Another fine evocative piece from Uncle Ken about the Cubs' opening day but, Holy Cow!, did it ever send The Old Dog on a prolonged journey down memory lane when he lived 1,333 feet from the pitcher's mound, as the crow flies. You had to be there, back when bleacher tickets were dirt cheap, maybe $2 even on opening day, and there were no reserved seats; sit wherever you wanted. Maybe you would see Bill Veeck sitting in the sun and you'd have a little chat. And later in the game the chants would start: Right field sucks! And then left field sucks!, and on and on. Good times.
Which got me to thinking about how the Sports Section was the only place in the paper where the writers could let their spirits soar, waxing poetic about the athletes and their games, dull facts be damned. And in the way that the internet leads you to places you never expected I found this old article about sports writing, and here's a taste:
Baseball has traditionally been the sport of choice for the American writer: it has the longest traditions and it offers the most (by way of statistics) to a detached analytical mind.
The full article is here and may be worth your while:
https://www.theguardian.com/books/2010/jun/06/american-sportswriting-benjamin-markovits
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Consider these images, gentlemen. Three different plastic jars, manufactured by three different companies, yet all three lids are interchangeable.
Is there some hitherto unknown ISO diktat that mandates lid specifications or is there collusion in the cabal of Big Plastics? Are THEY at it again?
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It's been a tough week for Mr. Lemon. The transition to tetrahedron was successful but it cost him both eyes, making him blind. His sacrifice will not be forgotten; Mr. Lemon, I salute you!
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