The Life and Death of Kamala Harris

 On August 11, 2020 Kamala Harris was named as the Democratic Vice Presidential pick. The next day, the New York Times reported on the untimely death of Kamala Harris from Covid 19. 

In a bizarre coincidence, James"Kamala" Harris,70 years old, was  a former professional wrestler whom the Times described as portraying the "stereotypical menacing African warrior who was always supposed to lose to his white opponents."

At a moment in time when we celebrate the ascension of a strong black woman to a place of political prominence, we are reminded of a parallel universe where skin color is portrayed in a wholly different light.

Two worlds and one name colliding.  The life and death of Kamala Harris.

Shakespeare On Baseball's Declining Health (Going, Going, Gone?)

Oh enemy most foul

For it be not fair that this sickness runs with abandon between these lines

How did this strike not one, not two but strike three

Out, out the cry piercing the air

And yet this disease steals our very breath

As we lay caught in its web

No safety found at home

Our protest in vain, our cry's bootless, a deaf ear turned to our fervent appeals

For if this be not a blow most mortal, it is nigh upon us

We are but walking shadow

Death waiting with grave intent at the top step

Our nation's heartbeat near extinguished

Fear rampant that the games we play today 

Will in all the tomorrow's to come be going, going gone

The Washington Football Team

("NFL- D.C. Adopts New Name 'The Washington Football Team'- For Now")

"The Washington Football Team."

What is their payroll? Wait, don't tell me. And they couldn't find anyone who could do better than this? Did they contact anyone at Mensa? Why not employ Watson, the computer, to sort through like a million possibilities? Or ask a group of first graders to make something up?

Here are a few options I would ask the team to consider:

1. The AC/DC's.

2. The Washington Debacle

3. The Team That Couldn't Name Themselves

4. The DC Dream (Of The Playoffs)

5. The Washington Wonder (If We Are Really This Bad)
6. The Washington Black and White (Skins)
7. The DC Lewisers (To honor John Lewis, of course)

8. The Washington (Weak) Constitution
9. The Washington 11
10. The Washington Impasse 

11. The Washington Post Route
12. The Washington Too Early To Call (.com)

They truly need more time to settle on a name? Why not just temporarily call themselves the "No Namers" or just plain "Washington"? Were they concerned we would think they were a baseball team if they stepped out on the field without this explanation in their title?

And we thought Donald Trump was the stupidest leader in the nation's capital? Move over and make room for Dan Snyder. 

PS-  I think the AC/DC's might actually work.

Michael Vick- Crime and Punishment

I want to put this in perspective. My wife and I adopted a blind dog that had been beaten as a puppy. The remains of his eyes had to be removed surgically and then the skin around the eyes was sewn together to prevent further problems. We know first hand about cruelty to animals.

That being said, give Michael Vick a break. He was involved in a horrendous activity. He will forever be branded for what he did and what he permitted to be done. His deeds are unforgivable. But he should be forgiven, at least on the football field.

He is not asking for your daughter's hand in marriage. He is applying for reinstatement to play an often brutal sport at which he is highly skilled.

This happens to be a sport in which we are aware that many of its participants treat fellow human beings like dogs off the playing field. The sport is littered with felons and also with would be felons who have either evaded detection or prosecution. Charges relating to assault, domestic violence, weapons possession, drug possession, hit and run and DUI, death relating to DUI, and even 'innocuous' matters like urinating in public and exposing oneself, all occur with unrelenting frequency. Let's not kid ourselves. While some may be called Saints, few are. This is not a field of dreams.

Mr. Vick will now have to beg forgiveness for his sins from a higher being (Roger Goodell). He has already been bankrupted and incarcerated for over one and one half years for his crime.

Mr. Goodell can, and undoubtedly will, mouth phrases about the need to set a positive example for today's youth. He will talk about participation in the sport as a privilege, not a right. He will say all the right things but unless he talks about second chances and redemption he will be saying all the wrong things.

If permitted, the owners will ultimately decide whether their bottom line can withstand the attack it may take from allowing Mr. Vick to don their team's uniform. The highest power of all, the almighty dollar, should be the ultimate arbiter of Mr. Vick's future. He has already paid a steep price for his past.

PS - I have discussed this piece with a friend and been directed to an article written by Ian O'Connor in today's Bergen Record. It is eerily close to what is written above. I hope this just means that great minds think alike.

Golf

After 50 years playing at the game, my skills have seemed to abandon me. I took up golf at 6 years of age, and from that point on, it was a natural fit. While I took a few lessons when I was 8 or 9, I don't think that it was the professional advice that molded my game. I was an athlete, and the flow of the swing came to me as easily as walking.

However, at the age of 56, when I look in the mirror, I see little evidence of that young boy. While I play with a friend who, at my age, now regularly hits drives that travel well in excess of 300 yards, I find myself struggling to hit the ball 200 yards. The distance on my iron shots is equally pathetic. I often find myself lying to my fellow players when they ask what club I hit, so as not to be embarassed by my lack of strength. I never take a practice swing, often stating that if I haven't figured it out after all these years, 1 practice swing won't help. I now feel like 15 practice swings would make no difference. I actually shanked a 3 foot putt yesterday. I see chips heading in directions unknown. I find my trusty driver to be foreign object in my hands. I can take comfort in no part of my game. I am a stranger masquerading as me as I wander helplessly for 18 holes.

I have friends who have taken up the game late in life, who are now passing me on the golfing highway. My superiority over them is rapidly disappearing. I blame my lack of ability on anything but a lack of ability. I hurt my back, I am worried about elevated prostate readings, I have a persistent cough, Jupiter is not aligned with Mars, George Bush is still the President, there are only 30 days in September, April, June and November. What has happened?

My sister insists I should be taking lessons. For someone who is inherently lazy, absolutely cheap, and has been forever convinced that the corrections are ultimately within one's power to make, I have rejected the notion that I need outside guidance. A tweak here and there has always been enough to bring my game back. I was always able to pull out from my memory bank some forgotten secret that aligned me physically and mentally. I could handle whatever little missteps I made. I could bring my game back to the level I was comfortable with and have moments of pride in my accomplishments. Now, all I find when I look for these guides, is an empty box. Someone has hidden the answers from me. The cliff notes have been lost, and the company seems to have gone out of business. I am looking into the abyss and am having trouble maintaining my balance.

Is the answer to swallow my pride and admit that after half a century the golfing gods have been wooed away from me by others? Must I make that dreaded phone call that I need help? I still cling to the belief that the light will be turned back on with my next swing, that the high, short and ugly slices and complete mis-hits that now regularly inhabit my game will be replaced with beautiful low hooks that will travel forever, and that I will find birdies and pars to be a regular staple in my golfing diet once again. I refuse to give up on my abilities to find answers on my own. I have seen so many of my friends take lesson after lesson, and go to golf camp after golf camp, convinced that the mystical breakthrough has been achieved. I then watch their games quickly slide back to the same level as previously inhabited. However, with each horrible swing and offending result, I get closer and closer to the seemingly inescapable conclusion that I have to look outside my own devices for an answer.

I think I will give myself one or two more rounds like this before I cry uncle. I will get the names of golfing pros who I can call upon , and carry their phone numbers with me. If and when the weight of my disappointments becomes too much to bear, I will reluctantly start dialing the phone. Until that moment comes I find myself like an addict who believes that salvation can be attained by the sheer belief that you have the inherent power to achieve it. I like to think that I am still the 6 year old boy who found the innate skills to achieve success early and often. I hope that I am correct. However, until the magic reappears, I would strongly suggest that you stay behind me whenever I swing because I have no idea where the ball may be going.

Distractions

Justine Henin is 25 years old. She is currently the number one women's tennis player in the world. She has won 7 Grand Slam titles. She announced earlier this week that she was retiring from competitive tennis effective immediately. She talked of having more money then she could spend in 3 lifetimes. She is moving on .

The same day, Annika Sorenstam announced that she was stepping away from the world of championship golf as of the end of this year. At 37 years of age, she has been ranked the number 1 player in the world at the end of 7 seasons. She is currently the number 2 player in the world , has won over $22,000,000 in prize money, more than any woman who has ever played the game, and announced she is ready for other challenges.

Henin has gone through some difficult personal moments in her life. She was estranged from her family for a decade, as they opposed her involvement with a man she would later marry, and then , last year divorced. The life of a women's tennis player , wandering the globe from the earliest of ages, in chase of a singular pursuit, must at times be extremely lonely. This is not a team endeavor and personal goals limit one's ability to become a committed part of a group dynamic.

Focus was a central core for Henin. Once she reconnected with family and enjoyed those moments she had long ago left behind, she found that the drive necessary to beat the best in the world was lacking. She said she thought long and hard about her decision, but in the end, beginning a life she had long put on hold was what mattered most.

For Sorenstam, she has a world outside of competitive golf that she is now exploring. She is engaged to be married, speaks of starting a family, and is involved in golf related business ventures that now occupy her time and her mind. Like Henin, she has a life that is waiting for her in the wings.

It is jarring for us to watch those at the top of their career in professional athletics step away from the spotlight. We don't care how much money they have made, or how much they have grown tired of living out of suitcases. In the abstract, we believe that what is missing from their existence cannot possibly measure up to what their greatness has brought them. We all fantasize about being that kind of world class athlete. There is no way we would walk away from that, not when there was still more we could accomplish.

But we do not follow them once they have left the spotlight for the day. We don't know what it feels like to be uprooted for weeks and months on end. We don't have to exist in a vacuum where we are enveloped and overwhelmed by the requirements of our craft. There are large holes that can develop that need to be filled. Both Justine Henin and Annika Sorenstam are now trying to fill those holes. We wish them luck and even greater success in 'real' life then they have experienced at the apex of their professional worlds.

Accepting Mediocrity

Is it time to panic yet? No, I am not talking about whether Barack is losing his grip on the nomination or whether we are faced with the ever growing possibility of 4 more years under Republican dictatorship, I mean Republican rule. I am concerned about something much more critical than the fate of our country and of the world. I am worried about something that has not been seen for well over a decade. I think the Yankees may miss the playoffs.

I know that it is only May 2. I understand that things are never as dark as they may seem at a given moment (just look back at my post on the tumbling stock market, which has now risen a 1000 points since I wrote of my distress over the fate of my investments). I am aware that the Yankees were 21 wins and 29 losses at the 50 game mark last year and still managed to make the playoffs. But I don't even know half of the team that is now masquerading in the pinstripes, and those I do know, for the most part, have been anything but stellar.

Last night, for example, the starting pitcher was Ian Kennedy.He is a young pitcher who is supposed to have promise. Since when are those the people that are regulars in the Yankee starting rotation? Between Kennedy and Phil Hughes, a touted 21 year old, they take up 40% of all the starts and have combined for a grand total of 0 wins. They have seemingly gotten almost no one out and have rarely lasted more than 4 innings. They have left the mound time and again in a confused and beleaguered state. They have put inordinate pressure on the bulllpen and on the other 3 starters.

The bullpen has been, apart from Joba and the incomparable Mariano, remarkably mediocre. The middle relievers are nothing if not overused and underwhelming. Each night the team seems to throw out a succession of has beens, never was, or might possibly be some day in the future, to try to bridge the gap to get to the spectacular tandem for the 8th and 9th innings. Most nights, it doesn't work.

The remaining 3 starters are Wang, Pettite and Mussina. Wang has been a rock, and remains unbeaten. If anything were to happen to him the season would go down the toilet in a heartbeat. Pettite and Mussina are each approaching the end of very long and successful careers. Mussina, especially, seems to be pitching on fumes and always appears to be hanging on by a thread.

The struggles of the hitters is not much better. Whenever there are runners in scoring position, it seems the batter is unable to make solid contact with the easiest of pitches. Runners are left on base with staggering regularity.

Where has Robinson Cano disappeared? For a hitter who has been compared to Rod Carew, he looks more like Rodney Dangerfield at the plate. He don't get no respect because he don't deserve it.

A-Rod is on the disabled list. Posada is on the disabled list. Hughes is on the disabled list. Last night, Chad Moeller was catching, Morris Ensberg was at third base, and Shelley Duncan was at first base.. Murderer's Row this is not.

Jason Giambi looks like a human being again, and appears to have taken most of the steroid mass off his body. That is wonderful, but he is hitting well under .200. I wonder if he couldn't juice up just until he is hitting about .300, especially with the team struggling.

So we are left with a $200,000,000 payroll and a team in disarray. It appears too old and too young at the same time. It has no apparent core, and it certainly fails to intimidate opponents as it did in years past. It is a group without an identity at the moment and it appears like it is headed in a downward spiral.

But I know that one good homestand, or one spectacular series by a star, or the emergence of a new hero from among the apparent drek being paraded out on a nightly basis, and all this worrying may be misplaced. I have grown too used to success since 1995 to go gently into the night with this team. There must be a light at the end of this tunnel. For now, however, it appears to be pitch (and catch) dark.

Round 4

Yankee Stadium has been the site of many great events throughout its 85 year history. Apart from baseball, it has been host to concerts by many entertainment legends and this Sunday will be the site of a mass to be conducted by the Pope. The sights and sounds associated with this stadium have brought millions to their feet, and will soon bring 57,000 to their knees.

But the one constant occurring throughout the years has been the battles between the Yankees and the various teams invading their home turf. Each year the Yankees have defended and protected their house like no other team in the history of the game. 26 times they have been crowned World Champions, far more than their closest competition. They have made themselves an empire, which to many not living under its protective roof, find to be the worst of all evils. Rich and powerful, the Yankees have been able to fend off all challengers with fists of fury, or at least of gold. However, beginning in 2004, there has been a large chink in the armor. The irritant that has eaten away at the aura of invincibility is the Boston Red Sox.

In a historic battle in the American League playoffs of 2004, the Red Sox recovered from a 3 to 0 deficit in games to win 4 straight games . With the last of these wins they ushered the Yankees out of the playoffs, created a new sense of power in the Boston franchise. The Sox went on to win the World Series in a 4 game sweep. Since then, they have repeated their World Series triumph with an equally impressive destruction of their National League opponent in 2007. The Red Sox have become what the Yankees have always been.

When the Red Sox played second fiddle to the Yankees, I did not hate them. I had an air of superiority ,certain that in the end, the Sox would be dispatched and sent home with head bowed. Until 2004 , the Red Sox had not won a World Series in 86 years. However, with the role reversal arising from the triumphs of the Red Sox over the last 4 years, my smugness has disappeared. It has now been replaced by a total disregard for everything Red Sox.

Thus, what had always been an interesting and entertaining spectacle between these 2 teams, has now taken on an added sense of urgency and depth. Each game played during the regular season is but one more attempt for the Yankees to try to wrest away from these upstarts the crown that has been stolen away. The Yankees and Red Sox play 18 regular season games against one another, 9 at each team's home stadium. Tickets to each of these games has long been a prize possession. Now it is like getting a seat at a championship fight.

Last night was Round 4 in this year's fight. The Red Sox had won 2 of the first 3 contests. The lone Yankee victory had come by way of the strong arm of their ace starter, Chien Ming Wang. In an unusual twist, Wang was now making consecutive starts against the same team, as the battle moved from Fenway Part to the Stadium.

What no one could have anticipated was that this was to be a game in which haymaker punches were thrown all night. Instead of a tense, low scoring affair, this was like Ali and Frazier throwing knockout punch after knockout punch. The Yankees delivered the first blow, scoring 3 runs in the first inning. The Sox hammered back and soon tied the score. The Yankees responded with 4 runs. Just as quickly, the Sox returned the favor , scoring 6 times. It was 9 to 7 Boston and you didn't know whether to laugh or cry. You were happy, then sad, then happy, then sad, and the game was only half over.

The Yankees immediately erupted for 4 runs to take an 11-9 lead. This finally seemed to deflate the Red Sox. After being knocked down repeatedly, they finally stayed on the canvas. Their bats went quiet, while the Yankees tacked on 4 more runs in a 15 to 9 win.

It was an exhausting and exhilarating evening. For the fans, it was worth every moment of pain, knowing that eventually we wore the enemy down. Yet it is only April 16th and there are 14 more regular season games against the Red Sox and 146 more regular seasons games in total. The season really is a marathon, and any true victory over the Red Sox will have to await the post season. But, on this night, it was a good beginning.

Mix and Match Update

In a highly anticipated and much discussed contest, John McEnroe and Brett Kaplan squared off yesterday in a battle of legends. Kaplan admitted to nerves affecting his early performance, as he was broken in his first service game. After McEnroe held serve, the combatants traded victories in what was becoming a very evenly played match. Kaplan spoke of his belief that he was McEnroe's equal from the baseline throughout the set, but that he had trouble dealing with the lefthander's big kick on his second serve.

McEnroe eventually was able to prevail 6 games to 2. When a second set was discussed, McEnroe talked of his back tightening up. While we cannot be certain of the accuracy of this assessment, our conjecture matters not. After McEnroe's voicing of physical concerns, the players shook hands, and walked off the court. The question hangs in the air as to whether Kaplan's performance in the first set had buoyed his confidence to the point where he could take the better of the former number 1 player in the world.

We will probably never get the opportunity for a demonstrative answer. While the public (me) is clamoring for a rematch, there is evidently no talk of a regular Saturday game.

Mix and Match

Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, gives us 23 pages of the history and accomplishments of John McEnroe. McEnroe participated in 24 Grand Slam finals, winning 17 . He was a 3 time singles champion at Wimbledon, a 4 time singles champion at the US Open, a 9 times doubles champion in Grand Slam events and even a winner in a mixed doubles Slam. His epic battles with Bjorn Borg filled our screens and captured our undivided attention. His temper was legendary. He could infuriate us as he sometimes appeared nothing more than a brat, but as an elder statesman of the game he grew on most of us. John McEnroe will turn 50 next February.

Brett Kaplan graduated from Horace Mann and went on to Emory University.He was a tennis player of renown, albeit in a division 3 school. Second singles in his first college year, he was elevated to the first position his last 3 seasons. He was most valuable player on the team his junior and senior years, and garnered all-American division 3 honors in all 4 years of a stellar college career. He has since gone on to success in the business world. Most of his trophies from his days as a tennis star sit in his childhood bedroom.. Brett Kaplan is 29 years old and is my nephew.

This Sunday, McEnroe and Kaplan will square off in a match which I have been eagerly anticipating for many months. Brett is a member of the same New York tennis club as McEnroe. Months ago, Brett was able to work his way through some stiff competition at the club to win its annual championship. The prize for capturing the tournament was more than a pat on the back and a handshake. It was an opportunity to step onto the court against John McEnroe and compete against him.

This seemed to be a big deal for almost no one , except me. For the rest of the world, it was nothing more than a footnote. For McEnroe, and even my nephew, it was an afterthought. Time passed., while business matters, injuries and more pressing issues kept the match from moving forward.

I received a call from my nephew earlier this week. In the course of our conversation, he casually mentioned that he was finally going to be playing McEnroe this Sunday. No discussion of strategy ensued. After a few seconds, the topic of our talk turned to more mundane matters such as his mother's upcoming birthday party and preparations being made for this occasion. When I spoke to his mother ( my sister ) later that day, she said she didn't even know the match was happening.

As Sunday draws nearer, I wonder if Brett is even thinking about how best to attack McEnroe's game. As McEnroe is reaching the half century mark, it would probably help to drop shot him some. Make him move, tire him out. Get him going corner to corner, and make the rallies last until McEnroe can take no more. Brett's youth and vitality should help him scale the mountain.

While my nephew is probably more concerned with whether he has to pick up bagels before of after the match, my mind is focused on the image of Brett readying himself to serve to McEnroe for the first time. In my head, I hear the announcer calling out, " from New York City , New York, former All American at Emory University, Brett Kaplan". Go get him Brett.

The World is Watching

By 1936 , Hitler's Nazi regime was in its days of glory. The Olympic games were to take place that summer. The atrocities the Nazis were committing upon their own people were known to the world. While it would attempt , on the streets of Berlin, to eradicate any sign of its decimation of the human rights of a portion of its own population,it could not hide from sight the plight of the German Jews. The German Olympic team was stripped of its Jewish participants in the weeks leading up to the games. This was a moment to demonstrate Aryan supremacy to the world.

There were no protests of the games that year. Rather, it was felt that the best way to show up the Nazis was to try to bust the Aryan myth on the playing fields. Led by one of the best black athletes in history, the United States would fight its fight at the games. Jesse Owens won 4 gold medals in those Olympics. 9 Jewish athletes from around the world won medals. Yet history shows that this did nothing to stop, or slow down Hitler and his myth of Aryan supremacy. It would be 9 years, and countless lost lives, before Hitler's regime was over.

In 1968, Harry Edwards was a young sociologist. A black man, concerned with the continuing plight of black Americans, he advocated a boycott of the Mexico City games that year. While his hopes of using the games as a forum to focus the world on the inequities in our society did not lead to a boycott, it did result in a memorable moment of protest. Tommie Smith and John Carlos were 2 young black American sprinters.Among the best in the world, they both medaled in the same Olympic event. As they stood on the podium to accept their awards, they slightly bowed their heads while each one raised a black gloved fist. It was their way of expressing black unity and trying to get the world to pay attention to the problems blacks continued to encounter. 40 years later , Barack Obama spoke eloquently about the hurdles still left to overcome.

In 1980, the Russian invasion of Afghanistan was in its second year. Led by President Carter, the United States , together with 62 other countries, refused to participate in the summer Olympic games . While our athletes stayed at home, the games continued in a diminished capacity. In unity, much of the world said it was watching Russia and was opposed to the atrocities it was committing. It would be 9 more years before the Russians were forced to leave Afghanistan.

In London and Paris, they have lined the streets by the thousands. In San Francisco they have had people climb up the Golden Gate bridge and hang banners of protest. It is now 2008 and the eyes of the world are upon China, as it prepares to host the 2008 Olympics in Beijing. As the Olympic torch makes it way around the globe, in its trek to its final destination at the Games, people everywhere are protesting the human rights violations of the Chinese in Tibet. In all likelihood , the scope of the concern will also encompass issues relating to the complicity of the Chinese in the ongoing slaughter in Darfur. Some have even extinguished the Olympic torch as it travels from country to country. Hillary Clinton has suggested a boycott of the opening ceremonies as a defining act of protest.

Yet , if there is one thing that history teaches us, it is that symbolic Olympic actions, while laudable, do little to effect long lasting change. It is incumbent on all of us that the light that shines on these atrocities during Olympic years not be extinguished as soon as the Olympic flame goes out. Our diligence in seeing and responding to the wrongs around us must be more than a one time effort. Change is a very formidable foe . It takes time and continuing diligence to make a difference in the ways of the world. While the protests of China's abuses are now occurring as we all turn our focus towards them, let it be our Olympic goal to keep the pressure on China long after the games have been completed.

Burning Bright

Jack Nicklaus won 18 major golf championships and finished in second place another 19 times. There are only 4 major championships in a season.. The chance for any of the best golfers in the world to challenge for a 'major' even once in their careers is a milestone achievement. For one golfer to either win, or almost win, one of these championships on 37 different occasions in a career is a staggering accomplishment.

Tiger Woods was born to play professional golf. At the age of 2 he appeared as a golfing wunderkind on the Mike Douglas TV Show, putting against Bob Hope. By the age of 3 he had broken 50 for 9 holes. He began winning junior world championships at the age of 8 and dominated those his age throughout a remarkable junior career. He was the first golfer to win the United States Amateur championship 3 years in a row. After turning professional at the age of 20 , he has continued to leave all competitors in his wake. Now , at age 32, he has won 13 major championships. He is closing in on the record of the great Nicklaus. Most believe that , if Tiger remains in good health and the competitive fires continue to burn, that the number 18 may be reached and surpassed.

Which one of these golfers is the best ever?

The pursuers of Nicklaus included some of the best the game has ever seen, from Arnold Palmer to Gary Player and later, Tom Watson. Jack was able to win a major championship at the age of 46, when most players would be happy just being able to compete on the same stage with the best. His longevity and his focus on the task at hand, are the stuff of legends.

Tiger has sustained his greatness from the first day he picked up a golf club until the present. In watching his exploits it has appeared that he is capable of greatness with every swing , every round all year long. Year in and year out, he has amazed me with his presence , his composure, his mind, as much as his God given talents. He seemingly wills himself to win, and win and win some more. Those who try to wrestle victory from Tiger know that it is not only his swing but his mental toughness that they must overcome. Given this combination , Tiger's sum is greater than the parts of all others. To be the best in the physical AND mental aspects of the game has made him an impossible opponent from the cradle onward.

At age 21 , Tiger won the Masters, one of the 4 major championships, by 12 strokes. At age 24 , he won another of the majors, the US Open, by 15 strokes. At age 25 , he held all 4 major titles simultaneously. At age 29 , he won the British Open by 5 strokes. At age 30 , he won the PGA championship by 5 strokes. At 31, Tiger improved to a perfect 13 and 0 when leading going into the final day of a major championship. When Tiger has you down, you don't get up. When he beats you, you stay beaten.

The Masters begins this Thursday in Augusta , Georgia. As always, Woods is the favorite to win this tournament. If he fails to do so, it will be a surprise to me, and most every other person watching. His dominance is unabated. The gap between him and the rest of the golfers on the planet seems enormous and unassailable.

For me, every swing Tiger Woods takes reenforces my belief that his star burns brighter than that of any other person who has ever played this game.

Arrested Development

Two Yankee season ticket holders attended the home opener the day before yesterday. At some point , they decided to take part of the Stadium home with them. Their attempts to carry out their nefarious scheme proved unsuccessful. They were caught stealing bunting and were arrested. Does anyone else see the incredible irony in their actions ? If they had planned it, they could not have possibly envisioned a more perfect metaphoric failure. Baseball terminology and real world collide and leave them out in the cold and in shackles.

There are certain parts of history that belong to all of us. There are buildings, like Yankee Stadium, that are more than brick and mortar, or whatever building materials that went into its construction. This is a monument that is being torn down.There are some memories that are meant to be shared and disbursed, without cost. There are some things that have no price tag and shouldn't. Yankee Stadium is one of our treasures and it is part of the public domain, not the possession of its temporary holders. The Yankees are merely the lucky ones asked to care for this monument during her existence.

When the time comes for the wrecking ball to perform its intended task, this should not be the signal for the Yankees to conduct an auction of its pieces. This is not to be a picking over the cadaver and an opportunity for the corporation that pays a quarter of a billion dollars a year to its players, to profit from our attempts to own our memories. Let this be a time when loyalty and passion are rewarded . Let this be a moment where charity begins at home. Let this be the day when the Yankees look back and say we gave a proper thank you to everyone who has walked into these hallowed grounds. Let this be looked back upon as the hour when the Yankees did the right thing.

There should be millions of items that can be given away. I don't need a seat from the Stadium, although I would dearly love one, to be thrilled with my prize.Memories can be preserved in the tiniest corners of our homes and still be kept as a cornerstone in our hearts. Just let me have something, anything , to look upon and know that this is my part of history. There is no money that can or should pass hands for my acquisition . Let the corporate engine show its heart and its recognition that it exists only because of what we have given it, and not the other way around.

So, as the Stadium nears its end, the scoreboard actually counts down to 0. When the Stadium is no more, then the time will have come, for better or worse, to take out the old and bring in the new. When we walk into a different home in 2009 let us carry with us a piece of what we leave behind. We will thank you for it , and you will be the better for it. We should not have to worry about whether we will get caught stealing bunting. For us, it cannot be stealing because it is already ours.

Safe at home

When we were little, we all had something, like a blanket or a toy, that we looked for to provide us with comfort and peace. Once that item was in our clutches, the sights and sounds of the rest of the world receded. My blanket is Yankee baseball.

At approximately 7:05 PM last night, my universe changed, at least for the next 6 months. I know that Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton and John McCain are still out there. I know that the problems that are of concern to me in my own life, and in the lives of others, are not disappearing. It is just that they have been moved slightly to other regions of my brain. They will have to accept the fact that they have to share me with my first and most enduring love. With the first pitch thrown by Mr. Wang, everything else became of slightly less import.

I continue to find sustenance my shallowness. I wrote a piece about 2 years ago wondering whether I would ever grow up and focus my concerns on the important events of the day. I think I am beginning to do that. Yet I can't, and don't want to, break away from what has been a lifelong passion. I am not ready, and doubt I ever will be, to abandon my oldest and dearest friend.

The phone rang immediately after the last pitch of the game last night. My daughter was calling to recap the events of the game with me. She is out in Utah but had watched the game by getting it through MLB TV (or something like that). The bonds of baseball (not Barry) continue to bring us together, even as we are thousands of miles apart. Each night, the local 10 o'clock newscast begins by asking if you know where your children are. As of last night, and through the remainder of the baseball season, I know mine are safe at home.

Going, going, gone

Dust to dust. I am not ready to say goodbye but what I think is of little moment. There are greater forces at work, that demand this occur. Everything has a beginning and an end. I know there will be millions who shed a tear when the time arrives. Millions of us will be forever left to share our memories and commiserate. There is an inevitability to this which seems so wrong. Yet there is nothing we can do to stop it. Yankee Stadium will soon be coming down.

There will be no funeral procession. There will be no coffin. And yes, there will be a newer, sleeker version of itself right next door. While Yankee Stadium is in its death march, it will stare at its replacement every day. It will know that when the new monolith is ready, it will push the old aside. The stadium must face its own mortality . There will be speeches to thank it, like the old guy being ushered out the door , handed a gold watch and remembered for years of exemplary service. There will be tales of its greatness spoken. They will show us pictures of Ruth and Gehrig, Maris and Mantle, Jeter and A-Rod and hope that will help it go gently into the night. But, it will not ever make us ready to accept what is about to occur. Yankee Stadium will soon be coming down.

It is more than just the House that Ruth built. It is the house that stores a half century of my memories. From the ball that Yogi Berra hit that was clutched in my Dad's hands, to the pandemonium on the field when Chris Chambliss hit the American league championship series winning home run, to watching the majesty that was Reggie that glorious day against the Dodgers, to seeing Jeter dive headfirst in the stands as my daughter and I turned to each in disbelief, to Clemens directing his fury towards Piazza with a bat, those moments deserve better than this. I want to retain forever the days of my son pouring water over his head to try to keep the heat from melting him, of my Dad ushering me through the turnstiles and of my tiny daughter knowing the confines of the ballpark like the insides of her own home. I don't want to let go, but I will have to for Yankee Stadium will soon be coming down.

We all live in a world where progress is a given. We all live in a time when the desire for the dollar drives us all. We understand that nothing and no one is greater than the demands of tomorrow. But Yankee Stadium is something more than that. It is something greater than that. It is more than a thing. It is not just another replaceable part. It has a glory and a meaning that transcends dollars and cents. It has a greatness that cannot be measured in revenue and luxury boxes. It is more than the sum of its parts. It is Yankee Stadium. And yet, Yankee Stadium will soon be coming down.

I stare out my window at the Stadium every day. At night, when the team is playing a home game, the lights from the Stadium illuminate the sky. While the lights will not grow dim in the coming months, they will one day suddenly be extinguished. The glow will be no more. It will give way to newer, and most certainly, brighter lights. But the warmth it radiates cannot be replaced. The feelings it generates will never be duplicated. The intensity it evokes will not be matched, no matter the wattage of its replacement. The new stadium may shine like a bright star, but it can never shine like the brightest star. And the world will be forever dimmer, because Yankee Stadium will soon be coming down.

I have secured tickets for the final home game of the regular season. This could be the last moment for its greatness to be seen. The images of the past 50 years will be carried with me as I walk inside for one last time. I want to bid my friend a fond farewell. I want to say thanks for everything it has given me and countless millions through the years. I know there will be a collective grief that we all will be experiencing as we sit in our seats that day. I am not comfortable attending funerals, as I have a hard time thinking of anything but the moments of glory. I will forever be grateful, and I will forever retain, within me, everything that is Yankee Stadium. So long, old friend. I will cherish your memories. Yankee Stadium will soon be coming down.

Holding Back

Rounding third base and heading home, you look ahead to see the catcher blocking home plate. The ball has already arrived in his glove. You can go gently into the night, by sliding and being tagged out. Instead, you lower your shoulder and go full speed ahead. The immovable object moves, and you wait for the dust to clear to see if you have arrived home safely. Untangling the mess, the catcher clutches his wrist. It is broken, and it is due solely to your aggressive play. You are a minor leaguer, trying to impress the manager and make the major league squad. It is an exhibition game and the results have no meaning .

You are Pete Rose. You have built your career on your unwillingness to do anything less than full throttle. You run to first base even after a walk. You are Charley Hustle. You were born to scratch and claw for everything. You are now one of the elite. You are convinced it is because of your commitment to excel from the moment you wake until you sleep. You don't believe in compromise. You see the catcher, Ray Fosse holding the ball and you decide that you are Pete Rose, yesterday , today and tomorrow. Like a fullback trying to get the extra yard, you hurtle forward . As Fosse prepares for the collision, you know that both of you will feel the effects of this for days to come. It is an All Star game, and whether you win or lose is without meaning.

It is the year 2000. The Presidential elections loom ahead. You are disenchanted with the politics of both the Democrats and the Republicans. You feel like your voice is no longer heard, no longer relevant. You decide that you will run for President on the Green Party ticket. You know you cannot win, but it is important that your views are acknowledged and debated. Maybe you can force some changes through your candidacy. However, as election day nears, it is clear that it will be a very close vote. If you decide that your voice has been heard, your point has been made, and you drop out, it can be the difference for one party. If you would only align yourself with the Democrats , then it appears that the race can be won by them. You are Ralph Nader and you have devoted your life to fighting for your causes. You won't be deterred now. You may have cost the democrats the election and been a principal cause in hurtling this country into 8 years of a Republican presidency and all it has wrought.

When are we not supposed to give it our best? Is there never a shade of gray, is it only black and white? Can we not understand that circumstances can dictate different approaches? Is it a sign of weakness for us to be less than all we can be, for one moment? Is it ever wrong to give less than your all?

Roger Clemens

Am I alone in not listening to, or caring about, the Congressional testimony of Roger Clemens? I get it. Major league baseball play has long involved the rampant use of steroids. Was the Clemens- McNamee fiasco supposed to be the exclamation point on an era gone sour? If that was its intent then, for me, it failed miserably. There is a saturation level that we all have on any given topic. Beyond that point, all that is thereafter discussed is, at best, background noise to be drowned out by all the other, more serious, issues we all face in our everyday lives. At worst, it is like an irritant which we wish could be blown up and sent into oblivion forever.

Is the Congress of the United States absolutely unaware of the myriad of critical concerns that outweigh the import of the investigation that they undertook and paraded forth on the national airwaves? Why would they think that in a year in which our economy is sinking like a stone, where there are 47 million Americans without health insurance, where we are mired in a war that has cost trillions of dollars and thousands of lives, that it was prudent and appropriate to waste one second of their time (and ours) berating or applauding Roger Clemens?

Don't misunderstand me. I love baseball and everything about it. But I strongly believe that baseball will survive Jose Canseco, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens and the hundreds of others who apparently took advantage of a system that turned a blind eye to the fraud perpetrated upon us. Baseball is about holding your child's hand walking through the turnstile, talking about nothing in particular for hours and feeling the warmth of summer, and of the summer's game, take hold of your being. Those feelings will remain the essence of baseball long after the memory of the steroids era has receded into the history books.

For now, I know Mr. Clemens has opened himself up to the scrutiny of the Congress and the Federal prosecutors. Let his story play itself out in the courts, and eventually in the casting of votes for the hall of fame. Let Mr. Clemens and Mr. McNamee now recede from our view and tell their tales to those people required to evaluate their credibility.

For me, I would ask that Congress get back to the business at hand. I want no more baseball related comments coming from that body. Rather, I want to hear from those now down at spring training, of Joba Chamberlain or ARod, of great hopes and great promises. The pitchers and catchers have now reported and the focus should be on covering first base, throwing a sharp breaking curveball and making the starting rotation. I don't want to hear what these players think of Roger Clemens or Andy Pettite. Let the real games begin and let all the idiotic 'games' we have been subjected to come to an end. Enough is enough. Play ball.