3.2.2022 – balls strikes baseball strikes

balls strikes baseball strikes
outs out at the plate lock out
cant go home again

I loved baseball.

It took me a long to time to get there.

My family was a big baseball family.

My Dad, because they were available on the radio from Chicago in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where grew up, was a Cubs fan.

Back then, teams like the Detroit Tigers argued about the wisdom of having every game on the radio.

My brothers and sisters grew up Tiger fans.

I was 8 when the Tigers won the World Series in 1968.

Back when all the games were played at 3pm on the afternoon so kids at my school, Crestview Elementary were sneaking small, transistor AM radios into class.

At that point I was not a fan.

Baseball and sports, any sport just took too much time and I had so many things to do with all that time in childhood.

There were Gilligan’s Island reruns and Bugs Bunny cartoons to watch and books to read.

Sometime in the summer of I think around1975, I was out with my Dad on a late night drive and he had the Cubs on the radio from Chicago.

My Dad always had the Cubs on.

Not only could we sing the song the started Cubs broadcasts,

Let’s go – batter up – we’re takin’ the afternoon off

it’s a beautiful day for a ballgame for a ballgame today

the fans are out to get a ticket or two from Wala Wala Washington to Kalamazoo

it’s a beautiful day for a homerun but even a triple’s ok

we’re gonna cheer and boo and raise a hullabaloo at the ballgame today

The Chicago Cubs are on the Air!

But we could sing most of the commercials as well.

“You can take Salem out the country BUT ...”

Vince Lloyd and Lou Boudreau

Don’t know who they were playing but they had a new first baseman named Bill Buckner.

Buckner was a good player with a decent bat but he had a bad leg and was still recovering from the original injury that would later come back to haunt him BIG TIME.

It seems he was on first and tried to stretch make to third on a hit.

Vince Lloyd and Lou Boudreau were the radio team and they about fell out of the booth describing the action.

Outfielder bobbles the ball.”

Buckner makes the turn at 2nd, going to try for third.”

“Here’s the throw …

Boudreau starts yelling “RUN BUCK RUN BUCK – – DIVE

Heres the play

He is …..

HE MADE IT HE MADE IT!!!

BUCKNER SAFE AT THIRD.”

I don’t know why.

It was one of those warm, humid nights you get in West Michigan.

The car windows were open.

It was dark with the car lights showing up as big beams in the steamy air.

In the words of Bob Seger, “It was sweet summertime summertime.

And I got bit by baseball.

I started watching and listening a lot more often.

And I discovered baseball writing as well.

Some of the best writing in America has been about baseball, both fiction and non fiction.

Bill Bryson’s father was an award sports editor of the Newspaper in Des Moines, Iowa.

A city without any major league sports.

Yet Bill Bryson, Sr. got into an anthology of his account of the famous Bill Mazeroski’s 9th inning World Series Winning Game 7 Home Run writing, “Pittsburgh’s steel mills couldn’t have made more noise than the crowd in this ancient park did when Mazeroski smashed Yankee Ralph Terry’s second pitch of the 9th inning. By the time the ball sailed over the ivy-covered brick wall, the rush from the stands had begun and these sudden madmen threatened to keep Maz from touching the plate with the run that beat the lordly Yankees, 10-9 for the title.

I joined the Socitey for American Baseball Research long before SABRMETRICS came along to mess up the game.

Out of college I had an opportunity to interview for a research position with the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown and I drove home on cloud nine when the Director told me he couldn’t offer the job but was penciling me into the lineup.

I still bear in mind the name of guy on the letter than came a few weeks later announcing who got the job.

The came the strikes.

The first one I really remember in the mid 80’s I was thrilled when it was settled.

Then came the strike in the 90s

To this day baseball folks talk about how many fans were lost in the 1994–95 strike.

I was one of them.

It wasn’t so much that when they returned to work, the two things they went out on strike over were left unsettled.

But that the 1994 season was left unfinished.

It just ended.

And still …

That fall when the season would have been over, for some reason I never been able to find or have explained, the season ending awards, MVP, Cy Young, Gold Gloves, were all made for the part the season that had played.

And that, to this day, for me, broke off my relationship with baseball.

I have not been to a major league game since.

I went often to a local minor league team in West Michigan and enjoyed watch kids playing for a chance as much as playing the game.

And the game itself, the putting the ball over the plate and taking the round bat and a round ball and try to hit it square.

I might watch a World Series game for a few minutes.

But a fan?

Baseball is still important for many, but inessential for most.

Today I read in the Guardian, “In a country where the federal minimum wage is $7.25 an hour, the optics are tricky when a representative such as the pitcher Max Scherzer, who agreed a three-year, $130m contract with the New York Mets last November, is one of the faces of a union complaining that an annual salary of $570,500 is stingy.”

So much money.

So much greed.

I guess Mark Twain was right.

He said this in a speech at Delmonico’s, April 8, 1889.

The very symbol, the outward and visible expression of the drive, and push, and rush and struggle of the raging, tearing, booming nineteenth century!”

If I think about America today, Major League Baseball is indeed the very symbol, the outward and visible expression of the drive, and push, and rush and struggle of the raging, tearing, booming all summed up in one allegoric greedy one for me and all for me business.

I think I go to the beach.

Might as well as can’t go home again.

3.1.2022 – frame approximate

frame approximate
parameters reality
surprise keep coming

Once the war in Ukraine started, I often found it difficult to write a haiku on a daily basis.

To fill in those gaps, I turned to this entry, originally posted on March 6, 2022 and created several haiku to fill in gaps.

Please forgive this effort on my part to produce a daily haiku in retrograde fashion but as I like to say, my blog my rules.

Suffice it to say, this entry may not have been created on this date and this essay was not written for today but then the essay itself is somewhat timeless in its application.

Thanks

MJH

——–

Adapted from the article, The world is unpredictable and strange. Still, there is hope in the madness by Rebecca Solnit and the paragraph in particular that states:

Despair is a delusion of confidence that asserts it knows what’s coming, perhaps a tool of those who like to feel in control, even if just of the facts, when in reality, we can frame approximate parameters, but the surprises keep coming.

Anyone who makes a definitive declaration about what the future will bring is not dealing in facts.

The world we live in today was utterly unforeseen and unimaginable on many counts, the world that is coming is something we can work toward but not something we can foresee.

We need to have confidence that surprise and uncertainty are unshakable principles, if we want to have confidence in something.

And recognize that in that uncertainty is room to act, to try to shape a future that will be determined by what we do in the present.

Recognize that in that uncertainty is room to act.

I have been told that the symbol of Ukraine is the sunflower.

I find it, well, comforting, or fitting, or entirely appropriate that Vincent Van Gogh let out so much of his expression through sunflowers.

While I agree and endorse that We need to have confidence that surprise and uncertainty are unshakable principles, if we want to have confidence in something.

I agree too with the statement that the world we live in today was utterly unforeseen and unimaginable on many counts.

But I also am comforted knowing that when the when Moses came down Mt. Sinai with the 10 commandments and he wrote the the first five books of the Bible, God knew that it wouldn’t be long until I was reading those books on something called an iPhone.

2.28.2022 – have confidence that

shape future that will
be determined by what we
do in the present

Once the war in Ukraine started, I often found it difficult to write a haiku on a daily basis.

To fill in those gaps, I turned to this entry, originally posted on March 6, 2022 and created several haiku to fill in gaps.

Please forgive this effort on my part to produce a daily haiku in retrograde fashion but as I like to say, my blog my rules.

Suffice it to say, this entry may not have been created on this date and this essay was not written for today but then the essay itself is somewhat timeless in its application.

Thanks

MJH

——–

Adapted from the article, The world is unpredictable and strange. Still, there is hope in the madness by Rebecca Solnit and the paragraph in particular that states:

Despair is a delusion of confidence that asserts it knows what’s coming, perhaps a tool of those who like to feel in control, even if just of the facts, when in reality, we can frame approximate parameters, but the surprises keep coming.

Anyone who makes a definitive declaration about what the future will bring is not dealing in facts.

The world we live in today was utterly unforeseen and unimaginable on many counts, the world that is coming is something we can work toward but not something we can foresee.

We need to have confidence that surprise and uncertainty are unshakable principles, if we want to have confidence in something.

And recognize that in that uncertainty is room to act, to try to shape a future that will be determined by what we do in the present.

Recognize that in that uncertainty is room to act.

I have been told that the symbol of Ukraine is the sunflower.

I find it, well, comforting, or fitting, or entirely appropriate that Vincent Van Gogh let out so much of his expression through sunflowers.

While I agree and endorse that We need to have confidence that surprise and uncertainty are unshakable principles, if we want to have confidence in something.

I agree too with the statement that the world we live in today was utterly unforeseen and unimaginable on many counts.

But I also am comforted knowing that when the when Moses came down Mt. Sinai with the 10 commandments and he wrote the the first five books of the Bible, God knew that it wouldn’t be long until I was reading those books on something called an iPhone.

2.27.2022 – at the violet hour

at the violet hour
eyes turn upward from the desk
human engine waits

Part of the series of Haiku inspired by The Wasteland by T.S. Eliot and the article, ‘It takes your hand off the panic button’: TS Eliot’s The Waste Land 100 years on by Andrew Dickson.

Mr. Dickson asks, ‘Is it genuinely one of the greatest works in the language, or – as the poet once claimed – just “a piece of rhythmical grumbling“?’

Readers of this blog may remember that from time to time I struggle with the weight of effort of producing a daily Haiku and any thoughts I may have about the words and time that went in the Haiku that day.

This daily schedule of missing a day can bring on a personal mental paralysis wherein writing these entries becomes impossible.

I learned to deal with this by not dealing with it and let it go.

Then when I look at my register of entries and see blank days with no post, I will grab a topic or book or poem for a source and produce a series of Haiku to fill in those blank dates.

This is one of the great benefits of this effort being my blog and my blog, my rules.

It IS cricket because I say it is.

It is ‘according to Hoyle’ because I say it is.

Thus I have this series based on ‘The Wasteland.’

A thoroughly enjoyable connection of wordplay and source of endless discussion in the search for meaning.

For myself, I like that bit about a piece of rhythmical grumbling by Mr. Eliot so said Mr. Eliot.

I have remembered this story before in these posts, but it reminds me of a story told by the actor Rex Harrison.

Mr. Harrison recounted rehearsing a play by George Bernard-Shaw and that the company was having a difficult time with a certain scene when, wonder of wonder, Bernard-Shaw himself dropped by to watch rehearsal.

Mr. Harrison tells how great this was as they went to the play write and asked how did he see this scene – what was he striving for?

Bernard-Shaw asked for a script and read over the scene, read it over again and a third time, then looked up and said, “This is rather bad isn’t it.”

2.26.2022 – boats of mine boating

boats of mine boating
other little children shall
bring my boats ashore

Adapted from Where Go the Boats? by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894).

Dark brown is the river.
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on either hand.

Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating—
Where will all come home?

On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.

Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.

I thought it was fitting that Mr. Stevenson also wrote Treasure Island and I was on an island, looking at these boats, with my Granddaughter Dallas and all I could think was the verse in the Bible, For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also (Matthew 6:21).

And my treasure wasn’t in the boats.

I also cannot help but think of my sixth grade class at Crestview Elementary School in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

As I think of it, many of my teachers started the day reading to us.

Saying that I realize that for the years, 4th, 5th and 6th grade, I had 2 teachers.

Miss Critchell was my teacher for 4th and 5th and Mr. Vanderwheel was my teacher in 6th grade.

Miss Critchell was a rookie and Mr. Vanderwheel had been at Crestview forever.

I can picture them in the mornings getting coffee and Miss Critchell having a nervous stomach about walking into the classroom and not knowing where to begin and Mr. Vanderwheel saying something like, “you know what works for me …”

We would all gather on the playground and blacktop as we called it, outside the school doors and wait for the first bell.

That was the signal to line up by class in front of the glass doors that led into the scool.

Crestview was U shaped and had an entrances to the building off the blacktop at the top of each arm of the U.

Facing the school looking at the top of the U, the left hand side was the 4th thru 6th grade side.

The big kids.

The side that had one large set of boys and girls restrooms off the main hallway.

The right hand side was the K thru 3rd grade side.

The little kids.

The rooms on this side had restrooms in the classroom which was great when you had to throw up.

The restroom in the Kindergarten was an in-room restroom and for some reason, the light switch was on the outside. This made for great fun when someone was in the restroom and the light could be turned off by anybody else.

Not that I would have done anything like that.

That first bell would ring and we would all line up.

We lived so close that many times my Mom would yell, “I heard the first bell!” and we would run out the door still getting dressed or eating a pop tart.

We lived a block down the hill from school and could hear all the bells as they rang.

Every once in a while due to power surge or outage or something those bells would go off on their own.

Sometimes on weekends and sometimes even in the summer.

Time change weekend always seemed to mess them up.

One time I remember, but I don’t remember how old I was, they went off in the middle of the night and rang for what seems like over an hour.

We always wondered who got in trouble for that one and we knew someone got in trouble because our neighbor across the street was Mrs. Schad, who was Chairperson of the school board for as long as I was in school and we knew she had to have been woken up by the sound of the bell as well.

Maybe that is why they got turned off.

As an aside, for the longest time the Grand Rapids Public Schools never closed, never missed a day, for snowy weather. When Mrs. Schad would be interviewed by local media, she would always say she looked out her window and the children were having no problem getting to school.

Those children were US.

We often talked about walking out into the snow and collapsing in fatigue in front of her house but we never did.

After the first bell, all the teachers came and lined up at the different entrances.

The hallways that ended at the top of the arms of the U were walled with glass windows and the doors were steel framed glass and the teachers would all stand there looking out at their day waiting to burst in on them.

Then the second bell would ring and the doors would open and we would file in and tramp down to our class room.

The halls were lined with long rows of pegs and we would hang up our coats and arrange boots and mittens and hats.

In the winter and on rainy days, the hallways were a swamp and everything was damp.

As fast as we could, we got into our classrooms and sat at our assigned seats.

I can’t remember if there was one more bell or if the clock just got to 9AM but the day would start when the two flag monitors, a boy and a girl, chosen by rotation, we all had to take a turn, would walk to the front of the class to spread the flag that stood in the front of the classroom.

One kid took a corner of the flag and stretched the flag out best they could.

The other kid grabbed a hold of the flag pole so the flag wouldn’t fall down.

With right hand over heart, (because the heart was on the right and your right hand was the hand ‘closest’ to the heart – at least that’s what I remember being told) we recited the pledge of allegiance.

I have to ask, is this still done today?

With the pledge over we would sing a patriotic song , usually America the Beautiful or America (My Country ’tis of thee).

I always wanted to sing the “Internationale”.

I didn’t know the words but I knew OF the song from some where in my reading.

Years later in the movie UNSTRUNG HEROS where the little kid hero sings the Internationale and is dragged out in the hallway yelling about rights for the oppressed workers of the world, I was seeing a missed opportunity.

With the song over, we all sat at our desks, the flag monitors returned to their seats and when I was in 4th, 5th and 6th grade, the teacher took out a book and began to read out loud.

Miss Critchell read Charlottes Web, Trumpet of the Swan and Henry Huggins books as I remember it.

Mr. Vanderwheel read “Treasure Island”.

I don’t know if it is a sign of my old age or what, but in my mind, in my memory, I cannot recall anything as spellbinding as Mr. Vanderwheel reading that old book.

Think of that great word.

Spellbinding.

As if bound by a spell.

That is just what it was like.

I know I was taken over by the story and it seems to me that I wasn’t the only one as the classroom was STILL.

Spellbound.

Mr. Vanderwheel made the story come alive.

I wasn’t just listening to the reading.

I was there.

To this day, I will take a square of paper and draw a black circle on it and write 7PM on it. Then I’ll give the paper to someone or leave it on their desk and walk away. Every once in a while, someone would say ‘A BLACK SPOT, Oh no!!”, but I haven’t had anyone figure out what I was doing in forever.

Mr. Vanderwheel just read, with some affectation to his voice for the pirates arrrrrrrgh and Ben Gunn’s voice asking for cheese, but for the most part he let the words trigger our own imagination.

Mr. Vanderwheel also was watching the text and knew the story so that he would be reading something like, “‘There was a Knock on the door. Jim opened the door and ….’ and then Mr. Vanderwheel would pause and say, “We’ll stop right there this morning.”

And the class would go “oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Treasure Island has been made into a movie 4 or 5 times and I have seen them all and been disappointed in them all.

None of the movies can come close to the way I saw it my mind when Mr. Vanderwheel read to us each morning.

The morning reading accomplished a lot things and eased the class into each day but it also an incredible gift.

I look at all the gadgets and items available to day that offer to stimulate learning and imagination.

All the games, devices, videos and such and all the wonderful things kids have today.

And I think of Mr. Vanderwheel reading and I remember my sixth grade class.

And I feel sorry for kids today.