Saturday, August 1, 2015

Day 8.213 WOOF

I will tell you something now that you probably already know.

When we started this internet literary fiasco over eight years and 2,300 posts ago (an era now recognized the good old days), I had a plan. Not perfectly crisp and in the focused cross-hairs of my altruistic vision, but something new, different and for me anyway, disciplined and autobiographically exciting - in a non hedonistic manner of course.

I was mentored in college by a creative writing teacher who suggested that when struck with writer's block, go with what you know.

At the time, the early seventies when we called blogging journaling, that advice would have seen me limited to a very few items.

In 1972 all I really knew was baseball, music and girls. Almost sounds like a Beach Boys chorus.

My 1973 the list had been pared to the latter two. My baseball career was officially over. I had walked away.

In 1974 some interesting items joined the parade. Travel, adventure and literature. That is not to say that music and girls lost their priority ranking, more that they were now augmented by life on the road. That magical augmentation.

In 1975 I got married. I was on my way to winter in Mexico after a year in the orchard.

In 1979 the marriage was over. I might try to explain the what and whys at a later date, but today is reserved for something else.

We had moved back to Southern California, to enter the auto parts business with her family as a last ditch attempt to salvage what was so obviously a fait accompli.

I flew back to Settle on the day Mt St Helens erupted on May 17, 1980.

I have been here ever since with stops in Rome, Paris, OZ, UK, Spain, Cyprus, Mauritius, Norway, Alaska, Alabama and Asia. I also spent the better part of the nineties on a coral atoll in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

In 1984 I went to a University of Washington football game.

It change my life.

In 1990 my girlfriend, whom I adored, called me one-dimensional. She insisted that my entire existence was about sports. But I'm in the sports publishing business and being caught-up, ahead of the curve-ball so to speak, is what makes me good at what they pay me to do, which is how I am able to pay for this expensive French dinner and $25 bottle of Bordeaux, darling.

She came up with a solution.

If you desire to continue in this relationship (we made eye contact and nodded affirmatively) then you need to move a little out of your cultural comfort zone. There is art, language, ballet, gastronomical celebration, water skiing and horticulture all waiting for you. And me too, she said, not wanting, I think, to end her opening  remarks in the category of weeds.

To say that I was amused with her assessment and subsequent good-natured ultimatum, would truly be understatement.

My sweet angel, what dost thou suggest?

You can keep one.

One? One what?

One team. In one sport. All others are toast. We will replace your considerable time spend in fandom with quality time of the trail of culture. Together, you and me.

But, but, but, but, but……..

No buts.

I took a deep breath, wondering if it might be my last inhale of freedom and exhale of independence.

I heard a voice inside plead and beg. I looked in her sky-blue eyes and saw that she was as serious as death and taxes.

Ugh, well, OK.

Which team?

NOW? I have to choose now? Can't a do-up a report and take all this just a touch slower?

I don't think so. Needs to be now.


You in?


What team?

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