Oh Baseball, my Baseball

Oh baseball, my baseball. Your season is ending soon. It's the last day of September, which means it's almost time for the playoffs. I love autumn, and October is my favorite month, but how bittersweet that it ushers in the end of baseball season.

I discovered that the best song to listen to while watching Royals baseball clips from this past summer is Roger Whitaker's "I don't believe in if anymore."  It helps me deal.

For, my dear Royals....they played so well right up until September.... But this has not been a good month for them. Wobbly pitching, sloppy base-running, milquetoast bats. They made the playoffs because their early wins put them so far ahead of the pack, but lately they've been on a losing streak, and they won't last long in the playoffs if it continues.

"Baseball was designed to break your heart." Someone said it.

I took a highlight reel and slapped my new song onto it, and made the video below.




Oh glorious baseball season, lasting from April to October. Oh glorious baseball summer. What a glut of riches I have enjoyed lo' these many months, following the Royals. A new game every night! Every few days, a new team, a new city representin'.

 My 16-year old daughter groans when I turn on the radio.

 "They're playing again? Do they play every night?"

 "Every night," I say brightly. "Well, almost every night."

 "How long is this game going to last?" she scowls.

"About three hours," I say.

We don't  have cable, but I can hear every pitch on the radio. Denny Matthews is an old friend coming through the speaker, doing the play-by-play as I scrape old contact paper off the kitchen wall. It's the Wall of Agony, as I have listened to many close games while working away on that wall. Steve Physioc takes turns with Denny and pisses me off the way he yells with excitement every time the opposing defense runs down a Royals hit. He's on the Royals Radio Network so when he starts yelling you think something good is happening for our side. Such a let-down when you realize it was the OTHER team that made the great play. Damn Physioc.

When we are playing at home I can hear the "Let's go Royals' chants, the organ cranking away, and Moose calls ringing out from the stands. When we play in Chicago I still hear Royals chants and Moose calls because so many Kansas Citians live in Chi-town or trek up there for games.  

After the game comes the post-game show where Josh Vernier talks us all down off the ledge if we lost, or gloats with us if we won.  I don't get tired of hearing people talk about baseball. You would think, but no.

I am dreading the end of the season. Turning on the game has become a nightly ritual. Followed up with a recap of the game's highlights the next day. What will I do without the happy chatter about shut-out innings, stolen bases, double-plays?  In the last month it's been more weeping and gnashing of teeth, rending of garments over our skid, but even so, even when it's not good, it's still baseball.  

Go Royals.  

Sleep-blogging the Blood Red Super Moon eclipse

Last night I was nodding off, and writing gibberish, and not even realizing that I went and published this post:


Red moon. Hot moon.  Photos are dim.

The moon, the moon, the moon
I watched it
aren't there some good scientists in your pack?
i watched it, not because I wanted to, but becauise I wanted to

tough to place --you mean A'm mu

This is the photo I took

Bulky. Trashy.

Alternate title for this blog post:  The Dregs of My Society.

Saturday we took horrid things out of our house---the grungiest, most foul, beat up, worn out, useless, and moldiest things we could find .... and put them out on the curb. We get to do this once a year on Bulk Trash Day. The trashmen are supposed to appear in their magical garbage machines and haul it all away, no questions asked. But first come the scavengers. There is always kind of a hopeful mood as pick-ups cruise slowly up and down our street "window-shopping" our stuff.  

Well the scavengers came and went but now it's Friday night almost a week later and we're still waiting for the trashmen to show up. Is this some kind of city department prank? Everyone for blocks around is stuck with these dreadful cast-offs all a-jumble on the edge of their property. Old sofas, tires, rolls of carpet, rotted out lumber, sorry-looking furniture, dirty plastic objects....from the looks of it you'd think that either we're all getting evicted, or a river just ran through all our houses, ruining our stuff.

It's reassuring though, to see the kind of junk other people haul out to the curb. This stuff had been inside their house or garage! Probably for a long time! Hey, we aren't the only ones cohabiting with a bunch of dingy, old, broken-down crap!

I did walk by one house though, that just didn't get it. Their small offering at the end of the driveway was so absurd I had to snap a photo. The broken end table you see is all they could muster up for Bulk Trash Day. Cheri agreed to be in the shot to help fill in the emptiness.

Bulk Trash day is liberating! It liberates you from the illusion that if you could just get someone to come take all your crap you wouldn't accumulate more of it.

One neighbor's pathetic contribution to Bulk Trash Day. 

Welcome Autumn

I'll be drinking you  

all your sorrow

 cold and golden

sunlight trampled with the leaves 

joys of the past

 fallen

What do you think of Mr. Peanut?

Redskin Spanish peanuts---seems like such a specific peanut to want.

"Would you like some peanuts?"

"Well, maybe...do they have red skins?"

"Uh, I don't know, I'll check. Don't most peanuts have red skins?"

"You better check."

"Okay...................................................Yes, they have red skins on them."

"Are they Spanish?"

"Gee, I really couldn't say........."

This is only my 4th post since April and my second one concerning peanuts.

But this is important, because we were looking at this peanut container and discussing Mr. Peanut, and considering his likability.  Or lack thereof. My friend said her mother could not abide by Mr. Peanut. She found him creepy.

I wondered aloud briefly whether his hoity-toity monocle and top hat were a problem for me. But then I thought, "No",  They were okay. He is a peanut. They are all he has. The only way he can rise to our level. 

Last Night of August

Here we are halfway through September, and the opening day of autumn is just around the corner. I have a hard time letting go of summer, but it helps if I have a chance to take a moment and reflect on it, and say farewell to it.

On Monday, August 31st, a fine opportunity came. Some of the nights had been getting chilly but it was warm enough that night to sit on the front porch at 11:00 pm without a jacket. The air was perfect. Soft, but not cloying. I saw I needed to take full advantage, so I went and got a glass of red wine, a nub of Havarti cheese I'd been saving, and my earbuds so I could listen to tunes on my phone.

With summer on the wane, I fully appreciated how comfortable it was to sit outside past midnight, past 1:00 am. I was in such good spirits I didn't want it to end. Finally around 2:00 am I forced myself to close down my solo party and head inside. I wondered how hard the morning was going to be, on four hours of sleep, my blood fermenting on several glasses of wine. I decided however crappy I felt at 6:30 am, it would be worth it. For I had drunk under the stars (which I couldn't really see in the city night sky) and felt the last warm caresses of a summer night.

The next day I got up, got ready for work and felt absolutely fine. Not the least bit tired and no post-wine sludginess.  All day long at work, I felt great! It was like a miracle or something. Like the night really had been magic! Or maybe it was the cheeseburger I'd eaten earlier that evening.