The Boy Who Cried Fox

("Donald Trump Quits Fox News(Again) After O'Reilly Appearance is Canceled")

The Boy who cried Fox.

(Alternative - What came first, the Chicken or the Fox?)

Lawrence Peter Berra

He was the master of misstatement, a lovable cartoon character, an everyman who was anything but. Side by side with the grace of DiMaggio, the combativeness of Martin, the astounding natural ability of Mantle, the eye was not first drawn to him. But he was the picture of pinstripe pride and despite his longstanding feud with the Boss and his dalliance with the crosstown rivals, he was always our Yogi, once and forever a Yankee.

There are the iconic images indelibly ingrained, as he jumps into the arms of Larsen  after the last strike or rages at the umpire after Robinson's steal of home. That is the Yogi we knew, full of passion, playing the game on it's biggest stage, living or dying with every twist and turn, much as we did.

In the later years, when he returned to the Stadium an old man, he was small in being, far too physically inconsequential it seemed to have ever made a lasting impression on the game. But there was no mistaking his mark, the numbers telling of his majesty.

However, in the final telling, it will be the man himself, not the hits and homers that we most recall. Yogi, ugly but beautiful, little but large, butchering a phrase but with intent, unremarkable but actually amazing. And most certainly one of a kind.

A Gift Rejected

AN EDITED VERSION OF THIS PIECE APPEARS IN THE RECORD ON SEPTEMBER 26, 2015

They are released from the constraints that bind those schooled in political speak. But candidates Trump, Carson and Fiorina have taken those freedoms as license to talk not of lofty goals and ideals but of hatreds and vilifications.

Trump finds villains at every turn and condescension in every phrase, Carson  has condemned everyone from the President to all Muslims in terms that demonstrate the depth of his prejudices and misconceptions, and Fiorina grossly misrepresents the truth of her personal achievements and her political understanding to try to amplify her knowledge and gravitas.

They have been given a gift these three, the opportunity to rid us of the conventions that stifle and smother our political discourse. But they have not taken advantage of their unique position and have delivered neither fresh ideas nor smarter conversation.

If we were looking for a change from the same old same old, this was not what we had in mind.

The Ralphettes

I have become the newest member of the Ralphettes. It is not everything I hoped for, but at least it's a start.

As far a I can tell, there is only one song in this backup group's repertoire:  Mustang Sally. The Ralphettes have sadly only performed on about a half dozen occasions over the last quarter of a century. All have been at weddings or bar-mitzvahs, and only when the entire group, and their lead singer Ralph, have been invited guests.

Saturday was their most recent performance. I have now been informed by one of the Ralphettes that they were given only an hour's notice before being called upon to do their thing. The lack of preparation showed. Trying to shake off the rust from so many years of inactivity, and not actually doing anything to get ready, the group's timing was far from perfect. It was, truth be known, a rather pedestrian showing by my now fellow Ralphettes.

They all should have known better. Ralph was the father of the bride and so the revival was all but assured. And when, earlier in the evening, Ralph took the mic and rock and rolled a couple of tunes, the inevitability of the reprieve of the group must have been crystal clear.

The Ralphettes, now all at or near the beginning of their seventh decade, know they need some new blood. And my blood, while probably older than any of theirs, still would at least add novelty. The first male to break the barrier. The first outsider, someone who had not been at any of the earlier performances of the group. The first without any rhythm at all. Well maybe that last one is not the highest of my qualifications.

After the festivities for the night had concluded, I went up to one of the Ralphettes to congratulate her on an unforgettable moment (I didn't say why it was unforgettable). She lamented the group's lack of readiness, and apologized for the unevenness of what I had witnessed. She had noticed my frenetic jumping up and down and almost spastic dance moves throughout the evening and thus discussion turned to the possibility of me making the group one larger.

I wonder if the Beatles thought that Ringo joining them would be the final piece of the puzzle. I wonder if Abbott felt the chemistry with Costello from the moment they shook hands on their partnership. I wonder if Hillary knew as soon as she laid eyes on Bill that her life would be changed forever.

After cementing my place in the Ralphettes with all its members, I immediately began to think big. Maybe we should break off from Ralph as he was stifling our creativity and our opportunity. And maybe we could enlarge our song list from one to two or three. And maybe there could be a new lead singer in town. Preferably a male.

My early career got off to a very promising beginning. When I was in fifth grade, I performed Under the Boardwalk before an audience of hundreds.  So what if the entire elementary school was required to attend the assembly. I am certain they hardly noticed the few off key sounds or the one octave range of my vocal cords. Sadly, my own group of backup performers and I disbanded after my one and only star turn. And equally unfortunate is that my upper and lower registers have only shrunk during the succeeding decades, leaving me virtually no song that can be sung in the proper key. But I am not deterred.

So what if I don't know if any of my fellow band members can carry a tune. Their few doo wops or whatever else was coming out of their mouths was drowned out by the clinking of glasses or scraping of knives and forks, by the chatter from the tables, or the general buzz in the audience as Ralph held court. It matters little. What is of more consequence is that we form a real identity and try to get a manager to get this thing moving forward.

One of my best friends represents a rock star now far on the wrong side of 60 whose career has been revitalized thanks to the magic of his manager. I wonder whether he would be interested in handling another band in need. an all girls backup band, with a guy. A guy without rhythm or voice. What could be more enticing.

I think the future is ours for the taking.

Introducing the Republican Ticket for 2016

("The Rubio and Fiorina Option")

Who knows where this bizarre primary season of discontent in the Republican party will lead. There were past flirtations with total madness, think Michele Bachmann or Herman Cain, but these passed more quickly than Trumpmania.

However, if the insanity dissipates, I would suggest that the strongest Republican ticket could well be formed from the two most critical swing states in the nation. John Kasich sounded the alarm bells as the debate speak veered off into the fantasy land of ripping up the Iran deal "on day one" and shutting down the government, yet again, this time over Planned Parenthood funding. A seasoned politician, popular enough in his home state of Ohio, Mr. Kasich is still of an age to make the Democratic candidate ( Hillary or Bernie) appear a generation too old.

And Marco Rubio, with the background story of his family, the state of Florida in which he holds office, the certainty (and more knowledge than most) of his thoughts on foreign affairs, his deeply conservative beliefs  and his youthful image, provides what would seem to be a perfect partner for Mr. Kasich.

There have been five open seat Presidential elections since 1960,when the television era truly changed the dynamic with the Kennedy- Nixon debates. While the younger candidate has not always been successful (the victors were Kennedy in 1960, Nixon in 1968 and Obama in 2008 while the older candidate George H. W. Bush in 1988 and George W. Bush in 2000 were winners, even as W. managed to lose the popular vote) history would seem to indicate that youth is more likely to be served.

So, even as I am a died in the wool Democrat and vehemently disagree with the policy positions of both Mr. Kasich and Mr. Rubio, I would suggest to the Republicans that they could do far worse than teaming these two on their ticket next year.

Ronald Reagan, The Next Dead President of the United States

Given that illusion is the heartbeat of this Republican primary season, as the leader of the pack is without even the most basic concept of what it takes to govern this nation, I would suggest that the man whose name was possibly repeated more than any other at the second debate be named the Republican candidate for President. Ronald Reagan, whose Presidential plane served as looming backdrop, whose attributes were invoked as a greatness now lost, whose accomplishments seem mythic, who better to lead this country out of the wilderness.

Who cares that he is long dead. What matters is that he continues to inspire. Let the thought of him guide our decisions, strengthen our heart, calm our shaking hand, and bring us to a better tomorrow. Long live the next dead President of the United States.

The Flavor of the Month

Heading into tonight's second Republican debate, it appears clear that the candidacy of Donald Trump must be taken seriously. While some pundits point out that Mr. Trump has the support of only a relatively small percentage of potential primary voters in his party, it stands to reason that many, if not most, of those now supporting others will likely switch their allegiance to Mr. Trump as the number of candidates whittles to a precious few.

However, we should turn to the most recent past, four years ago, to gain some perspective on whether we will be going to Mr. Trump's coronation in January of 2017. In the summer and fall of 2011 the following were national headlines:

July 19, 2011 - Michele Bachmann takes lead in national polls

August 15, 2011 - Donald Trump leads 2012 GOP field

August 24, 2011 - A second poll in two weeks shows Rick Perry with a significant lead over his competition

October 7, 2011 - Herman Cain opens up a 20 point lead on Romney

This election cycle feels different, seems like every predicate is without meaning and the only constant is that the conventional is in serious trouble. Non-politicians prosper on the right and a life long lone voice on the fringe surges on the left.


But for those of us who find ludicrous the thought of a Donald Trump running the office of the Presidency like a bull in a china shop, at least we can hold on to history for some comfort in knowing that today's king or queen may well be old news tomorrow.

Will People Actually Vote This Time?

("Latinos for Donald Trump")

Wasn't it Mitt Romney who spoke of making life so miserable for "illegal" immigrants that they would self-deport? Wasn't there conversation in the Republican debates of building a moat to keep out the unwanteds? Wasn't it perfectly clear four years ago that the Hispanic community was considered a blight upon our nation by one of our two parties? And yet the numbers reveal that less than half of the eligible Hispanic voters even appeared to cast a vote at the ballot box.

This is intended as a blanket indictment of a nation that cannot be dragged from its apathetic stupor. What could be more meaningful to the African Americans in our nation than the re-election of Barack Obama? Yet one in three did not exercise their fundamental right. I well understand the impediments placed upon many in voting, made only more difficult by the many methods employed by the Republicans to keep likely Democratic votes from being cast. But that does not explain the staggering numbers who stayed home on election day.

Mr. Trump may be around next November, and, if so, his candidacy may signal a call to arms for those deeply offended and aggrieved by his incomprehensibly inappropriate remarks. But, until that day comes and evidence proves me wrong, history teaches us that nothing will change this from a nation whose principal vote is cast for no one.

Serena

What constitutes a miracle? The US ice hockey team beating Russia?

How about the very young Cassius Clay who some thought was too scared to even enter the ring, standing over the bear, Sonny Liston, who had twice destroyed Floyd Patterson?

Or Buster Douglas taking down an unstoppable Mike Tyson?

Maybe even the Joe Namath led Jets victory over the inVinceible Packers?

They all seem to pale against this. The great Serena, having turned back every challenge thrown her way, with the end tantalizingly close, a grand slam for the taking. And who even heard of her opponent before this week? Immortality lay just ahead.. Too close to the sun, like Icarus.

Sports draw us in emotionally in ways that defy logic. And when we are so invested, the good and the bad become not just events, but reach a higher plane, become, well Al Michaels knows what they become.

Charlie

Charlie nestles into Laura's lap as though he is trying to enter her womb. Not so much sitting there as becoming part of the body to which he is quite evidently emotionally, and now physically attached.

Charlie weighs 7 pounds, just about the size of an average newborn and he is more than good looking. He turns heads wherever he appears. Walking with him for but a few minutes, I am approached by a number of total strangers who are compelled to advise those with whom I stroll of what is so clearly evident.

Charlie is a cockapoo, with tannish fur and beautiful eyes. He is less than 6 months old and will, at full growth, likely have a hard time breaking into double digits on the weight charts. He is, and will forever be, incredibly cute.

Laura is our third child. While her parents might disagree with our assessment, we claim rights to her when she is on American soil. Laura is English but has resided in the U.S. for well over a decade. She befriended our son, who is the same age as Laura, in 2003, and they have remained close ever since.

For a time in late 2013 and early 2014 she lived in our home in Massachusetts. Soon it was filled with smells of incense, books on meditation, little Buddha like figurines, and writings on women's advocacy. Laura is, in her own way, as compelling  and mesmerizing a figure as Charlie.

Laura is now married and living on the wrong coast of the country, thousands of miles from where my wife and I reside. I witness, over the course of our visit, the joy that radiates from Laura and her betrothed. And the space that Charlie fills.

For all Laura's strengths, of which there are many, being able to have a perfectly calm center, is not one of them. Maybe that is why she and our son bonded. Souls not easily at rest.

The  meditation, the yoga and all the external signs throughout our house in Massachusetts were directed towards the goal of finding that inner peace. And Charlie has entered Laura's life to help her locate that place from which quiet emanates.

Laura did not say if Charlie was acquired as a companion dog. But whether or not that was true, it is clearly the role for which he was perfectly born. As Laura sits on the floor, legs crossed in a Buddha like repose, Charlie wanders over to her, and essentially melts into the space waiting for him. Laura leans over, softly repeating Charlie's name, then straightens up and continues our conversation.

Our house was filled with pets for about 3 decades.  Young dogs who grew old and then were gone, each one wonderful in his or her own right. We even adopted a dog that had been beaten blind as a puppy, who used our shepherd as a kind of seeing eye friend. While each of them filled up significant space in our hearts, they were not there to do what seems to come as instinct for Charlie.

He is a preternaturally calm puppy. There were 2 other dogs with him yesterday, one barking out orders to play, play with him. But Charlie would have none of it, preferring to investigate his surroundings on his own terms.

And every few minutes he would retreat to home base where he would rest in the comfort of Laura's embrace. Two beings bringing one another serenity.

It is nice to see our third child doing so well. It is hard to know exactly what is going on inside the head of another, but the laughter and smiles, the soft touch of her hand upon her husband's arm, the ease with which they spoke to each other, were reassuring signs. And in the center of it all, that quiet center, was Charlie.