40 years ago today Neil Peart joined RUSH and the course of galactic history was thus forever changed. You can watch, here, the story of this magical day when the super scientist of drumming first mingled with the bright stuff of RUSH dreams.
Today is also the 61st birthday of Geddy Lee.
Roll the credits!
On this Hall of Fame induction ceremony weekend for Major League Baseball, with the mighty Redlegs mired in their worst slump to date in the 2014 season and on the occasion of Reds killer Tom Glavine being immortalized in Cooperstown - these things must be related, here are a few baseball-related items from the past week.
Heavy Artillery Washington Bureau Director of Covert Operations, codenamed BIG STRICK, submitted two reconnaissance photos from his clandestine mission to the Bronx for last weekend's Reds-Yankees series. BIG STRICK filed a report which characterized the Reds performance at New Yankee Stadium as "less than stellar."
BIG STRICK produced the best blurry, grainy aerial photo of the Cuban Missile since the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis. Since concluding his report with "Headed to Boston tomorrow, more pics to follow" we here at HQ have lost all communication with BIG STRICK and fear that his cover has been compromised. Or maybe he had one too many Cincinnati-sourced Sam Adams' at The Bell In Hand Tavern.
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You find information regarding the history of baseball in some of the oddest places.
The least odd place takes the form of a book, oft mentioned on the ol' web page, titled Baseball Before We Knew It authored by David Block. Block's masterpiece is the authoritative reference source for the English genesis of the game that we know today as baseball. You cannot speak about the origins of the game without having read this book.
Earlier this week, while slogging through the backlog of unread books on my bookshelf, I came across the following information on pages 103-104 of The High Middle Ages, 1200-1550 by author Trevor Rowley (this book is part of The Making of Britain series - you probably don't want to be a member of the Heavy Artillery Book of the Month Club) in the chapter "Medieval Agriculture":
Another important variation was the 'runrig' or 'infield-outfield' system which operated on poorer ground in northern and western England. This consisted of the 'infield' which was closest to the vill or farmstead, and which was cultivated every year and a second field, the 'outfield,' which was divided into two, one part being cultivated for several years and then grassed for a few years, the other part being very largely uncultivated. The 'infield-outfield' system itself operated in a wide variety of different ways and some scholars have argued that the 'infield-outfield' system was the foundation from which the two- and three-field system evolved. In some cases the 'infield-outfield' system survived without substantial change throughout the Middle Ages. At Carburton in the forest area of Nottinghamshire an 'infield-outfield' system survived into the early seventeenth century, when it was recorded in cartographic form.
"Infield?" "Outfield?" The two terms used in conjunction with one another? Infield closest to the farmstead; or "home?" Infield cultivated; "dirt infield?" Outfield split into sections; "left," "center" and "right?" An outfield that is uncultivated and/or grassed? Yup. Sounds like a baseball field to me. Now we know from whence the baseball terms of infield and outfield originate.
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This past Saturday LaRosa's [any excuse to link a clip of Tanya O'Rourke] sponsored a Mr Redlegs cap and moustache giveaway at the ballpark. The Incomparable Joe Wilhelm had access to his company tickets and graciously invited me to go, as any true friend would do, but alas I could not commit as; a) I already had tickets to the game as part of my season ticket package and, b) It was my honor-bound duty to attend the Bahama-themed birthday party for one of my two Disney XD nieces. Joe Joe submitted this picture (below) of himself and The Hit Doctor wearing the Mr Redlegs cap and 'stache:
At the Disney XD Bahama party, Uncle Mike was tasked with taking selfies with/of attendees and activities:
The decorative centerpiece at the party was this fearsome-looking watermelon shark that my Food Network aficionado sister-in-law Alison created:
Pretty Awesome!
So committed was I to wringing every drop of fun out of the party that I arrived too late to the Great American Tilt Yard to receive that day's giveaway. Doubly negative, I split the party before getting any birthday cake. The Reds won a 1-0 good ol' good one on the strength of great defensive plays by Billy Hamilton, "The Savior" Jay Bruuuuuce and "The Toddfather" Todd Frazier.
Following Saturday's game I encountered the worst post-game traffic I've ever experienced in the GABP era. It took 45 minutes just to exit the ballpark parking garage. Unbeknownst to me, concurrently with the Reds-Nationals game the PLARF Cincinnati Bengals were having a training camp session that was open to the public (yawn!) and the Kool Jazz Festival Macy's Music Festival was being held at Paul Brown Stadium. And it was a Saturday night, to boot. Serious gridlock on a Congressional scale. The upside was that, parking as I do in the VIP area of the parking garage, I exit alongside the ballplayers. As events unfolded at a glacial pace, I was stuck in traffic exiting the garage - and then stuck on Mehring Way - next to Todd Frazier for several interminable minutes. Once onto Mehring Way, I put my intrepid crowd-evasive skillz to use and immediately signaled my desire/intention to merge into The Toddfather's lane of traffic. Some jerkface directly in front of Frazier refused to permit me to change lanes. Crawling along Mehring Way, with my signal on and monitoring my mirrors, once jerkface crept beyond me I observed The Toddfather swing his rather sizable land yacht into my lane, immediately behind my Jeep Main Battle Tank. Seizing the opportunity, I navigated into the next lane and waved my arm appreciatively to Frazier. In my mirror I saw that The Toddfather reciprocated. We were teaming up to execute a simultaneous nearly negative-speed double lane change. How cool was this?! The Toddfather was then able to creep up alongside the Jeep Main Battle Tank. As he did, I looked over to see that he was smiling at me. Establishing eye contact with me, The Toddfather again waved and I waved back, saying "Thanks, Todd!" Having solidified our friendship, we each left the extent of our interaction at that.
Roll the credits!
The following may came as a surprise to most of you but I make an effort to wring as much humor out of circumstances as propriety might permit. It's my default disposition. This stems not from an internal sense of my own superiority in this realm, or from a particular need to be the center of attention (been there, done that) but rather because I have long been surrounded by people who are genuinely, brilliantly funny. As such, I've long tried to keep up, not with the well-timed, devastatingly humorous offering but, rather, by volume. My true calling in life may have been as a Vaudeville comedian.
After two days of physical misery, I sought medical care on Saturday July 5th for my burgeoning illness:
The diagnosis was pneumonia and acute bronchitis. The nurse recorded my temperature at 103 degrees. While waiting for the myriad of test results and chest x-rays to return, I relayed my status to Lou. In my fevered delirium, I was able only to summon a pastiche of WKRP in Cincinnati Dr Johnny Fever references:
Fever 103. Woo! I'm burning up in here fellow babies! Can you dig it?
To which Lou responded:
I believe that is the same level of fever experienced by Lou Gramm of Foreigner whence he was "Hot Blooded"... check it and see.
"Check it and see" is my nomination for funniest line of the year. It's both the actual lyric from the song and a directive for confirmation. Hilarious!
Coming as it did over the long Independence Day weekend, this illness blew out a variety of planned activities including but not limited to; fireworks/cookout at Lou & Alison's palatial estate, a minor family reunion/genealogical out-of-town excursion of sorts and a Reds game. The Paleorider descended from his mountiantop retreat in the western Carolinas for a Class of '89 reunion on Saturday. We'd planned on attending the next day's Reds-Brewers game with The Paleorider's folks, and I'd used my considerable influence as a season ticket holder to wrangle up some good seats at a discounted rate. I wasn't any better on Sunday, my game time temperature was still 103, so Andy and his folks went without me.
The Paleorider snapped this photo from our seat location just as The Savior Jay Bruuuuuce hit the game-winning 2-run bomb in the bottom of the 8th inning.
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Two weeks prior, following a grueling day at the office, I treated My Dear Elderly Mother to a fine dinner at Mitchell's Fish Market (I had the Copper River salmon). In what is rapidly becoming an alarming inflationary trend, for the third time in recent months (documented here, previously) the waiter brought me a refill of my Coca-Cola in a glass that was considerably smaller:
At the end of our delicious meal, the waiter - as is customary - dropped off the bill:
Hmmm. This seemed a bit steep for just the two of us. I mean, I can pack away a lot of food when motivated, but not this much.
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On Father's Day, I'll give you one guess as to where me and Mr B went. Here's your hint; it's a long way from Royal Ascot:
That's right! Miami Valley Gaming. Live racing wasn't scheduled until later in the evening, hence the desolate trackside environment. Inside, in the race book, things were a bit more lively:
Here, The Old Master of the Turf studies his Daily Racing Form past performances for a race at Belmont Park. Just betting minimums, I managed to cash two or three WIN and/or PLACE tickets. Even so, I concluded my simulcast wagering down $40. This was not, however, the extent of my gambling that day. Having signed up for my MVG playaz card:
I was bequeathed a $15 credit on said playaz card redeemable for food, certain beverages and/or slot play. I hit the slot machines and promptly turned my $15 into $35. I cashed out immediately.
Above you see the spent shell casings of losing tickets luridly spread out across my DRF. At the bottom, the $35 cashout voucher from the slot machine which brought me back to being down $5 on the day. Call it even.
Speaking of Belmont, I'd forgotten to include this item (below) from the 2013 (not 2014) Belmont Stakes day undercard and it resurfaced when searching my hard drive for today's selection of images:
Who would name their horse Hyman Roth? Of course, I did not put $2 on Hyman Roth. What self-respecting goombah could?
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Tuesday night's Major League Baseball All-Star game, the last for New York Yankee captain Derek Jeter, should prove to be a sickening slobberfest of Mr November. Undoubtedly you will hear the broadcasters wax endlessly about the supposed unparalleled greatness of Jeet. It's beyond a certainty that one or more talking heads will assert the all-time supremacy of Captain Clutch at the shortstop position. Before you allow yourself to be brainwashed, I would suggest you re-read my original posting about Jeter, titled The Truth About Mr November. It's a stat-heavy analysis that you may buttress with the following updated points:
1) Through yesterday, July 11, 2014, Derek Jeter (-0.2) ranks 94th in DWAR [Defensive Wins Above Replacement] among the 106 players who've fielded the shortstop position so far this season (for Reds fans out there, currently Zack Cozart ranks 1st with a DWAR of 2.2).
2) Among those who qualify so far this season, Jeter's Range Factor ranks second-to-last among all shortstops (Cozart ranks 5th, currently).
These at- or near-the-bottom rankings are absolutely typical for the season-by-season career for Derek Jeter, as reported in The Truth About Mr November (linked above) and are not simply a recent development brought about via his advanced age.
Remember this when, on Tuesday night, the announcers won't give it a rest about Jeet; One cannot simultaneously be the worst defensive shortstop of one's era and be the greatest shortstop of one's era (or all-time). Impossible. It's impossible to be both, and the statistics prove that Jeter has continually been the worst-fielding shortstop of his time.
Lastly, as Jeter slumps through his final Big League season at (currently) .269/.322/.320, his lifetime slugging percentage (.443) is now lower than that of Hall of Famer Barry Larkin (.444).
Roll the credits!
The other horseshoe dropped last week; the 2015 Breeders' Cup will in fact be held at Keeneland Racecourse. You can read about it here and watch the WHAS-TV (Loouhvuhl, KY) news report here. You can read my own thoughts on the subject here and watch the 3-minute Keeneland promotional film here.
For the participants and for the spectators at home it will be an unparalleled experience, one never to be forgotten. Weather permitting, it should bestow upon Keeneland an historic conclusion to its 2015 fall meet.
For those of you who've yet to visit the paradise that is Keeneland (what's wrong with you people?!), I'm not certain I would recommend that you make the occasion of the 2015 World Thoroughbred Championships your maiden [horse racing pun] trip. Acknowledging the rare opportunity to see firsthand an assemblage of the finest thoroughbred race horses from around the world, all at once, the vast crowd of humanity and the transportation logistics encountered on October 30th and 31st, 2015 most likely will give the first-time visitor a distorted - perhaps frustrating - perception of the natural Keeneland experience. If you're a regular to Keeneland, have at it! Just take these tips from a Breeders' Cup veteran (Churchill Downs, 2006); don't count on finding overnight accommodations, dress yourself in layers, arrive on-site as early as humanly possible, smuggle into the grandstand pocketsful of your own sustenance (tailgaters need not worry), make all of your bets for the day at the earliest point, and expect to exit the grounds well after dark. It will be a long day (or days).
Whatever one does, one should avoid the royal enclosure at Royal Ascot (not that it's relevant to the subject at hand). It's hard enough to hit a superfecta, don't additionally make me dress like Cary Grant.
Roll the credits!
