In The News

I’m no fan of the news. I don’t need reporters to get me depressed, but two items filtered through to me this week.

The first is the results of a study on brain function. According to… whoever they are, older brains slow down and memory lapses happen for the exact reason old people have claimed since Oog forgot where he left his club. 

 The brain gets too crammed with stuff. The more useless crap you commit to memory, the less space you have for new memories and concepts.

My New Year’s resolution is to forget everything I ever knew about 

Kim Kardashian

Justin Bieber

Ben Affleck

Jennifer Lopez

Donald Trump

and my 12^th grade French teacher.

That ought to free up enough space for a few more blog entries.

The second news bit is more disturbing.

Major League Baseball has decided to institute manager challenges into their expanded instant replay policy.

Why, you might ask (if you hadn’t already deleted it from your memory,) does that disturb me? After all, with manager challenges many of the injustices of the past (such as the non-call of interference against Ed Armbruster of the Reds in Game Three of the ’75 World Series,) might never have happened. 

 There’d be fewer angry outbursts (such as I had at my 12^th grade French teacher the day after Game Three of the ’75 World Series.) Players and fans would have lower blood pressure, fewer stains from thrown beer and hotdogs, and everyone would hold hands during the 7^th inning stretch and sing, Kumbaya.

See what I mean? Yup, baseball will be truly boring if they go ahead with this.

Worst of all, the best thing about baseball will disappear entirely.

Your fondest baseball memory might be a home run by your favorite player, a perfect game by your favorite pitcher, or the World Series getting over so they stopped pre-empting your favorite Donald Trump, Kim Kardashian or Jennifer Lopez related reality show. My favorite memories are of 

Tommy Lasorda

Billy Martin

Lou Piniella

or the master of them all - Earl Weaver going nose-to-nose with the umpire, maybe kicking some dirt, and blowing a neck vein before being ejected from the game.

That’s entertainment.

Sadly, all we have to look forward to now… is the game.  When the manager disagrees - he yawns and throws a red flag.

Kinda slow, huh?

Well, at least you won’t have to clog up your memory with it.

Tale of Two Seasons

So… Holiday Season, Huh?

I borrowed from the local library that timeless Holiday treat, the Ken Burns Documentary, Baseball.

Shoot me – Christmas is not my favorite season.

It being early December, I found the two themes merging - especially as Burn’s depiction of the steroid scandals produced visions of sugar-pills dancing in my head.

Deck the Arms with THG

by Headley Hauser

Tis the season to hit homers

falalalala lala la la

Be a star and not a roamer

falalalala lala la la

Practice hard and toil and lug more

falalalala lala la la

Of send your agent to the drug store

falalalala lala la la

Deck your arms with THG

falalalala lala la la

Hit thirty homers instead of three

falalalala lala la la

Erasing marks from by-gone ages

falalalala lala la la

Clubhouse full of steroid rages

falalalala lala la la

 

We are now the mighty gloved ones

falalalala lala la la

Who cares if we beat our loved ones

falalalala lala la la

Some complain about our stat-ploy

falalalala lala la la

Wouldn’t want to be the bat boy

falalalala lala la la

Let’s be fair, PADs (performance affecting drugs) are as American as marijuana brownies, and a constant part of baseball tradition. Dwight Gooden (and the 86 Mets)

couldn’t have beaten my beloved Red Sox without their white powder. Until recent decades, chewing tobacco was practically issued to every ballplayer, not only to calm their nerves at the plate, but to give spitballs that little something extra. Booze was such an important part of the game that several teams were owned by beer barons. Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle got so wasted that they weren’t even hung over until the 7^th inning stretch.

So let’s stop being so hypocritical and embrace our chemically pumped heroes of the last generation. Heck, put a statue of Balco in the Hall of Fame.

We wish you a Merry Andro

We wish you a Merry Andro

We wish you a Merry Andro

And a bottle of clear

You’ll play like a dream

Long as you use the cream

We wish you a Merry Andro

And a bottle of clear.

As far as Christmas is concerned – you think a few ho-ho-hos enable “eight tiny reindeer” to push a fat man and several billion toys around the earth in less than 24 hours?

 

Vaguely related video