Ranch Easter 2014

This past holiday Sunday, the family paid a visit to The Ranch to celebrate the Trinity of Easter; the Resurrection, Reds baseball & Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs.  Here was the reaction (below), immediately after the above picture was taken, when the scoreless Reds left runners on base for the second consecutive inning:

"Grrr!"

At least we had sweet treats to tide us over until the Reds finally put a hurtin' on Jude's toothless Cubbies.

We did witness an Easter miracle when Cubs first baseman Anthony Rizzo made the worst defensive play in the history of organized baseball.  Rizzo fielded cleanly a routine ground ball off the bat of Red center fielder Billy Hamilton, trotted the few paces to step on the bag in order to retire "BH6" on a force out but the Cincinnati speedster beat Rizzo to first base.  This was simultaneously hilarious and horrific.  Immediately following the play, I textified Jude a cheerful Easter Sunday message;  Anthony Rizzo hates life!  

Funny, but I never heard back from Jude.

All this foregoing exuberance served as preamble to the traditional Easter egg hunt.  First, there was the explanation of Rules of Engagement.

The Disney XD Girls were unimpressed with my litany of regulations.  And then they were off!

Big Brother Lou bravely waded hip-deep into the furious action, filming the spectacle with some sort of tablet device.  All very high tech.  My sister-in-law Alison (at right) closely inspects my devious efforts at hiding the colorful prizes.  The girls were forced to range far and wide:

At the conclusion of the hunt, it was time to pose for the ceremonial Easter photograph next to the Easter Egg Tree [note: it's not actually a tree].

Somewhere around here I have a photograph of me and Lou standing next to this same flora, wearing our Sunday finest, from an Easter now long-past (probably circa 1974).  Would've made for an interesting contrast of Easter Sundays, 40 years apart..... had I been able to locate the photo.

Next on the agenda was an early-bird dinner, followed by dessert.  In what is fast becoming a new family holiday tradition, each of the Disney XD Girls bakes/decorates their own cake.

Twice the holiday cake?  Yes, please!

At the end of the evening, as everybody began to mosey for the exit, Alison asked the girls Don't forget to bring your leftover cakes to which I voiced a loud statement of protest.  Luckily for all parties involved, I was granted a generous portion cake.

Long before the evening drew to a conclusion, my youngest niece set about cutting flowers for an Easter bouquet:

She was quite proud of her efforts!

My Dear Elderly Mother is loathe to have her photograph taken, so I must do so surreptitiously.  And often in bad light.

Here she shares a funny conversation with Lou at the kitchen table after dinner.

Roll the credits!

Don't Fence Me In, Just Bring The Dessert Menu

This week's post is brought to you by the letter "D;" desolation, distance and dessert.

The week prior to Reds' Opening Day saw another blast of snow from Old Man Winter.  While it had recently been too warm for the White Death to accumulate, the individual snowflakes were the largest I ever recall having seen:

Despite the valiant effort of my R2 unit, the Android didn't quite capture the scene adequately.  These snowflakes were three inches in diameter (as I write this on the holiest of days for my radical Left-Wing anti-American crypto-communist extremist friends [Tax Day], it's snowing.  Again.)  Later that same day, I found myself exploring the outer reaches of Denmark when I discovered a road sign which misspelled a street name:

Not that it really matters which one is misspelled, I suppose.

My recent travels have taken me to some remote, uncharted territories.  Well, perhaps just a little more often than usual, anyway.  I shot two brief videos of my off-road excursions with my R2 unit last month (March) which you can watch here and here.  This month (April, if you were uncertain) I shot an epic-length video of a drive through a depopulated sector of the Miami Valley.  The video is only partially ruined by brilliant sunlight. 

Remote, uncharted territories is an apt description for nearby regions of SE Indiana.  Not that I'm telling you anything you don't already know.

In the photo above, at center, approximately 8 million miles across this expansive field, is a farm.  There is another farm at right, 12 million light years distant.  I wonder if the inhabitants have ever met? 

For the past 22 years, my expeditions into this wild, untamed province of the Hoosier State have taken me past a once stately old home that fell into abandoned disrepair generations ago:

Its rate of collapse has been glacial but I sense that in recent months it is accelerating.  I thought it was important to photograph before gravity and the elements bring it to complete destruction.  No doubt due to all the genealogical research I've filled my days with over the past few years, and with a strong dose of the semi-amateur historianism that courses through my being, I also felt compelled to employ my information super highway resources in an effort to determine who may have lived there at about the very time this old home was built, if only for purposes of my own entertainment (this is what I do during rain delays of Reds games).

In 1884, this home which sits on the western bank of Indian Creek in Union Township, Union County, Indiana was part of the 136-acre property of a Samuel Bake.  Indian Creek bisected this property, just west of the (one-time) census designated place of Contreras (and here, all along, you thought Contreras was just the name of a road).

Speaking of properties bisected by Indian Creek, I had occasion recently to pay a few visits to the non-census designated Ohio locale known as Schlichterville and to one of the eponymously-named families there whose own vast farm occupies both banks of Indian Creek (not photographed nor depicted here).  

As for the old home photographed here:

Both levels of one front corner have fallen away.  One can imagine that it's only a matter of time before the whole structure - as loosely defined by that term as it may be - succumbs.  Pity that no one has had a vested interest in maintaining the grand old place but it must certainly have been too expensive a proposition.  In pausing for the moment to photograph this home and to contemplate when the time comes that it's gone and forgotten has given me another idea for a similar photographic essay which you might see here in the coming weeks.

Across the road from this abandoned home, yet still on the 1884-era property of Samuel Bake, a small barn recently collapsed.

I confess to never having examined this structure very closely before, but calling it a barn - due to its smaller size - might very well be incorrect.  Shed?  Workshop?  I cannot say. 

Driving home from the Reds victory this past Palm Sunday, I was moved to ignore what passes for post-game talk (the so-called "Extra Innings") on 700 WLW and instead searched out on the Jeep Main Battle Tank's radio-and-satellite communications array for some rousing and/or cheerful music.  As seems to so often be the case, I settled upon the vibrant sounds emanating from the satellite radio's Channel 49, Soul Town.

Jamming out to Stax/Volt records' Sam & Dave, I was reminded of the enjoyable email debate I had recently with loyal subscriber Kuertz about which was better; Motown/Tamla or Stax/Volt?  It was a great debate because there isn't a definitively wrong answer and it required us to examine a subject we both appreciate.  While I admit to a certain level of partiality for Motown/Tamla primarily through the influence of its greatest promoter - THE WHO and their mid-1960s brand of Maximum R&B, after protracted consideration I have arrived at the opinion that while Motown/Tamla had more quantity of great music, the best examples of Stax/Volt were marginally superior.

All this driving around can make a guy hungry.  Every time I patronize the Olive Garden (which, regrettably, isn't weekly), I textify Jude a photo of the best dinner your Treasury-inflated greenbacks can buy:

Chicken Parmesan.

The second-best dinner money can buy is another of Jude's favorites and it just happened to be part of a Tax Day promotion - two Boston Market half-chicken dinners for the price of $10.40 (regularly a $16 value).  Get it?  1040?  After putting in a long day at the office, I made the hour-long drive to the nearest Boston Market to get my reward.  Of course, I sent a photo to Jude with the caption; How ya like me now?!

To which J-Kil replied; Strong.

This past Friday I enjoyed a tasty basket of Fish & Chips at a restaurant that employs a wait staff which unfailingly insists on clarifying my Fish & Chips order with, "Do you want fries with that?"  I will not identify the name of this fine chain of eateries other than to provide you with the visual hint, below, of the Jeep Main Battle Tank parked out front:

You'll never guess which restaurant it is.

I capped off my Fish & Chips & Fries with the greatest dessert found in this or any parallel universe:

Hot fudge cake!

Roll the credits!

Spring, And Change, Is In The Air At Keeneland

Last week, Heavy Artillery secret agent code-named BOSS (one of my two sources deep within the Reds organization) alerted me to a critical newsflash within an hour of it being sent across Our Manifest Destiny continent along all telegraph wires and to all ships at sea;  At the conclusion of this year's spring meet, on-going now, Keeneland will replace their maintrack Polytrack (synthetic) racing surface with good old fashioned dirt, just as it was prior to 2006 and as God intended.

The experiment in synthetic racing surfaces began in North America at Turfway Park in 2005 as an effort to reduce catastrophic injuries among thoroughbreds.  Studies suggest this goal was met but, according to various reports, at the cost of an increase in soft-tissue injuries which are attributable to a rise in the rate of career-ending injuries and - in some cases - breakdowns at later points (on non-synthetic surfaces) elsewhere.  Following the lead of Turfway Park and Keeneland, a handful of other racetracks adopted synthetic surfaces, Santa Anita notably among them, but most quickly gave up on the experiment and have since reverted to dirt.  Yet, as is so often the case, there is more to the story from Keeneland's perspective.

Since the 2006 switch to Polytrack, Keeneland's signature event - the Blue Grass Stakes - has slipped into irrelevancy.  For almost 100 years the Blue Grass Stakes served as the final and, as viewed by many, most important prep race for the Kentucky Derby.  However, with Churchill Downs - home to the Kentucky Derby - still operating a dirt main track, virtually all trainers and owners are opting to have their horses prep at race tracks other than Keeneland.  When a track isn't attracting the best horses, it isn't attracting the biggest crowds through the turnstiles that it might otherwise.  When a racetrack isn't attracting the biggest crowds that it could, the track's "handle" (or total cash receipts from gambling) decreases.  It's important at this stage to remember two things;  1) Racetracks care not which horses win or lose, racetracks collect their cut off the top from monies wagered and, 2) As it applies specifically to Keeneland, The Keeneland Association is first and foremost a not-for-profit charitable organization that benefits both equine and human causes.  If receipts/revenues are down, charitable giving is down.

Frankly, there are three health/safety reasons why Keeneland is willing to forgo Polytrack.  First, the decrease in rate of catastrophic injuries was real but statistically marginal.  Second, Keeneland claims to have formulated a new blend of dirt/sand/clay which will be safer than traditional surfaces (we'll see).  Third, advances in equine medical science (research that is funded, in part, by Keeneland) are revolutionizing the care and rehabilitation of injured thoroughbreds.

Yet the most significant reason for why the Keeneland Association made the decision to revert to dirt may have to do with unconfirmed, but persistent, rumors that has Keeneland pursuing the opportunity to someday host the World Thoroughbred Championships aka the Breeders' Cup.  Founded upon the idea that the Championships would travel to a different North American racetrack each year, the event has devolved essentially into a two track spectacle; Churchill Downs and Santa Anita.  Among the principle justifications for this development is that those two tracks belong to a small minority which are able to accommodate a Breeders' Cup-sized crowd of 80,000 or more patrons.  On the occasion of its biggest day - Blue Grass Stakes day - Keeneland welcomes approximately 40,000 patrons.  And believe me when I say those 40k are jammed into every occupiable corner of the facility.  

The idea of Keeneland hosting a Breeders' Cup stirs deep conflicts within my soul. On the surface it seems more than logical that the greatest venue for thoroughbred horse racing found anywhere in this galaxy should host the sport's preeminent international showcase; shouldn't it have been decreed from inception?  I've attended a Breeders' Cup before, back in 2006 at Churchill Downs (and brother, did I ever break the bank!), and I would certainly make every reasonable effort to attend a BC Saturday at Keeneland - assuming I had a reserved seat.  And yet some of the very same characteristics that make Keeneland such an ideal host for the Breeders' Cup would necessarily have to be transformed into unrecognizability in order to be a host site.  The timeless, tidy grandstand and the spacious, park-like vistas would in turn be flanked and obstructed with and by temporary seating accommdations - doubling (or more) the seating capacity - that would mar the setting.  Late arrivals to the Blue Grass Stakes hike half a mile traversing from designated overflow parking to grandstand turnstile (but what a sublime hike it is, through the forest that Keeneland calls its "parking lot").  Keeneland would have to arrange for parking offsite, perhaps just down Versailles Road at neighboring Calumet Farm, and transit patrons.  Speaking of Versailles Road, this particular roadway on the west side of Lexington is already too modest to handle Blue Grass Stakes traffic; I cannot imagine the vehicular nightmare that would be loosed upon Versailles Road on a Breeders' Cup day.  The Lexington International Airport directly across the street isn't large enough to facilitate all the inbound (and outbound, afterward) flights hailing from the four corners of the globe ferrying multi-million dollar horses, trainers, owners, sheikhs, royalty and The B Team Syndicate.

Colour me British-version spelling of sceptical but I don't see how Keeneland can overcome the considerable obstacle of resolving the seating capacity deficit to the satisfaction of the Breeders' Cup steering committee.  I'll believe it only when I see it.

Speaking of the Blue Grass Stakes, this Saturday's renewal (broadcast on something called Fox Sports 1; check your local listings) also marks the 20th anniversary of Holy Bull's remarkable victory in the 1994 running which propelled him into that year's Kentucky Derby as the post time betting favorite.  Written about here more often than most of you'd probably prefer, I was there at Keeneland that afternoon with The B Team and cashed a big winning ticket on Holy Bull.  Holy Bull is the greatest thoroughbred racehorse I've ever seen race in person and he remains among my all-time favorites in the pantheon of The Sport of Kings.  Steve Haskin, writing for The Blood-Horse, recently posted a long piece on Holy Bull titled "Holy Bull's Legend Born 20 Years Ago." As Haskin writes, It's another one of those horse racing stories you can't make up and never get tired of hearing.  Haskin highlights Holy Bull's courageous victory in the 1994 Travers Stakes (at Saratoga Race Course) as illustrative of the horse's competitive ability.  In that Midsummer Derby, Holy Bull held off, by the narrowest of margins, the late charge of a horse named Concern who himself would go on just months later to win that year's Breeders' Cup Classic.  Tom Durkin's call of the '94 Travers Stakes is itself a classic.

I, for one, look forward to the return of dirt to Keeneland, the restoration of esteem and relevancy for the Blue Grass Stakes and to the reestablishment of Keeneland as the crown jewel of American horse racing.

Roll the credits!

Opening Day, 2104 in Photos. And Words. Always With The Words.

Lou and I departed his palatial estate on Monday morning at about 10:30, intent as he was on seeing the start of the Findlay Market parade and its honorary grand marshal for 2014, Big Red Machine shortstop Davey Concepcion.  Arriving downtown we found ourselves shutout of our first few parking options.  Soon we discovered a small gravel lot under an overpass on West 3rd Street.  From there we hoofed it, uphill, towards the parade route.  Along the way I spied a service van parked downtown for Schindler Elevator.  I pointed it out to Lou and said, "Hey, Schindler's Lift."  I kill me.  As has been well-documented here.  By a quarter to noon we had seized a prime position from which to monitor the parade route, the corner of Race and Fifth (in front of Macy's), exactly where the route turns from Race onto Fifth (and heading for Fountain Square). 

The venerable Netherland Plaza Hotel across the street, on the south side of Fifth, this photo (above) was taken 5 minute to noon.  The downtown sidewalks were a sea of red!  Well, and white.  OK, and gray.  And black.  And blue (?!).  C'mon folks!  Get with the program!

The motorcycle divisions of assorted local law enforcement agencies led the way, followed by the newest class of Cincinnati police cadets, followed by CFD trucks (but not the awesome - and massive - heavy rescue truck Lou and I saw rumbling down Central Avenue when we first arrived downtown earlier that morning), then the U.S. Air Force, then.... Alright, skipping ahead a bit... the U.S. Coast Guard!

That's for Claudio, Heavy Artillery's favorite veteran of the USCG.

Across from our position on Race Street a new parking garage is being built.  It didn't make for the most picturesque backdrop for parade photos.

Grand Marshal Dave Concepcion!  With Port-A-Johns in the background.  Good grief!  Next up, Reds starting pitcher Mat Latos (on the Disabled List).....

.....Facing the wrong direction.  With scaffolding in the background.  Riding in the next convertible was Aroldis Chapman (also on the DL).  I couldn't get a decent photo of the Cuban Missile.  Having seen enough, Lou and I met up with Alison for lunch.  Afterward, as per tradition, we escorted my sister-in-law back to her office so that we may have access to her office's executive washroom.  From Alison's office I snapped the usual photo of Fountain Square and the section of the parade route that snakes along side it on Fifth Street:

Then I took another photo (below) which better captured Cincinnati's iconic Carew Tower:

Quality time spent with Alison, Lou and I headed for the Great American Ball Park.  Gates opened at 2:10pm and at that designated hour/minute we strode uninhibited right through the empty gates at Gapper's Alley while 8 million fans thronged the Crosley Terrace.  There's more than one way into the ballyard, peeps.  With ample time to kill, we explored the ballpark searching out all the new features.

Above you see a small portion of the new-for-2014 mile-long bar.  Just around the corner, I took my best-quality photo of the day when we happened across filming of the Reds broadcast pre-game show:

Fox Sports Ohio anchor guy Brian Geisen-..... Giesensl-..... Giesenschlau-..... Brian Geese N' Slaw, at right, interviewing Reds television play-by-play man emeritus George Grande.  Sharp focus, George Grande deep in sober, considered expression, framed by the Power Stacks.  I nailed this photo!  Here's a sample of what George was saying; "The Reds' new manager Bryan Price has really grown, not only as a ballplayer, coach and now skipper, but also as a man."

Overlooking the visitor's bullpen, Lou and I stumbled across a burgeoning controversy.

The St Louis Cardinals bullpen coach (at center, above) was explaining to two members of the Reds grounds crew that the two pitching rubbers at the front of the bullpen didn't square up to the two home plates at the back of the bullpen.  At one point the Redbirds' bullpen coach toed the rubber (baseball phrase) and demonstrated for the Reds grounds crew throwing from the mound and how a pitcher's natural delivery would cause him to crossfire into the mitt of the wrong - and perhaps unsuspecting - bullpen catcher.  Chalk up one more home field advantage!

In the Fan Zone, we found your one-stop concession stand stop:

The Moerlein Lager House Craft Beer Bar next to LaRosa's pizza.  You're welcome.  

For this year's Opening Day, the Reds assigned me two seats in Section 419, Row Q.  Lou and I hit up LaRosa's for a couple of slices of 'zza and took our seats in time for the pregame, on-field ceremonies:

Above, the National Anthem.  I was very happy with my seat location.  Row Q proved to be the last row of Section 419.  As such, we were under cover in the event of rain (0% chance) or blistering sunshine (for a portion of the game, anyway).  Barry Larkin and Davey Concepcion threw out the ceremonial first pitches.....

..... and then Joe Morgan delivered the game ball out to the pitcher's mound:

Above, Little Joe stands before a video camera while being introduced (something about Joe Morgan Honda, Exit 29 in Monroe, Ohio), sporting his Reds' Hall of Fame red suit jacket.

The first pitch!

Stylin' and profilin'.

We had seats 4 & 5.  Seats 1-3 sat empty for the entirety of the game save for two innings.  Lou and I were thus able to spread out a bit, with no obnoxious drunks behind to disturb us.  As for the obnoxious drunk standing next to me, wearing the gray Jay Bruuuuuce t-shirt, that was another story.  During this Easter season, it is good to remind ourselves that we all have crosses we must bear in life, and mine is that every Reds game I attend I must be annoyed by moronic baseball fans sitting in close proximity.  I can feel your empathy.  Her incessant implorations for "Baby!" to make a good pitch or for "Baby!" to come through with a timely hit and cheering when "Baby!" made a great catch had me reaching for my 2014 Reds Media Guide to make certain that during the off-season the Reds 25-man roster didn't all change their names to Baby Cueto or Baby Votto or Baby Bruce, etc.  The obnoxiousity clincher, however, was when she lamented long, loudly, laboriously and melodramatically about the use of backward "K's" for some of Baby Cueto's strikeouts.  When her male friend quietly informed her of the age-old tradition of signifying in scorebooks a called third strike with a backward "K," her loud response was, "Well, how are people supposed to know that?!"  Hey sister!  The same way you know anything else about the game.  Somebody tells you!  Now shut up and swill your seventh Miller Lite!

In the photo below, Baby Votto prepares to leave Dat Dude Baby stranded on first base in the Bottom of the First Inning.

In the photo below, Baby Bruuuuuce does likewise.

Winning baseball games, having successful teams boils down to just two things:  WHIP and RISP.  Over the past 4 seasons Reds pitchers have done very well in the former, Reds batters have done poorly in the latter.  Tale of the Opening Day tape;  Reds had 9 LOB, .000 RISP.  Seems like this is where September left off last season.  And Opening Day 2013.  And the 2012 postseason.  And 2010.  And.....

As good as my Schindler's Lift quote was, the observation of the game went to Lou who, between the 6th and 7th Innings and moments before Yadi Molina jacked his game-winning solo shot in the 7th Inning, said; "You watch, Yadi will come up this inning, blast a solo home run and the Cardinals will win this game 1-0."  Ding-ding-ding-ding!  We have a winner.  Or a loser, as it were.  The moment Yadi ripped the ball, I shouted "Lou!  Lou!"  The crowd stood in unison, except for me for I knew it was long gone before the ball rocketed out of the infield.  "What did you just say, less than 5 minutes ago?!" I axed him.

Things progressed in an odd direction after that.

I noticed that, between innings, a member of the MLB Signal Corps would slip unobserved onto the field and hold up a series of colored cards for some unidentified entity somewhere out in left field.

There he was, every half inning.  On one or two occasions, the players had taken their positions, the batter was in the batters' box, the pitcher ready to hurl (baseball term) and the umpire holding up the proceedings, clearly without the manifest power to have this suspicious character bodily removed from the field of play.  Soon, I believe, we had our answer!

Lou was the first to spot it.  Look there!  Up in the sky!  Is it a bird?  Is it a plane?  IT WAS A DRONE.  Obviously devoid of Hellfire missiles, this mysterious member of the MLB Signal Corps must have been directing remote, unmanned missile attacks on various Cardinal targets such as - one might imagine - their team bus.

Ballgame lost, Lou and I trudged our way back to where we'd left our mode of transportation.  Into the setting sun, we walked westward along 2nd Street where we ran upon the heels of The Incomparable Joe Wilhelm!

Joe-Joe hasn't aged well.

This may be because Joe is having difficulty coming to terms with how great Barry Larkin was, especially relative to the supposed standard of excellence set by Derek Jeter.  During last night's interminable rain delay I dug a little deeper into the numbers.  The Incomparable imagines that Jeet was "more clutch" than Larkin.  You are free to peruse the playoff stat comparison I made (below) in "The Truth About Mr November" posting on February 16, 2014 which serves - in part - to refute that specific, absurd claim.  Here's what I uncovered last night:

Career RISP - 

Larkin:  .298/.401/.435
Jeter:   .302/.395/.421

Career Runners on Base - 

L:  .303/.392/.451
J:  .311/.390/.425

Career 9th Inning - 

L:  .278/.352/.351
J:  .240/.342/.331

Career 8th Inning - 

L:  .307/.391/.461
J:  .288/.377/.413

Career Normalized for Ballpark - 

Larkin @ GABP:  .282/.356/.422
Jeter @ GABP:  .214/.267/.286

Roll the credits!