One of the things I experience as I go along through life, and all the moreso as I advance in years, is that things change. Nothing sits still. The comfortable, familiar things in our lives eventually pass away. Our parents grow old and die; our children grow up and leave the nest. Books go out of print. Raisin Mini-Wheats disappear from the shelves because no-one besides me will buy them. Bell-bottom jeans and Nehru jackets go out of style (demonstrating conclusively that change is not necessarily a bad thing). . .
-------------------------
Forgive me if I indulge myself in a bit of sports-as-metaphor-of-life. I am a lifelong fan of baseball in general, and the Detroit Tigers in particular. The past decade has generally been an era of notable success for my Tigers, with four American League Central Division titles and two World Series appearances (neither of which they won, alas). I've taken to referring to this latest period of success as Tigers 5.0 (if you're interested, 1.0 was the Ty Cobb-era team of the 1900s/10s, 2.0 the Charley Gehringer-Hank Greenberg teams of the 30s/40s, 3.0 the Al Kaline-Willie Horton-Mickey Lolich teams of the 60s, and 4.0 the Whitaker-Trammell-Jack Morris teams of the 80s; and if you're not interested, just ignore what you just read); this season, and yesterday most particularly, brought the sad news that Tigers 5.0 is now definitively over. Justin Verlander was traded to the Houston Astros.
You could see this day coming, even a few years ago, realizing that players age, and get injured, or sign free-agent contracts with other teams (*cough-Max Scherzer-cough*). One way or another, the good times never last forever. Nothing sits still. The end of the era began in earnest back in 2015, when the Tigers traded David Price and Yoenis Cespedes at the July trade deadline, in exchange for young players who, it was hoped, would one day develop into Tigers 6.0 (they have shown flashes of promise, but the jury, alas, is still out. . .). And the team's payroll was bloated way past their market size, to say nothing of their recent level of success. (Just as a footnote, it blows my mind just a little that, for the second half of the 2014 season, the Tigers' starting rotation of pitchers included four Cy Young award winners, and the fifth starter, Anibal Sanchez, won an ERA title, and threw a no-hitter, besides).
This season began with hope that the band could come together again, and perhaps do something wonderful one more time. But alas, such was not to be. Our best hitter, Miguel Cabrera, hurt his back during spring training (curse you, World Baseball Classic!) and has been a shell of himself all season. Ian Kinsler, our all-star infielder and clubhouse leader, has had an awful year. Victor Martinez, who's been a key hitter all through the team's run of success, is on (almost literally) his last legs. Pitchers who'd had off-years in 2016 were hoped to recover the old glory; none did. And on and on and on. Only two hitters were having strong years - Justin Upton and J.D. Martinez, and both of them were eligible for free agency at the end of this season.
The final agony began in July, when J.D. Martinez was traded to the Arizona Diamonbacks. That was a little hard to take - J.D. had really established himself with the Tigers, and become a fan favorite; still, it was understood that the Tigers had to trade him, to get something in return, rather than let him walk for nothing at seaons's end. That was followed by Justin Wilson (our best relief pitcher) and Alex Avila going to the Chicago Cubs. And then yesterday, the day began with Justin Upton (the other hitter who was having a good year) being sent to the Los Angeles Angels.
I have always had a special affection for Justin Verlander. Even as a young pitcher, you could just see the power he pitched with. On his good days, hitters were almost defenseless against his combination of blazing speed, wicked breaking balls and a baffling change-up. And he had a lot of good days. Denny McLain, back in the 60s, is the only other pitcher the Tigers have had in my lifetime who could just dominate opposing hitters game after game after game; but Denny only did it for a few seasons, before hurting his arm (Denny was also one of the world's great a**holes, but whatchagonnado?). JV, as he's known, threw two no-hitters for the Tigers, and won a unanimous Cy Young award in 2011. Twice, he shut out the Oakland A's in the deciding game of a playoff series. At his best, you wondered every time he took the mound if he was going to throw a no-hitter that night. He's been that good. He had a couple seasons (from roughly mid-'13 to mid-'15) in which his effectiveness was diminished by a core-muscle injury, but since the middle of the '15 season, he's been pretty close to the old JV. Last year, he came within a whisker of winning his second Cy Young Award (and God bless Rick Porcello, but JV should have won it; just sayin'). And after a slow start this season, he's again been blowing hitters away, especially over the past two months.
Verlander has been, along with Miguel Cabrera, the visible face of Tigers 5.0. And so, it is with great sadness that I watch him go. Through the course of this season, it has seemed ever-clearer that he would soon be moving on. His contract was just too big for a team that needed to cut payroll, and invest in younger players. And the idea of JV, in the golden years of his career, pitching for a team of youngsters just learning how to play and win, seems somehow not quite right. He really should be pitching for a playoff contender, trying to win the World Series championship that he never quite got in Detroit. When Clayton Kershaw was injured, I was all-but-certain that he was going to the Dodgers. But the Astros were always part of the conversation, and for the past month, it has been, 'why aren't the Astros going after Verlander? They certainly need the pitching.' And finally, at about the time that it looked like he'd be staying after all, the Astros and Tigers finally pulled the trigger at 11:59, and JV is a Tiger no more.
It is hard to see the face of my favorite team leave town. But nothing sits still. He leaves with absolutely no ill-will from me. I know I'll be pulling for the Astros in the post-season, and hoping for JV to finally win the ring that he so richly deserves (and there is something portentous, is there not - in a Saints-win-the-Super-Bowl kind of way - in Verlander going to Houston, trying to win a World Series in the aftermath of Hurricane Harvey?) (and also something delicious in Justin Verlander going to work for Nolan Ryan). . .
(Just as an odd aside, the Tigers began the season with three players named Justin on their roster - Verlander, Upton, and Wilson - and all three are with other teams now; and if you include JV's fiancee, we've lost two Uptons, as well; God bless you, Houston. . .)
(edit 6Sep: As another aside, the number of ex-Tigers distributed across this year's playoff-contending teams is almost staggering - Rick Porcello, David Price, Doug Fister and Rajai Davis with the Red Sox, Max Scherzer and Edwin Jackson with the Nationals, Curtis Granderson with the Dodgers, Robbie Ray, Fernando Rodney and J.D. Martinez with the Diamondbacks, Alex Avila and Justin Wilson with the Cubs, Austin Jackson and Andrew Miller with the Indians, and now Justin Upton with the Angels and Justin Verlander (and even Cameron Maybin!) with the Astros. If the playoffs began today, there would be 17 ex-Tigers distributed across 8 of the 10 playoff teams; y'all are very welcome. . .)
*************************
Nothing sits still. This past Monday brought the news that Jud Heathcote, who coached my beloved MSU Spartan basketball team from 1976-95, had died, at 90 years of age. Jud was certainly the greatest basketball coach in MSU history not named Tom Izzo. In fact, Tom Izzo was essentially Jud's parting gift to MSU when he retired, as Jud convinced the university to hire Izzo as his successor, a year or two before he finally retired.
Jud was a wonderful coach. His teams won three Big Ten championships in 19 years, played in nine NCAA tournaments (seven in 11 seasons, once the field expanded to 64 teams in 1985), and famously, won MSU's first national chapionship in 1979, with a team featuring Magic Johnson and Gregory Kelser.
His talent as a coach, however, goes beyond mere wins and losses. The aforementioned Magic Johnson aside, Jud developed the talent of players like Jay and Sam Vincent, Scott Skiles, Steve Smith, Shawn Respert and Eric Snow, all of whom had successful NBA careers, and all of whom came to MSU with a notable lack of recruiting fanfare. Jud was a notoriously indifferent recruiter. He wouldn't cheat to get a kid, and he absolutely refused to kiss the asses of 18-year-old prima donnas. So (Magic aside), such success as his teams had, was mainly accomplished with less-talented rosters than his major opponents.
But for all his success, Jud will be remembered by the MSU community as an absolutely unique character. His public face tended to be that of a grumpy curmudgeon. His 'Jud thuds' were legendary, when one of his players would make a mistake, and he would ball up his fists and slam them against his own forehead, usually two or three times. In one game at Illinois, he was upset with the officiating (as basketball coaches will be, from time to time). The ball happened to roll out-of-bounds into his hands, and he slammed it violently to the floor, whereupon it bounced up and smacked him right in the face. On his 'retirement tour' in '95, the Illinois coach gifted him with an Illini football helmet, in memory of the event. (Here is a wonderful article by Jack McCallum in Sports Illustrated, from back in '95, that does a great job of capturing the Essential Jud)
In the years since his retirement, Jud mainly kept a low profile. He moved back to Spokane, Washington, to be closer to his adult children, but also to leave Tom Izzo the freedom to establish his own coaching career without the Old Man looking over his shoulder. But he would show up for all of the tournament games. It reminded me, in a way, of how my dad was to me, in his later years - a source of wisdom, for sure, but just comforting to have him around. The last time I saw him on TV, I remember thinking that he was getting old, and feeling a little sad about that. And now he's gone. Nothing sits still.
A friend of mine once sat next to Jud on an airplane. When I asked him how that was, he smiled oddly. "Jud is a very funny man," he said. "And VERY profane." So there you go.
I have my own Jud story to relate (and now seems a fitting time to tell it). I was in my last year at MSU, which coincided with the national championship team of '79. That team lost six games, five of them by one or two points. The exception was an 18-point loss to Northwestern, which is about as inexplicable as things come in college basketball. My roommate and I had a regular paddleball date on Monday afternoons, and it was the Monday after that Northwestern game. All the regular paddleball courts were in use, so we ended up playing on the designated Handball court (which was identical to the paddleball/racquetball courts, but it was 'reserved' for handball; meaning that, if someone wanted to play handball, they could claim the court, and any paddleball/racquetball players had to relinquish the court to them). We'd been playing for a half-hour or so, when a voice came from the balcony above and behind us - "I'm sorry, fellas, but I'm here to play handball. So finish your game, but I need the court." We looked up, and there, to our astonishment, was Coach Heathcote. So we finished our game, and went up to the balcony, figuring we'd enjoy watching Jud playing handball with whomever his partner turned out to be. But no partner ever appeared. Jud bounced the ball, and - WHAM!! - smashed it against the front wall, then stomped after it in a deliberate, plodding manner and - WHAM!! - smashed it again, then stomped after it again, and - WHAM!! - and again and again. My roommate and I turned and smiled at each other, and continued watching for a few more minutes, as Jud smashed out his frustrations on that poor little handball. After that, the team went on a long winning streak, which eventually carried them all the way to the national championship.
Rest in peace, Coach. We're gonna miss you.
Nothing sits still. . .
Showing posts with label MSU Spartans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MSU Spartans. Show all posts
Friday, September 1, 2017
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Madness. . . Madness. . .
Oh, we had such high hopes this year. . . There was no over-archingly dominant team this year, and my Spartans had been on quite a roll, winning 13 of their last 14 games heading into the NCAA tournament, winning the Big Ten conference tournament, and grinding out tough wins against good teams in the final two games. So we were eagerly looking forward to the NCAAs. Honestly, this looked like our best chance in years to win the championship. Unlike most of Coach Izzo's previous teams, it would have been disappointing not to make at least the Final Four. This was Coach Izzo's best chance in years to win his second championship, and the stars seemed to be aligning perfectly.
We simply had no mental framework for losing in the first round. I still can't quite believe we did. It was all set up so perfectly for us. Oh, I was a little concerned about the possibility of meeting Virginia in the Regional Final, especially since we'd eliminated them from the last two NCAAs, and they would certainly be extra-motivated to play us the third year in a row. And I wanted no part of the possibility of seeing Purdue for a third time this season, since we'd split two grinding, gruelling games during the season. But I never imagined we'd lose in the first round. . .
But we did lose. In the first round. Hats off to Middle Tennessee. They played a tough, gritty, fearless game against us, and they simply couldn't miss, it seemed. They smacked us in the face right from the opening tip, running out to a 15-2 lead in the first five minutes of the game, and forcing us to play catch-up the whole game. We slowly clawed our way back into the game; twice, late in the game, we pulled within a single point, but each time, Middle Tennessee made the big plays, hit the key shots, made the clutch steals, and we made the crucial, excruciating turnovers. And when the final horn sounded, we had lost the game.
To put the game into context - this is the 32nd year of the 64-team format for the tournament. That means there have now been 128 games between 2-seeds and 15-seeds (and there were a lot of us who thought we 'should have' been a 1-seed; you'd be very kind not to rub that in our faces). The 15-seeds have now won eight of those 128 games. This was one of the biggest upsets in the history of the tournament. But I have no basis for complaining; it was just our turn in the barrel, I guess. If it wasn't my Spartans on the losing end, I'd smile, and shake my head, and mutter to myself about how crazy and unpredictable the tournament is, and this is why they call it March Madness, and so forth. But wow. . . when it's our turn, it just stings. Or makes you numb. Or both at the same time.
If I step back, it almost looks like we got caught in some crazy weird vortex of fate (I don't really believe in the whole 'vortex of fate' thing, but, you know. . .). Of the 32 winners of first-round games this year, ten of them - almost a third - are double-digit seeds: two 10-seeds, three 11s, two 12s, a 13, a 14 and a 15. I don't ever recall anything remotely close to such a massively crazy convergence of upsets in the same tournament. And however it happened, my Spartans got caught in it.
(*sigh*)
Maybe next year. . .
To quote from The Bridge on the River Kwai: "Madness. . . Madness. . ."
-------------------------
But hey, at least our women won. . . ;)
We simply had no mental framework for losing in the first round. I still can't quite believe we did. It was all set up so perfectly for us. Oh, I was a little concerned about the possibility of meeting Virginia in the Regional Final, especially since we'd eliminated them from the last two NCAAs, and they would certainly be extra-motivated to play us the third year in a row. And I wanted no part of the possibility of seeing Purdue for a third time this season, since we'd split two grinding, gruelling games during the season. But I never imagined we'd lose in the first round. . .
But we did lose. In the first round. Hats off to Middle Tennessee. They played a tough, gritty, fearless game against us, and they simply couldn't miss, it seemed. They smacked us in the face right from the opening tip, running out to a 15-2 lead in the first five minutes of the game, and forcing us to play catch-up the whole game. We slowly clawed our way back into the game; twice, late in the game, we pulled within a single point, but each time, Middle Tennessee made the big plays, hit the key shots, made the clutch steals, and we made the crucial, excruciating turnovers. And when the final horn sounded, we had lost the game.
To put the game into context - this is the 32nd year of the 64-team format for the tournament. That means there have now been 128 games between 2-seeds and 15-seeds (and there were a lot of us who thought we 'should have' been a 1-seed; you'd be very kind not to rub that in our faces). The 15-seeds have now won eight of those 128 games. This was one of the biggest upsets in the history of the tournament. But I have no basis for complaining; it was just our turn in the barrel, I guess. If it wasn't my Spartans on the losing end, I'd smile, and shake my head, and mutter to myself about how crazy and unpredictable the tournament is, and this is why they call it March Madness, and so forth. But wow. . . when it's our turn, it just stings. Or makes you numb. Or both at the same time.
If I step back, it almost looks like we got caught in some crazy weird vortex of fate (I don't really believe in the whole 'vortex of fate' thing, but, you know. . .). Of the 32 winners of first-round games this year, ten of them - almost a third - are double-digit seeds: two 10-seeds, three 11s, two 12s, a 13, a 14 and a 15. I don't ever recall anything remotely close to such a massively crazy convergence of upsets in the same tournament. And however it happened, my Spartans got caught in it.
(*sigh*)
Maybe next year. . .
To quote from The Bridge on the River Kwai: "Madness. . . Madness. . ."
-------------------------
But hey, at least our women won. . . ;)
Friday, January 1, 2016
Ugh. . .
Well, football season is over for my Spartans, and it wasn't pretty. Actually, it reminded me quite a bit of 7M's final game a few weeks ago, coincidentally enough, in the semi-finals, as well. We came out and played quite competitively against what was probably a superior opponent to begin with, and just before halftime, we were looking OK. Then, one catastrophic play just before halftime seemed to suck the air out of us, and after that, things got out of hand pretty quickly.
Hats off to the Crimson Tide, and especially to Jake Coker, their 'game manager' quarterback, who had the game of his life. Every ball he threw was absolutely on a dime - I don't think he missed a single pass all night. Even his five incompletions were on-target. Our defensive front showed up to play, but our secondary, um, showed some deficiencies. And our quarterback and offensive line, who were supposed to be our significant strengths. . . well, let's say they didn't have their best games (to be fair, the Alabama defense probably had a lot to do with that).
So football season is over. I can't think we had anything less than a successful season - we were Big Ten champs for the third time in six years (and you have to go back almost 40 years to find three conference championships before that), beat both our major rivals, and earned a spot in one of the national semi-finals, even if we didn't acquit ourselves there quite as well as we'd have hoped. Our program keeps taking positive steps, reaching incrementally higher year-upon-year. So, in the spirit of the New Year, I'm hopeful for the future.
Anyway, it's basketball season now, and Coach Izzo's guys seem to have something good going on. . .
Happy New Year, everybody!
Hats off to the Crimson Tide, and especially to Jake Coker, their 'game manager' quarterback, who had the game of his life. Every ball he threw was absolutely on a dime - I don't think he missed a single pass all night. Even his five incompletions were on-target. Our defensive front showed up to play, but our secondary, um, showed some deficiencies. And our quarterback and offensive line, who were supposed to be our significant strengths. . . well, let's say they didn't have their best games (to be fair, the Alabama defense probably had a lot to do with that).
So football season is over. I can't think we had anything less than a successful season - we were Big Ten champs for the third time in six years (and you have to go back almost 40 years to find three conference championships before that), beat both our major rivals, and earned a spot in one of the national semi-finals, even if we didn't acquit ourselves there quite as well as we'd have hoped. Our program keeps taking positive steps, reaching incrementally higher year-upon-year. So, in the spirit of the New Year, I'm hopeful for the future.
Anyway, it's basketball season now, and Coach Izzo's guys seem to have something good going on. . .
Happy New Year, everybody!
Monday, December 7, 2015
Drive Time
Wow. . .
My Spartans are Big Ten champions, and earned a place in the 4-team national championship playoff, with a grueling victory in the conference championship game against Iowa Saturday night (and into Sunday morning). That was one of the best football games I've seen in quite some time - just two really good, really solid, really strong teams going toe-to-toe for the full 60 minutes. Another of those games that it's a shame one team has to lose. Iowa came into the game undefeated, and while some made light of their schedule, I am never one to take lightly any team that hasn't lost a game, nor am I inclined to glibly predict that our team will be someone else's first loss. I expected a tough, close, hard-fought game that would have my stomach in knots as the final minutes wound down, and in that expectation, I was not disappointed.
The Spartans won the game with a 22-play drive covering 82 yards, converting six first downs and using up over 9 minutes of time on the game clock, even with Iowa using their three time-outs along the way. I mean, seriously - I don't think I've ever heard of a 22-play drive before; you couldn't use very many more plays than that, and still keep the chains moving. I haven't seen a complete play-by-play transcript of The Drive, but off the top of my head, I can't think of any set of downs that was converted before third down, and we converted at least one fourth down. It seemed every time we made another first down, it was by inches, rather than yards. I'm almost as exhausted just from watching it, as the players were who executed it (of course, they're in much better physical condition than I am).
The final few plays of the drive were a high drama of sheer will. We converted a fourth down by the length of the football, on the 3-yard line (after getting absolutely stuffed on third down), and then it took us three plays to score the winning touchdown (our only touchdown of the game) starting from first-and-goal at the three-yard-line. On the winning score, it looked for all the world like our runner was stopped inches short of the goal line, but by some superhuman second effort, the runner surged again, stuck his hand out with the ball in it, and scored with 27 seconds left on the clock. Just incredible.
(And I should give a special mention to the runner, LJ Scott, who will certainly go down in Spartan lore; I don't think I've ever seen a runner get so many yards on second effort, after he'd been, to all appearances, stopped dead in his tracks. I'm a little in awe that he's a true freshman; I shudder to think of him, a year ago, playing against high school guys like my son.)
I tip my hat to the Hawkeyes; that was a really, REALLY good team, there, and it's not hard to see how they came into the game undefeated. Their defense gave us darn little, and even by the fourth quarter, when our offensive line started to get it rolling a bit, we were getting three yards and four, not eight or ten. And I don't think I've ever seen a defensive backfield knock so many passes out of the hands of receivers at the last instant. And my goodness, when did Kirk Ferentz (the Iowa coach) become such a wide-open, go-for-broke coach? There was a stretch early in the fourth quarter, where they passed deep on three plays out of five, including a picture-perfect (if you're an Iowa fan) 85-yard touchdown that put us in the position of needing a long drive to the winning score in the first place. So hats off to our more-than-worthy opponents.
So now, we go on to the 4-team National Championship playoff. Our first opponent is Alabama, which ought to be interesting enough, even if their coach hadn't been our coach once upon a time, and won four national championships at two schools since he left us. I think we've gotten past wishing he was still our coach; Mark D'Antonio has had more success at MSU than Nick Saban ever did. So God bless you, coach; we're doing just fine, thanks. We played the Tide in a Citrus Bowl back in 2010, and they fairly well handed us our asses. But I'm pretty sure we're a better team now than we were then. Besides, our friends from Ohio State beat them in last year's playoff, and we've won two of our last three against the Buckeyes. Which is to say, I expect it to be a competitive game, and I'm not conceding anything to our Southeastern friends; win or lose, they will know they've been in a football game.
And besides all that, our basketball team is #1, and looking as good as any team we've ever had. Good times to be a Spartan, let me tell you. . .
My Spartans are Big Ten champions, and earned a place in the 4-team national championship playoff, with a grueling victory in the conference championship game against Iowa Saturday night (and into Sunday morning). That was one of the best football games I've seen in quite some time - just two really good, really solid, really strong teams going toe-to-toe for the full 60 minutes. Another of those games that it's a shame one team has to lose. Iowa came into the game undefeated, and while some made light of their schedule, I am never one to take lightly any team that hasn't lost a game, nor am I inclined to glibly predict that our team will be someone else's first loss. I expected a tough, close, hard-fought game that would have my stomach in knots as the final minutes wound down, and in that expectation, I was not disappointed.
The Spartans won the game with a 22-play drive covering 82 yards, converting six first downs and using up over 9 minutes of time on the game clock, even with Iowa using their three time-outs along the way. I mean, seriously - I don't think I've ever heard of a 22-play drive before; you couldn't use very many more plays than that, and still keep the chains moving. I haven't seen a complete play-by-play transcript of The Drive, but off the top of my head, I can't think of any set of downs that was converted before third down, and we converted at least one fourth down. It seemed every time we made another first down, it was by inches, rather than yards. I'm almost as exhausted just from watching it, as the players were who executed it (of course, they're in much better physical condition than I am).
The final few plays of the drive were a high drama of sheer will. We converted a fourth down by the length of the football, on the 3-yard line (after getting absolutely stuffed on third down), and then it took us three plays to score the winning touchdown (our only touchdown of the game) starting from first-and-goal at the three-yard-line. On the winning score, it looked for all the world like our runner was stopped inches short of the goal line, but by some superhuman second effort, the runner surged again, stuck his hand out with the ball in it, and scored with 27 seconds left on the clock. Just incredible.
(And I should give a special mention to the runner, LJ Scott, who will certainly go down in Spartan lore; I don't think I've ever seen a runner get so many yards on second effort, after he'd been, to all appearances, stopped dead in his tracks. I'm a little in awe that he's a true freshman; I shudder to think of him, a year ago, playing against high school guys like my son.)
I tip my hat to the Hawkeyes; that was a really, REALLY good team, there, and it's not hard to see how they came into the game undefeated. Their defense gave us darn little, and even by the fourth quarter, when our offensive line started to get it rolling a bit, we were getting three yards and four, not eight or ten. And I don't think I've ever seen a defensive backfield knock so many passes out of the hands of receivers at the last instant. And my goodness, when did Kirk Ferentz (the Iowa coach) become such a wide-open, go-for-broke coach? There was a stretch early in the fourth quarter, where they passed deep on three plays out of five, including a picture-perfect (if you're an Iowa fan) 85-yard touchdown that put us in the position of needing a long drive to the winning score in the first place. So hats off to our more-than-worthy opponents.
So now, we go on to the 4-team National Championship playoff. Our first opponent is Alabama, which ought to be interesting enough, even if their coach hadn't been our coach once upon a time, and won four national championships at two schools since he left us. I think we've gotten past wishing he was still our coach; Mark D'Antonio has had more success at MSU than Nick Saban ever did. So God bless you, coach; we're doing just fine, thanks. We played the Tide in a Citrus Bowl back in 2010, and they fairly well handed us our asses. But I'm pretty sure we're a better team now than we were then. Besides, our friends from Ohio State beat them in last year's playoff, and we've won two of our last three against the Buckeyes. Which is to say, I expect it to be a competitive game, and I'm not conceding anything to our Southeastern friends; win or lose, they will know they've been in a football game.
And besides all that, our basketball team is #1, and looking as good as any team we've ever had. Good times to be a Spartan, let me tell you. . .
Monday, November 23, 2015
No Time
Well, my Spartans did it again, winning our game over the weekend against the (previously) undefeated defending national champions; in Columbus, no less. The Las Vegas types had installed us as 14-point underdogs, which, considering that we were ranked in the Top Ten going into the game, was a pretty stunning spread. Suffice it to say, we weren't widely expected to win.
But win we did. The final score was 17-14 in our favor, and we didn't actually hold the lead until the field goal that won the game on the final play. But honestly, we fairly dominated the game, pretty much from start to finish. If we hadn't turned the ball over twice, they might not have scored at all.
[As an aside, I didn't get to actually watch much of the game; 7M's high school team was playing in the state semi-finals an hour's drive from OurTown (or, it would normally be an hour's drive; in five inches of snow, it became more like two, at least on the homeward leg), and Jenn and I went to watch that. Alas, they lost; their game was closer and more competitive than the final score would indicate, but our kids just made too many mistakes against a really good team (memo to the opposing coach - when you're ahead by 22 with 3 minutes to play, and you run a trick play to score again, that's. . . how shall I say it? . . . a real no-class move; I'd like to use more, um, colorful language, but you know, just sayin').]
So we only got to see the 4th quarter of the Spartan game on TV. And I was just stunned to see our offensive line getting a 2-yard push on virtually every snap. You're not supposed to be able to do that to the mighty Buckeyes, but there it was.
Since Urban Meyer has been the Ohio State coach, his Buckeyes have lost exactly two conference games - two years ago in the league championship game, to my Spartans, and now this past weekend, their first regular-season loss in the Big Ten under coach Meyer (over nearly four full seasons!), again to my Spartans. Memo to the other twelve teams in the Big Ten - come on, you guys, somebody besides us has to figure out how to beat these guys. . .
So now, possibilities open up for us, just a bit. If we win our game next Saturday, we'll be Big Ten East Division champs, and then we'll play Iowa for the overall league championship. If we win that, we stand a decent chance of getting an invite to the 4-team national championship playoff (and if we hadn't sleep-walked our way to a loss at Nebraska, it would be more than merely a 'decent' chance; *sigh*). So, woo-hoo!, and all that. . .
And then there's this fascinating little tidbit from our two big rivalry-game wins this season - we beat both Michigan and Ohio State, and in those two games combined, the total amount of time that my Spartans were actually in the lead was - exactly zero. We never led either game, until the winning points were scored on the final play of the game. . .
But win we did. The final score was 17-14 in our favor, and we didn't actually hold the lead until the field goal that won the game on the final play. But honestly, we fairly dominated the game, pretty much from start to finish. If we hadn't turned the ball over twice, they might not have scored at all.
[As an aside, I didn't get to actually watch much of the game; 7M's high school team was playing in the state semi-finals an hour's drive from OurTown (or, it would normally be an hour's drive; in five inches of snow, it became more like two, at least on the homeward leg), and Jenn and I went to watch that. Alas, they lost; their game was closer and more competitive than the final score would indicate, but our kids just made too many mistakes against a really good team (memo to the opposing coach - when you're ahead by 22 with 3 minutes to play, and you run a trick play to score again, that's. . . how shall I say it? . . . a real no-class move; I'd like to use more, um, colorful language, but you know, just sayin').]
So we only got to see the 4th quarter of the Spartan game on TV. And I was just stunned to see our offensive line getting a 2-yard push on virtually every snap. You're not supposed to be able to do that to the mighty Buckeyes, but there it was.
Since Urban Meyer has been the Ohio State coach, his Buckeyes have lost exactly two conference games - two years ago in the league championship game, to my Spartans, and now this past weekend, their first regular-season loss in the Big Ten under coach Meyer (over nearly four full seasons!), again to my Spartans. Memo to the other twelve teams in the Big Ten - come on, you guys, somebody besides us has to figure out how to beat these guys. . .
So now, possibilities open up for us, just a bit. If we win our game next Saturday, we'll be Big Ten East Division champs, and then we'll play Iowa for the overall league championship. If we win that, we stand a decent chance of getting an invite to the 4-team national championship playoff (and if we hadn't sleep-walked our way to a loss at Nebraska, it would be more than merely a 'decent' chance; *sigh*). So, woo-hoo!, and all that. . .
And then there's this fascinating little tidbit from our two big rivalry-game wins this season - we beat both Michigan and Ohio State, and in those two games combined, the total amount of time that my Spartans were actually in the lead was - exactly zero. We never led either game, until the winning points were scored on the final play of the game. . .
Sunday, October 18, 2015
The Miracle in Ann Arbor
This morning, during the announcements before Mass, our priest, Father Steve, made the following announcement:
"In honor of yesterday's Miracle in Ann Arbor, all Catholic priests around the world will be wearing Green and White vestments today."
(It was a joke, right? See, according to the Liturgical Calendar, this is 'Ordinary Time' - which covers something like 33 weeks of the year, and during Ordinary Time, vestments and altar coverings are green; I'm pretty sure it had nothing to do with yesterday's events in Ann Arbor, no matter how miraculous.) (Pretty sure. . .)
But. . . Hoe. . . Lee. . . Crapp. . . It WAS kinda miraculous. At least, if you're a Spartan like me. Folks from our Sister Institution down the road might see it in more nightmarish terms. . .
I won't spend much time rehashing the final play of the game; you can go here to see it. Suffice it to say that we were 10 seconds away from losing to our hated rivals, but. . . a miracle happened, and we beat them for the 7th time in the last 8 times we've played. As to the play itself, everything had to happen just as it did, or we don't win the game. If any single thing went differently, we lose (as the final play was being lined up, The ESPN Win Probability Tracker had our odds of winning at 0.02% - 1 in 5000). And this wasn't a last-second trick play, or anything that the Spartans planned or designed; it was a pure, gratuitous gift from (I'm tempted to say Heaven; I don't really like references to 'the football gods'). . . well, it was a gift.
I feel for the Michigan punter, I really do. He'll take way more crap than he deserves over it (in fact, the Facebook/Twitter trolls have already been pretty vicious toward the kid, which is reprehensible in the extreme). The fact is, it was a classic game between two pretty darn good teams; a great game (say it with me) if you didn't care who won. But I did care, and so did a whole lot of people in my state, which only added to the intensity.
I will take the win, and the year's worth of alumni/institutional bragging rights. But I know (and I want you all to know that I know) that there is NO ultimate significance inhering to this football game. Good and Evil aren't at stake (well, maybe just a little bit) (I'm kidding!!), and nobody (I hope) is going to Heaven or Hell over the outcome (there were reports of a fan being taken from the stadium after the game, having suffered an apparent heart attack; no reports on whether his soul was in a state of grace or not).
But yeah, I'll take it. . . Oh, yeah, I'll definitely take it. . .
"In honor of yesterday's Miracle in Ann Arbor, all Catholic priests around the world will be wearing Green and White vestments today."
(It was a joke, right? See, according to the Liturgical Calendar, this is 'Ordinary Time' - which covers something like 33 weeks of the year, and during Ordinary Time, vestments and altar coverings are green; I'm pretty sure it had nothing to do with yesterday's events in Ann Arbor, no matter how miraculous.) (Pretty sure. . .)
But. . . Hoe. . . Lee. . . Crapp. . . It WAS kinda miraculous. At least, if you're a Spartan like me. Folks from our Sister Institution down the road might see it in more nightmarish terms. . .
I won't spend much time rehashing the final play of the game; you can go here to see it. Suffice it to say that we were 10 seconds away from losing to our hated rivals, but. . . a miracle happened, and we beat them for the 7th time in the last 8 times we've played. As to the play itself, everything had to happen just as it did, or we don't win the game. If any single thing went differently, we lose (as the final play was being lined up, The ESPN Win Probability Tracker had our odds of winning at 0.02% - 1 in 5000). And this wasn't a last-second trick play, or anything that the Spartans planned or designed; it was a pure, gratuitous gift from (I'm tempted to say Heaven; I don't really like references to 'the football gods'). . . well, it was a gift.
I feel for the Michigan punter, I really do. He'll take way more crap than he deserves over it (in fact, the Facebook/Twitter trolls have already been pretty vicious toward the kid, which is reprehensible in the extreme). The fact is, it was a classic game between two pretty darn good teams; a great game (say it with me) if you didn't care who won. But I did care, and so did a whole lot of people in my state, which only added to the intensity.
I will take the win, and the year's worth of alumni/institutional bragging rights. But I know (and I want you all to know that I know) that there is NO ultimate significance inhering to this football game. Good and Evil aren't at stake (well, maybe just a little bit) (I'm kidding!!), and nobody (I hope) is going to Heaven or Hell over the outcome (there were reports of a fan being taken from the stadium after the game, having suffered an apparent heart attack; no reports on whether his soul was in a state of grace or not).
But yeah, I'll take it. . . Oh, yeah, I'll definitely take it. . .
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Did Not See This Coming. . .
I almost hate to break into Holy Week with something so mundane as my sporting interests, but. . .
My Spartans are back in the Final Four, for the seventh time in Coach Izzo's 20-year tenure. This has got to be the most improbable of all his Final Fours, or any of the others in the history of my alma mater (both of 'em). We graduated a decorated group of players from last year's team, and this had all the earmarks of a rebuilding season. We just didn't have the kind of players that make deep tournament runs (I mean, heck, we lost to Texas Southern in December - at home!). Even as late as February, there were serious questions as to whether our string of consecutive NCAA tournament appearances (this is our 18th) would be coming to an end this year. But things came together in the waning weeks of the season, and we made a solid showing in the conference tournament.
We got a 7th seed in the NCAAs, which seemed a tad low, by the time we got there (but only a tad; I thought we deserved a 6th seed, or maybe a 5th). We duly won our first round game, and then threw a complete defensive blanket over Virginia, a highly-ranked team who won the regular-season championship of the vaunted ACC. In the next two rounds, we came from behind in both games to pull out gritty, hard-fought victories.
And now we are in the Final Four. Again. We play Duke this Saturday, and we don't exactly have a long track record of success against them (Coach Izzo's teams have beaten Duke exactly once in nine tries); and they hung a ten-point loss on us back in November, just to reinforce the point. But, you know, that was then, and this is now. And even if we should somehow beat the Dookies, Kentucky is looming, and the conventional wisdom says that nobody can beat Kentucky this year. But, you know, once you get to the rarefied air of the Final Four, you never know what might happen. And no matter what happens, it's been a heckuva ride already. So, we shall see what we shall see. . .
GO GREEN!
And, just for fun, there's this. . .
My Spartans are back in the Final Four, for the seventh time in Coach Izzo's 20-year tenure. This has got to be the most improbable of all his Final Fours, or any of the others in the history of my alma mater (both of 'em). We graduated a decorated group of players from last year's team, and this had all the earmarks of a rebuilding season. We just didn't have the kind of players that make deep tournament runs (I mean, heck, we lost to Texas Southern in December - at home!). Even as late as February, there were serious questions as to whether our string of consecutive NCAA tournament appearances (this is our 18th) would be coming to an end this year. But things came together in the waning weeks of the season, and we made a solid showing in the conference tournament.
We got a 7th seed in the NCAAs, which seemed a tad low, by the time we got there (but only a tad; I thought we deserved a 6th seed, or maybe a 5th). We duly won our first round game, and then threw a complete defensive blanket over Virginia, a highly-ranked team who won the regular-season championship of the vaunted ACC. In the next two rounds, we came from behind in both games to pull out gritty, hard-fought victories.
And now we are in the Final Four. Again. We play Duke this Saturday, and we don't exactly have a long track record of success against them (Coach Izzo's teams have beaten Duke exactly once in nine tries); and they hung a ten-point loss on us back in November, just to reinforce the point. But, you know, that was then, and this is now. And even if we should somehow beat the Dookies, Kentucky is looming, and the conventional wisdom says that nobody can beat Kentucky this year. But, you know, once you get to the rarefied air of the Final Four, you never know what might happen. And no matter what happens, it's been a heckuva ride already. So, we shall see what we shall see. . .
GO GREEN!
And, just for fun, there's this. . .
Friday, January 2, 2015
Happy New Year!
At least, for those of us denizens of Spartan Nation, it was (my apologies to those of my friends who are sports-disinclined; this will be my last sporting post for a while; I promise).
Against all odds, we won our Cotton Bowl game against the Battling Baptists of Baylor University. The final score was 42-41, but going into the fourth quarter we were behind 41-21, and we hadn't looked very good getting there. For that matter, even given the 21-0 differential in our favor for the final quarter, we didn't look all that good, even then. So many things had to tilt our way, even just to keep us in the game long enough not to lose it. Baylor had to miss a field goal (off the upright!) early in the quarter, which would have put the game out of reach. So when we drove the field to pull within 41-28 with 12 minutes remaining, we still had hopes of winning.
We recovered an onside kick, but then a couple plays later, our quarterback threw the most gawd-awful interception I think I've ever seen (this was far beyond the realms of 'what the hell was he thinking?', WAY past 'what the hell was THAT?'; it was just. . . gawd-awful. . .), which was duly returned 85 yards for the clinching touchdown against us. But wait, the referee is speaking on-camera - "illegal block in the back". So, no touchdown against us, just yet; we're still only down 13. Still and all, we failed to score, we lost the ball, and Baylor's offense, which we never really stopped all day, had the ball again. But Baylor turned the ball back over to us on downs, failing on a 4th-and-2 at our 40-yard line, and this time, we drove the field and scored again, with about 5 minutes left, cutting the margin to 41-35.
Once again, Baylor began marching up the field, eventually lining up for a field goal attempt with just over a minute left, which, if they made it, would put them up nine points, and make it all but impossible for us to score twice with a minute left to play (Just before the field-goal attempt, ESPN's Win Probability Tracker gave the Spartans a 0.4% chance of winning - 1 in 250). But we blocked the field goal, and returned the block to the Baylor 45-yard line. Our QB continued his erratic play, badly missing a couple wide-open receivers, but completing just enough passes to keep the drive alive (converting once on 4th-and-10). We finally scored the tying touchdown with 17 seconds left, and the extra point gave us our only lead of the second half. Baylor got the ball back, but we sacked their quarterback twice, and intercepted his 3rd-down pass to seal the victory.
Looking back at the game, I still don't quite know how we won it. Baylor threw for over 600 passing yards, completing over 70% of their passes. Bryce Petty, their quarterback, was amazing all night long, threading passes through tiny openings to incredibly fast receivers. Our defense, which has been the hallmark of our excellence in recent years, seemed to have no answers for him. But late in the game, we found ways to stop them, or at least, slow them down, just enough to get lucky and win the game. Unbelievable. One of the most incredible never-say-die games I've ever seen, even if I didn't care who won. Which, however, I did. Go Green!
And then, in the evening's playoff games, Oregon beat Florida State, and Ohio State upset Alabama. So, the only two teams to beat us all year will be playing each other for the national championship. Does that make us Number Three?
-------------------------
Here we are in 2015, and we still don't have any snow to speak of in OurTown. I've been able to ride outdoors right up to the present, even getting in 10 miles on December 30th, before the sub-freezing temperatures just made my toes hurt. I ended with 74 miles in December (I've never even had half that before), and 1110 for the year 2014. Funny to think that I was sweating getting to four digits a month ago, and ended up going over 100 miles past that. Heck, this afternoon, I'm going out for my first 10 miles of the New Year, so 2015 is already well-begun.
Against all odds, we won our Cotton Bowl game against the Battling Baptists of Baylor University. The final score was 42-41, but going into the fourth quarter we were behind 41-21, and we hadn't looked very good getting there. For that matter, even given the 21-0 differential in our favor for the final quarter, we didn't look all that good, even then. So many things had to tilt our way, even just to keep us in the game long enough not to lose it. Baylor had to miss a field goal (off the upright!) early in the quarter, which would have put the game out of reach. So when we drove the field to pull within 41-28 with 12 minutes remaining, we still had hopes of winning.
We recovered an onside kick, but then a couple plays later, our quarterback threw the most gawd-awful interception I think I've ever seen (this was far beyond the realms of 'what the hell was he thinking?', WAY past 'what the hell was THAT?'; it was just. . . gawd-awful. . .), which was duly returned 85 yards for the clinching touchdown against us. But wait, the referee is speaking on-camera - "illegal block in the back". So, no touchdown against us, just yet; we're still only down 13. Still and all, we failed to score, we lost the ball, and Baylor's offense, which we never really stopped all day, had the ball again. But Baylor turned the ball back over to us on downs, failing on a 4th-and-2 at our 40-yard line, and this time, we drove the field and scored again, with about 5 minutes left, cutting the margin to 41-35.
Once again, Baylor began marching up the field, eventually lining up for a field goal attempt with just over a minute left, which, if they made it, would put them up nine points, and make it all but impossible for us to score twice with a minute left to play (Just before the field-goal attempt, ESPN's Win Probability Tracker gave the Spartans a 0.4% chance of winning - 1 in 250). But we blocked the field goal, and returned the block to the Baylor 45-yard line. Our QB continued his erratic play, badly missing a couple wide-open receivers, but completing just enough passes to keep the drive alive (converting once on 4th-and-10). We finally scored the tying touchdown with 17 seconds left, and the extra point gave us our only lead of the second half. Baylor got the ball back, but we sacked their quarterback twice, and intercepted his 3rd-down pass to seal the victory.
Looking back at the game, I still don't quite know how we won it. Baylor threw for over 600 passing yards, completing over 70% of their passes. Bryce Petty, their quarterback, was amazing all night long, threading passes through tiny openings to incredibly fast receivers. Our defense, which has been the hallmark of our excellence in recent years, seemed to have no answers for him. But late in the game, we found ways to stop them, or at least, slow them down, just enough to get lucky and win the game. Unbelievable. One of the most incredible never-say-die games I've ever seen, even if I didn't care who won. Which, however, I did. Go Green!
And then, in the evening's playoff games, Oregon beat Florida State, and Ohio State upset Alabama. So, the only two teams to beat us all year will be playing each other for the national championship. Does that make us Number Three?
-------------------------
Here we are in 2015, and we still don't have any snow to speak of in OurTown. I've been able to ride outdoors right up to the present, even getting in 10 miles on December 30th, before the sub-freezing temperatures just made my toes hurt. I ended with 74 miles in December (I've never even had half that before), and 1110 for the year 2014. Funny to think that I was sweating getting to four digits a month ago, and ended up going over 100 miles past that. Heck, this afternoon, I'm going out for my first 10 miles of the New Year, so 2015 is already well-begun.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Are You Ready for Some Football?
I don't usually post a whole lot about football around these parts, although in recent years, my Spartans have inspired me to wax rhapsodical from time to time. But this weekend was a kind of football-ish harmonic convergence around here. You would be very kind to indulge me. . .
-------------------------
7M is a high-school junior, and a linebacker for his school's football team. He's pretty darn good (if I may say so myself), and is usually among the leading tacklers for his team. It never gets old, hearing your son's name called over the PA, I tell you.
His team has had a really good season so far, going undefeated, winning their league championship, and qualifying for the state playoffs, besides. This Friday night past, they played another undefeated, highly-ranked team, and won, 27-22. It was the only game all year that they won by less than 30 points. It was actually kinda fun to watch a game that wasn't played with a running clock for most of the second half. . .
The team is sufficiently highly ranked that it wouldn't be a surprise for them to be playing in the domed stadium in Detroit over Thanksgiving weekend (ie, for the state championship). There being four rounds of games to win before that comes to pass, I'll stop short of counting any unhatched chickens. But it's been a fun ride so far. . .
-------------------------
8M played football for the first time in his life this fall. He hasn't been as athletically-inclined as his brothers, and I'm fine with that; he sure doesn't have to have athletic success in order to please me. He has his own really unique personality, and his own set of unique skills and proclivities that make him a really interesting and fun person in his own very estimable right; we're glad to have him in our family, no matter how stunned we were to find ourselves expecting our eighth child deep into our 40s, all those years ago. . .
Anyway, it's been a lot of fun, watching him learn to play the game, progressing from "Where am I? What am I supposed to be doing? I have no clue. . ." to understanding his assignments, and making plays. Last week, he got his name called over the PA for the first time (he made a tackle), and in today's game, he actually carried the ball a couple times. Mind you, I'm not so much living vicariously through the success he's had (such as it is), as I am proud of him making the effort, and learning to do something that he started out utterly clueless of. Very cool. . .
-------------------------
And just for the sake of saying so, I have to mention the way my Spartans man-handled the hated Wolverines over the weekend, the sixth time we've beaten them in the last seven games. Truth to tell, I didn't think that the Spartans played all that well, certainly far short of their best. But even so, they dominated the blue-corn guys from start to finish. It's a sign of how strong our team is, I suppose, that they can dominate their rival while still not playing their best.
I'm still getting used to this whole rivalry-dominance thing. Our friends from down the road have had far more success against us, in my adult lifetime, than we've had against them (though we pretty much owned them in my childhood; just sayin'). I'm just glad (*shedding a small tear*) to have lived long enough to see the tables turned, at least for a while. . .
-------------------------
And then this morning, the Lions played the Sunday Brunch Special from Wembley Stadium in London. That's London, in the UK, not Ontario. Five time zones to the east of here. NFL marketing-types, gotta love 'em. . .
The Leos started out terrible, trailing 21-0 at halftime. But they turned the tables in the second half and ended up pulling out a 22-21 victory on a last-second field goal (some real bizarre doings in those final seconds, which I'll decline to discuss in detail, but it did make things, um interesting).
I'm not quite ready to start calling them "MY Lions" just yet (6-2 and leading the division has gone down in flames too often, too recently, for me to jump on the bandwagon quite this soon). But this could yet turn into one of the better years of my own personal memory. . .
-------------------------
So, lots of football this weekend, all the way from middle-school, to high school, to major-college, to the pros. And all of 'em went according to my own humble rooting interests, which was nice.
And the weather in these parts was spectacular this weekend - mid-60s, brilliant sunshine, cloudless azure skies. . . So I put another 32 miles on my bike, bringing me to 876 miles for the year. Barring any nasty weather wiping out entire weekends, I should just sneak past 1000 before the snow flies. But, we will see what we will see. . .
-------------------------
7M is a high-school junior, and a linebacker for his school's football team. He's pretty darn good (if I may say so myself), and is usually among the leading tacklers for his team. It never gets old, hearing your son's name called over the PA, I tell you.
His team has had a really good season so far, going undefeated, winning their league championship, and qualifying for the state playoffs, besides. This Friday night past, they played another undefeated, highly-ranked team, and won, 27-22. It was the only game all year that they won by less than 30 points. It was actually kinda fun to watch a game that wasn't played with a running clock for most of the second half. . .
The team is sufficiently highly ranked that it wouldn't be a surprise for them to be playing in the domed stadium in Detroit over Thanksgiving weekend (ie, for the state championship). There being four rounds of games to win before that comes to pass, I'll stop short of counting any unhatched chickens. But it's been a fun ride so far. . .
-------------------------
8M played football for the first time in his life this fall. He hasn't been as athletically-inclined as his brothers, and I'm fine with that; he sure doesn't have to have athletic success in order to please me. He has his own really unique personality, and his own set of unique skills and proclivities that make him a really interesting and fun person in his own very estimable right; we're glad to have him in our family, no matter how stunned we were to find ourselves expecting our eighth child deep into our 40s, all those years ago. . .
Anyway, it's been a lot of fun, watching him learn to play the game, progressing from "Where am I? What am I supposed to be doing? I have no clue. . ." to understanding his assignments, and making plays. Last week, he got his name called over the PA for the first time (he made a tackle), and in today's game, he actually carried the ball a couple times. Mind you, I'm not so much living vicariously through the success he's had (such as it is), as I am proud of him making the effort, and learning to do something that he started out utterly clueless of. Very cool. . .
-------------------------
And just for the sake of saying so, I have to mention the way my Spartans man-handled the hated Wolverines over the weekend, the sixth time we've beaten them in the last seven games. Truth to tell, I didn't think that the Spartans played all that well, certainly far short of their best. But even so, they dominated the blue-corn guys from start to finish. It's a sign of how strong our team is, I suppose, that they can dominate their rival while still not playing their best.
I'm still getting used to this whole rivalry-dominance thing. Our friends from down the road have had far more success against us, in my adult lifetime, than we've had against them (though we pretty much owned them in my childhood; just sayin'). I'm just glad (*shedding a small tear*) to have lived long enough to see the tables turned, at least for a while. . .
-------------------------
And then this morning, the Lions played the Sunday Brunch Special from Wembley Stadium in London. That's London, in the UK, not Ontario. Five time zones to the east of here. NFL marketing-types, gotta love 'em. . .
The Leos started out terrible, trailing 21-0 at halftime. But they turned the tables in the second half and ended up pulling out a 22-21 victory on a last-second field goal (some real bizarre doings in those final seconds, which I'll decline to discuss in detail, but it did make things, um interesting).
I'm not quite ready to start calling them "MY Lions" just yet (6-2 and leading the division has gone down in flames too often, too recently, for me to jump on the bandwagon quite this soon). But this could yet turn into one of the better years of my own personal memory. . .
-------------------------
So, lots of football this weekend, all the way from middle-school, to high school, to major-college, to the pros. And all of 'em went according to my own humble rooting interests, which was nice.
And the weather in these parts was spectacular this weekend - mid-60s, brilliant sunshine, cloudless azure skies. . . So I put another 32 miles on my bike, bringing me to 876 miles for the year. Barring any nasty weather wiping out entire weekends, I should just sneak past 1000 before the snow flies. But, we will see what we will see. . .
Monday, October 6, 2014
Well, That Was Quick. . .
Recalling what I said in my previous post about frequency of posting during the baseball post-season month of October. . . Yeah, well, so much for that. My Tigers were unceremoniously swept out of the playoffs yesterday evening. It's not like I didn't see it coming, or anything, but, you know, we hoped for better. . .
Our three-game whirlwind tour (and I use the term 'whirlwind' both in the sense of 'brief and frenetic', and also 'getting slammed by a tornado') of the baseball post-season was really something of a microcosm of the entire season - the bullpen imploding, wasting creditable, if not spectacular starting pitching, and then the bats inexplicably disappearing when we did get solid pitching. I mean, 12 FREAKIN' RUNS OVER CONSECUTIVE 8TH INNINGS? Twelve!?! Seriously?!? But such was the quality of our bullpen this year; no lead was ever safe. I'd be listening to a game on the radio, and the starter would be through seven innings with 110 or so pitches, and a nine-run lead, and I'd be anxiously wringing my hands, wondering if a nine-run lead could hold up through two innings of relief pitching. (I don't recall if the bullpen ever actually blew a nine-run lead or not, but it had some atrocious meltdowns. I know we lost more than one lead of three runs or more in the 9th inning)
And, for all the all-star caliber hitters the Tigers have, they were prone to mystifying offensive droughts, making guys with career ERAs of 5.86 look like Sandy Freakin' Koufax. On paper, before the season, it looked like we should win our division by at least 10 games. Our starting rotation included two of the past three Cy Young Award winners (and we picked up the third one at the trade deadline), and Miguel Cabrera was the two-time defending Most Valuable Player. We even unloaded Prince Fielder's horrible contract and even more horrible defense; things were looking good. We had some injury problems, but nothing terribly our of the ordinary (although both Cabrera and Justin Verlander were coming off off-season surgeries, and both of them were mystifyingly un-dominant for long stretches of the season). We ended up squeaking out the division championship by one game, after looking up at the Kansas City Royals for a lot of the summer. It was a frustrating season, but it seemed like were starting to get our stuff together just in time for the playoffs. I guess not, huh?
But hey, the Los Angeles Angels, who by most all accounts were the best team in the American League, got similarly broomed out of the playoffs by the aforementioned Royals, and the Washington Nationals, who were likewise counted the best team in the National League, are on life support, having lost their first two games at home, and heading to San Francisco with no more losses 'to give'. Which goes to show, I suppose, that once you get into the playoffs, anything can happen. . .
The coming off-season promises to be tumultuous for my Tigers, in all sorts of ways. Max Scherzer, our best pitcher the past two seasons, is a free agent, and I can't imagine that the Tigers will be able to match the money that teams like the Yankees will be prepared to throw at him. Victor Martinez, who was our best hitter this year, is also a free agent, and it is not a given that we will be able to re-sign him, either. Torii Hunter has given the Tigers a couple of solid seasons, even at 39 years of age, and he's a free agent, too. We will see what we will see, of course (we always do), but there is a large sense that the Tigers' window of opportunity to win a World Series is about to slam shut. It's been a nice run for the past 5-6 seasons, but they haven't yet won it all, and it seems about to become less likely, not more.
(*sigh*)
-------------------------
The Lions also lost ignominiously yesterday afternoon, making it a dismally lost weekend for Detroit professional sports teams. . .
But at least, on a somewhat happier note, my Spartans won their game Saturday night. Not, however, before they gave up most of a 24-point, end-of-the-3rd-quarter lead, having to intercept a pass on the 10-yard-line with 30 seconds left in order to hang on for a 5-point win. In the last four minutes of the game, they gave up a touchdown on a punt return, and bounced a short filed goal off the upright. I was seriously hyperventilating at that point. Credit to Nebraska, our opponent, for not getting the memo that the game was over at the end of the 3rd quarter. The mismatch in intensity between the two teams in the 4th quarter was glaring. My Spartans will have to play hard for all four quarters, if they hope to contend for the kind of honors they aspire to.
-------------------------
At any rate, given the end of the Tigers' season, things might be a tad less sports-oriented around these parts than I'd hoped (or some of my readers might have feared) this month. So, who knows what stuff I might be posting about? With a sideways tip of the hat to my friend Suldog, I can't promise that my next post will be soon, and I sure can't promise that it'll be better. But, you know, eventually, with more stuff, of one sort or another. . .
Our three-game whirlwind tour (and I use the term 'whirlwind' both in the sense of 'brief and frenetic', and also 'getting slammed by a tornado') of the baseball post-season was really something of a microcosm of the entire season - the bullpen imploding, wasting creditable, if not spectacular starting pitching, and then the bats inexplicably disappearing when we did get solid pitching. I mean, 12 FREAKIN' RUNS OVER CONSECUTIVE 8TH INNINGS? Twelve!?! Seriously?!? But such was the quality of our bullpen this year; no lead was ever safe. I'd be listening to a game on the radio, and the starter would be through seven innings with 110 or so pitches, and a nine-run lead, and I'd be anxiously wringing my hands, wondering if a nine-run lead could hold up through two innings of relief pitching. (I don't recall if the bullpen ever actually blew a nine-run lead or not, but it had some atrocious meltdowns. I know we lost more than one lead of three runs or more in the 9th inning)
And, for all the all-star caliber hitters the Tigers have, they were prone to mystifying offensive droughts, making guys with career ERAs of 5.86 look like Sandy Freakin' Koufax. On paper, before the season, it looked like we should win our division by at least 10 games. Our starting rotation included two of the past three Cy Young Award winners (and we picked up the third one at the trade deadline), and Miguel Cabrera was the two-time defending Most Valuable Player. We even unloaded Prince Fielder's horrible contract and even more horrible defense; things were looking good. We had some injury problems, but nothing terribly our of the ordinary (although both Cabrera and Justin Verlander were coming off off-season surgeries, and both of them were mystifyingly un-dominant for long stretches of the season). We ended up squeaking out the division championship by one game, after looking up at the Kansas City Royals for a lot of the summer. It was a frustrating season, but it seemed like were starting to get our stuff together just in time for the playoffs. I guess not, huh?
But hey, the Los Angeles Angels, who by most all accounts were the best team in the American League, got similarly broomed out of the playoffs by the aforementioned Royals, and the Washington Nationals, who were likewise counted the best team in the National League, are on life support, having lost their first two games at home, and heading to San Francisco with no more losses 'to give'. Which goes to show, I suppose, that once you get into the playoffs, anything can happen. . .
The coming off-season promises to be tumultuous for my Tigers, in all sorts of ways. Max Scherzer, our best pitcher the past two seasons, is a free agent, and I can't imagine that the Tigers will be able to match the money that teams like the Yankees will be prepared to throw at him. Victor Martinez, who was our best hitter this year, is also a free agent, and it is not a given that we will be able to re-sign him, either. Torii Hunter has given the Tigers a couple of solid seasons, even at 39 years of age, and he's a free agent, too. We will see what we will see, of course (we always do), but there is a large sense that the Tigers' window of opportunity to win a World Series is about to slam shut. It's been a nice run for the past 5-6 seasons, but they haven't yet won it all, and it seems about to become less likely, not more.
(*sigh*)
-------------------------
The Lions also lost ignominiously yesterday afternoon, making it a dismally lost weekend for Detroit professional sports teams. . .
But at least, on a somewhat happier note, my Spartans won their game Saturday night. Not, however, before they gave up most of a 24-point, end-of-the-3rd-quarter lead, having to intercept a pass on the 10-yard-line with 30 seconds left in order to hang on for a 5-point win. In the last four minutes of the game, they gave up a touchdown on a punt return, and bounced a short filed goal off the upright. I was seriously hyperventilating at that point. Credit to Nebraska, our opponent, for not getting the memo that the game was over at the end of the 3rd quarter. The mismatch in intensity between the two teams in the 4th quarter was glaring. My Spartans will have to play hard for all four quarters, if they hope to contend for the kind of honors they aspire to.
-------------------------
At any rate, given the end of the Tigers' season, things might be a tad less sports-oriented around these parts than I'd hoped (or some of my readers might have feared) this month. So, who knows what stuff I might be posting about? With a sideways tip of the hat to my friend Suldog, I can't promise that my next post will be soon, and I sure can't promise that it'll be better. But, you know, eventually, with more stuff, of one sort or another. . .
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Roses Are Green!
Final Score of the 2014 Rose Bowl:
Michigan State 24
Stanford 20
Once again, the Spartan defense just progressively choked the life out of an opposing offense, becoming more impenetrable as the game wore on. The offense made more mistakes (and more bizarre ones) than we've been used to (what were you thinking on that screen pass for the pick-six, Connor Cook?), but on the whole, they imposed their will on the Stanford 'D' more than the other way around.
I won't bore you with a recap of what I posted a couple weeks back; suffice it to say that my Spartans have earned their way back into consideration as one of the top football programs in the land. As presently constituted, we aren't what we've been since the late 60s - an average program, occasionally good, which could produce wonderful moments, but stumble at least as often, and never rise to the level of 'elite'. No, this is a damn good team, right now, and the wonderful moments are more the norm than the exception. And I must say, we're loving it. . .
(I am recalling a conversation I had a couple years ago with some friends of mine from our sister school an hour down the road - Big Sister, if they insist - in which they all asserted that, what with Big Blue hiring a new coach, we Spartans would soon be relegated once more to our rightful position looking up at them, sighing wistfully, and wishing we could be like them. At the time, I said, God bless coach Hoke and all, but I didn't think that Coach D and the Spartans were planning on going anywhere, and maybe they should get used to the idea of us being better than they'd like us to be. It's fun to be proven right. . .)
Michigan State 24
Stanford 20
Once again, the Spartan defense just progressively choked the life out of an opposing offense, becoming more impenetrable as the game wore on. The offense made more mistakes (and more bizarre ones) than we've been used to (what were you thinking on that screen pass for the pick-six, Connor Cook?), but on the whole, they imposed their will on the Stanford 'D' more than the other way around.
I won't bore you with a recap of what I posted a couple weeks back; suffice it to say that my Spartans have earned their way back into consideration as one of the top football programs in the land. As presently constituted, we aren't what we've been since the late 60s - an average program, occasionally good, which could produce wonderful moments, but stumble at least as often, and never rise to the level of 'elite'. No, this is a damn good team, right now, and the wonderful moments are more the norm than the exception. And I must say, we're loving it. . .
(I am recalling a conversation I had a couple years ago with some friends of mine from our sister school an hour down the road - Big Sister, if they insist - in which they all asserted that, what with Big Blue hiring a new coach, we Spartans would soon be relegated once more to our rightful position looking up at them, sighing wistfully, and wishing we could be like them. At the time, I said, God bless coach Hoke and all, but I didn't think that Coach D and the Spartans were planning on going anywhere, and maybe they should get used to the idea of us being better than they'd like us to be. It's fun to be proven right. . .)
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Roses!
I'm sorry to inflict yet another sports post on you all (or at least, on those of you who drop in for reasons other than checking in on my rooting interests), but this has been an autumn of exceeding wonderfulness for my favorite sports teams. First, my Tigers advanced to within a game or two of the World Series, and now my Spartans are Big Ten football champions, having defeated the Buckeyes of Ohio State in the Big Ten championship game last night (and just for the sake of wondering, the fact that the Big Ten conference has twelve teams in it is passing curious, no? And even more fun, the Big Twelve conference has ten teams in it; yes, these numerically-challenged conferences are composed of universities charged with educating young adults to take their place as future world leaders; should we be worried?)
It has been a good year for the football Spartans, mainly owing to a superior defense which, at its best, could just suck the life out of opposing offenses. OSU was definitely the best team we had faced all season, and their offense tested our defense in ways that no-one else had. Even so, the Spartans charged out to an early 17-0 lead, and things were looking good in Spartan-land halfway through the second quarter. Of course, the Buckeyes didn't arrive at last night's game undefeated without knowing how to throw a counter-punch (figuratively speaking), and by the middle of the third quarter, they had taken a 24-17 lead. But at that point, my Spartans managed to blunt the Buckeye momentum and threw a few (figurative) counter-punches of their own, and when it was all said and done, we had a 34-24 victory and the 2013 Big Ten football championship, which comes with a free trip to Pasadena on New Year's Day, to play the Stanford Cardinal in the Rose Bowl.
GO GREEN! all over again.
It has been a stunning year for my Spartans. Last year's team finished with a record of 7-6, having lost five games by a total of 13 points, largely due to an especially, uh, challenged offense. And most of the best players from last year's offense graduated, so we weren't necessarily expecting this year to be leaps and bounds better than last year. And in fact, for the early, non-conference portion of the schedule, our offense continued to struggle mightily, even while our defense took up where last year's suffocating defense left off (after the first three games, the defense had actually scored more points than the offense had, leading some of the more cynical Spartans among us to suggest that we should take to punting on first down, since that would give us more opportunities to score).
But gradually, as the season wore on, the offense slowly came together to where it was more of an asset than a liability, and the defense just stonewalled everything in sight. We completed the conference schedule undefeated (our only loss all season was a non-conference game against some Catholic school from just across the Indiana state line; we'd love to get another crack at that game, but whatcha gonna do?), and earned a spot in the conference championship game for the second time in the last three years.
And this time, we won. We're 12-1 heading into the Rose Bowl, a school record for wins, and the third time in four years that we've won 11 games or more. It's only the third time in my lifetime that we're in the Rose Bowl; the last time was 26 years ago, back when Jen and I only had two kids (and 3M was 'in the oven'). Much as I said about my Tigers earlier in the fall, we haven't been accustomed to quite such lofty and sustained success. But we are sure as heck enjoying the ride. . .
It has been a good year for the football Spartans, mainly owing to a superior defense which, at its best, could just suck the life out of opposing offenses. OSU was definitely the best team we had faced all season, and their offense tested our defense in ways that no-one else had. Even so, the Spartans charged out to an early 17-0 lead, and things were looking good in Spartan-land halfway through the second quarter. Of course, the Buckeyes didn't arrive at last night's game undefeated without knowing how to throw a counter-punch (figuratively speaking), and by the middle of the third quarter, they had taken a 24-17 lead. But at that point, my Spartans managed to blunt the Buckeye momentum and threw a few (figurative) counter-punches of their own, and when it was all said and done, we had a 34-24 victory and the 2013 Big Ten football championship, which comes with a free trip to Pasadena on New Year's Day, to play the Stanford Cardinal in the Rose Bowl.
GO GREEN! all over again.
It has been a stunning year for my Spartans. Last year's team finished with a record of 7-6, having lost five games by a total of 13 points, largely due to an especially, uh, challenged offense. And most of the best players from last year's offense graduated, so we weren't necessarily expecting this year to be leaps and bounds better than last year. And in fact, for the early, non-conference portion of the schedule, our offense continued to struggle mightily, even while our defense took up where last year's suffocating defense left off (after the first three games, the defense had actually scored more points than the offense had, leading some of the more cynical Spartans among us to suggest that we should take to punting on first down, since that would give us more opportunities to score).
But gradually, as the season wore on, the offense slowly came together to where it was more of an asset than a liability, and the defense just stonewalled everything in sight. We completed the conference schedule undefeated (our only loss all season was a non-conference game against some Catholic school from just across the Indiana state line; we'd love to get another crack at that game, but whatcha gonna do?), and earned a spot in the conference championship game for the second time in the last three years.
And this time, we won. We're 12-1 heading into the Rose Bowl, a school record for wins, and the third time in four years that we've won 11 games or more. It's only the third time in my lifetime that we're in the Rose Bowl; the last time was 26 years ago, back when Jen and I only had two kids (and 3M was 'in the oven'). Much as I said about my Tigers earlier in the fall, we haven't been accustomed to quite such lofty and sustained success. But we are sure as heck enjoying the ride. . .
Sunday, November 24, 2013
A Word to the Wise. . .
A while back, I was engaging in some playful teasing with a lawyer friend of mine, when he got a mischievous look on his face and told me (I'd say he reminded me, but it honestly hadn't occurred to me before then):
"You know, if you and I should ever happen to be in court together, you'll have to swear an oath to tell the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth. I won't. . ."
*************************
And hey, while I'm thinking of it, how 'bout my Spartans? Undefeated in the Big Ten (with one game left to play), they punched their ticket to the conference championship game yesterday. I told some of my friends from the school down the road that winning our game with them is nice, but we're REALLY looking forward to playing Ohio State. . . Heh. . .
Anyway, Coach D'Antonio has got it goin' on in Spartan-land. We're not used to this level of high, sustained success. Or beating our friends down the road with quite such regularity. But we're sure as heck enjoying every minute of it. . .
And the basketball team isn't doing too badly, either. . .
GO GREEN!!!
"You know, if you and I should ever happen to be in court together, you'll have to swear an oath to tell the Truth, the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth. I won't. . ."
*************************
And hey, while I'm thinking of it, how 'bout my Spartans? Undefeated in the Big Ten (with one game left to play), they punched their ticket to the conference championship game yesterday. I told some of my friends from the school down the road that winning our game with them is nice, but we're REALLY looking forward to playing Ohio State. . . Heh. . .
Anyway, Coach D'Antonio has got it goin' on in Spartan-land. We're not used to this level of high, sustained success. Or beating our friends down the road with quite such regularity. But we're sure as heck enjoying every minute of it. . .
And the basketball team isn't doing too badly, either. . .
GO GREEN!!!
Friday, October 19, 2012
World Series Bound (Again)
Once again, for the eleventh time in history, and the fourth time in my young life (and the second time in my bloggerly existence), my Tigers are headed to the World Series. Woo, as they say, Hoo!
I don't know if I can handle this properly, or not; the Tigers, in my lifetime, have been pretty much of a once-every-twenty-years-or-so team, when it comes to the World Series. For them to make a third post-season appearance (to say nothing of that Game-163 thing in '09), and a second World Series, in six years, just seems sorta, I dunno, extravagant. I mean, is it our turn again already? Not, mind you, that I'm complaining. . .
As things turned out, it was the Tigers' unpleasant duty to bring an end to the Oakland A's Feel-Good-Story-of-the-Year in the first round, but not before getting to the winner-take-all 5th game. But then, Justin Verlander (known in these parts as The Best Pitcher in Baseball, or TBPiB, for short) just kinda squeezed all the life out of the poor A's in the deciding game. Somewhere along the way, we started noticing that, hey, ALL our starting pitchers are pitching REALLY well; not just Verlander, but Doug Fister, Max Scherzer and Anibal Sanchez, were just stifling the opposing bats to a pretty incredible degree. Against the A's, our four starters had a combined Earned-Run-Average (ERA) of 1.30, and only allowed 21 hits in 34-2/3 innings; the A's hit a combined .176 against them. For those of you who don't follow baseball, or for whom baseball statistics are drooling-stupor-inducing, I'll just say that those are just mind-bogglingly good numbers, and all the moreso against a team that was good enough to make the playoffs, and had won 9 of its last 11 games, and 33 of its last 46, before the playoffs.
After dispatching the A's, we moved on to face the dreaded New York Yankees in the League Championship Series, and our pitching got even better (altho, to hear the New York media tell it, the Yankees were a bunch of mentally-defective degenerates, so the Tigers could hardly help sweeping them away; but those degenerates somehow managed to win 95 games this season). The Yankees only scored six runs total in four games against the Tigers, and four of those were in a single, epic melt-down of an inning, against our erstwhile one-time closer, who has struggled all year, but most especially in the playoffs. In 27-1/3 innings, our starters allowed two runs and 13 hits; those are simply ridiculous numbers.
Honestly, it feels a little odd to be sitting here, waiting for the World Series to start, after the season we had this year. Virtually everyone expected the Tigers to run away with the Central Division this year, especially after signing Prince Fielder to augment what was already a pretty potent offense. But the team seemed to be playing in molasses all year. Doug Fister, who had pitched so well for us in 2011, spent the first half or more of the season on and off of the injury list, and Max Scherzer got off to a horrible start. Our hitting was inconsistent, and maddeningly un-clutch; I can't think of how many times a runner on third base with no outs failed to score, or how many times we hit into double-plays with the bases loaded and one out. Plus, when our starters pitched well, our bullpen would blow the games at the end. 58 games into the season, the Tigers' record was 26-32, and they were six games behind the division-leading Chicago White Sox.
Eventually, they started to play better, but all season long, it was three steps forward, two steps back. They'd go on a 13-2 run, and follow it with a 2-6 stretch, followed by a 6-0 run, then 1-5. As late as September 17, they lost a critical game against the White Sox that left them three games behind with 16 to play. And on the 23rd, they lost both ends of a doubleheader against the Twins (the freakin' TWINS!), when winning even one of them would have pulled them into a tie for first. As a fan, it was continuously, maddeningly frustrating.
But the Tigers won eight of their final ten games and surged past the White Sox , who were stumbling just as we were hitting our stride. At the same time, Miguel Cabrera went on a personal tear of his own, that ended with him winning the Triple Crown, the first hitter since 1967 to accomplish that feat. We ended up winning the division by three games.
And I recalled thinking that, if we could just make it into the post-season, our pitching was good enough to possibly carry us pretty far. Little did I know. . .
At the moment, it looks likely that we'll be facing the St. Louis Cardinals in the World Series, for the fourth time (unless Uncle Skip's Giants can pull off another three-game, come-from-behind miracle). The Cardinals beat us the last time we were in the Series, in 2006, so there's a certain sentiment in these parts that wants to see the rematch. But, really, we just want to play the Series against whoever shows up, and, hopefully, win.
It's funny - the first two times I watched the Tigers in the World Series, in '68 and '84, they just kicked ass all season long, and carried it over into the playoffs. I'm not used to this sneaking-in the last couple days thing.
But - good times to be a Tiger fan. Good, good times. . .
Go Tigers!!!
-------------------------
It's actually kinda nice, in a way, that the World Series doesn't start until next Wednesday. My Spartans play their annual Rivalry Game against our Sister School from down the road this weekend, and it's nice to have a brief break from the Tigers, so we can concentrate all of our passion and energy on the football game for the weekend. My Spartans have won the last four in a row against the maize-and-blue (well, they call it maize; we call it corn), but this season hasn't gone quite as well for the ol' alma mater. Not that the Wolver-persons are all that and a bag of chips, but for us to extend our winning streak against them would be a bit of an upset. We'll see. . .
Go Green! Go White! Go Spartans!
*************************
(add, 22 Oct)
(*sigh*)
Well, my Spartans couldn't extend their winning streak over their in-state rivals this past weekend, losing 12-10 on a last-second field goal. The game was right there for them to win it, but it's just been that kind of season for 'em. Ah, well; I suppose we have to let 'em win every five years or so, or they won't want to play with us anymore. . .
But hey, maybe there'll be some kind of karmic balance, and it'll bode well for my Tigers in the World Series. We still don't know who we're gonna play come Wednesday night; Uncle Skip's Giants came back from the brink, and play a deciding Game 7 tonight, the winner of which will be our World Series opponent. . .
I don't know if I can handle this properly, or not; the Tigers, in my lifetime, have been pretty much of a once-every-twenty-years-or-so team, when it comes to the World Series. For them to make a third post-season appearance (to say nothing of that Game-163 thing in '09), and a second World Series, in six years, just seems sorta, I dunno, extravagant. I mean, is it our turn again already? Not, mind you, that I'm complaining. . .
As things turned out, it was the Tigers' unpleasant duty to bring an end to the Oakland A's Feel-Good-Story-of-the-Year in the first round, but not before getting to the winner-take-all 5th game. But then, Justin Verlander (known in these parts as The Best Pitcher in Baseball, or TBPiB, for short) just kinda squeezed all the life out of the poor A's in the deciding game. Somewhere along the way, we started noticing that, hey, ALL our starting pitchers are pitching REALLY well; not just Verlander, but Doug Fister, Max Scherzer and Anibal Sanchez, were just stifling the opposing bats to a pretty incredible degree. Against the A's, our four starters had a combined Earned-Run-Average (ERA) of 1.30, and only allowed 21 hits in 34-2/3 innings; the A's hit a combined .176 against them. For those of you who don't follow baseball, or for whom baseball statistics are drooling-stupor-inducing, I'll just say that those are just mind-bogglingly good numbers, and all the moreso against a team that was good enough to make the playoffs, and had won 9 of its last 11 games, and 33 of its last 46, before the playoffs.
After dispatching the A's, we moved on to face the dreaded New York Yankees in the League Championship Series, and our pitching got even better (altho, to hear the New York media tell it, the Yankees were a bunch of mentally-defective degenerates, so the Tigers could hardly help sweeping them away; but those degenerates somehow managed to win 95 games this season). The Yankees only scored six runs total in four games against the Tigers, and four of those were in a single, epic melt-down of an inning, against our erstwhile one-time closer, who has struggled all year, but most especially in the playoffs. In 27-1/3 innings, our starters allowed two runs and 13 hits; those are simply ridiculous numbers.
Honestly, it feels a little odd to be sitting here, waiting for the World Series to start, after the season we had this year. Virtually everyone expected the Tigers to run away with the Central Division this year, especially after signing Prince Fielder to augment what was already a pretty potent offense. But the team seemed to be playing in molasses all year. Doug Fister, who had pitched so well for us in 2011, spent the first half or more of the season on and off of the injury list, and Max Scherzer got off to a horrible start. Our hitting was inconsistent, and maddeningly un-clutch; I can't think of how many times a runner on third base with no outs failed to score, or how many times we hit into double-plays with the bases loaded and one out. Plus, when our starters pitched well, our bullpen would blow the games at the end. 58 games into the season, the Tigers' record was 26-32, and they were six games behind the division-leading Chicago White Sox.
Eventually, they started to play better, but all season long, it was three steps forward, two steps back. They'd go on a 13-2 run, and follow it with a 2-6 stretch, followed by a 6-0 run, then 1-5. As late as September 17, they lost a critical game against the White Sox that left them three games behind with 16 to play. And on the 23rd, they lost both ends of a doubleheader against the Twins (the freakin' TWINS!), when winning even one of them would have pulled them into a tie for first. As a fan, it was continuously, maddeningly frustrating.
But the Tigers won eight of their final ten games and surged past the White Sox , who were stumbling just as we were hitting our stride. At the same time, Miguel Cabrera went on a personal tear of his own, that ended with him winning the Triple Crown, the first hitter since 1967 to accomplish that feat. We ended up winning the division by three games.
And I recalled thinking that, if we could just make it into the post-season, our pitching was good enough to possibly carry us pretty far. Little did I know. . .
At the moment, it looks likely that we'll be facing the St. Louis Cardinals in the World Series, for the fourth time (unless Uncle Skip's Giants can pull off another three-game, come-from-behind miracle). The Cardinals beat us the last time we were in the Series, in 2006, so there's a certain sentiment in these parts that wants to see the rematch. But, really, we just want to play the Series against whoever shows up, and, hopefully, win.
It's funny - the first two times I watched the Tigers in the World Series, in '68 and '84, they just kicked ass all season long, and carried it over into the playoffs. I'm not used to this sneaking-in the last couple days thing.
But - good times to be a Tiger fan. Good, good times. . .
Go Tigers!!!
-------------------------
It's actually kinda nice, in a way, that the World Series doesn't start until next Wednesday. My Spartans play their annual Rivalry Game against our Sister School from down the road this weekend, and it's nice to have a brief break from the Tigers, so we can concentrate all of our passion and energy on the football game for the weekend. My Spartans have won the last four in a row against the maize-and-blue (well, they call it maize; we call it corn), but this season hasn't gone quite as well for the ol' alma mater. Not that the Wolver-persons are all that and a bag of chips, but for us to extend our winning streak against them would be a bit of an upset. We'll see. . .
Go Green! Go White! Go Spartans!
*************************
(add, 22 Oct)
(*sigh*)
Well, my Spartans couldn't extend their winning streak over their in-state rivals this past weekend, losing 12-10 on a last-second field goal. The game was right there for them to win it, but it's just been that kind of season for 'em. Ah, well; I suppose we have to let 'em win every five years or so, or they won't want to play with us anymore. . .
But hey, maybe there'll be some kind of karmic balance, and it'll bode well for my Tigers in the World Series. We still don't know who we're gonna play come Wednesday night; Uncle Skip's Giants came back from the brink, and play a deciding Game 7 tonight, the winner of which will be our World Series opponent. . .
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Miles and Miles to Go. . .
For the last five years (roughly coinciding with my renewed commitment to seriously riding my bike), the weather around the turn from November to December has just been uncanny - within a day either side of the First of December, we've gotten the first significant snowfall of the year, which stays on the ground, and marks the change in temperatures from generally above freezing to generally below. Meaning that, once the snow comes to stay, it really stays, and my riding season is effectively ended. Five years in a row. You'd think that, one of those years, the Sender of Snow would slack off just long enough for me to sneak in a quick 15 or 20 miles on the 3rd, or the 5th maybe, but no dice.
So when we had a run of warm weekends this November, I was hopeful that maybe this year, winter would hold off a few days, and I'd be able to get a few December miles in. And all the moreso, since, as of Thanksgiving weekend, I was at 1388 miles for the year, and it would only take a dozen miles for me to pass 1400.
But, when I checked the weather forecast Tuesday afternoon, Our Town was predicted to get 6-10 inches of snow. Which is a lot of snow, especially for the first real snow of the season. I took my laptop home from work, and made arrangements to work from home on Wednesday if the forecast proved accurate. Which it did. The snow started falling Tuesday evening, as I was maybe 20 miles from home at the end of my commute, and it snowed hard all night and into Wednesday morning. When we went out to shovel the sidewalk and driveway, by golly, there was anywhere from six to ten inches of wet, heavy snow on the ground.
So I called my boss, and told him I'd be staying home. He seemed surprised, since where he lived, they'd only gotten a bit more than an inch. So I checked the weather map online, and it turned out that the 'snow belt' ran right up the middle of Michigan's mitten, virtually centered on Our Town. Fifty miles to the east, or fifty miles to the west of us, barely an inch of snow fell, but from the Ohio/Indiana border, running right up the middle of Michigan, it was 6-10.
So I just laughed, and noted ruefully that Wednesday was the Last Day of November. Right on schedule. But Wednesday itself was a pretty warm day, with high temperatures going into the 40s (Fahrenheit), so even by the time we went to bed on Wednesday, there was quite a bit less snow on the ground than there had been that morning. Our street, which is only two blocks long, and a dead end, never did get plowed, but by the end of Wednesday, we had no problem getting in and out with our cars. So, for a 6-10-inch snowfall, it was pretty benign, as such things go.
But of course, there's a big difference between what you can reasonably drive a car through, and what you can reasonably ride a bike in. Patches of ice aren't that big a deal in a car, but on a bike they can be treacherous. And, riding as we do along the edge of the pavement, if the snow significantly impinges on the available pavement, it quickly becomes a pretty dicey situation, sharing even less pavement than usual with the motorized vehicles, which are ten times heavier, and at least three times faster, than I am. So I was not particularly hopeful that I would be able to get a real, outdoors-on-the-pavement ride in.
Thursday and Friday were warm-ish (for December), with high temperatures in the upper 30s (F), which is above freezing, but won't turn snow into water at a very rapid rate. Plus, we got maybe another half-inch or so over Thurday night.
Yesterday morning, it was overcast, but again in the low 40s. I wasn't optimistic, but I really wanted to ride. So, after my usual round of morning errands, I decided to reconnoiter the route I would take if I did ride. And I found that the pavement, for the most part, was clear and dry, especially on the country back roads that I'd mainly be riding on. The busier country roads all have paved shoulders, and even those were clear. The biggest problems were all in the city, and they were manageable, if I just exercised some common-sensical caution.
So I scurried home, got into my 40-degree riding gear (regular riding gear, with an extra pair of wool socks, sweat pants, and a blaze-orange hoodie, and real gloves with fingers and everything) and got out on the road. I had a great ride (especially once I got out of town) - 17 miles, brisk fresh air, and no significant issues with the motor-vehicles. My heart, lungs, and legs hummed happily along, and I even got home in time to get to 7M's basketball game (and before the rain started).
So it's 1405 and counting. I've got one more vacation day left for this year, and I'm thinking of burning it on a 40+-degree day, should one pop up in the middle of the week, and get one more ride in, before I pack it in for the winter, and take my bike for its annual winter tune-up.
Man, this is just more fun than a human being ought to be allowed to have. . .
-------------------------
And alas, my Spartans went down to defeat in the Inaugural Big Ten Championship game last night. Great game, if you didn't care who won; we've had a few of those with the Badgers, in recent years.
(*sigh*)
Honestly, though, in August, I'd never have expected us to be this good again. I figured we'd be good, but our graduation losses from last year's co-championship team, along with a really gruelling schedule, seemed to portend a small regression, at least in the wins and losses. But here we were, playing for another conference championship. Whaddya know. . . maybe, just maybe, we're becoming pretty good.
Wouldn't that be fun?
So when we had a run of warm weekends this November, I was hopeful that maybe this year, winter would hold off a few days, and I'd be able to get a few December miles in. And all the moreso, since, as of Thanksgiving weekend, I was at 1388 miles for the year, and it would only take a dozen miles for me to pass 1400.
But, when I checked the weather forecast Tuesday afternoon, Our Town was predicted to get 6-10 inches of snow. Which is a lot of snow, especially for the first real snow of the season. I took my laptop home from work, and made arrangements to work from home on Wednesday if the forecast proved accurate. Which it did. The snow started falling Tuesday evening, as I was maybe 20 miles from home at the end of my commute, and it snowed hard all night and into Wednesday morning. When we went out to shovel the sidewalk and driveway, by golly, there was anywhere from six to ten inches of wet, heavy snow on the ground.
So I called my boss, and told him I'd be staying home. He seemed surprised, since where he lived, they'd only gotten a bit more than an inch. So I checked the weather map online, and it turned out that the 'snow belt' ran right up the middle of Michigan's mitten, virtually centered on Our Town. Fifty miles to the east, or fifty miles to the west of us, barely an inch of snow fell, but from the Ohio/Indiana border, running right up the middle of Michigan, it was 6-10.
So I just laughed, and noted ruefully that Wednesday was the Last Day of November. Right on schedule. But Wednesday itself was a pretty warm day, with high temperatures going into the 40s (Fahrenheit), so even by the time we went to bed on Wednesday, there was quite a bit less snow on the ground than there had been that morning. Our street, which is only two blocks long, and a dead end, never did get plowed, but by the end of Wednesday, we had no problem getting in and out with our cars. So, for a 6-10-inch snowfall, it was pretty benign, as such things go.
But of course, there's a big difference between what you can reasonably drive a car through, and what you can reasonably ride a bike in. Patches of ice aren't that big a deal in a car, but on a bike they can be treacherous. And, riding as we do along the edge of the pavement, if the snow significantly impinges on the available pavement, it quickly becomes a pretty dicey situation, sharing even less pavement than usual with the motorized vehicles, which are ten times heavier, and at least three times faster, than I am. So I was not particularly hopeful that I would be able to get a real, outdoors-on-the-pavement ride in.
Thursday and Friday were warm-ish (for December), with high temperatures in the upper 30s (F), which is above freezing, but won't turn snow into water at a very rapid rate. Plus, we got maybe another half-inch or so over Thurday night.
Yesterday morning, it was overcast, but again in the low 40s. I wasn't optimistic, but I really wanted to ride. So, after my usual round of morning errands, I decided to reconnoiter the route I would take if I did ride. And I found that the pavement, for the most part, was clear and dry, especially on the country back roads that I'd mainly be riding on. The busier country roads all have paved shoulders, and even those were clear. The biggest problems were all in the city, and they were manageable, if I just exercised some common-sensical caution.
So I scurried home, got into my 40-degree riding gear (regular riding gear, with an extra pair of wool socks, sweat pants, and a blaze-orange hoodie, and real gloves with fingers and everything) and got out on the road. I had a great ride (especially once I got out of town) - 17 miles, brisk fresh air, and no significant issues with the motor-vehicles. My heart, lungs, and legs hummed happily along, and I even got home in time to get to 7M's basketball game (and before the rain started).
So it's 1405 and counting. I've got one more vacation day left for this year, and I'm thinking of burning it on a 40+-degree day, should one pop up in the middle of the week, and get one more ride in, before I pack it in for the winter, and take my bike for its annual winter tune-up.
Man, this is just more fun than a human being ought to be allowed to have. . .
-------------------------
And alas, my Spartans went down to defeat in the Inaugural Big Ten Championship game last night. Great game, if you didn't care who won; we've had a few of those with the Badgers, in recent years.
(*sigh*)
Honestly, though, in August, I'd never have expected us to be this good again. I figured we'd be good, but our graduation losses from last year's co-championship team, along with a really gruelling schedule, seemed to portend a small regression, at least in the wins and losses. But here we were, playing for another conference championship. Whaddya know. . . maybe, just maybe, we're becoming pretty good.
Wouldn't that be fun?
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Advent. . . Eventually
We had a good time at my sister's for Thanksgiving. It was the first major holiday without Dad. It wasn't this deep melancholy thing; in fact, my brother, who is the executor of Dad's estate, brought some of the last of Dad's things to have us sort through, and take what we wanted. I took an old tie-tack of Dad's, that was a 'working' pair of square gears. It was very emblematic of Dad, and something an engineer like me can appreciate.
My sister is in the process of a divorce from her husband of 31 years (they were married the same summer as Jen and me). So, for her sake, it was probably good to have some company to fill her house for the holiday; and filling houses is something our family excels at. . .
Alas, the Lions lost, and the less said about that, the better, probably. . .
But my Spartans finished their second consecutive football season with double-digit wins, something that's never been done before in school history (although, to be perfectly fair, our best teams, back in the 50s and 60s, only played nine or ten games, so double-digit seasons were a little harder to come by. . .)
-------------------------
We got to spend some time with our grandchildren and their parents yesterday evening, and had a really warm, wonderful time together. Some really fine kids, being raised really well, there. . .
-------------------------
We've had a surplus of warm (albeit windy) Saturdays this November. So, the 30 miles I rode yesterday brought me to a total of 1388 for the year. If I can get in one ride in December (which I haven't done in fifteen years or so), I'll sneak past 1400 again. Wish me luck. . .
OK, then. . . on to the main event. . .
*************************
This next is a re-post of something I wrote back in 2006 (and re-posted again last year. Who knows? Maybe this will end up being a Tradition around here. . .)
At any rate, 'tis the season. . . And while I'm at it, I'll give a shout-out to my good friend Suldog, whose 'Thanksgiving Comes First' campaign against premature Christmas-y-ness partially inspired my dredging this up from the archives. . .
-------------------------
In our culture, the Friday after Thanksgiving marks the more-or-less 'official' beginning of the commercial season of 'Christmas', with the sales, the extended hours at the malls, special advertisements, etc., etc (although, honestly, the stores have been in 'Christmas mode' pretty much since they took down the Halloween stuff; maybe even before that). It's what much, if not most, of our culture thinks of when they think of 'Christmas', but less and less does it have any discernible connection with the actual content and meaning of Christmas.
One time I was visiting family in a large, midwestern city over Thanksgiving, and the following day, the local TV news had several reporters on site at various malls, doing interviews with shoppers. They asked one guy what the 'true meaning of Christmas' was, and he said, "We gotta get out here and spend money to keep the economy going strong." I am not making this up; he actually said that.
I sometimes wish that they would come up with a different name for the year-end consumerist feeding-frenzy. Just leave Christmas out of it. Or, maybe we should come up with another name for the celebration of Christ's Birth and Incarnation. Let 'em have 'Christmas' for the 'shopping season' - admit that we've lost it, and start over with a new name.
(*sigh*)
Anyway, today is the First Sunday of Advent - the beginning of the Christian season of spiritual preparation for Christmas. As I've gone along, I've come to really love Advent, imperfectly though I may observe it. In rough terms, Advent is to Christmas what Lent is to Easter, just with not quite the same 'penitential' emphasis. Rightly done, Advent is a time of contemplation, a time to step back from the normal frenzy of daily life, take a few deep breaths, and anticipate the coming joy of Christmas. Advent is pretty much the polar opposite of 'consumer Christmas'. Pausing for contemplation is not a thing Americans are terribly inclined to do (perhaps I should rather say it's a thing that we're inclined to do terribly).
In the larger American culture, the 'Christmas season' runs from the Friday after Thanksgiving until Christmas Day, but in traditional Christian circles, the Christmas season begins on Christmas Day and runs until Epiphany (January 6) - thus, the 'Twelve Days of Christmas'. So, when most of our neighbors are finished with Christmas, we're just getting started. It always perplexes me just a bit to see all the Christmas trees out on the curb on the 26th; when Jen was a kid, Catholics didn't even put their trees up until Christmas Eve. And, just as I'm getting pumped to sing 'Joy to the World' and 'O Come, All Ye Faithful', most of my neighbors are sick of hearing them.
Maybe I should blame it on the Magi - they started the whole giving-gifts-at-Christmas thing. I doubt they had any clue how far it would get out-of-hand, though.
When it comes right down to it, though, I suppose I've got to admit that my spiritual preparation for Christmas is my own responsibility. It's not up to American culture to get me spiritually prepared. It might be nice if the culture were more supportive (or even just less disruptive) of what I'm trying to accomplish, but it is what it is.
So, our family is setting out on Advent. If, over the next few weeks, I seem a little reticent and low-key about Christmas, you'll understand, won't you? And then, if I'm getting all Christmas-y just when you're getting tired of it all, you'd be very kind to indulge me. In the meantime, I'll be over here, singing 'O Come, O Come Emmanuel', in a minor key. . .
My sister is in the process of a divorce from her husband of 31 years (they were married the same summer as Jen and me). So, for her sake, it was probably good to have some company to fill her house for the holiday; and filling houses is something our family excels at. . .
Alas, the Lions lost, and the less said about that, the better, probably. . .
But my Spartans finished their second consecutive football season with double-digit wins, something that's never been done before in school history (although, to be perfectly fair, our best teams, back in the 50s and 60s, only played nine or ten games, so double-digit seasons were a little harder to come by. . .)
-------------------------
We got to spend some time with our grandchildren and their parents yesterday evening, and had a really warm, wonderful time together. Some really fine kids, being raised really well, there. . .
-------------------------
We've had a surplus of warm (albeit windy) Saturdays this November. So, the 30 miles I rode yesterday brought me to a total of 1388 for the year. If I can get in one ride in December (which I haven't done in fifteen years or so), I'll sneak past 1400 again. Wish me luck. . .
OK, then. . . on to the main event. . .
*************************
This next is a re-post of something I wrote back in 2006 (and re-posted again last year. Who knows? Maybe this will end up being a Tradition around here. . .)
At any rate, 'tis the season. . . And while I'm at it, I'll give a shout-out to my good friend Suldog, whose 'Thanksgiving Comes First' campaign against premature Christmas-y-ness partially inspired my dredging this up from the archives. . .
-------------------------
In our culture, the Friday after Thanksgiving marks the more-or-less 'official' beginning of the commercial season of 'Christmas', with the sales, the extended hours at the malls, special advertisements, etc., etc (although, honestly, the stores have been in 'Christmas mode' pretty much since they took down the Halloween stuff; maybe even before that). It's what much, if not most, of our culture thinks of when they think of 'Christmas', but less and less does it have any discernible connection with the actual content and meaning of Christmas.
One time I was visiting family in a large, midwestern city over Thanksgiving, and the following day, the local TV news had several reporters on site at various malls, doing interviews with shoppers. They asked one guy what the 'true meaning of Christmas' was, and he said, "We gotta get out here and spend money to keep the economy going strong." I am not making this up; he actually said that.
I sometimes wish that they would come up with a different name for the year-end consumerist feeding-frenzy. Just leave Christmas out of it. Or, maybe we should come up with another name for the celebration of Christ's Birth and Incarnation. Let 'em have 'Christmas' for the 'shopping season' - admit that we've lost it, and start over with a new name.
(*sigh*)
Anyway, today is the First Sunday of Advent - the beginning of the Christian season of spiritual preparation for Christmas. As I've gone along, I've come to really love Advent, imperfectly though I may observe it. In rough terms, Advent is to Christmas what Lent is to Easter, just with not quite the same 'penitential' emphasis. Rightly done, Advent is a time of contemplation, a time to step back from the normal frenzy of daily life, take a few deep breaths, and anticipate the coming joy of Christmas. Advent is pretty much the polar opposite of 'consumer Christmas'. Pausing for contemplation is not a thing Americans are terribly inclined to do (perhaps I should rather say it's a thing that we're inclined to do terribly).
In the larger American culture, the 'Christmas season' runs from the Friday after Thanksgiving until Christmas Day, but in traditional Christian circles, the Christmas season begins on Christmas Day and runs until Epiphany (January 6) - thus, the 'Twelve Days of Christmas'. So, when most of our neighbors are finished with Christmas, we're just getting started. It always perplexes me just a bit to see all the Christmas trees out on the curb on the 26th; when Jen was a kid, Catholics didn't even put their trees up until Christmas Eve. And, just as I'm getting pumped to sing 'Joy to the World' and 'O Come, All Ye Faithful', most of my neighbors are sick of hearing them.
Maybe I should blame it on the Magi - they started the whole giving-gifts-at-Christmas thing. I doubt they had any clue how far it would get out-of-hand, though.
When it comes right down to it, though, I suppose I've got to admit that my spiritual preparation for Christmas is my own responsibility. It's not up to American culture to get me spiritually prepared. It might be nice if the culture were more supportive (or even just less disruptive) of what I'm trying to accomplish, but it is what it is.
So, our family is setting out on Advent. If, over the next few weeks, I seem a little reticent and low-key about Christmas, you'll understand, won't you? And then, if I'm getting all Christmas-y just when you're getting tired of it all, you'd be very kind to indulge me. In the meantime, I'll be over here, singing 'O Come, O Come Emmanuel', in a minor key. . .
Sunday, October 23, 2011
All Wet
I have lived virtually my entire life in Michigan, surrounded by four of the five Great Lakes. We have more miles of shoreline here than any other state, except Alaska, and an awful lot of it is really nice, sandy beaches. The town I grew up in was right on the shore of Lake Huron, and for a couple years, we lived in a house which had Lake Huron as its back yard. While we lived there, it was a pretty good working model of Heaven.
In my hometown, we would go down to the beach pretty much whenever school wasn't in session, roughly from early June until the end of August. A really warm weekend in May might coax a few hardy souls into the water, but you couldn't really count on the lake being warm enough to swim in, that early in the season. September was similar - you might get a weekend warm enough to head down to the beach, but once football season started, we were usually otherwise occupied.
(Once Jen and I were on a 'getaway weekend' at a B&B on Lake Michigan; it was a lovely weekend in April, and a warm breeze was blowing in off the lake. We took a leisurely, romantic walk along the beach, and as the waves lapped gently onto the sand, we thought it would be fun to let the water roll over our toes as we walked. But then, in April, it's only been a couple weeks since all that majestically beautiful water was ice. And 35-degree water has a decidedly un-romantic effect on the toes; not for nothing do we speak of taking cold showers to, um, cool our ardor)
Now, Lake Huron, at least where I grew up, was typically around 65 degrees during the summer months, but we counted anything much above 60 as eminently swimmable. If you really had your heart set on getting wet, you might wade into water in the upper 50s, but you didn't stay in for very long.
I had a friend who grew up in Marquette, Michigan, on the Lake Superior shore of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Now, Lake Superior is COLD. . . Really, REALLY cold. . . C-O-L-D. The old quips about the balls on a brass monkey, or witches' mammary glands, or well-diggers' backsides, were really invented with Lake Superior in mind. Folks in Marquette, my friend told me, don't really go swimming much, at least not in the big lake; it's just too cold. But even so, everyone in town listens to their radio all summer long, waiting for the one glorious day in August when the weatherman comes on the radio to tell them that the water temperature is above 50 degrees, and then, like a civic ritual, the whole town goes down to the beach and swims, until they can't feel their toes anymore. Which takes about a minute or two.
When Jen and I were on our honeymoon, we were driving along a lightly travelled road in the UP (when it comes to the UP, 'lightly travelled' means a car might or might not have come by in the last 24 hours; a story is told of an old Yooper who pulled up and moved to Alaska when he started seeing neighbors once a week or so; it was just getting too darn crowded. . .), and we happened upon a lovely beach. I pulled the car off the road, directly onto the beach, we changed into our swimsuits right there in the open air, and ran into the lake for a quick dip (Jen still refers to this as her first serious act of marital submission, as I insisted that she not miss out on the experience). When I go into Lake Superior, I will wade in slowly, giving my feet and legs time togo numb get used to the water; usually by the time I'm knee-deep, I can look into the crystal-clear water and see two strikingly white things that look suspiciously like my feet, as all the blood has by then retreated to warmer places. At that point, one should either just jump in and get totally immersed, or call it day and get out of the water; trying to slowly wade in past the, uh, T-bag line is an exercise in masochism. . .
I set a goal for myself, when I was in my teens, to swim in all five Great Lakes - full immersion; wading in knee-deep doesn't count. And I'm happy to say that I achieved that goal, before my 30th birthday. Since Lake Ontario is the only one of the Great Lakes that doesn't lap onto the shores of the state of Michigan, we had to make a special point of vacationing at a cottage in Grimsby, Ontario (from whence the Toronto skyline is visible across the lake on a clear day), in order to collect Lake Ontario (and Niagara Falls, while we were at it) (no, I did not get 'fully immersed' in Niagara Falls); and thus did I duly accomplish my goal. So I expanded my goal to include both of the oceans that wet the shores of the United States.
-------------------------
I added the Atlantic Ocean to my collection when our family went to Florida for spring break, more than 20 years ago. The proximate cause for our trip was to meet my 'first mother', after not having seen or heard from her in more than 20 years. But we had a standing offer from my aunt, who lived on Florida's Gulf coast, to stay with her, so we took her up on that, and we had a great time.
When we left Michigan, it was 35 degrees, and a gray, dreary rain was falling. As we drove southward on I-75, the air got warmer with each passing mile; by the time we were in Kentucky, the grass was green. By Georgia, we saw flowers blooming in the red clay soil. We stopped at the little 'Welcome to Florida' rest stop just across the Florida line, for a complimentary cup of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and 2F (who was about four at the time), spying a palm tree, spontaneously ran over and laid a big friendly hug on it. By the time we arrived at our destination, south of Tampa, it was 85 degrees, and we felt like we were really getting one over on the Universe.
The next day, it was another delightfully sunny, 85-degree day, and we announced our intention to go swimming. My aunt chuckled, and said that we'd probably be the only ones in the water, since the locals didn't get in the water in March. Undeterred, we drove down to the beach, on one of the keys (a 'key' in Floridian geography is a geographic entity somewhere between a sand-spit island and a glorified sand-bar), and, as my aunt had predicted, we had the entire beach virtually to ourselves. For miles in either direction, we saw nary another human soul beside ourselves.
And what a beach! The beaches on the Great Lakes are nice - brown sand, with patches of tall grass appearing here and there. But this beach on the Gulf coast of Florida was the most amazing beach I'd ever seen (still is, as far as that's concerned) - fine, white sand, the consistency of flour, stretched as far as the eye could see, and gave the water itself a greenish hue unlike anything we see in Michigan. It was simply spectacular.
Although, the idea (which ocean-dwelling-types just take for granted) of having to take a shower after swimming, just seemed wrong. I get the whole thing about not wanting to walk around with a salt-film all over yourself, and I didn't like it, either. But up here in the Great Lakes, we tend to think of going swimming as roughly akin to taking a bath (OK, kind of a cold bath; and you have to kinda get used to the vaguely 'fishy' smell). So, needing to shower after swimming seems to sorta defeat half the purpose of going swimming in the first place. . .
Now, 1F was a fairly cautious child, and bright enough to know that things live under the water, where she can't see 'em - fish, and whales, and sharks, and jellyfish, and all sorts of things. As a very young child, she would resist even wading into the Great Lakes, for fear of the unknown critters and thingies that might be lurking where she couldn't see 'em. We were finally able to convince her that there were no sharks, or anything else that might be inclined to make a meal of her, in the Great Lakes, that those things only lived in the ocean, and not the Great Lakes; and that assuaged her fears. But now, in Florida - THIS was the ocean, by golly, and there ARE sharks in there, and she wasn't about to put herself so rashly in harm's way like that. I finally got her to get in the water by telling her that sharks can't swim when the water is shallow, and I promised to always keep myself between her and the deep water where the sharks were (she didn't so much mind the idea of her dad becoming a meal for a shark). . .
There was a mild dispute, though, as to whether the Gulf of Mexico really counted toward my 'both oceans' goal, or whether the Gulf should be considered as a separate body of water unto itself. No matter, though - my mother lived on the Atlantic coast of Florida, and when we drove over to visit with her and her husband (geographic note: the 'middle' - ie, non-coastal - parts of the state of Florida are singularly boring to drive through; unless you can convince your kids to make a game of counting dead armadillos, or somesuch), we took our opportunity to avail ourselves of the beaches on that side of the state.
The Atlantic beaches reminded us much more of our good-old Michigan beaches, than the Gulf-coast beaches had. The sand was a familiar brown, and the wind whipped on-shore just like it did back home, creating some much-more-impressive waves than we'd seen on the Gulf side of the state.
At one point, we were walking along, and we spied, maybe 50 yards or so ahead of us, what looked like a sandwich bag that someone had discarded on the beach. Now, Jen is a very committed picker-upper of trash, so she 'tsk-ed' in the appropriately disapproving manner, and walked ahead to dispose of the offending refuse. By the time she was just bending down to pick it up, I was close enough to notice the long 'stringer-things' spreading out from it, and I quickly yelled at her not to touch it, and leave it alone. When I got close enough to get a good look at our 'sandwich bag' (which even looked like it had grape jelly smeared on its insides), it was apparent that this was no piece of human-generated litter, but a beached jellyfish. And we breathed a heavy sigh of relief that Jen hadn't gone ahead and grabbed it up. . .
-------------------------
I checked the Pacific Ocean off my list when I went to visit my birth-mother the first time after our reunion. She and her husband live in California, near San Diego, which, as long as I'm on the topic, is about the most perfect climate I've ever experienced - 75F pretty much every day, 50F pretty much every night. That visit was also the first time I ever experienced jet-lag, going virtually face-down in my dinner-plate, because my body thought it was 11PM; and then, the next morning, I popped out of bed at 5AM, feeling like I'd slept in, bright-eyed and ready to go.
My first full day in California was beautiful, like pretty much every day is in Southern California. Looking out over the ocean, there were a dozen or so surfers taking advantage of the six-foot breakers rolling in. There is an underwater 'shelf' a couple hundred yards or so out from the beach, so the swells that roll in from Hawaii, or Tahiti, or wherever the waves come from that roll in on the beaches of Southern California, break sharply, and consistently, when they encounter the shelf. I wondered to myself how they manage to keep the kids in school there; where I grew up, on the Great Lakes, the school year roughly coincided with when it was uncomfortable to be in the water. But if it's 70F outside in November, I could imagine myself weighing an imaginary balance in my hands: 'let's see. . . school. . . or surfing. . .?'
I took several walks on the beach there, and I encountered sand crabs for the first time - little critters that are almost insect-like, that burrow into the sand on the beach. You can always tell where to find them, because they leave a tell-tale pattern of little holes in the sand. So, when you see the holes, you can just scoop up a handful of sand, and let the wet sand slip through your fingers, and you'll be left with a half-dozen or so of the little crabs, wiggling and crawling on the palm of your hand. It's a little disconcerting at first, but after a while, it's kinda cool.
The Pacific is also where I first encountered tides in a major way. Of course, there are tides on the Atlantic coast, but when we were in Florida, we just spent an hour or two on the beach, and returned to the house; we didn't spend a sufficiently extended period of time at the beach to notice the difference in the water levels. But where my birth-mother lives, we could see the ocean pretty much all the time, and there is a sea-wall, perhaps 10 feet high, between the water and any inhabitations. So, at high tide, the water laps up against the bottom of the sea-wall, and there really isn't a beach. Which was a little disappointing, when I wanted to walk on the beach and there was no beach there for me to walk on. But at low tide, the beach was yards and yards wide. So I learned to read the tide charts, so I could plan my walks more intelligently. . .
The first day I was in California (after rising at 5AM), I announced my intention to go swimming, as that would mark the completion of my goal of swimming in all five Great Lakes, and both oceans. Immediately, my hosts adopted concerned looks. "Oh, no," they said. "You can't do that. At least, not without a wet suit."
"What?!? Why not?" I wasn't about to wear any freakin' wet suit; I wanted to feel the ocean on my own skin, doggone it. . .
"Well, it's November."
"It's 75 degrees."
"Yeah, but the ocean is only 60."
I looked at them incredulously. "Let me tell you about Lake Huron. . ."
So I changed into my bathing suit, climbed down the sea-wall, and waded into the ocean. The water was a little on the chilly side, but in justr a few minutes, I was used to it, and I had a ton of fun wading out to where the waves were breaking, and feeling them smack against my back.
Then I went back to the house, showered the salt off myself (I still can't get used to that idea), and smiled with the satisfaction of having completed my hydrological quest. Now, I suppose I'll have to look for an opportunity to collect the Indian Ocean. . .
-------------------------
I'm sorry, but I have to take just a second to mention the football game my Spartans played last night against our friends from Wisconsin (who just happened to be ranked #4 in the country coming into the game). What a wild, zany, crazy game. We were almost instantly behind 14-0, having run only one offensive play (a fumble). Then we were ahead 23-14 at halftime, having blocked both a field goal and a punt, and scored a safety, besides. We went ahead 31-17 early in the 4th quarter, but the Badgers stormed back to tie the game with just over a minute left. It looked like the game was headed into overtime, but my Spartans threw a 'Hail Sparty' pass on the last play of the game that bounced into the hands of our receiver on the 1-yard-line, and it was initially ruled that he hadn't scored. But the call was reversed 'upon further review', and we won 37-31. What a crazy game!
Of course, I'm glad we won, but what a kick in the head it has to be for Wisconsin, to lose like that. I know how it would've been for me if we'd lost, after playing so well the whole game, against a superior opponent. . .
Which, I suppose, is just one more reason to enjoy sporting contests, but stop well short of investing them with anything approaching ultimate significance. . .
In my hometown, we would go down to the beach pretty much whenever school wasn't in session, roughly from early June until the end of August. A really warm weekend in May might coax a few hardy souls into the water, but you couldn't really count on the lake being warm enough to swim in, that early in the season. September was similar - you might get a weekend warm enough to head down to the beach, but once football season started, we were usually otherwise occupied.
(Once Jen and I were on a 'getaway weekend' at a B&B on Lake Michigan; it was a lovely weekend in April, and a warm breeze was blowing in off the lake. We took a leisurely, romantic walk along the beach, and as the waves lapped gently onto the sand, we thought it would be fun to let the water roll over our toes as we walked. But then, in April, it's only been a couple weeks since all that majestically beautiful water was ice. And 35-degree water has a decidedly un-romantic effect on the toes; not for nothing do we speak of taking cold showers to, um, cool our ardor)
Now, Lake Huron, at least where I grew up, was typically around 65 degrees during the summer months, but we counted anything much above 60 as eminently swimmable. If you really had your heart set on getting wet, you might wade into water in the upper 50s, but you didn't stay in for very long.
I had a friend who grew up in Marquette, Michigan, on the Lake Superior shore of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Now, Lake Superior is COLD. . . Really, REALLY cold. . . C-O-L-D. The old quips about the balls on a brass monkey, or witches' mammary glands, or well-diggers' backsides, were really invented with Lake Superior in mind. Folks in Marquette, my friend told me, don't really go swimming much, at least not in the big lake; it's just too cold. But even so, everyone in town listens to their radio all summer long, waiting for the one glorious day in August when the weatherman comes on the radio to tell them that the water temperature is above 50 degrees, and then, like a civic ritual, the whole town goes down to the beach and swims, until they can't feel their toes anymore. Which takes about a minute or two.
When Jen and I were on our honeymoon, we were driving along a lightly travelled road in the UP (when it comes to the UP, 'lightly travelled' means a car might or might not have come by in the last 24 hours; a story is told of an old Yooper who pulled up and moved to Alaska when he started seeing neighbors once a week or so; it was just getting too darn crowded. . .), and we happened upon a lovely beach. I pulled the car off the road, directly onto the beach, we changed into our swimsuits right there in the open air, and ran into the lake for a quick dip (Jen still refers to this as her first serious act of marital submission, as I insisted that she not miss out on the experience). When I go into Lake Superior, I will wade in slowly, giving my feet and legs time to
I set a goal for myself, when I was in my teens, to swim in all five Great Lakes - full immersion; wading in knee-deep doesn't count. And I'm happy to say that I achieved that goal, before my 30th birthday. Since Lake Ontario is the only one of the Great Lakes that doesn't lap onto the shores of the state of Michigan, we had to make a special point of vacationing at a cottage in Grimsby, Ontario (from whence the Toronto skyline is visible across the lake on a clear day), in order to collect Lake Ontario (and Niagara Falls, while we were at it) (no, I did not get 'fully immersed' in Niagara Falls); and thus did I duly accomplish my goal. So I expanded my goal to include both of the oceans that wet the shores of the United States.
-------------------------
I added the Atlantic Ocean to my collection when our family went to Florida for spring break, more than 20 years ago. The proximate cause for our trip was to meet my 'first mother', after not having seen or heard from her in more than 20 years. But we had a standing offer from my aunt, who lived on Florida's Gulf coast, to stay with her, so we took her up on that, and we had a great time.
When we left Michigan, it was 35 degrees, and a gray, dreary rain was falling. As we drove southward on I-75, the air got warmer with each passing mile; by the time we were in Kentucky, the grass was green. By Georgia, we saw flowers blooming in the red clay soil. We stopped at the little 'Welcome to Florida' rest stop just across the Florida line, for a complimentary cup of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and 2F (who was about four at the time), spying a palm tree, spontaneously ran over and laid a big friendly hug on it. By the time we arrived at our destination, south of Tampa, it was 85 degrees, and we felt like we were really getting one over on the Universe.
The next day, it was another delightfully sunny, 85-degree day, and we announced our intention to go swimming. My aunt chuckled, and said that we'd probably be the only ones in the water, since the locals didn't get in the water in March. Undeterred, we drove down to the beach, on one of the keys (a 'key' in Floridian geography is a geographic entity somewhere between a sand-spit island and a glorified sand-bar), and, as my aunt had predicted, we had the entire beach virtually to ourselves. For miles in either direction, we saw nary another human soul beside ourselves.
And what a beach! The beaches on the Great Lakes are nice - brown sand, with patches of tall grass appearing here and there. But this beach on the Gulf coast of Florida was the most amazing beach I'd ever seen (still is, as far as that's concerned) - fine, white sand, the consistency of flour, stretched as far as the eye could see, and gave the water itself a greenish hue unlike anything we see in Michigan. It was simply spectacular.
Although, the idea (which ocean-dwelling-types just take for granted) of having to take a shower after swimming, just seemed wrong. I get the whole thing about not wanting to walk around with a salt-film all over yourself, and I didn't like it, either. But up here in the Great Lakes, we tend to think of going swimming as roughly akin to taking a bath (OK, kind of a cold bath; and you have to kinda get used to the vaguely 'fishy' smell). So, needing to shower after swimming seems to sorta defeat half the purpose of going swimming in the first place. . .
Now, 1F was a fairly cautious child, and bright enough to know that things live under the water, where she can't see 'em - fish, and whales, and sharks, and jellyfish, and all sorts of things. As a very young child, she would resist even wading into the Great Lakes, for fear of the unknown critters and thingies that might be lurking where she couldn't see 'em. We were finally able to convince her that there were no sharks, or anything else that might be inclined to make a meal of her, in the Great Lakes, that those things only lived in the ocean, and not the Great Lakes; and that assuaged her fears. But now, in Florida - THIS was the ocean, by golly, and there ARE sharks in there, and she wasn't about to put herself so rashly in harm's way like that. I finally got her to get in the water by telling her that sharks can't swim when the water is shallow, and I promised to always keep myself between her and the deep water where the sharks were (she didn't so much mind the idea of her dad becoming a meal for a shark). . .
There was a mild dispute, though, as to whether the Gulf of Mexico really counted toward my 'both oceans' goal, or whether the Gulf should be considered as a separate body of water unto itself. No matter, though - my mother lived on the Atlantic coast of Florida, and when we drove over to visit with her and her husband (geographic note: the 'middle' - ie, non-coastal - parts of the state of Florida are singularly boring to drive through; unless you can convince your kids to make a game of counting dead armadillos, or somesuch), we took our opportunity to avail ourselves of the beaches on that side of the state.
The Atlantic beaches reminded us much more of our good-old Michigan beaches, than the Gulf-coast beaches had. The sand was a familiar brown, and the wind whipped on-shore just like it did back home, creating some much-more-impressive waves than we'd seen on the Gulf side of the state.
At one point, we were walking along, and we spied, maybe 50 yards or so ahead of us, what looked like a sandwich bag that someone had discarded on the beach. Now, Jen is a very committed picker-upper of trash, so she 'tsk-ed' in the appropriately disapproving manner, and walked ahead to dispose of the offending refuse. By the time she was just bending down to pick it up, I was close enough to notice the long 'stringer-things' spreading out from it, and I quickly yelled at her not to touch it, and leave it alone. When I got close enough to get a good look at our 'sandwich bag' (which even looked like it had grape jelly smeared on its insides), it was apparent that this was no piece of human-generated litter, but a beached jellyfish. And we breathed a heavy sigh of relief that Jen hadn't gone ahead and grabbed it up. . .
-------------------------
I checked the Pacific Ocean off my list when I went to visit my birth-mother the first time after our reunion. She and her husband live in California, near San Diego, which, as long as I'm on the topic, is about the most perfect climate I've ever experienced - 75F pretty much every day, 50F pretty much every night. That visit was also the first time I ever experienced jet-lag, going virtually face-down in my dinner-plate, because my body thought it was 11PM; and then, the next morning, I popped out of bed at 5AM, feeling like I'd slept in, bright-eyed and ready to go.
My first full day in California was beautiful, like pretty much every day is in Southern California. Looking out over the ocean, there were a dozen or so surfers taking advantage of the six-foot breakers rolling in. There is an underwater 'shelf' a couple hundred yards or so out from the beach, so the swells that roll in from Hawaii, or Tahiti, or wherever the waves come from that roll in on the beaches of Southern California, break sharply, and consistently, when they encounter the shelf. I wondered to myself how they manage to keep the kids in school there; where I grew up, on the Great Lakes, the school year roughly coincided with when it was uncomfortable to be in the water. But if it's 70F outside in November, I could imagine myself weighing an imaginary balance in my hands: 'let's see. . . school. . . or surfing. . .?'
I took several walks on the beach there, and I encountered sand crabs for the first time - little critters that are almost insect-like, that burrow into the sand on the beach. You can always tell where to find them, because they leave a tell-tale pattern of little holes in the sand. So, when you see the holes, you can just scoop up a handful of sand, and let the wet sand slip through your fingers, and you'll be left with a half-dozen or so of the little crabs, wiggling and crawling on the palm of your hand. It's a little disconcerting at first, but after a while, it's kinda cool.
The Pacific is also where I first encountered tides in a major way. Of course, there are tides on the Atlantic coast, but when we were in Florida, we just spent an hour or two on the beach, and returned to the house; we didn't spend a sufficiently extended period of time at the beach to notice the difference in the water levels. But where my birth-mother lives, we could see the ocean pretty much all the time, and there is a sea-wall, perhaps 10 feet high, between the water and any inhabitations. So, at high tide, the water laps up against the bottom of the sea-wall, and there really isn't a beach. Which was a little disappointing, when I wanted to walk on the beach and there was no beach there for me to walk on. But at low tide, the beach was yards and yards wide. So I learned to read the tide charts, so I could plan my walks more intelligently. . .
The first day I was in California (after rising at 5AM), I announced my intention to go swimming, as that would mark the completion of my goal of swimming in all five Great Lakes, and both oceans. Immediately, my hosts adopted concerned looks. "Oh, no," they said. "You can't do that. At least, not without a wet suit."
"What?!? Why not?" I wasn't about to wear any freakin' wet suit; I wanted to feel the ocean on my own skin, doggone it. . .
"Well, it's November."
"It's 75 degrees."
"Yeah, but the ocean is only 60."
I looked at them incredulously. "Let me tell you about Lake Huron. . ."
So I changed into my bathing suit, climbed down the sea-wall, and waded into the ocean. The water was a little on the chilly side, but in justr a few minutes, I was used to it, and I had a ton of fun wading out to where the waves were breaking, and feeling them smack against my back.
Then I went back to the house, showered the salt off myself (I still can't get used to that idea), and smiled with the satisfaction of having completed my hydrological quest. Now, I suppose I'll have to look for an opportunity to collect the Indian Ocean. . .
-------------------------
I'm sorry, but I have to take just a second to mention the football game my Spartans played last night against our friends from Wisconsin (who just happened to be ranked #4 in the country coming into the game). What a wild, zany, crazy game. We were almost instantly behind 14-0, having run only one offensive play (a fumble). Then we were ahead 23-14 at halftime, having blocked both a field goal and a punt, and scored a safety, besides. We went ahead 31-17 early in the 4th quarter, but the Badgers stormed back to tie the game with just over a minute left. It looked like the game was headed into overtime, but my Spartans threw a 'Hail Sparty' pass on the last play of the game that bounced into the hands of our receiver on the 1-yard-line, and it was initially ruled that he hadn't scored. But the call was reversed 'upon further review', and we won 37-31. What a crazy game!
Of course, I'm glad we won, but what a kick in the head it has to be for Wisconsin, to lose like that. I know how it would've been for me if we'd lost, after playing so well the whole game, against a superior opponent. . .
Which, I suppose, is just one more reason to enjoy sporting contests, but stop well short of investing them with anything approaching ultimate significance. . .
Sunday, December 5, 2010
'Twas the Season
Well, the arrival of the first real snow of the winter, along with temperatures persistently below freezing (and seriously? it was like the calendar flipped to December 1, and the Weather Switch flipped to 'Instant Winter' mode), have effectively marked the end of the 2010 bicycling season for me. You can be sure that if, any time between now and the nominal arrival of spring 2011, we get temperatures above freezing, and ice-free back roads (and all on a weekend, or at least a day I don't have to work) (thank you, Dr. King), I'll be out, grabbing whatever miles I can. But this past weekend, the temps topped out below freezing, and the snow (which wasn't really all that much) stuck around enough to create a bit of a 'black ice' hazard. So, with a heavy heart, I fired up the stationary bike in front of a football game on TV (something about athletic young men running up and down the field helps inspire me to keep my own legs moving) (or at least takes my mind off how much my own legs are hurting, especially in the last 15 minutes or so), and bid a peaceful winter's rest to my two-wheeled steed.
But hey - the (provisionally) final tally for 2010 - 1609 miles. Which is the most I've done since 1992. When I was still in my 30s. Heck, 5M was born that year, and he's a high-school senior now. So it's been awhile. Since I got back on my bike a few years back, when I started with the weight loss, my max was just over 1400 miles, which was enough to make me proud. But this year, I thought if I really went for it, didn't take any weekends off, and pushed myself for just a few more miles on the rides I did, maybe I could make 1500. And I went past that by over a hundred miles.
Sweet. . .
-------------------------
And hey, I don't want to make TOO big a deal of it ('cuz I know what happens when I post sports-related stuff here) (*crickets chirping*), but my Spartans successfully finished their football season with 11 wins (the most in school history; but that's mostly because the Bubba Smith teams from back in the 60s only played 10 games) against only a single solitary defeat (for which, hats off to FADKOG's Hawkeyes, but goodness, it seems to have shot them all to heck for the rest of their season). For which, they earned the title of Co-Champions of the Big Ten. Woo-hoo!!
It's 20 years since my Spartans were Big Ten champions in football (the basketball team has had a bit more success, of late). Even longer than it's been since I rode more than 1600 miles. Heck, it was so long ago that we only had four kids at the time. (It was SO long ago that the Big Ten only had ten members.)
So now we get to go bowling in some pleasantly warm place on New Year's Day. Woo-hoo again!
-------------------------
Anyway, a couple of noteworthy seasons in my life have just come to a close (well, almost; enough to have a 'sense of completion' about them, at any rate), and in most happy manner. Neither of them is of particularly 'ultimate' significance, but I do take a bit of happiness from them, y'know?
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Sometimes the Days Are Just Magical, Redux. . .
I hope I'm not boring you all with this. . .
-------------------------
Another brilliant fall day yesterday, maybe even more brilliant than last week. The color was even more spectacular, and the air was just a bit cooler and crisper (have I mentioned before that the fall is my utter absolute favorite time of the year?). Another amazing bike ride (but only 35 miles this week), and another win for my Spartans (it wasn't quite as much fun as beating Michigan, but this is shaping up as a season the like of which we haven't seen around here in a long time). And I didn't have to sleep alone. . .
And Jen rendered 6 bushels of apples into 90 quarts of home-canned applesauce.
I married an amazing woman. . .
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Sometimes, the Days Are Just Magical. . .
Up here where I live, yesterday was one of those brilliant October days - bright and sunny, maybe even a bit too warm (and today is another one). The fall colors aren't quite peaking around here just yet, but almost - the golden-yellows, bright oranges, and brownish-reds, mixed in with the green that hasn't left yet, make for a spectacular setting.
It was such a glorious day that I extended my bike ride to 45 miles, just to be out in the wonderfulness for as long as I could. Which left me, by the end of my ride, at 1350 miles for the year, and on pace for something above 1500 by the end of the season, if the weather co-operates. Which is more than I've had in at least 15 years or so. . .
-------------------------
And then, to cap off a simply amazing day, my Spartans won their game against the hated Wolverines. (OK, I don't really 'hate' them - heck, some of my best friends are Wolverines - but there is a special joy, all of its own, just from beating them, even if we beat no-one else; Lord knows they've handed it to us long enough for us Spartans to havea really outstanding inferiority complex an admirable sense of humility about the whole thing.) And this is the third year in a row that we've beaten them, the first time that's happened since I was 11 years old. I hope my Wolverine friends are coping OK. . .
I know it's just a game, and I really don't attach any ultimate significance to it. But you know, sometimes you just gotta enjoy the good stuff as it comes to you. . .
-------------------------
The only downside to the day, such as it was, was that Jen was gone on a women's retreat all weekend, so I had to sleep alone. But, you know, retreats are very good things, in-and-of-themselves. And besides, she's back home now. . . ;)
*************************
edit, 11 October
Heard from one of the stalls in the men's room at work this afternoon: the unmistakable sound of snoring. . .
It was such a glorious day that I extended my bike ride to 45 miles, just to be out in the wonderfulness for as long as I could. Which left me, by the end of my ride, at 1350 miles for the year, and on pace for something above 1500 by the end of the season, if the weather co-operates. Which is more than I've had in at least 15 years or so. . .
-------------------------
And then, to cap off a simply amazing day, my Spartans won their game against the hated Wolverines. (OK, I don't really 'hate' them - heck, some of my best friends are Wolverines - but there is a special joy, all of its own, just from beating them, even if we beat no-one else; Lord knows they've handed it to us long enough for us Spartans to have
I know it's just a game, and I really don't attach any ultimate significance to it. But you know, sometimes you just gotta enjoy the good stuff as it comes to you. . .
-------------------------
The only downside to the day, such as it was, was that Jen was gone on a women's retreat all weekend, so I had to sleep alone. But, you know, retreats are very good things, in-and-of-themselves. And besides, she's back home now. . . ;)
*************************
edit, 11 October
Heard from one of the stalls in the men's room at work this afternoon: the unmistakable sound of snoring. . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
