Keeping Time

Yesterday I railed against penalty kicks in soccer, and I suppose against the game in general. Yes, I'm that typical American who thinks it's boring, and not the least because it is. But there are things about soccer I like.

You do have to be in excellent shape to play. It can, too, be athletic. Bicycle kick passes and goals are impressive. Soccer is easy and inexpensive, which is great for kids and weekend athletes. 

But what I like most about it is that the referee and the referee only controls the clock. Teams can't simply call time out when game management gets away from them, or merely to make the other squad wait (I'm looking at you, American football). No one with a direct interest in the outcome of a game should control something as integral to fair play as the time. Too many games are, I will argue, won artificially by simply stopping play because it suits you. That's aimed at you again, American football.

So yes, soccer has its good points. Particularly that last one. 

A Kick in the Net

I actually watched the bulk of the Germany-Paraguay World Cup match yesterday. All right, I didn't exactly watch. I flipped between the game and a Yogi Bear cartoon. Yogi might be predictable, but at least he and Boo Boo did more than kick a ball back and forth for two hours. That's about the extent of what I saw Germany and Paraguay do.

Then, those two squads had to resort to what are called penalty kicks to determine a winner. That's truly worse than the ghost runner on second in baseball extra innings. 

Individual kickers go against a goalie one on one. If the goalie guesses right, no goal. If not, goal. The team with the most, ugh, goals wins.

Really, soccer? I get that you need a winner. But penalty kicks? Remove the goalies in extra time. Take 3 or 4 players from each side off the field. Eliminate offsides. Widen and heighten the net. Something. Almost anything would be better than what you have. Shootouts are simply an insult to the integrity of the game. It's why I can't take you too seriously.

In Regard to Warm

One thing I've noticed as my books gain traction are the number of emails I now receive telling me how their tried and true method of getting me noticed will make me a writing star. Of course, they want money to do that. This isn't to dismiss all of them. But it dismisses most.

A common sign off, after telling me how great my books are and how their phenomenal ideas will enhance my stature, is, I've noticed, 'Warm regards' followed by a name. Where you or I might sign off 'sincerely' or the like, the ones who want cash send me warm regards.

No one whom I've ever come across in real life has said that, much less ended a letter with it. It even sounds clunky: what the hell is a warm regard anyway? Personally, I believe that it's an AI attempt at sounding as though they really mean they want the best for me, but in a rather dull manner which won't offend any denomination.

Ah well.

Warm regards,

Marty 

The Bird Game

I don't know how many Tiger fans remember this date, although I'm sure many do: June 28, 1976. Fifty years ago today. I call it the Bird game: it was the game which shot Mark Fidrych to national fame. I watched it as a sixteen year old, and it is (outside of World Series wins, and then only arguably) my favorite Tigers' game.

Rookie Mark Fidrych, nicknamed the Bird, threw a complete game 5-1 victory over the New York Yankees in a nationally televised Monday night contest. My son found a copy of the event on a VHS tape at a rummage sale and picked it up. The tape was labeled simply, The Fidrych Game. We watched it the day before Memorial Day. Yes, I still have a tape player hooked up to my TV.

Fidrych was a character. He groomed the pitchers's mound, he talked to himself, he thanked the players behind him after good plays. He was certainly unique.

I was struck by how quickly the game was played: I counted typically only 8 - 9 seconds between pitches. That's how you're supposed to play: keep it moving. But far more than that was watching the simple, childlike excitement of the Bird as he pitched. He put on no airs, there was no bravado. He was not grandstanding. He was just playing baseball. And having fun at it.

Then the cheers after the last out were amazing. Tiger Stadium rocked with the chant, "We want Bird! We want Bird!" until he came out for the curtain call. The broad smile, the happiness on his face; he was just so sincere. You don't see that on athletes, and that's a shame. Games should be fun more than anything else, even, perhaps especially, at that level.

The chills still ran down down my spine years later, watching that game with my son. Detroit Tigers fans who never saw the Bird missed something that can't be found even on World Series championship teams. They missed the most deserving player ever to don the Old English D. He may even be the most deserving player ever to take the field in a Major League Baseball game. Fidrych loved the game, and the fans loved him for it.

Blatant Industrial Espionage

This morning I received a call from a customer, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, where I'm not sure what he hoped to accomplish but he wasn't getting any cooperation from me regardless.

He needed some cables repaired and I told him to bring them in Monday or Tuesday but expect a two week return time because we're busy. "Why don't you teach me how to do repairs, Cosgriff? I might could help you out."

"I'm don't know that I can do that, Cloyce. I'd have to stay right with you at first and it would really just slow me down." Let me establish, quite bluntly, you don't want Cloyce fixing your stuff. Trust me.

"Well let me ask you this: what does it cost you to fix a cable? What's your actual cost?" 

I have to admit that I was a bit taken aback by such a question. It's, oh, what would you call it, impertinent, maybe? Still, it was Cloyce, something of a dingbat, and I held my temper. My response was rather pointed nonetheless. "I'm afraid that's privileged information, Cloyce."

He responded indignantly, "Man, you just don't want any competition do you, Cosgriff?"

Well, I won't lie. I don't really want competition, no. But I would accept it if it arose naturally because that's part of the working world. And it occurs to me this second that Cloyce competition might actually help me in the long run, once folks see what kind of work he does. Still, I ain't helping anyone learn to compete with me, and I'm especially not telling him my margins. What did he expect?

We'll see if he brings his cables by.

Not My Native Tongue

Late yesterday as I was getting off work, my next door neighbor and her young daughter were sitting on their porch. I waved and said, "Hi!"

"Hi!" the little girl responded. Then she, very excited, launched into full on Pebbles Flintstone. "Bada dadi dodi gadda gidda da nehhi blochta hehaw!" I could actually feel the confused expression growing on my face as she talked. 

Her mother then explained, "She said she got a pedal bike at her fourth birthday party and she's learning to ride it."

I looked back at the daughter. "Mommy and Daddy are teaching you to ride a bike?"

She began another run on sentence. "Yes! Haha bingo blah suppri didi haha no a aat ya ya!"

Mom said, "Yes they are, and it's fun, and one day I'll teach my baby sister to ride hers!"

"Good for you!" I told the girl.

I'm glad she's so happy, but I was most grateful for the translator. It's been decades since I had to speak toddler.

Buffaloed

Yesterday I returned home from a quick run to the local supermarket. As I sorted out my change, I found that I had been given, not an ordinary nickel, but a Buffalo nickel.

Buffalo nickels were minted between 1913 and 1938. This means that mine is between 88 and 113 years old. I can't say for sure, because it's so worn from use that the date has rubbed off. There's a lot of wear around the edge of the coin too.

I'm debating whether to find a coin shop to have it appraised. I'm not fooling myself into believing it might actually be worth something, but I did find a similarly worn one being listed on eBay for $2500.  No joke; the date is rubbed away on that one too, so there must be some way to determine when such things were issued no matter what.

Anyway, I've been buffaloed. It's far from earth shattering, yet still a rather neat thing to happen.