Thanks, Tigers. See you in the Spring!

Over the next few days, maybe longer, pundits will opine about the unfortunate turn of events for the Tigers during the American League Championship Series.  In case you missed it, the Boston Red Sox were successful in slamming the door on Detroit’s hopes for a World Series appearance. We had every reason to hope for games in October. An incomparable starting pitcher rotation boasted (1) a Cy Young prospect, (2) the lowest ERA in baseball, and (3) one who is arguably the all-around best pitcher in the Majors. Even against the best winning record in baseball during 2013, the odds seemed to be in favor of “our” boys.

Some will say that Manager Jim Leyland is at fault, and a case can be made against his unrelenting dedication to a philosophy that favors pitch count over almost anything else.  Why is it that Scherzer has not pitched a complete game in over 170 starts? When the bull pen showed itself to be weak and unpredictable, why didn’t Leyland leave his starters in so they could either pitch out of a jam or make it worse and take responsibility for losses? They are grown men and they would have stood up to that.  I’ve voiced these questions too, so I stand accused. In the end we can’t get inside the mind of the manager, but if we could I think we’d find a simple explanation: He plays percentages, based on what he believes to be good evidence that his hurlers are only good to a point, namely 120 or so pitches.  He is predictable.

But I won’t put the blame on Leyland for being consistent when I know that every sport demands consistency of performance from its gladiators, the ones who put it on the line day after day, season after season and must pay the unfortunate price of disapproval of fans or worse, job loss when they lose.  I won’t blame this manager for doing what everyone knows ahead of time he will do. We have watched his ways closely since he came to Detroit and lest we forget, led the Tigers to the Fall Classic in his first season.  Oh how we loved him then! So when he did what he did this year (and before) and it didn’t turn out as we wanted, who is to blame? Is it the manager himself, or the ones who hired him and have supported him all along? If I’m looking for blame, I have to go above his head.

Nor can I blame the players. That is a pursuit that is both easy and unrewarding. It’s easy because no matter where the fault lies, we all can make a case for our personal choice, and argue over beer until closing time. It’s unrewarding because no one wins those debates.  No, I won’t look for blame, and here’s why: No matter who we are, only those who put it on the line day after day can say what it’s like to be in their shoes. No one can tell us what it’s like to be Prince Fielder, to take Detroit by storm in his first year and then fall back to (only) his career average in the midst of a family crisis. None of us knows what it’s like to be Justin Verlander, to have everyone expecting you to be perfect every time you take the mound. None of us knows what it’s like to play with Cabrera’s or Avila’s daily pain, to risk further injury out of sheer passion for the game they love. We don’t know what’s in Miguel’s mind lumbering down to first on a ground ball to deep short. In spite of how it looks, I happen to believe he’s screaming inside and would give anything to run flat out. If you love this game, you know what I’m talking about. To pull the plug on him is to remove life support. And unless we have been there, none of us knows what it’s like to be called into a game from the bull pen with all the mess created by someone else staring at you. Are your shoulders that broad?

I am looking for a little respect for my heroes who make summer afternoons and evenings so enjoyable. I have nothing but gratitude for these men. Yes, they are well paid, but in the end they can’t even take all the blame for a senseless system that has run a muck by financial craziness.  Yes, it costs way too much for a ticket to the park. Don’t even mention the hot dogs.  But all of us who are fortunate to attend games are apparently willing to continue to pay whatever it costs. Are we not accessories?

Baseball is a game and you either love it or not. But here’s the point: We don’t judge people for their opinions about baseball. Why do we bring such judgment upon the ones who in the vast majority of instances bring such high quality performance? These are athletes, coaches and mentors who have achieved a level of which the rest of us can only dream.  If we are going to judge the players, judge them on character. Judge them for not living up to professional ethics. Judge them for behavior unbecoming of role models for our kids. But when it comes to performance, unless you think you can do better, lay off. Nobody’s perfect, and nobody is more embarrassed or frustrated when things go bad than the players, coaches and manager. I’ve noticed that when they are interviewed after a game, they repeatedly express appreciation for their fans. They praise the city of Detroit and her fans. Yet too often what they get in return is childish banter in social media. It’s useless because it lacks the whole body of knowledge that resides inside the clubhouse and on the field (if we know so much how come we aren’t on the field). Never, I mean never, have I heard one of them bite the hand that feeds them. You want an example of a prima donna? I give you fans who complain and think we deserve more than what is humanly possible. Give me a break. Better yet, give them a break.

If you love the game, then you can’t wait for next year. All others may feel free to put a lid on it. 

Of Brendan, Beethoven, Beatles and Baseball

We were blessed this summer by a visit from our 18 yr-old grandson. I suppose that’s not a huge event in the minds of many. But our son and his family relocated to California a year ago, a move precipitated by our son’s job. So for us, the 2-weeks that Brendan spent in Michigan using our home as his base camp were a God-send, the airline ticket purchased at his own expense. A 2013 high school graduate, he is looking forward to basic training in October at Ft. Benning, where his goal is to begin training to eventually become an Army Ranger.  So he came to Michigan this summer to make the rounds with friends and family, a sort of last hurrah before enlisting his body, mind and soul to the honorable pursuit of serving in the Army.

            But that is Brendan, or “Big Red” as his grandmother affectionately dubbed him when at age 12 his height surpassed hers. He is one who loves a challenge and who as a young child surprised everyone with is achievement-oriented choices. He has studied the facts, and knows the arduous road ahead for him.  He also knows that over 50 percent of soldiers drop out in the Ranger Assessment and Selection Program, and that once selected for Ranger School, three out of five wash out in the first week. A quick web search gives this:

For those soldiers who would like to be part of the elite specially trained unit called the Army Rangers, there is much to be considered. Preparation to be a Ranger takes more than just sheer determination. In addition to physical strength, resilience and grit, it demands mental fortitude. Once a soldier has made it through the first phases of training, which includes nine weeks of boot camp, several more weeks of Advanced Individual Training and three weeks of Army Airborne School, he is assigned to the 75th Ranger Regiment and is ready to begin the US Army Ranger Indoctrination Program and eventually Army Ranger School.

            Believe me when I tell you that Brendan is an uncommon man. After knowing him since he was seven when our son married his mother, and especially now after two weeks with him, I am convinced he has the determination to accomplish whatever he sets his mind to do. And the Army isn’t the only plan he has. While serving his country, Brendan plans to take college level courses to prepare him for law school when the Army is done taking a significant portion of his hide. He’s not only ambitious, he’s smart.

            And there’s more. In those two weeks with us, he carved out space to visit three great-grandparents who live in assisted living centers and detailed our two cars. He spent time with other family members, fishing with 2 uncles, and on two separate occasions went to a White Caps game and dinner with another grandparent. He attended two Detroit Tiger ball games (one with us, one with friends) and watched them on several other occasions from our family room. He visited a special uncle and aunt of mine in Livonia, baked 4 dozen cookies and two cheesecakes, most of which he gave away to family. We saw two movies, hit 2 buckets of golf balls, and he crushed me at the bowling alley. On our way to Detroit he hooked up his phone to our car radio to entertain us with an assortment of music from Beethoven to the Beetles  (how in God’s name does he do that?), helped us understand our Nintendo Wii games that have been mostly unused for two years, and tutored us on our smart phones. 

            Yes, I’m bragging, so what’s my point? Everybody with grandchildren brags on them, right? More than the long list of accomplishments in these two weeks, I admire the character behind his actions. Teenagers, so we hear, are self-absorbed; focused only on that which brings them the most satisfaction. In the face of that and other unfortunate myths about today’s adolescents, I give you Brendan, the antithesis of that pessimistic labeling. And if there is one iota of hope in you for the future of America, hang that hope on Brendan and his contemporaries, because while he is uncommon, I wager there are millions like him, more or less, living admirable lives, who will not only give unselfishly of themselves; they will forge a path for others in their generation who haven’t yet awakened, and for their younger siblings who are looking for role models.

           Hats off to Big Red and his generation. Of course I am biased when it comes to family; but I will gladly place our future in the hands of the likes of Brendan.  Anybody who loves both Beethoven and the Beetles has my attention, respect and considerable appreciation. 

Eat That Frog

March 4, 2013

One year for Christmas Grand Rapids DS Laurie Haller gave a book to district clergy entitled, Eat That Frog. The thesis is that if the first thing you do every morning is to eat a frog, the rest of the day is a piece of cake. The metaphor, for me, comes in the form of morning exercise.  

I would not choose to eat that frog if I could do anything else, but thanks to our daughter Angie, whose employment with the YMCA got me a deal for a Y membership, I started in January to drive the 6 miles to the Belmont Y, a.k.a. The Wolverine World Wide YMCA (give credit where credit’s due, I have been taught). Remind me to thank Angie for providing me with the frog.

The workout takes about 1 ½ to 2 hours out of the day, and I must say I feel better for it. And indeed, it’s true: the cake I eat the rest of the day tastes oh so much sweeter.

Anyway, when two couples, good friends, gave Judy and me a retirement gift of a week at each of their neighboring Orange Beach condominiums in mid-winter, we of course rejoiced over the gift. I was even more overjoyed when they reassured us there was a workout room, swimming pool and tennis courts at the condo. I wouldn’t have to return home several pounds heavier and in the same out-of-shape condition in which I entered retirement. How sweet it is!

When I entered the exercise room and gawked at the complete set of state-of-the-art machines, I was relieved – it’s just like the Belmont Y. Beautiful! I can do my usual workout and avoid the guilt of returning home with lots of ground to make up.

There’s only one minor difference between the two locations: The Y in Belmont provides TV monitors where you can watch the news or a movie while you exercise. The workout room in Orange Beach provides a view of the Gulf of Mexico. So instead of listening to Matt, Savannah, Al and Natalie, I’m drinking in a sunrise on the silver-blue waters of the Gulf, along with a white-sand beach that is out of this world.

Sorry, Today Show team, there is no comparison.

I think when I return home I’ll print out one of those photos that Judy took, take it to the Belmont Y and tape it over Matt and Co. If they won’t let me do that, I’ll just close my eyes, and think of good times with friends, the sea, and the frog that tastes oh so much better when accompanied by one of God’s most amazing sites.

Thank you good friends; thank you Angie; thank you God: Frogs aren’t so bad after all.