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!

One With Nature, Naturally

So many years ago I decided that what I needed to do was to hop on a bus and move to Point Reyes. Alright, for full disclosure I thought it would be a real cool thing to embrace nature and stay at a hostel for a few days, and respect my inner naturalist. Unfortunately my inner naturalist is precisely the size of a pea and my brain capacity is apparently not much larger.

It is always a good idea to 1. plan with no plan 2. head to the wilderness at night 3.not have a map, compass or flashlight 4. purchase rations of ice cream bars, soda, and cigarettes: ice cream because I wanted it, soda, because I wanted it and cigarettes, as defense if crazy people jumped out of the bushes at night. So who is really crazy? A complete idiot. Let's not stop here.

To the hostel from the bus stop at Point Reyes Station is 9 miles. Take the 3rd right trail after leaving town. An uneventful, pretty bus ride, stop at the town store to get my rations, and after being pointed in the correct direction ("you're going to walk there, at night?"), I begin.
I failed to consider that not every road in this country is illuminated. I failed to consider that these roads might be completely dark. I failed to find the third right and took what turned out to be the fourth right.
More backstory: tough year (PM:PreMaria), getting bonked on the head (strangers) heartache(non strangers), wandering (career)- city life (closing in). Somehow what was happening all seemed appropriate, if a bit scary.

Alternately beautiful and eerie, the sounds of the night, unbridled with machinery and vehicles can be soothing and unsettling moment to moment. I knew that I was close to water; sounds of a a creek, steams of water washing over pebbles and rocks and sometimes I could hear leaves or light branches being moved or rustled as little critters moved nearby. The sound of owls, occasional birds and initially could see a car headlight in the distance. Once I made that fourth turn, it was a lonely walk without lights or cars. Nervously I began smoking- I was not a smoker but smoke embracing my face provided an illusion of warmth, company. I may have tried to walk back but back was a road that I could not seem to find. Soon, however I came across a great big open grassy field. With the sky overhead, I needed only to hop a wood fence where I could make a bed of sorts, and sleep until morning. Then the rains came. Hard, pounding. (the next day when I passed this area, it was full of grazing cows).

I found shelter outside two abandoned cabins, which were locked. I considered breaking a window but also considered how lame this would be to explain, so I sat outside shivering but out of the rain. I had a cassette player and headphones and played two cassettes non stop; one was an album by an LA band, Thelonious Monster. The other, Tony Williams "Civilization". The best 2 inch x 3inch friends a man could have. Over and over, again.

At some point in the middle of the night I had to keep walking to find the hostell the thought of a warm bed- had to be close. A great thrashing of bushes near me, my head full of needle pricks of alarm, and a rabbit jumps out over my head and bounces away, hopping as they do in cartoons.
Suffice to say it was a long night of wandering, cigarette smoking, but realizing that I was not going to keep anyone awake, loud singing too.

The rains continued through the night and eventually I settled under an old wood structure. Protected from the rain, I could not sleep however- too cold and nervous, probably. The next morning a ranger making his rounds came across a young shivering smoker and asked him, "what are you doing?"

My metaphysical response may well have been this:
None of us willingly took a number to come into this world and because of this, I think, we exist, constantly moving, seeking for answers, knowledge, happiness, something. As we do this we are surrounded, nearly drowned in the expectations of the society we participate in. Sometimes misery can bring you to the point of transition, to living, not just existing.

My actual response was more like this: "I don't know. I'm cold". He smiled. Invited me to join him as he would go next to the visitors center, and light a fire. He passed on my offer of my last cigarette (which by the way, was my last cigarette).

Inside the visitors center it was much warmer and dryer. The ranger never did get to lighting a fire but refreshed and redirected, I headed to town, for I was hungry. Along the way i did manage to get lost again, veering 2 miles the wrong way, then back 2 miles to get on the correct path. I saw a family of deer below me as I stood about 10 feet above. They watched warily at first but I sat and we shared a space for 30 or so minutes.

I have been fortunate to never been wanting of true hunger; if as breathing, I have oxygen at all times except this one day, when food was lacking and needed. The breakfast I had at Point Reyes Station House was the best meal in my life for its consumption was an answer to life, and joyously i indulged. "More?" yes! "More?" yes! Yes, to it all!

Days later after some peaceful, warm days at the hostel and one peculiar meeting, I took the bus back home. My first stop was the cafe where I worked just down the street from where I live.
My co-worker and friend, Kelli stopped what she was doing, charged me (did I forget to scrape down the ice cream? or clean the espresso machine?) and provided a hug of ages, saying that she thought she had lost me. Did I really seem that depressed?

I consider how being lost could generate as much feeling as it did; the miles I wandered, calculating 26, taking me to roads of examination and discovery. Decisions made and actions taken impact those close to us, and walking that road, there will always be those close to us.
Can't really explain it. Don't know why I went. Don't know where I went. I only know that then, I had moved from existing to living.

I'm The Better Speller

Dexter and I took the weekend to Seattle. If I had known that Monday was a school holiday, I might have opted to not have him miss Friday. Someone pointed out to me that missing a day of school would probably make the trip a good one before we even begin. Son, let's begin a good trip.

Wow- an easy check in at Virgin Airlines and a short flight, less than 2 hours, and we land in Seattle. The forecast calls for rain and the ground is wet, sky gray and yet, the sky clears as we play tourist for we do so in grand sun. Our hotel (Silver Cloud Stadium) is directly across the street from the Mariners (icons Ichiro and Griffey Jr. on prominent display) and with comfy beds, a refrigerator, coffee machine and rooftop pool (not too high- 9 floors) , this is a nice place for us to park ourselves. Anyway, a brief rest and then a shuttle hop, a monorail glide, and a lengthy walk back just in time to get ready for Braves-Giants, game 2. I was pleasantly surprised that Pikes Place has a wide range of stores beyond fish and souvenirs, the space planners getting an appreciative nod from this court. Also Dexter and I had a good time at the Science Fiction Museum with visits with pulp history, television, Gort (the Day the Earth Stood Still), Robby the Robot (Forbidden Planet) , and especially Robot from Lost in Space. Robot had a lot to say, my favorite mechanical mush of pathos.

Dinner at a little Italian restaurant on 1st street, Mario's where the waves of the transistor radio informs of the Giants late inning meltdown. Torture. Giants baseball is torturous because they do not win easily, and sometimes play well enough to just barely lose. It feels as if you're holding your breath for an endless time and by the time you accept air, are too exhausted to celebrate. And yet, the investment is rewarded with a team whose effort never ends and at the very least, this year, Giant fans have baseball in October.

Saturday we spend with Sarah and Drew. Free Ballard! They have a nice set up where they've chosen to live. A quiet street across a church, a block from a busy intersection which seems not anywhere as close as it turns out to be. Their place is one unit of two, three floors they have made very comfortable. Waffles and lasagna, raspberry crisp, fruit and beverages, a stop for ice cream at Molly Moon's (salted caramel for me, chocolate for Dexter) and good coffee at Fuel takes care of all food desires. Drew, who seems to be able to adjust to any social interaction with good humor and ease is certainly up to the task of verbal jousting with his partner, Sarah, who is very funny, communicates well, speaks a lot, and listens better than most humans. Their dynamic is such that they will find themselves in awkward silly situations because they are open to awkward silly situations.

We introduce them to MilleBornes. They introduce us to how dominoes are actually played (Dexter purchases a set when we return to San Francisco) and a completely new game to us, the Settlers of Catan. As for how the games turn out, here's the scores; Dexter, 2. Drew, 1, Sarah, 1. Better Speller, better speller. If nothing else, I can spell better than the boy. Dexter has a knack and he shows it, dominating dominoes. After getting thrashed, I welcomed the role of amused spectator. Good seats too. Dexter usually is not this giddy except sometimes late in the evening but he was enjoying the games, and enjoying the company.

Later that night, as I shut out the light in our room at the hotel, Dexter asked me about my favorite part of the day, and then he said this:

"Sarah and Drew are real funny....they're good together. They make a good couple".
I enjoy how, unsolicited, he showed his knack for observation, and making the call, correctly.

Sisters, Brothers and The Walls of Time

I had big goals for this weekend; sitting in the sun, listening to music, the Giants clinching a pennant, and calling my father to celebrate. Friday and Saturday were both cool, foggy days and with the Giants losing two to the Padres, only sweet music was my solace. I also missed Dexter when he accepted an invitation to go to a potential clinching baseball game, ending our ritual of ball toss through the crowds of the Saturday evening close of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass.

A groggy misty Sunday morning, an extra house guest, mountainous homework, perilous pennant chances, an ache, morning plans scrapped, and I am anxious to get this one going. This would be a day when the Mountain Music Mystics would answer my calls, delivering all I asked and more.

Hardly Strictly Bluegrass is one big, big crazy San Francisco event. Ten years old, always free and larger than ever. It really is a gargantuan family picnic for musicians, who wander about visiting their peers, often sitting in for a song or two. If you keep your eyes open you can see them sitting on the hillside or walking by, or traveling in one of the golf carts. They are linked in many ways but a commonality is that all have a sense of history; recognition of the lineage before them and implicitly, after. Warren Hellman (the sole person who pays for everything) says that he does this as the most selfish thing a person can do. Whether this is an annual love letter to San Francisco, or as way to continue political "discussions " with Steve Earle (who did convince Hellman to vote for Barack Obama) or as a way to see Emmylou Harris, this tradition continues and will do so even after 10 years after he dies, with his children carrying on.  Initially suspicious of Hellman's political motives, longtime Hardly Strictly participant Hazel Dickens said, "I'm confused. If Warren keeps being so nice, I might have to change some of the songs I'm singing." As for me, the first weekend of October every year, I am not doing anything else.

Other than the various intoxicating fumes that surround, the crowds are well behaved, darned pleasant and lovely. Sunday was notable to bearing witness to two unions of sisters and brothers. First, was Shelby Lynne and Allison Moorer on the very cozy Porch Stage. The sun burst out mid set, a set that was a chugging train ride of emotion, harmonies, and laughter. Distinctive to their individual styles but perfect in their union. Standing side by side continuing from the day they witnessed the killing of their mother by their father. The human spirit survives, and can succeed but only after time, with help. Music never had more meaning.

Tuning into our transistor radio, Giants lead 2-0. We stroll over to the hillside of the Rooster Stage where Dave Alvin and the Guilty Women are in progress. Last year's set carried a feeling of sadness and loss as one of the band members had died  only days before but today, the playing was exuberant, loud and powerful. Used to be that Dave was part of the rockabilly blues band, the Blasters, with his older brother Phil, on lead vocals. Another band member, Steve Berlin left them to join Los Lobos, a friendlier group than the mercurial Alvin brothers. But with a coy introduction, there were the brothers reunited with Phil now singing one of their great songs in Spanish. Cantando canciones de amor a Maria Maria and feeling the bonds of familia.
Giants 3-0!

Then it happened. Ears pressed close to the radio. The Giants win the pennant!! "Dad. This is Brian..."

Today we started the new ritual of crazy ball toss around and within the crowds of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, Sunday edition.

(the photo of Dexter and I waiting for the last pitch was taken and forwarded to me from someone in the crowd of music listeners. Thank you! also, the photo of Dave and Phil Alvin from the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass website.)