the academics at Stanford beside the demands of the team) scare off some potential recruits, Vanderveer finds ways to get her teams consistently ranked in the top 10 of the country. Tutored with great coaches Bobby Knight, Pat Summit and Bill Walsh (who spent much time at Stanford), Tara Vanderveer has created her own path, her own unique niche, and at 802 wins and counting, will continue to be a
great leader in bay area sports.

A note: The Stanford-UConn game was set to be the record breaker before the season but UConn added two games prior to playing Stanford. This understandably would ease their path to the record. A smart move for many reasons, not least of which is that at the Farm UConn continued one streak; they are 0-3.

One personal story: Right after Stanford won their second national championship in 1992, I sent a Just Desserts chocolate fudge cake to Gary Radnich at KRON requesting more coverage for Tara and her teams. Coincidentally that night on his weekly SportsFinal show, Radnich was hosting some of the players. He dragged out my cake, proclaiming it to be from some crazy Stanford fan by name. The players nervous in studio, nearly dropped the cake. "Consistently the best coach in the bay area"- that's from Radnich, 2010. Happy New Year everyone.

True Love Is The Devil's Crowbar

Occasionally I consider the importance to leave the boys with the impression that their Dad has a lot of thoughtful concerns and spends much of his time finding ways to make the world better.
It's not always sarcasm, bad jokes (well, my jokes are never bad) and reporting on recent events.
Unfortunately, I don't have many deep thoughts, and besides trying to remember where the cookies are, I don't go much further than that.

However for the purpose of this blog, for setting a historical record for my boys, it's important that I make the effort. But first I'll go see a show.

X with Ray Manzarek. 28 years ago I went to a show at the Concord Pavilion on Friday the 13th. On December 29, Manzarek plays with them again.
In 1982 it was supposed to be a show where X, recently signed from a tiny independent label, Slash Records to Elektra/Warner- would be making it to the commercial big time. It didn't happen.
The place was only 1/2 full, it was a cold night but the band, despite an obvious disappointment played hard. I always wished I had a picture of the bill on the marquee as one half was X Friday/13 and the other, Sat/14 Englebert Humperdinck. While mainstream radio would never accept X, their work and influence has made it possible for them to continually regroup and tour. Their first four albums, Los Angeles, Wild Gift, Under the Big Black Sun, More Fun in the New World are all excellent albums. For a good essay and reviews of their work, see allmusic.com.
And a good interview by Terry Gross with John Doe, Fresh Air archives on Npr.org.



Rockabilly? Rock? Punk rock? I always thought of the band as a blues band who wrote about the darker themes of love and relationships but with a sense of humor. Music that went bang, with the distinctively unique harmonies of John Doe and Exene Cervenka. The killer rhythm of DJ Bonebrake's heavy precision and Billy Zoom's mythic guitar playing; legs spread 3 feet apart, silver jacket, wicked smile, piercing glare and winks for the audience, even if he thought much of the adulation was idiotic.

Any art is distinctive by its own composition and craft but also serves as comfort for us in our time of need. A friend. The blues we can relate to, sharing the pain of others and their weathering of life's difficulties connecting us with the possibility to do the same. We are not alone. Headphones at midnight and driving to X shows all over the bay area were tops on my agenda from '82-'87. It will be important for myself as a parent to not disregard the choices the boys make- I might encourage or attempt to steer them in some directions but whatever they listen to will have its own validity, even if it supercedes my understanding of the choice. Please remind me that i wrote that five years from now.

As solo artists or as the Knitters, the members of X perform at Hardly Strictly Bluegrass but tonight, back for an annual concert in SF (always have a big following here) and with Ray Manzarek, keyboardist for the Doors, and producer of their first four albums. I look forward to his extended solo on The World's A Mess (It's In My Kiss). Tonight, I won't be breaking up any fights, avoiding a 300 pound drunk man as he plows through the crowd, watching Bill Graham's security people pound on fans jumping on the stage, running up to the balcony at the theater in Petulama to guzzle whatever bottle of liquor Diane had (because you couldn't drink downstairs)...no, i'll be relaxed, looking for a seat, enjoying the show as I did when the Kabuki had live music, and maybe thinking about what was, what isn't, and thankful for what is.

Another Christmas Holiday

So now what?
The last weeks have been in preparation for today; answering the anticipation of the young ones, while trying to do right for other relatives. It's mostly great fun, the stockpiling, the scheming, the determining of what will make a good offering. It's sometimes frustrating; the lack of time, the logistics, and working together to connect the dots.

One would hope that after several years of doing this, we would get better at the task and we have. I think we have. This year was relatively painless. If it did not have the drama or the nervousness of wrapping presents on a cold New Orleans balcony at 2am, it did have Maria waking up to join me with hot spiced chocolates and a movie (Meet Me In St. Louis), while putting together the final necessary touches. Meet Me In St. Louis has the most touching version of Have yourself a Very Merry Christmas . With visions of our pretty Christmas tree, what we are preparing for and Maria snuggled with cats helps to balance the feelings of missing those absent.

The next morning. Chaos as the dining table has been turned on its side; the plate for Santa a mess. Maria believes the reindeer may have attempted to eat our cats. A momentary delay and then the dive into Santa's presence. Some baseball gloves, a pillow pet, several Futurama items, a World Series cap, Legos, clothes, a remote control car, a pillow proper, books. I've got a nice new jacket (it's the one I'm always wearing now), Oliver got me a 3-D white shark book and Dexter gave me a back scratcher and back pounder. Oliver complains (mildly) that he asked for Toy Story Legos, and not Toy Story and Legos. I'm not upset, really I'm not. "I don't think Santa can read commas". Santa can read commas. And last year Oliver continues, he received Dora the Explorer Candyland and not Candyland proper. The year previous, Santa brought a Shrek Chia Pet and not the requested Scooby Doo Chia Pet. I'm really not upset.

A perfectly enjoyable evening at my Dad's with Hingee's (my sister Carolyn's) family; so good to see the boys play with thier older cousins, Traci and Kevin. My father, happy to be surrounded by family and the noise and chaos of his grandchildren. Some voices bring their love via the phone; Maria's sisters Eileen, Kathy, and parents, Ann and John. Cailin visited in the mid morning and relaxed with cats, feet up reading a book. Somewhere I worked in a nap.

Christmas has been a good way to conclude a year for me; it's a sort of last chapter in a continuing series. Also a vehicle to reach out to friends and to just blatantly and unconditionally spoil the kids. I try to spread the spending around and hit certain local stores, (while also doing the Amazon thing) and visit old neighbors of my childhood. At this point they may or may not wish for me to end the ritual- but I'm big on rituals. Happy rituals, everybody.

Oliver speaks to the Big Guy

Oliver was play typing on the computer so I asked him to dictate a letter to me for Santa.

Dear Santa,

I'm Oliver. How are you Santa? I make paper airplanes a lot and I draw a lot. Mrs. Stone is my teacher at school. I am in the first grade. Mrs. Stone likes my good listening. I help other kids. I like my family cause...I love them. Dexter is my brother and he is nice to me. My mom is Maria and she loves me. My Dad is Brian and he loves me too.

Santa, I sent you my letters. I don't remember what I asked for. Can you read my letters?

I hope you have a good Christmas. I don't want you to work too hard. Please don't forget about me.

Your Friend,
Oliver


I suppose this is a child's introduction to presenting a resume; show your worthwhile qualities, reasons why you are worthy but always keeping the eye on the prize throughout.
I hope he gets the gig. His brother too, even though last year when it was suggested that he write a letter to the big guy, Dexter paused, then said, "i'm looking at him".

Run To Fifty

Everybody needs challenges if sometimes the challenge is simply waking up every morning. The challenge has to be a welcome one, something to answer or conquer. Without it, all days are passive, listless and without motivation. Without it, it's a waiting in line.

Recently a friend of mine accomplished an incredible thing; he completed an Iron Man competition in Australia: 2.4 mile swim, 112 miles bicycling, 26.2 miles run. Andrew had been talking about doing this for a year and set out in 2010 to fulfill this quest. Training in the mild temperature of the bay area for a race that would take place in the heat of an Australian summer; I had concerns that he might pass out or worse, be taken by a Great White Shark in the waters of Perth (happened to a diver two weeks prior). Predicting his time of completion (10.5 hrs), balancing that with the best case scenario (9.5 hour) and worst case (11.5), Andrew finished in just over 10 hours, better than his prediction and close to his best hopes. Just crazy and inspiring.

I can hit a baseball a bit, chase a ball down pretty well, have fairly good hand-eye coordination but these three events which involve strength, endurance and extensive training have always eluded me. Next year I turn 50 and I've been thinking, why not? I called my cousin who is a fitness nut with resources and he offered to let me run across the private hills and trails on his Marin property, as well as use his state of the art swimming facilities. I could also bike and run in the city. This week we drove up north with the goal to start training. My cousin first had me sit with his personal trainer and discuss and set realistic goals. Based on some preliminary trials, they came up with an astonishing time with just a year in training, they believed that I could achieve.

11.0. Nothing close to Andrew's time of course but just to see this time, written and presented by experts in the field was not only encouraging, but extra motivating. 11.0 hours. I hit the pool hard. 11.0. And with my time on the bike and run included, I might break 30 hours. Determining that I could swim 2.4 miles in 11.0 hours which would include an hour of emergency services at the 1.4 mark, plus a raft that i could lay on and rest 2 minutes every 1/10th of a mile before flopping back into the water would be my best guarantee to avoid drowning. Based on my preliminaries, my cousin's experts believe that I could complete an Iron Man with a years' dedication and training, in 30.5 hours (11 hours swim, 10 hours bike, 9.5 hours run). My best case scenario would be 30.25 and only a one week stay in the hospital.

The last part of an Iron Man is the grueling 26.2 mile run, coming as it does after the swim and bicycling. I know to have extra socks in case the run is wet to avoid blistering and practiced on the lush hills on my cousin's 50 acre property. I felt that my form was fluid and smooth and that in a short amount of time, I was in a comfortable stride. At this point of my training I did not concern myself with the pace of any of the other runners that may have been showing off.

















Until this year I had not been on a bicycle (other than stealing somebody's and riding it around the block) for over 20 years. And yet, riding through the city with Dexter has been one of this year's gifts. Our endurance has improved and sometimes our infrequent rides approach a level of joy that I will always treasure. Riding in the city streets prepares one for the unpredictable; car doors, vehicles cutting toward you, people wandering into bike lines, obstacles. 112 miles seems to be about as many miles as I've ridden, total in my life. But dedicating myself I can easily see me reaching 150 miles (total). The bike felt like an extension of myself as if I was the bionic aluminum man on wheels- I recall seeing a blue image (perhaps an out of body vision of myself speeding by in a racing blur) but don't remember much after.










I'm looking fifty in the eye, not avoiding it but running to the landmark. I'm going to give 'em the biggest hug I can muster, mister.











state of the art swimming facilities, Marin 12/2010


ironw00t.com
sarahsinseattle.wordpress.com
schwarzrules.com
photos by Dexter and Maria. Supreme runner is Oliver. This Iron Man is obvious.

Homeless

Anyone that's visited San Francisco may be impressed by the views, neighborhoods, people
(and baseball team!) but may also be surprised at the number of homeless folks that settle here. Possible reasons: we don't have the cold that reaches the chill of freezing or too many intensely hot days and a political climate that tolerates the populace. These factors, plus the Reagan cuts in social /mental health programs back in the 80's which increased the numbers of homeless to many. For a time I was bugged that some people I gave money to for coffee would pass up a 50cent cup and purchase a 1.50 cup but as my roommate at the time explained to me- people like a good cup of coffee (regardless of their income level). Not practical but a reason to live for; getting some pleasure in life.

When we exited out of Macy's a few nights ago, there was a man standing by the doorway- he said he was hungry so Maria gave him the food we had from dinner. He ate it so fast, I was afraid that he was going to eat his hand. He wanted to talk (and there's always a bit of me thinking of scams) but just taking the moment for what it was, he wanted. He cried. We listened a bit, the boys, empathetic when people are hurting - we doubled back and gave him more.

There's a guy in front of my Walgreens that always likes to talk, enjoys my relationship with the boys and no doubt knows that he can always get change from me. I enjoy talking to him but recently he's seems to be on a down slope, more ragged, speech slurred. A recent day near Thanksgiving he came closer, wanting to connect and shake my hand. I have to admit my first thought was how dirty his hands were. Might have been my second thought too.

In this city even the most compassionate/sucker would be hard pressed to coin up with everyone who asks; the numbers can be overwhelming. One evening when Maria and I left a diner on Van Ness, a red light suspending us at the crosswalk, we were immediately confronted with people coming straight to us from all 4 street corners; any similarity to a zombie movie would similar to what I was feeling . We begged off and left quickly, on the green.

I don't rationalize how I react; it's in the moment. If I feel like I can (just answering the question "do I have any spare change?"- not qualifying with what for, or why), I will. Other times, I won't. And that's alright. No logic to it; none needed. It took awhile to get to this place but that's where I am, and where I want to be. Where I need to be.

There's a man I've known for 25 years. I first met him as we was just about to go off, losing his job as a door to door salesman and with whatever mental problems about to magnify- spending too much time with yourself can do this- he's been on the street ever since. Usually he's passive, and a bit jolly in a confused mumbly way. Occasionally his demeanor is scary, angry. He goes somewhere where he cleans up, and gets new clothes but mostly he sleeps in the same places within one or two blocks. His name is Ken or Kenny. Sometimes I am surprised when he will run after me, and laughing, avoiding eye contact, he might say, "Hi Brian. You wembly them still heh heh there is" In other words, I'm not sure what he says.

Do I give Ken change because I've known him so many years? Because I feel for his plight and knew that he used to work, and used to come in to where I worked for coffee- always paying for it, until management felt the need to send him away? Do I, because at 250 # of 6'4" and muscle (no, not me- me, more like 182# and muscle) and witnessing his occasionally rage, I am a little scared of Kenny? Do I, believing that someday he might help me if I was getting mugged- and he was nearby? Instead this would more likely be the one time he speaks clearly yelling to my muggers, "hit the asshole harder- i've known him 25 years and he only gives me 50cents!"

Everyone was somebody's baby, at one time. As dirty, or worn out they might now be because of bad choices, or bad luck, I try not to forget that. Take away Maria and the boys, and I might join them.

Walking The Brain

A cold hard day for both Maria and I, relieved to be in proximity of each other and the boys, we walk downtown. I relax in a demo message chair at Macy's - sure beats the atmosphere at Walgreen's. Settled into the specific chair the security guard insisted I try (it's much better than the other two) , heated rotating spheres work my back and the soles of my feet as Oliver rolls a portable device onto my leg, my mind drifts. It goes to Dexter telling me that this year he's going to get me an expensive Christmas gift and Maria will make me the macaroni necklace. It goes back to wondering if the security guard will want his chair back.

I rambled awhile ago about a crummy deal dealt to my niece and since then, people that could, at my workplace took on the situation and only for doing the right thing (when they too could have looked the other way). It nows seems to be resolving in the right way. For this I am grateful and proud of these folks for their efforts. Gretchen and Dennis, thank you.

I know that when I was younger, I always had crazy ideas of how I was going to live it up, places to travel, reckless modes of behavior (all fine as long as no one gets hurt) sometimes involving running fast. Now I seem to sometimes consider ways of how I might depart. I suppose as your folks and siblings get older, that reality creeps in. Having survived various bad accidents that had a lucky turn (still standing) including big electricity, getting hit by a postal truck, wrong place and wrong time scenarios, the mind builds to something grand and dramatic- but no cancer please; that's never any fun. Old age- that idea I can live with but i'd hate to not be able to run or walk (starting to move slower) and do want to be around definitely. Reality is that it can't be too grand when I've had trouble chewing rice or something similar (although we determined this was when I was managing a cafe and during those rare times when I was preparing to fire someone). Nearly passing out on the streets of Mill Valley while choking on an Indian Burrito is not the way I wanted to go, and fortunately didn't.

Now that the Giants have won a World Series, I just have a couple of things that I want (besides the big picture of years with the family of course!) and that is a jukebox that plays 45 rpm records and seeing a Great White Shark in its element. I'd be more than happy not to be in the water but in a boat, thank you. Now is the time to go whale/shark watching but it's a grueling boat ride to the Farallones. Tried a few times with minimal success (some dolphins, sunfish, whales, more glare bouncing off the water) and one weekend I attempted to book was full- but that tour provided the riders with a rare view of an orca capturing and killing a smaller great white. The boat we went out on the following week was a 15 hour ride with about 15 seconds of seeing 2 dolphins, an almost dead sunfish, and a whale or two. Maybe 14 hours of sea sickness.

Do I pass each subsequent winters opportunity to travel to distant Farallones to save money? To subdue fears of further illness on the sea? Fear of the water? Odd fantasies of being devoured by a great white shark (hey, it's the infection that is as bad as the bite- which is really usually, the big guys way of exploring) keep me rational by staying on land. Seriously, the chances - even in the ocean are much greater that you will be struck by lightning, hit by a car, get a bad jellyfish encounter than even seeing such a fish. People swim in the bay all the time, and these great beauties swim by them constantly= zero great white attacks in SF Bay. Hey, dolphins are back in our bay- it's been over 60 years.

I like to believe I have a point for most of my entries. I have to admit sometimes I do not.
Been eating a lot of ice cream lately.

The Politcal Turkey

Went to a 49'ers game yesterday. Only the fourth Niner game I've been to - thanks to Tina, GC and Gian. Gian worked many years for the Columbus Salame Company, who in appreciation always extend him six prime tickets every year. They have been kind enough to offer to take us to a game each of the last three years. Despite the pit that it is, I have many fond memories of Candlestick Park and during the day, it's not so bad. Oh, Tampa Bay won 21-0. I enjoyed the experience; no tension.

Politics is a strange bird. On one race I'm upset at the dirty campaign directed at a good person and candidate for supervisor in Dist.2 (not my district) who we supported and did a bit of work for. Although I disagreed more than agreed with her on the city's propositions, Reily made it clear where she stood on every issue. My experience with her -in how she deals with a demanding public is she is accessible, considerate and listens before making a calm, informed decision.

Janet has to this point (she may have to reconsider) not run any negative campaigns, which to say the least, is a rare way to run a campaign but the big business, PG&E- supported candidate (sorry, those are bad associations in my book) ran a huge late anti-Janet Reily campaign with financing by some of the richest jerks in the bay area- a true smear job. They piled on the untruths in a mass media spread which coming in the last week of the campaign gave Reily no real opportunity to respond.
How we vote in SF is a ranked choice system where the accumulation of your first, second and third place votes can have place you as the winner, even if you do not have the most first place votes. Although Janet did have more first place votes, people that voted for her might also have chosen her primary opponent second. However because of the lies of her opponent, those that voted for him would not also have voted for Janet as their second or third choice. They bought into the vote No on Janet Reily push (not voting in any form for her- a type of Vote No on Yes). It stinks. That's politics.
What can still be: The President and The Governor

I do find it funny that Meg Whitman spent $145,000,000 of her own money but ends up losing to Jerry Brown primarily because she wouldn't shell out 5 grand in due pay for her housekeeper. That has to have some big picture meaning! I wish I was good with percentages but would that be something in the ballpark of spending $300,000 for a condo but losing it because you wouldn't pay the cleaning guy his $10 fee. That's politics.

San Francisco will have a new mayor in less than six weeks!
Hey, Gav's stood up for some cool issues (or at least had the sense to let Mark Leno do the hard work and take credit for it) but lately his ambition, hair and cool speak (his street talkin' is especially annoying) reminds very much of the Mayor in the Wire. Can someone ask David Simon if that guy is based on Newsom? Hoping that the Lieutenant Governor leads to Governor Prime, then President Big Time, Newsom is making a point of not being part of the "kooks of San Francisco". Just leave, dude.

Nice Aint Nothin'

just saw Tift Merritt at the Great American Music Hall. I'm liking the song "mixtape"



reading a book about the Smothers Brothers -comedy, free speech, censorship in television and a document of '67-'69

YouTube: American Time Capsule. Today we might have "dick in a box" but this short film aired twice, on the Smothers Brothers, prime time. Both are entertaining.

Dear Dexter and Oliver,

Someday you guys will read this- maybe with a beer in hand and a photo of me and your mother nearby. Maybe, maybe not. Perhaps already having the web address you might start leaving cryptic responses the nights when I tell you that you can't take the car out.

Sometimes you guys are so full of words and one day I'll miss that nonstop chatter but instead settle for a nod and a friendly "hey". I know that even with headphones on or avoiding eye contact, that you will hear me so I'll keep talking. Letting you know.

I need to tell you this- you'll learn it many times in your lives but consider it good parental advice. You will meet many people who seem to be the nicest people in the world and it could be that they are. However if you choose to bring them close, let their actions ultimately speak for who they are. So you've heard that actions are louder than words- I am not discounting the power or value of words; this is where ideas begin but the saying is true. Sometimes the nicest people in the world aren't, and sometimes the surliest are actually alright folks- if what they do is honest, and straight forward. Their manner might be gruff but their actions,not. Ask yourselves with those around you, can you trust them? Nice is not enough.

Let me tell you that your mother is honest and straight forward, and mostly! very nice. She has my life and I have hers. When I was your age, Dex, I trusted my friend John 100%- I knew who he was and where he stood- and he was surly! But of course he was more than that. You trust people who stand by their actions, and if they make mistakes, they own up to these mistakes, and not try to cover them up. There is right and wrong but this is often confused with what you can get away with.

If your cousin was promised work at a reputable place with reputable people, and she did all that she was asked to, to earn that job- but the day before she was to start, the offer was taken away, that would be wrong. If the reasons for doing so were clothed in an untruth and the person who was responsible for this did not have the courage (let's say -the balls) to stand up and say they did this, then they are liars. Around this, some participants are behaving mighty kind and nice but fact is, someone made the call and someone fabricated the reason and because of this, someone's actions are shameful, and bad. Cowards will show up in your lives in many forms; unrecognizable at first. Learn to recognize, decipher. Someone might be able to wrap a rotten chicken in a nice package but underneath is still a rotten chicken.

I know my work emails have been compromised under the "you need a new computer/i need your password" premise (coincidentally when I would have 5 days off away from my computer) but this is how I feel. Nice ain't nothin', good is better. This doesn't mean that in our lives we always come through with things promised, hoped for, communicated but it does mean that we do when it counts and that we are accountable when we screw up. Again, not just words such
"I'm sorry" but our actions- what are we going to do about it?

I would like to believe that my actions have pretty much been sound, louder than my words (which is a good thing because half the time no one can understand what I'm saying anyway).
I know you guys will figure it out when you find yourselves in these situations. Truth is it isn't always easy to know what to do, and who to trust. I do encourage you each to have a clear sense of right and wrong; and that begins with knowing not to take advantage of someone just because you can get away with it.

Love,
Dad

Apparently

Pacific Grove is a nice place; kind of the in between of Monterey and Carmel, although it's nice to visit either of those places as well. We've taken to spending a night or two, once a month somewhere nearby just to get away, and to take the boys swimming in 60-65 degree weather. They never seem to mind.


The monarch butterflies are not in full migration as of yet and we didn't see any big bucks running through town this time. Alright, that only happened once when Maria and I heard an increasingly louder clippy cloppy sound- then looked down the street to see a big horned deer running in full panic- crazed tea party eyes. Guess who also went all in with the full panic reaction? If you guessed Maria, then you are a friend of mine.

Speaking of friends, I was visited by one (yes, I have several) recently who came to town to participate in the Giants parade; having moved 22 years ago but always a Giants fan in Las Vegas, where his family settled. Dennis, the storyteller. Apparently when he was 10 years old, he recalls events that our neighbor, Robby and I would involve him in. Robby and I are about six years older, and as you will soon discover, perhaps six times funnier. Dennis sometimes exaggerates his telling of events as if there was some terror involved.


As Dennis tells it Robby and I would "lock" Dennis in a clothes hamper that was in the basement of my parents garage, where each floor above it had a small door that you could open to drop laundry down. I really do not recall locking Dennis in the box- (however we do include the view one might have from inside looking up) and dropping dirty laundry on him. It is not likely the laundry was actually dirty and it is more probable to have been food items or something of noticeable texture.

Dennis also speaks of running through the backyard while people threw arrows near him. Again, the idea of Dennis running serpentine avoiding pre-Nerf arrows is mildly amusing for some of us. I do remember that Robby had amazing aim.

I will at least testify that the fourth member of our group, Rob's brother, John had nothing to do with these alleged acts. He was probably out riding the bus somewhere.

There are a few other stories that Dennis likes to tell that can not possibly be true and I need not list here. The first time Dennis chose to speak of (can't some people let go of the past?...oh, I guess i wouldn't have much of a blog if I did that. well, can't Dennis let go of the past?) this performance play was when I was visiting his brother John in Vegas. Dennis decided this was a good time for his father, Mr.D, to hear of these things and pass judgment. Certainly there was some concern on my part as Mr. D will always be Mr.D to me. Considering the quickest path back to the airport, I was relieved when Mr. Dickinson broke the silence with hearty laughter. Whew, I was relieved that Dennis would not get into trouble for telling such stories.

All in all, he's has turned out to be an outstanding citizen of his own with his terrific merry crew of Bonnie, Daniel and Courtney. It was a nice visit from the 702, back in the 415.
Also, thanks for waiting while I stood in line 3 hours to get an autograph for Dexter from Cody Ross, NLCS MVP.

Grabbing a couple of cassettes for our drive down to Pacific Grove (hey, the bakery with all the little cookies is long gone-shoot!) I am reminded of another story. Once while Maria and I were in the middle of a tense dispute, I apparently decided to blast a song by the Mavericks, coincidentally titled "All You Ever Do Is Bring Me Down". Defending myself to the accusations of "I hear that!" with- "I wanted to hear a real good Flaco Jimenez accordian fill- several times" didn't buy me much goodwill then. By the way, Flaco does play real nicely in that piece.

Floating Over The Clouds

I am still in a giddy foggy place and despite the stupidest work week ever, I continually remind myself that my joy is not going to be taken away, subdued, or diminished. In these days following the SF Giants first World Series Win, I'm trying to find what it means beyond the hype. We are lingering in a shared feeling of elevated elation before time washes away this community spirit and will soon return us to our divided ways. It's something like Halloween when you can ring a strangers' doorbell and not only do they open it but they smile and give your kids candy. Do this a day later they will call the police. Hey, the door is still open and the candy is still sweet.

A sports victory is a reward for a long haul. In particular for baseball because its season is so long- 200 games (regular season, post season, preseason) with enough ups and downs that at its conclusion, exhausted, you are ready to let it go- only to begin again next year. There is a saying that April is the hardest month and for different reasons, i have found this to be true but because of baseball, April is always also a hopeful month of renewal.

We can get behind political campaigns and feel the promise of possibilities and change. In its best form, political campaigns involve many people (on both sides) as a unifying force but one that will always disappoint and frustrate. Its high point is a victory where in recognition, time does stop for one night (was there ever a better day for many of us when Obama won?) but the victory is only the acceptance of the audition. What will follow is a. the real hard work b. the realization of how heavy the chains are, how bitter the rhetoric, how murky the path to progress. Ah, but the short goals of sports are obtainable and irrefutable; once the gates have been reached, the path as linear as a board game, is complete. Clarity is present and there is no denying the winner. What is won is a connection, or a path to connect with people that on a normal day ignore each other. (after the immediate "Yarrrsgh!"s). A shared experience.

It is difficult enough to agree on what to eat for dinner, or where we are all going on a Friday night let alone finding some commonality with people around us. I remember sitting in a night class just days after getting married and wanting everyone to feel the happiness I was feeling; Put down your pencils- it's time for a celabratory musical number! Even if I was able to communicate this change to my classmates, chances are they would have passed on a musical number or anything more than a tidy, "that's nice". When a community grabs hold of their sports team, it opens up the possibility of a potential musical number (impromptu, sloppy, unrehearsed, stupid from the outside but feels good from the inside) that provides a link to something larger, than just your experience. It requires an investment of faith, and often a great leap of faith to believe.

When a team wins for the first time after many years of waiting (for San Francisco, its been since the arrival of the Giants from New York in 1958) the significance carries more resonance, for there will be many willing participants, that cross age, cultural, class lines. In my circle, this remora ride is for me, the joy it brings to my family- all those great Dempsey loyal Giant fans, my 90 year old Dad, to finally not have to hear my brother moan every year about Willie McCovey's game ending line drive in '62 - bury that memory brother!. It is for my friend John, who left in 2001 but in winning, the Giants help me think about him and how he would sincerely enjoy this (just this week, his brother and my friend Dennis gave me John's Giants jacket that his family had wanted to give him for his 40th birthday), for a neighborhood that grew to a million people, if only for a few short glorious weeks in October and November 2010.

The Giants won 103 games this year. In 1993 they won 103 games and did not even get into the playoffs. In '87 they led 3 games to 2 in the NLCS, one game away from getting to the World Series but lost the last 2 games to the Cardinals. In '89, earthquake interruptus, and the A's won 4-0. In 2002, the powerful Giants seemed to be on their way to the first World Series win; up 3-2 in games, 5-0 in the seventh inning of game six. We were headed to our friend Tina's house. I had a special bottle of Dr. Pepper that I was saving. But it was not to be. The series turned ugly for Giant fans. Maybe four years ago, at dinner, Tina told us that she had saved that bottle in her refrigerator, while fending off Gian Carlo, her son, our buddy, who has been wanting to drink it, since '02. Eight years later, after celebrating with my father, my first thoughts were -we got to go to Tina's house asap! They were waiting for us, bottle in a champagne bucket, glasses set around. Delicious!

Years from now, Dext and Big O, will you remember Huff Daddy? Cody Ross?
the Freak? Ooh Ooh Ree Bay? Brian Wilson? Torture? Ashkon/SfGiants? Panda and Posey? Javey Lopez? Fear the Beard? Our Big 4 starting pitchers? (Lincecum, Cain, Bumgarner, Sanchez) The Excellent broadcasting team (Jon Miller, Mike Krukow, Duane Kuiper, David Flemming)? The stories of Edgar Renteria, and Andres Torres? Freddie Sanchez, Bochy and Rags, Pat the Bat? I hope you will.

To Cleveland and Chicago (Cubs) fans, may your day happen soon.

I Didn't Read The Last Page

In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
George Bush used to own the Texas Rangers.
But in the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
A parade would be nice.
But in the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
It sure is fun to high five my dad.
But in the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.
In the end, it's just a game.

A Happy Remora

Following sports teams is kind of a funny thing. Your team wins, we win! We did it! Your team loses and they lost. Remoras are fish that ride above, under, around sharks and rays. They take scraps, do little bits of cleaning for their big friends (who pay little attention to their tiny followers). It seems to me that this is who we are when we follow sports teams. I know nothing- really, and contribute nothing to my teams' success. Perhaps a little fan support, perhaps a little revenue contribution but the players play the game, coaches coach. Just the same, tonight, with full respect to a great team on the other side, I am a happy remora.


A couple of player notes: Juan Uribe, who had the winning hit tonight is the nephew of a Giant who played on the team 23 years ago and died in a car crash last year. During a recent player reunion of that team, former 2nd baseman Robby Thompson spoke warmly of his fieldmate Jose Uribe.

Current player Aubrey Huff, to break the tension in the month of September walked through the clubhouse in a red thong. It's since become one of the stranger rituals. His manager says, "I don't particularly enjoy seeing Aubrey in his red thong", but he understands the humor of the deal. This team has a nice mix of odd characters. No need for any more details, I need to go swimming.

Last night (Sunday): I dreamed about standing on a rock submerged in water with sharks, dolphins and whales beneath me. Also : a few weeks ago at the Seattle airport and later at dinner in San Francisco, I got the same fortune from fortune cookies, 700 miles apart- about listening to the advice of friends.

If It Makes You Happy...

Last week there was a tremendous story of 33 miners, trapped underground for over 2 months all surviving and being rescued. It is also a feel good story about America, for we were able to send technological and physical assistance to get these men out of the Chilean mines. This story dominated the news for several days, burying (no pun intended) smaller stories of note. Apparently one of Mother Theresa's aides is writing a book about this saintly and special woman, who gave tirelessly of herself to aid the poor and ill. She devoted a lifetime of this, usually living in very harsh conditions but devoted to two principles, love and kindness.

According to one of her closest assistants, at the end of a long day, and in the privacy of her quarters, Mother Theresa would treat herself to a surprising pleasure; she loved Italian shoes. Not keeping the shoes, for they would be donated to different communities but this deserving saint enjoyed wearing the shoes and prancing about her hut. Apparently MT would line up twenty or so pairs of various colors, elevate for only minutes, humming a happy song, before boxing them up for charity, and going to sleep. She loved Prada and Anne Klein. It's an odd image- but if a secret joy brings no pain to others while a gleeful moment is provided for someone who helps so many others, why not?

Baseball

How thrilling to have baseball games in October. How joyous not to sit in the cold carrying a clip board. How miserable to sit through the angst of hope unfulfilled and yet, the joy of sports allows a complete renewal at the beginning of the next season, requiring only loyalty and a willingness to believe. So here we have the Giants (after 8 years of non playoffs, 8 years of low merchandise sales in October) and the mighty Philadelphia Phillies. Baseball fans will get a competitive series but fans of these two teams are knowing that for some, Heartbreak and Main is just around the corner.

The San Francisco Giants have been by the bay, relocated from New York since 1958. In these 52 years, the Giants have won a total of Zero World Series. Since 1958 the Phillies have won twice, and been in 5 World Series (the Giants have been in 3). This year both teams have excellent pitching which is the key to success (rare exception, Pittsburgh Pirates 1979) and if you were to tell the casual fan who was pitching for the Giants in game one, you could have said, "Jesus". Jesus, wow- that's pretty good. Who do the other guys have? "God". Statistically, that's how they matched up.

Getting past the Braves has meaning; a measuring mark in a tightly contested series.  The Braves seem always to be a good team and winning this nail biter informs the Giants that they below.  Also if this is the last game that Bobby Cox manages, then here's to one of the best managers of the game.  Baseball will miss him.The Giants stopping their celebration to salute Cox was a classy and correct thing to do.  Karma points!

I rather like the Phillies very much, and it is pretty cool to me that Andrew and I talked about this possibility at the beginning of the year, and here we go. For me, all the long standing bay area teams have won (49'ers-5 times, Warriors-'75, Stanford Basketball (women)-twice and in
other major college categories, etc.)- it's just the Giants that always seem to not quite get there.
One time, in my life, before my Dad checks out would be satisfying. This years Giants would seem the least likely team to progress and yet, we are hopeful.
Two crazy events have happened to the Giants when they were in the World Series: In 1989, just before the beginning of game 2 (5:07pm?) - 21 years to this day, a major earthquake, Loma Prieta occurred at the beginning of the broadcast. Because many people had left work early that day, or took it off completely to settle in at home or at a bar to watch it, the Bay Bridge was relatively empty- certainly not packed in usual rush hour traffic. People died, people were in peril but not to the numbers that normally would be driving across.

In 2002, the manager's son, Darren Baker, then all of 4 years old rushed onto the field to grab the bat of his favorite player, Kenny Lofton. Unfortunately he did this while the ball was in play. Runners and fielders were heading home. An outfielder would be throwing a baseball 90 miles an hour directly to where the boy was heading; players in heavy gear might be colliding, 400 pounds of bodies. All in seconds, the potential for real disaster would be seen by millions of television viewers. As the Giants JT Snow crossed home plate scoring one run, and a teammate running not far behind him from third base, Angels catcher Bengie Molina was bracing himself from both the incoming throw and impact from the next runner. Molina caught the glimpse of the little child running to home plate, and Snow who had begun to head for the dugout, quickly ran back, reached for young Darren- grabbing him by the scruff of his collar, pulling him out of harm's way just before the runner and ball arrived. Molina gave Snow just enough room to do this. It was a crazy moment.
After the game seven loss, cameras moved to Darren Baker's face and he started sobbing. My then four year old, Dexter saw this and he started crying too. Rooting for your team allows you to share joy and misery with others, builds an element of community but in the end, there is no real loss. You get back up and begin anew.

Here's to baseball, with all its statistics and rules. To baseball, where understatement is still appreciated (hit a home run and in most situations, keep your head down and jog around the bases. Celebrations are minimal, lest you tempt the pitcher to


photo of Johnnie Lemaster, unpopular Giant player of the '70's who once batted with this custom tagged jersey. Couldn't get away with this today, I think


bean you next time around). It seems that most of the other big sports in the USA, football and basketball you have guys celebrating every little good thing they do, several times a game. In baseball except on a game ending play, you pretty much hide your enjoyment with your glove covering your face.
As much as I enjoy watching football on television and have enjoyed watching great boxers practice their craft, it seems contradictory to enjoy sports where people are vowing to kill someone else ("kill the quarterback") until they actually succeed. Then they pray?

Football and boxing are two sports where participants are willing to give up 10-20 years of their lives, and if they are somehow able to make it to an older age, do so hobbled, physically and oft times, mentally. So owners, do ante up for these guys.

Because baseball series are longer (usually 4of 7 games), the team that is better usually will win. Football (1 game and out), a better coached team can steal any game, but try surprising the other team with 7 onside kicks; it won't work seven or even two times.

It's fun to high five the kids, Maria and Dad.
It's time to play every game, all nine innings. Let's go get 'em!