A desparation is in the air—I guess it’s always been there to some extent—that I don’t remember seeing as a child. Maybe that’s just because children don’t think about stuff like that. There is the ever-increasing hum of a social consciousness that drives us in despair for the need to repair our bodies, and thus our lives, so that we can live forever and ever. If the Bible were true (and I believe it is), then the life on the “other side” is going to be more glorious than anything we can imagine. The streets will be paved with gold, cities of marble, and we’ll all be in white garments or something. That’s fine. The best part—and I’m serious here— will be bowing to the King, the Lord Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God. Worthy is the Lamb. He has covered all my sin with what he did (and what was done to him) on the Cross. And it’s available to you—for free. Taking care of our bodies is a commandment, more or less. That is, take care of what God has given you. Don’t over-indulge (or is indulgance the same as to over-indulge?). Anyway, we have become increasingly obsessive (or over-obsesive?) in our drive to get in shape (or get back in shape). If only we knew then what we know now. When you’re three years old, you can still put your foot in your mouth and bend your body in crazy ways. One thing I personnally need to work on is stretching … with arthritis, especially, it’s difficult to reach my toes. Putting on socks takes a heroic effort (yes, it’s ‘a heroic’ (hard h) and not ‘an heroic’ with a soft h. Think Liza Doolittle.) Anyway, two or three times a week we meet on Zoom (daughter lives in Alaska) and do a stretching workout for 30 minutes. It’s a good routine for me and it helps me mentally too, but what really encourages me is seeing my seven-year granddaughter and three-year old grandson stretch and curl themselves into magnificent pretzels. Their bodies bend in remarkable ways. So, wouldn’t the reasonable mind decide to continue working on stretching every day in order to never lose that ability? But almost nobody does, though a few trickle through, mananging to keep their flexibility. They grow up to become gymnasts or contortionists. Life gets in the way. It’s exhiliarating going through school, studying what possibly will become your profession and scoping out possibilites for someone who will become your lifelong mate. You’re on top of the world (regardlesss (almost) of GPA). As the upper classman (whom you have seen passed out, lying face down on the floor in the dorm hallway early on a Saturday morning because he couldn’t find his room key) attains respectable employment, you think, “Hey, I can do that too.” Then the market crashes and you’re stuck with a “you didn’t apply yoursef for the past three or four years, so here’s what you get, buddy.” But I’m off-topic. Back to it. We need to take care of what God has given us, but we aren’t called to obsess with it. Oh, certainly, we need (to at least try) to excel at what we’re doing. Our diligence and hard work will glorify the Lord. Over-obsessing, if there is such a thing, can deter the luster of that fire. Hard work can be difficult to discern from mania of some sort. Dear me. I’m not being clear. Of course, we all have moments where we’ve needed to come in and do the impossible—to do something that solves a major problem for somebody, either at work all
night to make some software perform correctly for a customer demo the next day, or to stay up all night with a sick child, applying cold washcloths every hour to keep the fever down. It’s not healthy to do this day after day, night after night… unless you’re called to it, of course. But what about this obsesion to be perfectly fit? I read recently of a forty-something man taking monthly infusions of blood from his seventeen-year old son, thinking that keeping his blood young—and having injections of fresh salmon oil in his skin, or something like that—will keep him from aging. Of course, he’s a fanatic in the gym. But what purpose does that serve? I understand the tendency . My mom told me once that she was afraid whenever I took an interest in something new because I always became obsessed with it (where “it” may have been practicing the tuba into the wee hours of the morning, or memorizing pi to 100 decimal places, or (which was not infrequent) was often “my new girlfriend from school”). A National Review article I recently read said that with the current knowledge in medical science, the average lifespan, at best, will end up being somewhere around 110-115 years. If the organic parts of ourselves can’t last any longer, maybe the robotic parts of ourselves can last longer. I spoke with a man at a cookout last night who was told forty-five years ago that his kidneys would fail in less than two years. But … he altered his diet—just a little, dropping out potatoes and some breads—and he was in good shape until last fall, when he was hit with Covid. Covid brought him so much vomiting and diarrhea that one of his kidneys failed from the dehydration. Anyway, we’re not really sure what my life expectancy is. There’s not a lot of data on people who have had Parkinson’s Disease for 25 years. I’m in my 24th year now and managing fine (well, ask my wife for an objective opinion. She’s probably more realistic than I). In the initial stages, the physical decline and cognitive decline seemed to go hand in hand. I found I was no longer able to solve the hard problems, to make the right decisions at times, and my perception of priorities and responsibilities was distorted. But it was the physical decline that really took hold … balance issues, dragging my legs, which eventually turned into shuffling feet, then lots of falling. Still, for a while I was feeling strong, and I continued running and walking. I preferred running over walking. My running distances decreased only slightly at first, and I was still running in the thirty to forty miles / week, even climbing to fifty-six miles over Christmas break just months after I was diagnosed. Within a couple of years, though, I was down to ten to fifteen miles/week and soon withered down to five or six miles. When I was twenty-six—pre-PD, and in fact pre-marriage—I ran a 5K in seventeen minutes. Yes, 17. Actually, that was the second half of a 10K race. The first half was 17 minutes 14 seconds, or a total of 34:14 for the 10K. I impressed even myself with that run. It helped that it was a small race (only 40 some runners) and I started ON the starting line, not way back in the pack. And the race producers were playing inspirational rock-and-roll for the duration of the race. Long live Rock.
And the weather was perfect. And the paved road/trail was perfect. (After I got married, I never again beat 36:00 minutes. I guess priorities changed.) I ran a 5K with my younger daughter just two years ago, and I (well, “We,” since she stayed with me the entire time) finished in 49 something. Or was it 59 something. I don’t remember. I do remember the two emotions I felt that morning as a cold mist fell on us while we were crossing the Finish line. Number one, I was embarrassed at my time. Note that the first time I ran a 5K, with very little training, I ran it in twenty-one minutes. (I was 24 at the time.) I wouldn’t get used to this 49-minute stuff for quite a while yet. The second emotion I felt was an overwhelming gratitude for my daughter, who encouraged me and cheered me on, all the way from the start to the very finish. As an aside … my daughter is now a PA, a certified Physician’s Assistant, specializing in Geriatrics. She handles old folks quite well. I think there should continue to be efforts made to make life as comfortable, affordable, and LIVEABLE as possible. But life can’t—nor should it be made to—last forever. I don’t want it to last forever. Why? As I said earlier, life is going to be so much better on the “other side.” As Jesus demonstrated on the Cross, death won’t keep the resurrected body from leaving the tomb. Live however long you can, or how long you are able. God’s will will be accomplished regardless of your attempts to change his plans for your life. But when you get to heaven, and you discover that you could have been there years ago, it’ll be like realizing you’ve been eating at Little Caesar’s all your life when you could have been eating at Fearrington House every day. (Not to knock LC’s; I’m just trying to compare low-cost faire with gourmet. Don’t last forever. You don’t want to. Where you’re going will be that better place that we were trying to make on our old, dying earth. It will be a new day.
I’ve discovered over the past (nearly) twenty-four years of Parkinson’s Disease that I really don’t know what to expect next. Well, that’s not entirely true. I have learned in the past couple of years that old PD people get the same ailments that every other old person gets. (As an aside, on getting old and feeling old … I felt great (and I do mean great) until about when I hit 60 (two years ago). Ever since then, I’ve done more unraveling than Betsy Ross would if she were to fall and roll down the hill in the middle of a sewing project. Or something like that.
Back problems, arthritis problems, and more skin problems (just a bunch of basal and squamous cells, a couple or three Moh’s surgeries, and some blue light treatments) coming in at a rapid pace. I’ve gone from being able to run a 5K two years ago to being lucky if I can go half-a-mile today, some days less than that.
But God’s taking care of me. I’m getting plenty of exercise playing with the grandkids and the granddogs, my wife does a great job of keeping me stretching constantly and continually searching for ways to keep me going. I still cook … I want to fish and play tuba, but there’s just not enough time. I do have a lifetime fishing license though, which is cool (NC Wildlife issues it for us old folks on disability).
I don’t drive a lot. I can drive down to the (very nice) Apex senior center, where I’ve been taking Tai Chi, art lessons (drawing), and a writers’ club that meets weekly. I view myself as a good driver, but not everyone in the household agrees. It’s easier to get lost in eastern Cary than it used to be. This area (the whole RTP area) is still in a phenomenal growth pattern.
Still doing the clinical trial (it’s my third year into it) and it’s going very well. Having the dopamine delivered subcutaneously is helping immensely. My best is not any better, but I have very little Off time. It’s great. I wake up and I’m on.
I can tell there’s some cognitive decline. It’s not just forgetting things any more. It’s not understanding how to do things, or how to respond in certain situations. I can tell you what Hank Aaron hit in 1959 (he batted a .355 batting average that year). In ’57, he led the Braves to a World Series win over the Yankees, hitting 3 home runs to help the Braves. Just in case you needed to know that.
One thing I couldn’t imagine until it happened was hallucinations. It’s only happened to me once so far, but it lasted around one week and it was bizarrely scary and weird. I knew stuff wasn’t real but it sure seemed real. Strange people slipping into our house — somehow — and staying hidden so that when I wanted to reveal them to my wife, they would suddenly disappear. I saw writing on the walls and on the floor and on the ceiling … and I saw them on the airplane when we were flying to Alaska last January.
Okay, enough about that topic. Maybe I’ll talk more about it, someday. I’m happier if I don’t.
There’s so much in life to enjoy, and there’s so much that I do enjoy. I can still write pretty well, though I’m slow at it. I can’t read my hand-writing (nobody can). Hey , I taught my seven-year old granddaughter how to play chess, and she’s become a good player quickly. We try to play online, the two of us, and today she beat me two out of three. She’s up in Alaska where it is gorgeous right now. I still enjoy cooking. I’m working on learning how to make good gluten-free breads, pizza dough, and stuff that Michelle can eat and enjoy. I tell you, having Ciliac is tough. I’m hoping they can find a cure soon.
I haven’t done much with my web presence the past dozen years or so. I’ve figured out that I’m not very good at web site setup stuff, and I really DON’T enjoy doing it. In a sense, it’s just an extension of my main hobby, which is writing. I’m not making a profit, but neither am I losing too much.
I haven’t advertised the Johnny Stevens Pioneer Adventures series too much because I was waiting to get the third book done, but it took me seven years to get that book written. It’s just days away from going public (well, maybe a month and a half).
I have two large crates of stories, letters, and family historry from my great-grandfather (my mom’s grandfather), who grew up in Iowa and moved to Nebraska when he was a child (well, he went with his family, not by himself). Anyway, they had a situation involving a large tribe of Northern Cheyenne Indians, and that’s what the new book is about. It’s real history. I have a couple of fictional plot lines going orthoganally to the main story line just to make it more fun for the kids, but it’s a neat story. My great-great grandfather was a bit of a hero. He was in the Nebraska state legislature once upon a time.
Okay, that’s enough for now. Just wanted to say Hey to y’all. Cheers!
Apex, North Carolina, is a modest town—or at least it proudly thinks it is. There are some good people in Apex. But, like any growing burb, Apex has its rough sorts, its tough sorts, its gruff, grammar-challenged sorts. Like any other citizen consumed with worry for our withering way with words, I do my duty. I am a Grammar Cop. My name is Friday, Joel Friday. It started off as an easy day, so easy in fact that it occurred to me I might finish my work early. I started off with two “Hopefully” cases. (“Hopefully” modifies a verb, often incorrectly.) “Hopefully the oranges won’t rot.” Are the oranges hopeful, or are YOU hopeful. “I am hopeful the oranges won’t rot” is certainly different than, “Hopefully, the oranges won’t rot.” “Hopefully, the airplane won’t crash” was the other infraction. How could an airplane act in a hopeful manner? Sigh. Now, there are indeed instances where hopefully is correct, e.g., “Hopefully, the concert crowd waited for the rain delay to clear.” The other case I had this morning was the ubiquitous nauseous versus nauseated. The standard grammar rule used to be this: If you are feeling discomfort, perhaps you are nauseated. One who is nauseous is one who is causing some other being to be nauseated. A classic response to someone who claims, “I am really nauseous,” is to answer with, “I couldn’t agree more.” “Jack, I’m nauseous this morning.” “Larry, I don’t think you are. You’re fine this morning. Now, yesterday was a different matter. You wore your old gym clothes in the office and I thought you were quite nauseous, mostly nauseous, and, in fact, totally nauseous. I was nauseated all evening.” A “Nausea infraction” involves only a warning, whereas a “Hopefully violation” is considered a misdemeanor. While my partner, Bill, was checking out a rumor from an informant about a possible “its versus it’s” violation, I overheard a blatant use of lie/lay/lain. I cringed; I choked; I coughed; and then I confronted the lingual lunatics. “You there,” I shouted, “lying on othe sidewalk,” as I spied two teenagers on a blanket; they were looking up at the early morning smog. “What are you doing here?” “We’re just laying on the sidewalk looking at the sky,” they responded, clearly annoyed at me. “You’re lying.” “No, I’m telling the truth.” “You aren’t laying anything … I see no eggs, I see no flatware or silverware that you may lay on a table. I don’t think you’re lying—that is, you are trying to tell the truth—but you certainly are lying on the sidewalk.” “Could I lie on a street bench?” “Certainly.” “Could I lie on a train?” “Sure, if you had a sleeping berth and/or you weren’t telling the truth.” “So I lied yesterday?” “No, you lay yesterday.” “I lay yesterday?” “Well, if you said a falsehood, then you lied yesterday.” “Do I lie something down?”
“You lay something down. In fact, yesterday you laid down a floor mat, or you laid down the law for a roommate. You have laid in the past; and you will be laying someday in the future.” “So … today I lie in my bed; yesterday I lay in my bed; I have … then what?” she asked. “You have lain in bed, and you have been lying in bed.” I lay on the bench next to them. “So, again, are you telling the truth, or are you lying?” “I am lying, I am telling the truth,” I chuckled. “Friday, Friday, come in Friday,” squelched my Radio Communications Device, “We have a desert/ dessert conflict on Park Avenue, an intense discussion on wake, woke, waken, and awaken—I’d avoid that one, if I were you—and an argument on how to use myriad correctly. Any help would be … um … helpful. I ran to the car. People saw me run to the car. While I was running to the car, I suddenly reached it. Indeed, I had run to the car. Happy was I. I like being a Grammar Cop. Most people appreciate being told the folly of their ways. And it helps me trying to be generous, aiming to instruct and lift up, not condemn or tear down. Grammar is fun and I want people to experience that . Hooray for Grammar! Cheers for Grammar! Accolades for Grammar! Now, get back to your writing!
“Uh, hello. Who is this and uh … dost thou knowest that of which ye speaketh?”
“What?” screeched a familiar, old, raspy voice.
“Aunt Ruth? Is that you?” I asked, mildy annoyed. My clock was displaying 2:14 a.m.
“My voice may be familiar, but it’s not old and it’s not raspy, my Nauseating Nephew.”
All I could do was issue a silent sigh. We sat there a moment or two in early morning quietude.
“Nephew, this reminds me of a scary movie I watched tonight where a sweet potato was trying to hunt down this spud who was eating other potatoes.”
“Uh, I’m not familiar with that movie,” I said, hoping she would just go away and I could go back to sleep.
“Yep, the movie was, ‘The Silence of the Yams’). It was pretty scary, though I’ll say that most of the folks who read this may not be familiar with the real movie and may not get the play on words … but that’s okay because I can demonstrate the problem (with this.)”
“Whoa! Wait!” I shouted. “What does this mean?”
“Wh-what,” she stammered. “What’s wrong?”
“You ended your previous sentence with a close-parenthesis, a period, and a closing double-quote.”
“Well, Nephew, I know that when you end a sentence with a quote, generally the period comes inside the ending quote mark. in America, but I do believe it’s reverse in the UK).”
Correct: Charlotte interrupted Mrs. Clandestine, saying, “Mrs. C, I found Felicity in the microwave.” Incorrect: Charlotte interrupted Mrs. Clandestine, saying, “Mrs. C, I found Felicity in the microwave“.
“Great Scot!” I blurted.
“Oh, don’t worry,” said Aunt Ruth. “The cat saw the door ajar and seized a place of refuge, presumably away from Mrs. C,” she chuckled.
“Whew! Anyway, your example was fine,” I concurred, giving her a slap on the back.
“Cough … cough,” she coughed.
“And I know,” she continued, “that when you have a phrase ending with a parenthesis and a period, if the full sentence is parenthesized (is that a word?) then you have the period followed by the parenthesis. That is, the whole sentence is enveloped by the parentheses. For example:”
Correct: Norville thought, “I don’t like mean dogs.” (Max is a nice dog.) Incorrect: Norville thought, “I don’t like mean dogs.” (Max is a nice dog).
“But … Naughty Nephew … what do you do when you have the period, parenthesis, and mixed together?”
“Mixed, as in with a hand whisk, or mixed, as in with a Kitchen-Aid mixer?”
“I’d vote Kitchen-Aid,” she declared.
“Okay, me too.”
I mean, what if you had:
Norville thought, “I don’t like mean dogs (or sheep).”
“Well, Aunt Ruth, I think this works because the closing parenthetical phrase is not a sentence, so the period should be outside the closing parenthesis. And the closing quote goes outside the period. In other words, we’re golden. Next question?”
“But … but … what if the parenthetical clause and the quote are not nested but overlap, lilke:
Norville thought (really, “I don’t like cats, (mean dogs, or sheep).)”
“Aunt Ruth, look at the ending characters: ).)”
“This is confusing,” she moaned.
“Tell me about it. But it’s not hard. We have a paren, followed by a period, followed by a paren, followed by double quote marks. The first paren closes the phrase ‘mean dogs, or sheep). The period is outside this paren because it’s a phrase, not a full sentence. The next paren tries to close off the phrase that Norville thought. But it doesn’t work because the first double quote mark is inside the left paren. That could lead to all kinds of problems.”
“All kinds? Like melted chocolate in your pocket, flat tires, and swarming locusts?”
“Uh, not that kind … but a grammatical conundrum.”
“I saw one of those once.”
“One of which?” I asked, utterly confused.
“I was at a convent, you know, an abbey, and two women were playing percussion. They called it the co-nun-drum.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes. I could do that since this was only a phone call and she couldn’t see me.
“Did you just roll your eyes?”
“How did you –“
“I heard them.”
“Look, Aunt Ruth, I need to get some sleep. So, back to the lesson … the issue seems to be that quotes and parentheses need to be nested (one pair inside the other pair) and not overlap.
“Nosy Nephew, can you think of any examples where that’s not true? Where you can actually have …”…….( ….”…)
Aha! I remember there’s a rule that says one needs to be able to lift the parenthetical expression out of the statement and the statement should still make sense.
“Aunt Ruth, you’ve uncovered a dilemma I hadn’t thought of until now. You’re a genius.”
“Ahh,” she blushed. “You’re too kind. Can I get that statement in writing, notarized, certified, and cast in bronze or something?”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll accept that.”
“Now, Aunt Ruth, let’s think about this. If we remove the outer parenthetical phrase, we end up with: Norville thought”
Thus, and thusly say I thee unto thou, what we learned today is that if you have quoted phrases and/or parenthetical phrases and they are nested inside each other (rather than overlapping boundaries, where they don’t all match up), then we could have problems and incorrect sentences.
“And,” laughed Aunt Ruth, “that would be most horrible (indeed).”
ABBVIE 951 I’ve been involved in this clinical trial for the last three years (since the beginning). What is it?
Aggvie-951 is the injection of the drug that turns into dopamine (when it crosses the blood-brain barrier). The injection is sub-cutaneous—that is, just below the skin—and somehow these little dopamine-wannabes end up in the blood stream and into the brain. So the pump is about the size of a small cell phone, back before phones were super small. Think “flip phone opened up.” I hang it from my neck with a string/rope that keeps the pump dangling down so the bottom of the pump is adjecent to my belly button. The tubing from the pump to the injection point (the cannula) is maybe 14-18 inches long, and it lives under your shirt while you’re wearing the pump. (You are wearing the pump 24×7 except when you take it off to shower or when you make a “personal decision” that it should be off for a while. (Don’t keep it off more than an hour though or you’ll have to start all over for the day.
The great part about it is … no more levodopa pills! The problem with the pills is that food can block it. Proteins can block it too. When I’d wake up in the morning (OFF because I haven’t taken any levodopa for 8 or 9 hours) it would take an hour or two waiting for the pills to kick in. With the subcutaneous delivery, I’m …. almost always on. It’s wonderful waking up and already being on!
Now, when you are ON, it doesn’t mean that you’re reversing anything. ON is when you’re doing the best you can do considering where you are with PD.
There are a couple of downsides to the pump. Whereas the drugs from the pills “build up” in the system a little bit, the drugs from the pump don’t. That is, if the pump is off (you need to take it off for reasons such as taking a shower)you are not getting dopamine into the brain. At least, that’s the feeling I’ve experienced.
You need to change the “cannula” every three days: that is, you need to move the port where the injection occurs every three days). That’s kind of a problem because we could only use our abdominal area, and I quickly developed a lot of scar tissue there. I was in really good shape going in to the clinical trial, but after a year of the cannulas on the belly, my stomach looked like a minefield after a major war.
The pump and cannula can not be submerged in water. I haven’t gone swimming in three years, and I miss it. You have to be very meticulous about being “laboratory clean.” I’ve gotten site infections three or four times and they can be nasty and quite painful. I haven’t had an infection in over a year, so I must be doing something right.
Now, recently, we’ve been allowed to put the cannulas in other places, such as the backs of the arms, and the “back fat” (known as “love handles”) and that works well. The only issue there is that you won’t be able to administer the connection of the pump to the cannula because you won’t be able to reach it.
The first game I watched as a Nebraska Cornhusker fan—my parents are NU grads, my grandmother was a NU grad, various aunts, uncles, and cousins (and second cousins, etc.) are NU grads. And my great-grandfather received his Law degree from NU. So it kind of runs in the family. My youngest son almost went to NU. They gave him a good offer, a really good offer. He turned it down, but he’s a big Husker fan. In fact, he and I will be flying out for a game in Lincoln this fall—was against the Colorado Buffaloes. I was in fourth grade and was just getting into football. (I was a baseball fan long before taking up football. Dad was at work, but Mom sat down and watched the game with me, explaining what was what and who was who and why we were so much better than the other team (if I’m not mistaken, Colorado finished third that year, maybe fourth. I’ll get to that again later.)
(That was a long introductory paragraph. Sorry.)
So we (we being NU, of course) held off a determined Buffalo team, 24-7. Or maybe it was 21-7. Somewhere in there, anyway. The win kept us in first place in the national polls, first in the Big Eight conference, and ready for a showdown with Oklahoma. The game was in Norman, OK. Going into the game, it was crazy. NU and OU were spectacular teams. One of them was #1 in offense, and one was #1 in defense. I didn’t remember which way it was.
But the #2 teams in offense and defense were these same two teams. Okay, so NU and OU were #1 in just abouteverything. Chuck Fairbanks was coach at OU. Bob Devaney, with assistant Tom Osborne in the wings, coached the Huskers that day. And if you’ve read this far into this article, you already know that the game was called “Game of the Century.” The game was magnificent. solid on both sides of the line, with both offense and defense of each team doing some spectacular things. Perhaps the most impressive play was Johnny Rodgers’ amazing 74-yard punt return for touchdown. That was fairly early in the game and it sort of set the tone. We watched the game on television at my cousins’ home in Fremont, Nebraska. Well, we watched the TV, but we listened to the radio and Lyle Bremser’s broadcast of the game on KFAB Radio, your Cornhusker radio station. We won the game, 31-30.
Then it was off to the Orange Bowl. For the game, Dad went out and bought our first colored television set. That really made the game fun to watch! We played against the Alabama Crimson Tide, coached by Bear Bryant. The analysts were all saying that ‘Bama would trounce the Huskers since Bryant had much more experience in championship games than did Devaney. So, going into the game, NU was #1, Alabama was #2, followed by OU at #3 and (I think) CU at #4, though that might not be right. Anyway, we trounced the Tide, 38-6. Johnny Rodgers had another punt return … I think he ran for three touchdowns, had the punt return, and he threw a TD pass to Frosty Anderson (if I remember correctly.)
That was our second national championship in two years (we had beaten LSU in the championship game the previous year). We had a dry spell for about twenty years after that. We had good seasons but just couldn’t bring the trophy home. We ALMOST did in 1983-4 when we played Miami in the Orange Bowl and lost when our two-point attempt at the end failed. We lost 31-30 (I think). I was there in the marching band … it was a tough loss.
That’s enough for now. I’ll be glad to share more about those early years later. Cheers.
I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention. You either know this or you don’t. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up and say that it’s well-known that the dream of every young American boy is to grow up to be a great major league baseball player. You might be either a great hitter or a great pitcher — certainly not both.
The informal rules have changed and an epiphany has happened right before our very eyes. There is one player in the majors right now who has changed the fabric of how we view the game. He is oustanding as a hitter and outstanding as a pitcher. In fact, he’s possibly the best overall hitter in the majors at this moment. He’s leading the majors with 26 homers as of today. He’s also leading in RBIs (runs batted in ).
Shohei Ohtani hails from Japan. The Angels signed him (I think) in 2017. He came in and starred for a while, but then he got injured and had Tommy John surgery, forcing him to sit out a year. Then Covid happened. So it wasn’t until 2021 that he really blossomed into both a superb pitcher and batter. He won MVP in 2021. In 2022 he had another stellar season, finishing second in MVP voting. And in 2023, he’s on track for another MVP if he keeps going the way he’s going.
As a hitter, he hits the ball HARD … that ball may end up in orbit one of these days. His form is perfect — he gets his full body strength into the swing and his arms zoom through the swing.
At www.mlb.com you’ll usually see an article or two on his latest heroics. Pretty amazing.
As a pitcher, he’s fast (102 mph) but has a large variety of pitches in his arsenal, including a slider that’s next to impossible to get any wood on it at all. His sense of arm motion and fingertip ball control is such that he’s been known to see a pitch one night — a pitch that baffles him and causes him to strike — and then he’ll figure it out and be throwing that same pitch by the next game.
Anyway, what I really intended to write about was the JOY that Shohei brings to the game. The guy smiles. He works hard, yes. He’s busting his buns out there on the field. But he’s enjoying the game.
Not since Hank Aaron have I rooted for a player so cheerfully. I was the happiest fan on the planet when Hank hit his 715th in 1974.
In many ways, Ohtani reminds me of Hank. He’s not trying to get the most money or the acclaIm and all the fame. He wants to play ball. He does want to play on a good team — the Angels are good right now, playing above .500 ball and only 6 games back from the top spot at the moment. With Mike Trout and some other up-and-coming hitters in the lineup, they’ll be winning more games than not. (example: They beat Colorado 25-1 a couple of nights ago).
I don’t know anything about Shohei’s disposition, but he seems like a genuinely good guy. He’s the new face of American baseball. That’s awesome.
So I had a dream the other night and it all led back to a scandal in Lincoln, Nebraska — home of the Cornhuskers — where the NU fan base was infiltrated by a devious Oklahoma resident. His goal was to bring down the Husker Dynasty. (As an aside, I checked the data and from 1961 through 1999, Nebraska had more wins than any other team in college football. That includes championship seasons in ’70, ’71, ’94, ’95, and ’97. I like to tell people that during the first five years of my older son’s life, the Huskers were 60 – 3. Not bad.)
You’ll hear more about the Huskers over upcoming months. The first game of the season is against the Minnesota gophers, in Minneapolis on Aug 31 (like in 2 months 10 days). We toyed with the idea of going to the game. My folks could drive up from La Crescent, and Michelle’s got a brother and sister-in-law who live in Minneapolis. Game ticket prices were too high, though, for an out-of-town game.
Oh, but back to the dream. Yes, a plot was afoot. Several Oklahoma folks (Sooners) infiltrated the Husker Fan base and convinced us (Huskers) that we should drop more games so that the fans would be even more excited when we do win. Sounds complicated and not a little obtuse.
It’s been a while since we’ve had a winning season. It occurs to me that some good has come out of it … I can now relate to other fans and say, “Now I know what Iowa State fans must have felt their whole lives.” (just kidding)
A couple of us (me and somebody) will be going to Lincoln for a couple of home games this fall. That will be fun. Lincoln is lovely in the fall. It’s roughly 20 hours of driving, one way. Likely to take the slightly longer route, going over to Kansas City and eating at Jack Stack’s (best barbecue in the country) before heading up and over to Lincoln. We’ll see.
New coach, new QB, new team. It’s been dismal the past few years (where few is equal to about 20). It’s time for the Red Sea to rise.
“Day by day (day by day!)… we get better and better (we get better and better) … till we’re a team that can’t be beat … (can’t be beat) … won’t be beat … (won’t be beat!)”
My wife and I visit with our grandkids as often as possible, and we’ve been doing some traveling (including Alaska four or five times in the past couple of years). We love Alaska and would move there in a heartbeat if it weren’t so far from our kids and grandkids (except for the ones that live here, of course). Every where you turn, there’s another photo op, a postcard of real life.
Just north of Anchorage … May, 2023
Rock-hopping in AlaskaCamping in Indiana on the way to RAGBRAI 2019Brothers and Placid Quake: Born to Be Wild, not in Alaska
