There is a new holiday making its way into the world this spring. It is known as Baseballius (pronounced bās-bôl-ē-əs) and it is the celebration of the opening of the Major League Baseball season. It is intended to take the place of Easter for those who are not religious, don’t like the paganism of that holiday or are just disturbed by the idea that a giant rabbit colors chicken eggs and leaves them in people’s yards.
The date will vary from year to year at the discretion of the MLB Commissioner. However, the primary day will be the first Monday of the season. In recent years, the first game has taken place on Sunday night. That will simply be known as Baseballius Eve. That evening it is the responsibility of every parent to read Casey at the Bat to their children before they go to bed. The story will provide visions of strikeouts and Home Runs dancing in their head.
When the children have finally fallen asleep and long after the final out of the game, the parents hide their children’s ball gloves around the house. It’s okay to let the kids know that the parents hide the gloves. But if you want to add to the mystery of the day, tell your kids that it is the San Diego Chicken who hides all the gifts for the children who have been good. The gloves will be filled with small toys, packs of baseball cards, Cracker Jacks, Peeps and colored eggs. (Chick is okay with the holiday as long as we have colored eggs and Peeps.)
The morning will be filled with shouts of “Play Ball!” as the kids search the house for their glove. “Play Ball” is the traditional greeting for Baseballius. “Happy Opening Day” and “Merry Baseballius” are acceptable as well. And don’t be afraid to give a “Season’s Greetings” as long as you are referring to the baseball season and not a particular religion. Unless you consider baseball to be a religion but I think that is just a Bull Durham thing.
As the kids sort through their cards and watch repeat episodes of SportsCenter the parents prepare for the first game. It would always be preferred to go to an Opening Day game but for most, spending the day in front of the HD TV will suffice. Either way everyone must wear their favorite players’ jersey or at least the team colors.
The Baseballius meal consists of hot dogs, peanuts, soft pretzels, popcorn and cotton candy with root beer for the kids and 20 oz. draft beers for the adults. Depending on the mood, and where the dogs are, it’s okay to drop the peanut shells and, really, all the garbage on the floor just like at a ballpark. Just remember that ketchup and mustard are tough stains to get out of carpet.
At the start of the game it is important for everyone to remove their hat and show respect for the National Anthem. It is not really necessary to sing along but it is a tradition to bet whether or not the person singing will hit the high note on “…the land of the freeeeeee!” If you happen to be in Toronto and are listening to Oh! Canada, well then there is not much you can do other than be happy you aren’t in Montreal.
The first pitch is the high point of the day. If your team is on the field and the first pitch is a strike your team will have a winning season. If you’re at the plate and your first batter gets a hit, your team will have a winning season. If the first pitch hits the batter and breaks a bone then both teams are headed for the cellar.
Unfortunately, the results of the games on Opening Day really don’t mean much. For all of the teams it is just 1/162nd of the season and a single game won’t likely determine a team’s fate. The same can be said for all of the fans. Baseballius is just the beginning of a holiday season that lasts seven months – Christmas is jealous. But the pleasure and happiness of the beginning of another baseball season can’t be matched.
Play Ball!
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Friday, March 17, 2006
Alligators Revisited
On the last evening of our Florida vacation Dad and I decided to do a little more fishing. We had both just won money on a couple of college basketball games and we were feeling lucky. So we might as well see how the fishing gods were feeling that day.
The gods were not pleased with me. On my second cast I hooked a fish but it broke my line. I was using 8-pound test line but some of these fish were big - very big. A few minutes later Dad snapped his line reeling one in too. As we were both sitting in the grass tying our lures I noticed a pair of alligator eyes pop out of the water. It was about 15 fifteen feet off the shore and about fifty feet to my right. I felt okay with the distance but it was close enough to check on every time I casted.
Meanwhile, Dad hooked another big fish, bigger than the last one that got away. But he was working it good and it looked as if he was going to bring him in. It jumped in the air about ten feet out and we saw that it was a snook. And it was with that splash that I noticed the alligator moving.
Dad worked the fish in the rest of the way and laid it flat on the grass. The alligator kept coming. "Um, Dad that gator is kind of moving toward us." He was oblivious as he shined in the glow of his huge catch. The snook was every bit of two-feet long and I couldn't guess as to how much it weighed. It was by far the largest fish we caught all week.
"Dad really, you need to turn around and look at the alligator. Dad!" With that last yell he turned to see the gator and immediately ran up the hill. I was close behind him. When we got to a safe distance we turned around and watched as the gator slowly crept out of the lake and grabbed the fish by the tail. The snook flapped once or twice and the gator shook his head back and forth. He rose up on his front legs as if he was posing for us. Or at least he was trying to say something like "thanks for dinner, boys!" Then he jumped around and dove into the lake.
We were amazed. With our hearts thumping we called a few people and started telling our story. Most people thought we were nuts but enough of them believed us. A few hours later on the way home from dinner Dad got a call from his friend and neighbor, Glenn. He had been out of town when Dad told him our story earlier. But when he got home his wife told him how she was sitting on the back porch watching the sunset when an alligator came out of the water with a big silver fish in its mouth. She said it sat there still for a few minutes then with one big movement tossed the fish in the air and ate it in one bite. So at least our story has some confirmation.
Boy, Florida is dangerous.
The gods were not pleased with me. On my second cast I hooked a fish but it broke my line. I was using 8-pound test line but some of these fish were big - very big. A few minutes later Dad snapped his line reeling one in too. As we were both sitting in the grass tying our lures I noticed a pair of alligator eyes pop out of the water. It was about 15 fifteen feet off the shore and about fifty feet to my right. I felt okay with the distance but it was close enough to check on every time I casted.
Meanwhile, Dad hooked another big fish, bigger than the last one that got away. But he was working it good and it looked as if he was going to bring him in. It jumped in the air about ten feet out and we saw that it was a snook. And it was with that splash that I noticed the alligator moving.
Dad worked the fish in the rest of the way and laid it flat on the grass. The alligator kept coming. "Um, Dad that gator is kind of moving toward us." He was oblivious as he shined in the glow of his huge catch. The snook was every bit of two-feet long and I couldn't guess as to how much it weighed. It was by far the largest fish we caught all week.
"Dad really, you need to turn around and look at the alligator. Dad!" With that last yell he turned to see the gator and immediately ran up the hill. I was close behind him. When we got to a safe distance we turned around and watched as the gator slowly crept out of the lake and grabbed the fish by the tail. The snook flapped once or twice and the gator shook his head back and forth. He rose up on his front legs as if he was posing for us. Or at least he was trying to say something like "thanks for dinner, boys!" Then he jumped around and dove into the lake.
We were amazed. With our hearts thumping we called a few people and started telling our story. Most people thought we were nuts but enough of them believed us. A few hours later on the way home from dinner Dad got a call from his friend and neighbor, Glenn. He had been out of town when Dad told him our story earlier. But when he got home his wife told him how she was sitting on the back porch watching the sunset when an alligator came out of the water with a big silver fish in its mouth. She said it sat there still for a few minutes then with one big movement tossed the fish in the air and ate it in one bite. So at least our story has some confirmation.
Boy, Florida is dangerous.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Alligators are Overrated
Did you know that alligators are cold blooded and gain body heat by basking in the sun? Okay so most people know that but most people haven't seen one apply baby oil to its belly. The hard part, really, is getting the cap off the bottle.
Right now, as I type, there is a lake about 50 yards away from this computer that more than a few gators call home. We've been watching them all day but they don't really do much. If they are up on the shore and you get too close to them - like within 48 yards - they head back to the lake. And then you only see their eyes. But it's still enough to cast a fishing line right over them.
The Wally Gator Show premiered in 1962. The theme song went like this:
Wally Gator is a swinging alligator in the swamp.
He's the greatest perculator when he really starts to romp.
There has never been a greater operator in the swamp.
See ya later, Wally Gator.
I caught a couple of fish today but Chick caught more. She is a natural born fisherbabe. Dad, who lives here, has never caught a fish out of this particular lake. But I don't think he tries very often. The fishing was really Chick's idea. She's not afraid of Wally. Dad is.
Alligators have sensory pits along their jaws that detect changes in water pressure helping them to detect prey.
I have eaten alligator once or twice. It tastes a lot like chicken. But not in the same way that frog legs taste like chicken. Gator tastes like chicken in the same way that Emu tastes like beef. It's not chewy like Octopus but it does have the same zest to it like South Pacific Eel. But it really isn't like seafood, it's gamier like Rhinocerous. But not nearly as pricy. Of course it's best served on a bed of rice with a nice box of White Zinfadel.
In 1996 the University of Florida Gators won their first football National Championship.
Tomorrow we are headed to the beach where we hope to find no alligators. They should only be living in fresh or brackish waters. But maybe we'll come across some sharks. Boy, Florida is dangerous!
Right now, as I type, there is a lake about 50 yards away from this computer that more than a few gators call home. We've been watching them all day but they don't really do much. If they are up on the shore and you get too close to them - like within 48 yards - they head back to the lake. And then you only see their eyes. But it's still enough to cast a fishing line right over them.
The Wally Gator Show premiered in 1962. The theme song went like this:
Wally Gator is a swinging alligator in the swamp.
He's the greatest perculator when he really starts to romp.
There has never been a greater operator in the swamp.
See ya later, Wally Gator.
I caught a couple of fish today but Chick caught more. She is a natural born fisherbabe. Dad, who lives here, has never caught a fish out of this particular lake. But I don't think he tries very often. The fishing was really Chick's idea. She's not afraid of Wally. Dad is.
Alligators have sensory pits along their jaws that detect changes in water pressure helping them to detect prey.
I have eaten alligator once or twice. It tastes a lot like chicken. But not in the same way that frog legs taste like chicken. Gator tastes like chicken in the same way that Emu tastes like beef. It's not chewy like Octopus but it does have the same zest to it like South Pacific Eel. But it really isn't like seafood, it's gamier like Rhinocerous. But not nearly as pricy. Of course it's best served on a bed of rice with a nice box of White Zinfadel.
In 1996 the University of Florida Gators won their first football National Championship.
Tomorrow we are headed to the beach where we hope to find no alligators. They should only be living in fresh or brackish waters. But maybe we'll come across some sharks. Boy, Florida is dangerous!
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
I Wish I Had Something to Say
For those of you that think it is easy coming up with creative, intellegent and engaging topics to write about everyday, well, try it for yourself sometime. I feel a need and a desire to create but nothing is really popping in my mind. So you'll just have to put up with this crap...
The death pool has changed drastically of late. I really didn't think Dana Reeve was in such bad health. But I am most troubled by Don Knots. I am glad no one actually chose him in the Circling Buzzards - he would have been on my exemption list with Joe Nuxhall and Hugh Hefner. But I am happy to see all of the tributes to the great comedian in The Andy Griffith Show marathons. And if you don't like Mayberry you shouldn't be drinking with Otis in the Garden.
I want to write about the Patriot Guard Riders. They are the group of bikers that show up to funerals of military personnel to stop the protests of the Jesus freaks who want to kill all the homosexuals in the country. Actually the bible thumpers are protesting the military for protecting a nation that harbors homosexuals. So they show up to funerals with signs that read things like "Your son deserved to die because he was protecting fags!" But I really don't want to discuss it. Not because we don't discuss politics and/or religious beliefs in the Garden. Mainly I don't want to discuss it because it makes me want to vomit.
So....
We are heading to Florida on Friday. It will be Mo's first vacation and I am sure she will enjoy it. I don't know if we will make it to the beach but we'll certainly spend plenty of time at the pool. She has her sunglasses, bikini and floppy hat. We hope to make it to a ballgame but we ran into a snag. The closest team to see is the Red Sox and they are completely sold out. For Spring Training! So now I officially hate the Red Sox. Before they won the World Series two years ago I always appreciated them as being the underdog. But now that they won the title with the second largest salary in the history of the game they are nothing but big market bullies. It's not my fault the Yankees beat the crap out of you for so many years. The least you could do is let me see my favorite team take you on in March!
The death pool has changed drastically of late. I really didn't think Dana Reeve was in such bad health. But I am most troubled by Don Knots. I am glad no one actually chose him in the Circling Buzzards - he would have been on my exemption list with Joe Nuxhall and Hugh Hefner. But I am happy to see all of the tributes to the great comedian in The Andy Griffith Show marathons. And if you don't like Mayberry you shouldn't be drinking with Otis in the Garden.
I want to write about the Patriot Guard Riders. They are the group of bikers that show up to funerals of military personnel to stop the protests of the Jesus freaks who want to kill all the homosexuals in the country. Actually the bible thumpers are protesting the military for protecting a nation that harbors homosexuals. So they show up to funerals with signs that read things like "Your son deserved to die because he was protecting fags!" But I really don't want to discuss it. Not because we don't discuss politics and/or religious beliefs in the Garden. Mainly I don't want to discuss it because it makes me want to vomit.
So....
We are heading to Florida on Friday. It will be Mo's first vacation and I am sure she will enjoy it. I don't know if we will make it to the beach but we'll certainly spend plenty of time at the pool. She has her sunglasses, bikini and floppy hat. We hope to make it to a ballgame but we ran into a snag. The closest team to see is the Red Sox and they are completely sold out. For Spring Training! So now I officially hate the Red Sox. Before they won the World Series two years ago I always appreciated them as being the underdog. But now that they won the title with the second largest salary in the history of the game they are nothing but big market bullies. It's not my fault the Yankees beat the crap out of you for so many years. The least you could do is let me see my favorite team take you on in March!
Friday, March 03, 2006
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
I Hate Weddings
Have you ever spent the day with the Chicken Dance in your head? I don't know how it got there and I'm having a hard time getting rid of it. I tried the Electric Avenue trick - you know, Eddy Grant, "We're gonna rock down to...Electric Avenue." Well that normally gets horrible songs out of your head. But apparently not the Chicken Dance.
I guess I ruined the record pace I was on last month. I was writing great the first two weeks of February and then I hit a wall. It comes and it goes. I have been writing quite a bit for GetSportsInfo as baseball season nears. Along with a number of team previews I now contribute Tribe Talk. It's a weekly Cleveland Indians report that will carry through the season. And in April I will resume Points to Ponder every Sunday - it's a good way to ramble on about baseball so I don't have to do it here.
I've actually been quite busy today. Along with some baseball research and of course taking care of Mo, I have done some serious spring cleaning. Hey, it's March - that's spring to me. So I've dusted and scrubbed and I think I have vacummed every room in the house. Of course with the vaccum cleaner in my right hand I can only do half of the Chicken Dance.
Next weekend Chick, Mo and I will head south for Florida to visit the grandparents. It sure will be nice to take a break from the rough life I have. The original plan was for me and Mo to spend a few weeks down there for Spring Training. But that wasn't very fair to the Dogs - and Chick. So the three of us are just staying for a week. I hope to catch at least one baseball game. I've never been to a spring training game. I wonder if it's like minor league games where they play the Chicken Dance at the seventh inning stretch?
For the record I don't really hate weddings. I mean, I try not to hate anything. But like most men I certainly don't enjoy attending wedding receptions. And one of the primary reasons for that dislike is the Chicken Dance. I am fairly sure that particular song would not be known past pre-schoolers if not for weddings. No rational, mature adult should be happy about doing the Chicken Dance. Of course that's also true about the Electric Slide but that's a topic for another day.
I guess I ruined the record pace I was on last month. I was writing great the first two weeks of February and then I hit a wall. It comes and it goes. I have been writing quite a bit for GetSportsInfo as baseball season nears. Along with a number of team previews I now contribute Tribe Talk. It's a weekly Cleveland Indians report that will carry through the season. And in April I will resume Points to Ponder every Sunday - it's a good way to ramble on about baseball so I don't have to do it here.
I've actually been quite busy today. Along with some baseball research and of course taking care of Mo, I have done some serious spring cleaning. Hey, it's March - that's spring to me. So I've dusted and scrubbed and I think I have vacummed every room in the house. Of course with the vaccum cleaner in my right hand I can only do half of the Chicken Dance.
Next weekend Chick, Mo and I will head south for Florida to visit the grandparents. It sure will be nice to take a break from the rough life I have. The original plan was for me and Mo to spend a few weeks down there for Spring Training. But that wasn't very fair to the Dogs - and Chick. So the three of us are just staying for a week. I hope to catch at least one baseball game. I've never been to a spring training game. I wonder if it's like minor league games where they play the Chicken Dance at the seventh inning stretch?
For the record I don't really hate weddings. I mean, I try not to hate anything. But like most men I certainly don't enjoy attending wedding receptions. And one of the primary reasons for that dislike is the Chicken Dance. I am fairly sure that particular song would not be known past pre-schoolers if not for weddings. No rational, mature adult should be happy about doing the Chicken Dance. Of course that's also true about the Electric Slide but that's a topic for another day.
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