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Nice Things.
Apr. 3rd, 2014 10:18 pmIt was Opening Day in minor league baseball today. Our team won, which is something my major league team isn't likely to lay a claim to any time soon. Minor league games are so much more real; down to earth. I thought of the famous George Carlin football versus baseball riff earlier today, and started coming up with my own multi-level rendition of it:
In the major leagues, the players move from city to city on chartered jets.
In the minor leagues, the players move from to city to city on a bus.
In the majors, sponsored days at the stadium are serious. BANNER DAY. OLD-TIMERS DAY. THIS SPONSOR POCKET SCHEDULE OR THAT SPONSOR T-SHIRT DAY.
In the minors, sponsored days at the stadium are silly. RUN THE BASES WITH YOUR KIDS SUNDAYS. STAR WARS NIGHT. ZOMBIE NIGHT. The Lehigh Valley Iron Pigs, heirs of the Ottawa Lynx IL franchise, are running an entire series of events based on bacon.
In the minors, the stadium is rarely if ever full, and you can sit wherever you want. In the majors, the Acela Club and the Ceasar's Club and the Champions Club and the One Percenters Club are exclusive and demanding of protection, and even if there are only 5,000 people in the ballpark, ushers and bouncers are there to make sure that the riffraff from the bleachers or the Soft Drink Porch don't get anywhere near the seats behind the dugout or in shouting distance of the broadcast booth.
Finally, the objects of the games at each level are completely different. The major league squad is there to win, at all costs, for the glory of the owner and the analytics and fantasy stats of the players. The minor league team is there to replace injured players on the big club, contribute to trade-deadline and off-season trades, and make their cities' fans happy to be part of the history and tradition of the game.
Which, for me at least, is the equivalent of the object of the game being to GO HOME.
So if you see a certain mostly-dormant blog change its name to Bisonstopheles, hopefully you'll know why:)
----
Eleanor's been having some issues with connecting with her masseuse/Pilates instructor recently, but tonight? Robyn confirmed more than just her next respective appointments, with an email that said:
You are possibly the sweetest funniest person I know!
I know how much that gave my beloved a charge. I got a similar one yesterday, when I heard from a longtime lawyer I've known for almost every day of my almost 30-year career.
L graduated from UB Law School the year I was born. I have no business being his colleague, much less his friend, but when my own mentor (three years younger than L) died 18 months into my career, L was one of the many lawyers who helped me recover the remnant's of Lloyd's practice. A few weeks ago, he and I were waiting in a courtroom to be crucified on adjacent crosses, and he mentioned that his father had left him a 17-acre swamp not far from our home. Last week, after doing a little checking on his behalf, I got a name of someone who might just be interesting in building a castle on that swamp, and I passed the name on. L called me the other day, looking for a better contact for the swamp-builder, and Google quickly provided it; he also had run into a possible client with a totally unrelated deal, but one involving a remotely-connected client of mine, and I was able to give him enough background on the client and the deal to be helpful to him. These sorts of coinkidinks make me happy.
----
Then there are things which aren't coincidental at all, but totally staged, such as this shot of our two grandkittehs, which the kids, admittedly, made happen themselves. The resulting peaceable catdom, though? Totes unrehearsed and uncontrolled:
And on that note, Arthur and Gwenny wish you good night and a pleasant tomorrow:)
In the major leagues, the players move from city to city on chartered jets.
In the minor leagues, the players move from to city to city on a bus.
In the majors, sponsored days at the stadium are serious. BANNER DAY. OLD-TIMERS DAY. THIS SPONSOR POCKET SCHEDULE OR THAT SPONSOR T-SHIRT DAY.
In the minors, sponsored days at the stadium are silly. RUN THE BASES WITH YOUR KIDS SUNDAYS. STAR WARS NIGHT. ZOMBIE NIGHT. The Lehigh Valley Iron Pigs, heirs of the Ottawa Lynx IL franchise, are running an entire series of events based on bacon.
In the minors, the stadium is rarely if ever full, and you can sit wherever you want. In the majors, the Acela Club and the Ceasar's Club and the Champions Club and the One Percenters Club are exclusive and demanding of protection, and even if there are only 5,000 people in the ballpark, ushers and bouncers are there to make sure that the riffraff from the bleachers or the Soft Drink Porch don't get anywhere near the seats behind the dugout or in shouting distance of the broadcast booth.
Finally, the objects of the games at each level are completely different. The major league squad is there to win, at all costs, for the glory of the owner and the analytics and fantasy stats of the players. The minor league team is there to replace injured players on the big club, contribute to trade-deadline and off-season trades, and make their cities' fans happy to be part of the history and tradition of the game.
Which, for me at least, is the equivalent of the object of the game being to GO HOME.
So if you see a certain mostly-dormant blog change its name to Bisonstopheles, hopefully you'll know why:)
----
Eleanor's been having some issues with connecting with her masseuse/Pilates instructor recently, but tonight? Robyn confirmed more than just her next respective appointments, with an email that said:
You are possibly the sweetest funniest person I know!
I know how much that gave my beloved a charge. I got a similar one yesterday, when I heard from a longtime lawyer I've known for almost every day of my almost 30-year career.
L graduated from UB Law School the year I was born. I have no business being his colleague, much less his friend, but when my own mentor (three years younger than L) died 18 months into my career, L was one of the many lawyers who helped me recover the remnant's of Lloyd's practice. A few weeks ago, he and I were waiting in a courtroom to be crucified on adjacent crosses, and he mentioned that his father had left him a 17-acre swamp not far from our home. Last week, after doing a little checking on his behalf, I got a name of someone who might just be interesting in building a castle on that swamp, and I passed the name on. L called me the other day, looking for a better contact for the swamp-builder, and Google quickly provided it; he also had run into a possible client with a totally unrelated deal, but one involving a remotely-connected client of mine, and I was able to give him enough background on the client and the deal to be helpful to him. These sorts of coinkidinks make me happy.
----
Then there are things which aren't coincidental at all, but totally staged, such as this shot of our two grandkittehs, which the kids, admittedly, made happen themselves. The resulting peaceable catdom, though? Totes unrehearsed and uncontrolled:
And on that note, Arthur and Gwenny wish you good night and a pleasant tomorrow:)