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!
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