This will be my last post for a few weeks. The G & G family is headed to the southern shores of Puget Sound for a two-week vacation. I’m really looking forward to it. I got a little appetizer vacation with my Cooperstown weekend, but now it’s time for the main course. The one big thing I don’t like about my life right now is that I live so far away from my family and my closest friends. And unfortunately there is no easy or immediate solution to this problem, so I just have to make do with what I have, and vacations are what I have at the moment.
Cooperstown was terrific though. My buddy RW flew in from Seattle Friday evening, and then we drove up Saturday morning together. It’s a good six-plus hours, but it went by pretty quickly. I have some friends with whom a long car ride would be quite difficult, but RW is not one of them. He can come off sometimes as kind of terse or surly, but once you get going with him, he’s a pretty good conversationalist. He was pretty worthless when it came to directions, however. He’s like a borderline Luddite when it comes to technology. He has an iPhone, but it’s so old that he can’t get most apps because it can only run an old version of the operating system that isn't compatible with the newer apps. Our friend DK, who got to Cooperstown before us with his buddy K, sent us a pin-drop of a parking lot, and it was like a one-man Abbott & Costello routine listening to RW try to figure out how to place the pin on his maps app and get directions. Once he started talking about Vashon Island – a location roughly 3,000 miles from where we needed to be – I pulled over and used my phone to get directions.
The actual city of Cooperstown is basically just one street with the Hall of Fame museum and a slew of eateries and memorabilia shops. On Saturday night they had a parade featuring many of the living Hall of Famers; it was my favorite event of the weekend. It was a blast seeing all the players from my childhood come out and wave to the masses. I got a lot of good pics. I also enjoyed the interaction with the crowd. It was like a big street party. I started yelling out things I thought would make the crowd chuckle (e.g., “You had a very respectable and underrated career.” to Bert Blyleven), with varying success. Ken Griffey Jr. and Mike Piazza, this year’s inductees, got the biggest rounds of applause, as expected, followed by Randy Johnson and Pedro Martinez. Johnson was a teammate of Griffey’s and Martinez of Piazza’s, so that makes sense.
After the parade, we went to this funplex that had batting cages and speed pitch and stuff like that. It was like something out of an ‘80s teen/sports movie – the place where the protagonist would have some sort of preliminary showdown against his rivals. Like the main kid would go to this place mid-film with his love interest. They would be having a great time until the love interest’s asshole ex-boyfriend arrived drunk with his posse. (There would be a shot showing them surreptitiously taking nips from a flask to establish they're the bad kids.) Somehow a mini-competition would be started in which the main kid and the ex-boyfriend each would go into the batting cages to see who was the better hitter. There would be a montage of each of them hitting baseballs, while all the other patrons, who were suddenly interested in this petty competition for some reason, cheered. The main kid would be winning and embarrassing the ex-boyfriend, so one of the ex-boyfriend’s cronies would rig up the pitching machine to fling a baseball that would hit the kid in the knee causing him to have to quit the showdown. The ex-boyfriend would then claim victory and leave telling the main kid “you’ll stay out of the Tri-Cities World Series, if you know what’s good for you!” The main kid would be downtrodden and considering quitting baseball until his unlikely mentor, an old Japanese recluse, who was a disgraced star from the Nippon Professional Baseball league, motivated him to rehab his knee and become an even better baseball player. The main kid would then go on to hit the game-winning home run off the ex-boyfriend in the Tri-Cities World Series, and the movie would end with him kissing the girl he was trying to woo earlier, while his mentor smiled wryly.
What do you think of my film? I call it The Baseball Boy.
Actually, at the Hall of Fame museum, there was a little section on baseball movies. There are a lot of them. My personal favorite is probably The Natural. Bull Durham is great too, but Tim Robbins is so unbelievable as a star pitcher physically – it’s looks as if he’d never thrown a baseball in his life before getting the role – that it really bumped me. I know it’s just a movie, but it’s difficult to ignore. Also, Kevin Costner’s character is too sanctimonious about baseball for me. His whole "what I believe in" speech didn't do it for me. Actually the whole film is steeped in the old-school, “right way to play baseball” mindset that I absolutely despise. Well, it’s still a better movie than The Kid From Left Field starring Gary Coleman, that’s for sure.
After our adventures in the funplex (let’s just say nobody is mistaking us for former big leaguers, after watching us in the batting cages), we hung around Cooperstown for a while, and then drove to our hotel in Utica, which is about an hour away. It was the closest booking I could get. Utica is not the nicest city in America, but the hotel worked well enough. There was only one bed in the room I was sharing with RW, so he slept on a roll-away cot (he volunteered to sleep on it, and I did all the planning and paid for it, so I don’t feel guilty about taking the good bed). He also snores like a mo-fo, but luckily I had earplugs in my backpack, so it was all good. That’s one of those things you do that pays off later, and makes you feel so smart. I remember, probably three years ago, putting earplugs in my backpack specifically for the moment I was traveling and sleeping in a noisy environment – forethought, see.
The problem with earplugs though is that you can sleep too deeply with them in. We woke up quite late and didn’t have time for a proper breakfast. We had to hit up Mickey D’s on the way out of town. Although, I have to say, as far breakfasts-on-the-run go, you could do much worse than an Egg McMuffin and a McDonald’s iced coffee.
We got to the induction ceremony a bit on the late side, so the field at which it was being held was already quite full. It’s the type of deal where you just rock up and throw down some lawn chairs, and the prime real estate was quickly dissipating by the time we arrived. We got decent enough seats though. At one point we got hassled by a security guard and a police officer who told us we were in an emergency exit area (apparently we missed a faint line in the grass that people were sitting on), but ultimately nothing came of it. If 200 people refuse to move, there isn’t much two workers, who probably don’t actually care all that much, can do about it. In general, the event was not properly managed and the seating areas were not clearly delineated. There were 50,000 people there, about twice as much as the typical induction ceremony.
And the ceremony itself wasn’t that fun. It was cool. It was a good experience, but it wasn’t really enjoyable, if that makes sense. For one thing, it was so hot, and we were just sitting there for hours among the throngs of people, before the speeches began. It is like being at an outdoor music festival, but instead of hearing great live music, you hear John Fogerty’s Center Field over a loud speaker. (Has anybody more cashed in on such a mediocre song?) For another thing, athletes are typically lousy orators. Piazza’s speech was okay, for a baseball player, but if you have to add “for a …” to qualify something, it probably means that something wasn’t all that great. And Griffey’s speech was downright brutal. It was a blubbering, blathering mess. He began it totally choked up and never regained his composure. His quips fell felt and his anecdotes meandered to nowhere. Nevertheless, he totally transformed me into 12-year-old fanboy mode, we he ended his speech by putting on a Mariners cap backwards – his signature style
.
We spent much of the remainder of Sunday back in the museum looking at all the busts. Our favorite one was of Cumberland Willis “Cum” Posey, Jr., of which DK, RW, and I each independently took a picture because, well, because it’s a funny nickname. RW spotted Mariners’ play-by-play announcer Rick Rizzs walking around the museum and talked to him for a while. I never would have identified him. I only know his voice.
We stayed in Cooperstown pretty late. We grabbed a few late-night slices at a local pizzeria, where we saw Jerry Hairston Jr., who was in town promoting his charity. He was just chilling at a table with some family eating. He’s not a big enough star to be hounded by fans. We certainly didn’t bother him. I was more concerned with my slice of Hawaiian pizza. It had a single piece of pineapple on it – exactly one solitary, little chunk. I thought about asking for another one, but really, why bother? Life's too short to argue with the weird guy behind the counter about pineapple, right?
The worst part of the trip was the drive back the next day. It was the exact opposite experience of the drive there. It took us about an hour and a half longer than it did to get there due to some crazy spates of thunderstorms and road work. At one point, I-81 went down to one lane, and it caused a backup that was like three miles long. That alone added 45 minutes to our trip, easily. But we did make it back… eventually.
When I walked through the door of my house the first thing I heard was, “Daddy did you buy me a toy?” It was good to be home.
Until next time…
Cooperstown was terrific though. My buddy RW flew in from Seattle Friday evening, and then we drove up Saturday morning together. It’s a good six-plus hours, but it went by pretty quickly. I have some friends with whom a long car ride would be quite difficult, but RW is not one of them. He can come off sometimes as kind of terse or surly, but once you get going with him, he’s a pretty good conversationalist. He was pretty worthless when it came to directions, however. He’s like a borderline Luddite when it comes to technology. He has an iPhone, but it’s so old that he can’t get most apps because it can only run an old version of the operating system that isn't compatible with the newer apps. Our friend DK, who got to Cooperstown before us with his buddy K, sent us a pin-drop of a parking lot, and it was like a one-man Abbott & Costello routine listening to RW try to figure out how to place the pin on his maps app and get directions. Once he started talking about Vashon Island – a location roughly 3,000 miles from where we needed to be – I pulled over and used my phone to get directions.
The actual city of Cooperstown is basically just one street with the Hall of Fame museum and a slew of eateries and memorabilia shops. On Saturday night they had a parade featuring many of the living Hall of Famers; it was my favorite event of the weekend. It was a blast seeing all the players from my childhood come out and wave to the masses. I got a lot of good pics. I also enjoyed the interaction with the crowd. It was like a big street party. I started yelling out things I thought would make the crowd chuckle (e.g., “You had a very respectable and underrated career.” to Bert Blyleven), with varying success. Ken Griffey Jr. and Mike Piazza, this year’s inductees, got the biggest rounds of applause, as expected, followed by Randy Johnson and Pedro Martinez. Johnson was a teammate of Griffey’s and Martinez of Piazza’s, so that makes sense.
[Griffey]
[Randy Johnson]
After the parade, we went to this funplex that had batting cages and speed pitch and stuff like that. It was like something out of an ‘80s teen/sports movie – the place where the protagonist would have some sort of preliminary showdown against his rivals. Like the main kid would go to this place mid-film with his love interest. They would be having a great time until the love interest’s asshole ex-boyfriend arrived drunk with his posse. (There would be a shot showing them surreptitiously taking nips from a flask to establish they're the bad kids.) Somehow a mini-competition would be started in which the main kid and the ex-boyfriend each would go into the batting cages to see who was the better hitter. There would be a montage of each of them hitting baseballs, while all the other patrons, who were suddenly interested in this petty competition for some reason, cheered. The main kid would be winning and embarrassing the ex-boyfriend, so one of the ex-boyfriend’s cronies would rig up the pitching machine to fling a baseball that would hit the kid in the knee causing him to have to quit the showdown. The ex-boyfriend would then claim victory and leave telling the main kid “you’ll stay out of the Tri-Cities World Series, if you know what’s good for you!” The main kid would be downtrodden and considering quitting baseball until his unlikely mentor, an old Japanese recluse, who was a disgraced star from the Nippon Professional Baseball league, motivated him to rehab his knee and become an even better baseball player. The main kid would then go on to hit the game-winning home run off the ex-boyfriend in the Tri-Cities World Series, and the movie would end with him kissing the girl he was trying to woo earlier, while his mentor smiled wryly.
What do you think of my film? I call it The Baseball Boy.
Actually, at the Hall of Fame museum, there was a little section on baseball movies. There are a lot of them. My personal favorite is probably The Natural. Bull Durham is great too, but Tim Robbins is so unbelievable as a star pitcher physically – it’s looks as if he’d never thrown a baseball in his life before getting the role – that it really bumped me. I know it’s just a movie, but it’s difficult to ignore. Also, Kevin Costner’s character is too sanctimonious about baseball for me. His whole "what I believe in" speech didn't do it for me. Actually the whole film is steeped in the old-school, “right way to play baseball” mindset that I absolutely despise. Well, it’s still a better movie than The Kid From Left Field starring Gary Coleman, that’s for sure.
After our adventures in the funplex (let’s just say nobody is mistaking us for former big leaguers, after watching us in the batting cages), we hung around Cooperstown for a while, and then drove to our hotel in Utica, which is about an hour away. It was the closest booking I could get. Utica is not the nicest city in America, but the hotel worked well enough. There was only one bed in the room I was sharing with RW, so he slept on a roll-away cot (he volunteered to sleep on it, and I did all the planning and paid for it, so I don’t feel guilty about taking the good bed). He also snores like a mo-fo, but luckily I had earplugs in my backpack, so it was all good. That’s one of those things you do that pays off later, and makes you feel so smart. I remember, probably three years ago, putting earplugs in my backpack specifically for the moment I was traveling and sleeping in a noisy environment – forethought, see.
The problem with earplugs though is that you can sleep too deeply with them in. We woke up quite late and didn’t have time for a proper breakfast. We had to hit up Mickey D’s on the way out of town. Although, I have to say, as far breakfasts-on-the-run go, you could do much worse than an Egg McMuffin and a McDonald’s iced coffee.
We got to the induction ceremony a bit on the late side, so the field at which it was being held was already quite full. It’s the type of deal where you just rock up and throw down some lawn chairs, and the prime real estate was quickly dissipating by the time we arrived. We got decent enough seats though. At one point we got hassled by a security guard and a police officer who told us we were in an emergency exit area (apparently we missed a faint line in the grass that people were sitting on), but ultimately nothing came of it. If 200 people refuse to move, there isn’t much two workers, who probably don’t actually care all that much, can do about it. In general, the event was not properly managed and the seating areas were not clearly delineated. There were 50,000 people there, about twice as much as the typical induction ceremony.
And the ceremony itself wasn’t that fun. It was cool. It was a good experience, but it wasn’t really enjoyable, if that makes sense. For one thing, it was so hot, and we were just sitting there for hours among the throngs of people, before the speeches began. It is like being at an outdoor music festival, but instead of hearing great live music, you hear John Fogerty’s Center Field over a loud speaker. (Has anybody more cashed in on such a mediocre song?) For another thing, athletes are typically lousy orators. Piazza’s speech was okay, for a baseball player, but if you have to add “for a …” to qualify something, it probably means that something wasn’t all that great. And Griffey’s speech was downright brutal. It was a blubbering, blathering mess. He began it totally choked up and never regained his composure. His quips fell felt and his anecdotes meandered to nowhere. Nevertheless, he totally transformed me into 12-year-old fanboy mode, we he ended his speech by putting on a Mariners cap backwards – his signature style
.
We spent much of the remainder of Sunday back in the museum looking at all the busts. Our favorite one was of Cumberland Willis “Cum” Posey, Jr., of which DK, RW, and I each independently took a picture because, well, because it’s a funny nickname. RW spotted Mariners’ play-by-play announcer Rick Rizzs walking around the museum and talked to him for a while. I never would have identified him. I only know his voice.
We stayed in Cooperstown pretty late. We grabbed a few late-night slices at a local pizzeria, where we saw Jerry Hairston Jr., who was in town promoting his charity. He was just chilling at a table with some family eating. He’s not a big enough star to be hounded by fans. We certainly didn’t bother him. I was more concerned with my slice of Hawaiian pizza. It had a single piece of pineapple on it – exactly one solitary, little chunk. I thought about asking for another one, but really, why bother? Life's too short to argue with the weird guy behind the counter about pineapple, right?
The worst part of the trip was the drive back the next day. It was the exact opposite experience of the drive there. It took us about an hour and a half longer than it did to get there due to some crazy spates of thunderstorms and road work. At one point, I-81 went down to one lane, and it caused a backup that was like three miles long. That alone added 45 minutes to our trip, easily. But we did make it back… eventually.
When I walked through the door of my house the first thing I heard was, “Daddy did you buy me a toy?” It was good to be home.
Until next time…
No comments:
Post a Comment