As we speak, Cincinnati Red legends Barry Larkin and Ken Griffey, Junior have been dispatched to the 51st state of Cuba by El Presidente Obama on a humanitarian mission, the focus of which is to lend aid and comfort and batting practice bombs to The Land That Time Forgot. Speaking of bombs, dig the '57 Chevy photo bomb (above, right) cruising the streets of Havana. Here is the news as it broke.
Looks to me like Griffey could still crush a dozen Dunkin' Donuts!
Above, Larkin and Junior disembark from Junior's private 777 DreamGriffey jet at Atanasio Perez International Airport. Since Karl Marx proscribed private ownership, I have appropriated these photos for my own Imperialist use as they cannot belong to any one individual in Cuba. Just for that, here's another:
Holla, Adam Smith!
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This past Sunday morning while lacing my boots, wrapping a scarf around my neck, layering up, putting on my coat and pulling on gloves to head outside and shovel snow for the 800th time this winter, I happened to catch a CBS Sunday Morning segment about the so-called tragedy of some moronic, selfish, no-talent Hollywood junkie who recently overdosed. Speaking as a well-established fanatic of such overdosed luminaries as Keith Moon, John Entwistle and John Belushi - to name but three - let's understand one thing. The only tragedy is that which has befallen his kids. That is a deeply saddening tragedy, but that is also where the tragedy ends. It most certainly is sad for his family, friends, and fans (if in fact he had any) but the "tragedy" is not theirs. Keith Moon, for all his talents and for whatever light he cast upon the lives of those who knew him, was a moron for using and abusing drugs to the extent that he killed himself. Keith Moon gets no sympathy from me for going out the way he did and neither does whomever this newest junkie is [read: was].
The only reason this junkie's demise merits any reference here is because there has been comparatively little exposition on the recent passing of a true icon of Truth, Justice and the American Way; Shirley Temple. "Little Curly Top" was a 2-time Ambassador (Ghana and Czechoslovakia), a Representative to the U.N. General Assembly, a tireless WW2 war bond fund raiser, breast cancer survivor and a lifelong Republican. This other guy was just a bum. So forget him and whatever he is purported to have achieved in his professional career. This week, if you mourn the passing of any Hollywood-types, give your solemnity to Shirley Temple.
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Speaking of untimely passing:
In the Sport of Kings, there is a tendency for aficionados to create attachments to marvels of the equine world which we may have seen race - and, usually, win - in person and/or wagered upon and/or perhaps, yes, won money on. Such is one small aspect of horse racing. In 1994, I saw Holy Bull dispatch the field in that year's Blue Grass Stakes at Keeneland. Full disclosure, I cashed a sizable winning ticket that day on Holy Bull, but I became a loyal fan of his the instant he crossed under the wire. I hate people, but I love that horse.
In the course of reading the Daily Racing Form around Breeders' Cup weekend, one sometimes reviews the past performances of a foreign horse, the successful accomplishments of which are awe inspiring. Yet those horses rarely race on our fruited plains of amber waving grains and so we respect them from afar, and with some degree of personal disconnect. One who did race - and win, in the 2011 Breeders' Cup Turf - here was St Nicholas Abbey. Full disclosure, I cashed a sizable winning ticket on him that afternoon. The BC Turf victory drew me into the fold as a fan of St Nicholas Abbey.
In sports, as in life, sometimes dark days befall the undeserving.
Less than two years later, while in training in the summer of 2013, St Nicholas Abbey suffered a fractured leg. The efforts to save Barbaro have dramatically advanced the techniques used to save horses from such catastrophic injuries and tremendous resources were mobilized to save St Nicholas Abbey.
On January 14th, St Nicholas Abbey's recovery took a sudden, surprising turn for the worse and the end came. Here are two articles about the life and, particularly, death of St Nicholas Abbey which you might be interested in reading:
First, ESPN's Amanda Duckworth's column. Life isn't fair and not everyone gets the ending - good or bad - that they deserve, writes Amanda. She accurately, if bluntly, crystallizes the ultimate fate of St Nicholas Abbey this way; It all just seemed so brutally unfair. It is akin to surviving a particularly deadly form of cancer, only to get hit by a bus as you neared the end of your treatments.
Second, a longer and more detailed posting from Steve Haskin at The Blood-Horse. Some stories are not destined to have happy endings, begins his exhaustive piece.
The sacrifices made by these horses - horses such as Barbaro and St Nicholas Abbey - and the sacrifices made on behalf of these horses are to be lauded. Some day these herculean medical efforts will contribute to advances which will save all horses from potentially catastrophic injuries, not simply thoroughbred race horses.
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Finally, from the A Day Late and a Dollar Short file, I discovered these few items which serve to corroborate my lowly opinion of John, Paul, George & Richard:
1) Hamilton County, Ohio (Cincinnati) Juvenile Court Judge Notta Prude waxes obliquely on the nefarious nature of Liverpool's native sons. Don't strip off the veneer of civilization!
2) One of the most important lessons I learned in high school was that chicks dig Rod Stewart. Ergo, being a fan of Rod the Mod was one way to ingratiate myself with those cute girls one year ahead of me. Herewith, I give you Rod Stewart's opinion on the matter.
3) The leading music industry publication, "Faux News" as my witty radical Left-Wing anti-American crypto-communist extremist friends prefer to call Fox News, published this article naming 11 bands better than the Mop-Tops. 11 was being generous as one could easily name 50 better bands but, I am certain, space constraints limited the list to 11. Plus, there are other reasons why 11 is a reverential number in the Kingdom of Rock. What? You were expecting Rolling Stone magazine? All such lists are generated to create buzz and, as such, ubiquitously include an entry or two intended only to draw attention. The
Roll the credits!
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