The Simple Truth

There is only one thing which it takes courage to say and that is a truism.

- G. K. Chesterton

Chesterton had a way about him, didn't he? He could cut to the chase better than anyone, and today's quote is a prime example of that.

Why is it so hard to mouth a truism? All truth is built on things so obvious that no rational mind would reject them. Call them truisms, axioms, first principles, self evidence; it's all the same thing. And all reason is built upon them. All that an anti-abortion activist need point out is that human beings have human babies and all other truths about the pro-life issue fall squarely into place. For the rational mind, that is. That's why so many pro-abortion activists are simply shrill. They have no rational option to offer.

Still, I can see where speaking a truism can be difficult. There is a degree to which they appear too simple, and simplicity can be scary exactly because of that. Another great British Christian, Mr. C. S. Lewis, famously remarked that he was never less sure of an issue than right after he had successfully defended it. That makes sense to me. It's daunting to believe that's that's all there is to it, so to speak. There's a part of us which has trouble believing the great questions have simple answers. The questions appear, at a glance, too great to have answers so obvious.

That's where trust comes in. No matter how obvious something may be, scientifically, philosophically, or theologically, we have to take a leap of faith to fully accept it. We see what seem to be apparent complications in the world and have a tough time cutting through all that noise to understand truth. That is why, to employ Mr. Lewis again, we must be obstinate in belief. Until the proof is incontrovertible that our position is wrong, then believe it is right. There's no shame in that. Why ought anyone abandon a position merely because the wind might be blowing against them?

There's no point making the world a more complicated place that it may seem, and certainly no point complicating issues through nothing more than ignorance and human frailty. The truth is indeed out there. It can be expressed in the most simple ways as well. Take strength in that. Take that leap of faith.

Sales and teaching are quite alike

I haven't been in a classroom now in over four years. I had taught various classes in various locations for 24 years. Now all that's past history, as me Grandpa Joe used to say.

For years I had the best of both worlds. I was using my college degree and, hopefully, helping high schoolers and young (and some not as young) adults in starting to make their marks on the world. At the same time I was working in a family business, keeping and deepening close family relationships. I still have that and the pride that goes along with it. And I do find that sales and education share certain traits.

I've ran training sessions and given product demonstrations for work which are very similar to teaching. You show how something is used, you help a customer determine what exactly they need, and you answer questions; you deal with a wide range of experience and adjust your approach to that. Hopefully it helps people along in their jobs as it (one likes to believe) helped students find their way in the world.

I really still have the best of both. Part of me would like to be in a more formal classroom again. The rest of me sees the big picture. It's not too bad of a picture either. I'm just waxing philosophic on this chilly Friday morning in Michigan.

We old guys get to do that. And it's leaving a smile on my face today. Why not? In a half hour I get to educate a young man on why his machine is shocking him, and I'm sure I'll feel that old satisfaction when I solve that problem.

Random Thursday thoughts

Yesterday was the 17th Anniversary of the last baseball game at Tiger Stadium. The then Kansas City batter, Carlos Beltran, who made the last out at the old ballpark is now the last active major league player to have actually played there. I find a certain symmetry in that.

I bought a cured ham once but never ate it. I was worried what it had had.

I've always thought that Darth Vader's mother's name should have been Ella.

The NFL is being really hypocritical on the Anthem issue. They enforce all sorts of regulations on the players without worry about their supposed rights. Why is this different?

Oh heck, I got nothing else. Next time...

The special chemical compound

Sometimes at the Shop we have to heat things. Maybe two parts won't come apart, maybe a bolt won't loosen; you get the idea. Consequently we keep a large bucket of water near our work bench in case we need to cool hot metal. You know, for safety's sake. Because we Cosgriffs are all about safety.

So one day Pops was heating something or other while fixing a machine for a customer; I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. When Dad finished he dropped the red hot whatever into the bucket of water. Cloyce asked, "Is that water, Cosgriff?"

With a twinkle in his eye Pops answered, "No. It's a special chemical compound called H2O".

"Oh," Cloyce responded with about half a laugh.

A few months later Cloyce was back, this time with a friend. Pops was heating something up again, and dropped the part in the water as he finished. Cloyce said to his buddy, "I bet you think that's water, don't you?"

"Uhh, yeah," the guy answered uncertainly.

"Nope. That's a special chemical compound called H2O," Cloyce responded. Dad said you tell that Cloyce was proud of that scientific factoid because he clearly did not realize that H2O was water.

"Really?" the man in turn responded, giving a curious eye towards Pops, who simply but mildly shrugged his shoulders. The man himself clearly knew H2O was water, but left it at that.

I believe Dad was happy that he did. After all, he was only cracking a joke however many months ago. He was not out to embarrass old Cloyce.

Cornball humor

I have to confess, in fact I quite cheerfully admit, that my sense of humor is sometimes subtle and goofball. Do you care for some examples? You don't, I'm sure, but I'll offer them anyway.
I drive a lot for my job so I see many signs for many things. Most are ads, but some are for various attractions and activities. Some of course are just plain old road signs. Take for instance, as my son and I were driving to Boston in summer 2016. As we approached an overpass a yellow sign warned us, Bridge may be icy. And I thought, faux incredulously, what, today?
Many of the recreation signs indicate that after a turn and a mile or two you'll find Rolling Hills golf club or some such. I always think, so I'll go that way and find a five iron on the highway?
At times my internal jokes get borderline crass. Not that that stops me from internally making them, mind you. All around Michigan at one time were billboards which asserted that 1 in 5 children face hunger. I found myself thinking, so turn that kid around.
Yeah, I know. But you did have to choke back a snicker, didn't you?

This NFL National Anthem nonsense

I've been trying to stay away from social and political rants. They're ultimately not the most fun to write, and you risk offending a good chunk of your audience. Still, it's my blog. If I want to delve into social issues I will. So I will.

This whole flag protest business is nothing more than obnoxious. I believe it tells us all we need to know about the National Football League: it's okay if its players don't stand for the national anthem. Let that be as it may. That it won't respect the flag and the anthem just points out how arrogant the game has become.

I see the protests as nothing short of hyperbole, and for myself, well, I've been paying less and less attention to football for most of the last decade anyway. It's simply too brutal to be called mere sport. Then the constant overreactions after simple plays, touchdown celebrations and the like (I once saw a player celebrate a muffed snap which the quarterback immediately fell upon as though it was his doing rather than the error between two opponents as it was) are increasingly annoying. If I want sports entertainment I'll watch the WWE. At least they're honest about their intentions.

Then to have NFL commissioner Roger Goodell call US President Donald Trumps' words divisive is nothing short of disingenuos. His minion started this, not the President. True, Mr. Trump did not help things with his comments. But if Colin what's his name hadn't knelt first and the League not supported it, Trump would not have had the forum.

So it's just another reason not to watch the NFL anyway. If it doesn't feel the need to support the nation, fine. I feel no need to support it. That's the real bottom line; I hope that more people feel like me.

Grandpa Joe

I always knew Joe would be the last of my grandparents to take the final journey. He didn't take care of himself. He smoked like a chimney, as the saying goes. He took chances that would have surely killed any other man yet he, somehow, survived. Exercise? What was that?
He was the perfect candidate to outlive the other three.
He was not easy to get along with. But damn it, you could get along with him. If you wanted to. If you tried. We hear so much anymore about just getting along. Well, it took more than just getting along to get along with Joe. Yet he could be got along with. If you let go of your predispositions and tried.
He was tender. Yes, I know that those of you among my friends and relatives are laughing right now. Yet he was. He made me a simple little toy out of string and a button. He grinned as I played with it, laughed a bit, happy at the gift, happy at my glee. It lead to the only time I saw me Pops jealous, when he saw me playing with what his father had made for me. That's okay, I get it. The relationships between grandson and grandfather are different from that of father and son. The dynamics aren't the same.
But if I could have anything more human right now beyond my own father, I wish I had that string and button.

What are the odds?

Dad liked to play poker. Well, once years ago when he and his brothers and friends played almost every Saturday night he found himself on a hot streak which lasted several weeks. As most games were played at his house, Pops was teased a lot about marking the cards before the guys arrived for a game. So he decided one day to, I guess you'd say call their bluff.

He bought a brand new deck of cards to use for the next Saturday's game. He left it in the plastic wrapping until time for the first deal, which would be his. Dad was going to make a show of how that game would be fair by opening the cards in front of the guys.

So Saturday night came, everyone sat down, and Pops pulls out the new deck. You can all see for yourselves, fellahs, that this is a new set of playing cards which are obviously untouched, he says, or something similar. He gets a knife and cuts the clear plastic wrap, opens one end of the box, and triumphantly fans out the red-backed poker cards for all to see.

The guys saw the cards all right. Each card was red...except the one blue-backed card (which happened to be an ace of spades) amidst all the others. Sure, Bill, you don't mark deck.

Even Dad got a belly laugh out of that. As poker players might say about such things, 'What are the odds?'

The feel of small town America

The things you see, the things you learn on the road.
Yesterday morning at 4:30 in the little hamlet of Arlington, Ohio (Flag Village USA you might recall) I saw two young teenage paperboys riding their bikes along the main drag, delivering (obviously) their papers. I don't think I've seen an actual paperboy in twenty years. And I'd have never let my boys ride unsupervised in Detroit at that time.
Then I came to Bellefontaine, Ohio. It boasts of having the first concrete street in America, dating to 1891. I saw the stretch of road; it does look like it dates to 1891. But hey, who am I to question Bellefontaine or its claim to fame?
Finally, during the afternoon I made a stop in Fairmount, Indiana. This small town holds 2,992 people according to Wikipedia (and who am I to question Wikipedia?). But more than that: the actor James Dean grew up in town, and is also buried there. And there's still more: Jim Davis, creator of Garfield the cat, grew up there. Talk about the proverbial sublime to the ridiculous!
Yeah, a bit of a shameless plug, that last line. However that may be, it does seem that you can see a lot of interesting things in small town America even until yet.

Kid Rock for Senate

I honestly don't think that anything will come of it; I accept the conventional wisdom that it's simply for publicity. But you know what? I could vote for Kid Rock for Senate.

I mean, why not? Aren't we taught in school that in America, anyone can govern? Or is that only more progressive claptrap like the vaunted and self-serving tolerance and diversity they deign to preach?

But there is more. A friend of mine says, rightly I believe, that the left wing media will tell us who they fear the most, whom they most want not to win. And although it's been quiet the last ten days or so, it's clear the local media fear Robert Richie.

Stephen Henderson of The Detroit Free Press in its editorial pages had scorched him. That alone makes me want to vote Kid Rock. There's been rumblings from election officials that he hasn't filled out the proper forms yet. That too makes me want him to run. Heck, I might write his name in if I have too, if he doesn't actually pursue the office.

I do have issues with him, particularly the vulgarity of some of his songs. But hey, if Beyonce can traipse around Washington singing filth (and getting praise from the Obamas in so doing), how can an honest liberal hold that against Mr. Rock, let alone against a conservative like me? Tolerance and diversity, after all.

This has the makings of the type of populist appeal which vaulted Donald Trump into the Presidency. I think that's what scares the media the most: that they might be in yet another election cycle made irrelevant.

So while I can't say this minute whether I'd actually vote for him on Election Day (as it's too far off and too much can happen) right now I say, vote for Kid Rock for US Senator from Michigan. If nothing else, the media frenzy will be quite delicious.

First World Problems in Hessel, Michigan

I am a day late with a new blog post due to circumstances beyond my control. The Internet, the one and only, was out all over the eastern Upper Peninsula yesterday. So too was cell phone service. All cell phone service. I had to drive more than 14 miles to get a signal, and that on the shoulder of the road of M-48 northwest of Pickford. At least I could tell my family I had arrived safely.

Later on, back at Hessel, I could not get the TV to work. I spent a couple hours scanning and rescanning the over the air antenna before successfully having six channels.

The fact is that twenty years ago none of this would have vexed me. We had no cellphones and no TV. And we didn't care. We were happy to be in Hessel on vacation, doing things with family and seeing old friends. We did not need the modern world.

I feel a certain sadness and regret not only that those days are gone, but that I spent a significant amount of what little time I have this long weekend fretting over things which did not concern me not that long ago. To be sure, I'll still enjoy the weekend. But in front of a TV instead of observing the beauty around me.

I shall make time tonight to walk under the stars and hoping to see one quick meteor flash across the night sky. And perhaps a steadily passing satellite. It's the least I can do for myself after wasting so much of yesterday on the frivolous.

Mom playing solitaire

When we watch others playing games, it's kind of hard not to at least want to tell them what to do. Even when they're playing solitaire.

Klondike solitaire is the game of choice among my family. Grandpa Joe played it often; I remember fondly watching him play as we sat in silence at his kitchen table. Pops played it a lot too, sitting at our kitchen table contentedly reshuffling actual decks of cards for each new game. My 82 year old mother never played it that I know until Dad passed. Now she plays it all the time, I think because it connects her to him. But it's also good intellectual exercise, which is itself a good thing too.

I was visiting her the other day. We were at that same kitchen table where Pops played, and Mom was occupied playing Klondike even as we talked. And she had this four of diamonds which she could play on this five of clubs. Only she wasn't playing it. 'You could play that 4 onto that 5', I thought, but didn't say it out loud.

We went on talking about whatever. She kept on going through her draw cards yet doing nothing with that four of diamonds. Still I thought to myself, ever more insistently, you can play that red four onto that black five. Still also I remained silent.

The conversation went on. The four continued to sit untouched. The thought, 'Come on Ma, play the stupid four' repeated itself over and over in my head. Yet I still said nothing aloud, despite how increasingly anxious I was becoming.

Minutes passed by as we went on conversing. Finally she stopped, looked up from her cards and asked, "Do you want to me play that four?"

"Please, Dear Lord, yes. Would you play that four!" I responded emphatically.

"I knew it was there. We were just talking and I kept forgetting it."

I don't believe that for a minute. She sensed I was getting antsy and was driving that feeling along. Moms.

The spike in electric costs

I had several times heard of it happening to someone else. Now it's happened to me. And I laughed out loud.

Yesterday's mail brought me the electric bill for the Shop. Now, I'm sure there's been a simple mistake and that it will all work itself out. But whereas my electric bill is usually only about $90 a month, DTE Energy's current invoice for its services is $13,218.76.

Yep, Thirteen Thousand, Two Hundred and Eighteen Dollars. And Seventy Six cents.

I have no intention of paying it of course. It's nonsense. But as I say, I'm confident it will all work out in the end. It's just an honest mistake on someone's part.

Why do you think I laughed when I opened the bill?

Another 9/11

Sixteen years have now passed since what may become the defining point of a generation. Sixteen years, almost to the minute as this is being written, terrorists attacked the Pentagon, the World Trade Center, and were overcome by the passengers of an airplane over the hills of Pennsylvania. All that time, and we still cannot make any sense of it.

The trouble is that there is no sense to be made. To be sure, we can understand the reasons for even such terrible actions, in the same way that we can understand the reasons Hitler did what he did. Yet that is not the same as understanding.

How do we, how can we, come to actually understand rape or murder or thievery, mass murder or any any other evil which may be added to such a gruesome list, if we are to be decent human beings ourselves? It is only in a warped mind where such heinous acts may be justified. As such, reasonable people simply cannot understand them. It is beyond their ability; it is to them pure nonsense.

So the goal today should be to remember. Remember the victims and their families, remember the countless acts of heroism that day, remember even the perpetrators of such despicable carnage if for no other reason than to remind ourselves that such twisted souls do exist, seeking the ruin of those those not in lockstep with them. But hopefully, remember even so that their redemption may be possible. If we are the good people we claim to be, even that shouldn't be so difficult of a task on so difficult of an anniversary.

The new old

The TV in my bedroom went out Thursday. I woke up in the wee hours of Friday (I tend to leave my TV on overnight nowadays) and there was a blank screen, with only a buzzing noise. Rats.

But all is well! I now have a new old TV, and life is good.

The truth be told, I felt yesterday like a kid at Christmas. I bought my daughter's old TV and left that one on all last night. I had no need to buy another; no shopping, no hoping they (whoever they are) had what I wanted in stock, no gas burned nor time taken. Just a shower after work and a stretch across the bed and boom, life was back to normal.

In fact, the room looks bigger now, with a flat screen TV as opposed to the old one I had had. And I still feel like a kid at Christmas.

Ah, life, I like you.

Just so far

I noticed this morning they've put new mileage signs on Interstate 75 south of Toledo, Ohio. You know, those markers which tell us Detroit is 89 miles away and the like? Well, the first new sign I saw had the distances to Dayton and then Cincinnati. That makes sense of course, their being in Ohio. But the third city listed was Tampa, Florida. It was from there 1,103 miles further south on I-75.
That was good for a chuckle. Then the next sign listed a couple Ohio towns again...and Atlanta, Georgia. It was a scant 852 miles along the way.
Methinks someone at the Ohio Department of Transportation has a sense of humor. Or an extreme case of wishful thinking. Or just too much time on their hands, who knows?

Solitaire-y confinement

I was stuck on a jury last week. Yes, I know that jury duty is an important function of the citizenry. I also know that it can be tedious.
To be fair, the court allowed certain diversions in the jury room for the (many) times we were left there to stew as finer legal points were hammered out between judge, prosecutor, and defense counsel. There were crossword and sudoku books, magazines, and decks of cards. Once as I sat impatient and bored, I grabbed a deck and began playing solitaire. Almost as soon as I began the face of the young woman sitting across from me lit up. "Wow. I used to watch my grandfather play that!"
Why, no, that didn't make me feel old at all. But the truth is I learned solitaire sitting at my own grandfather's kitchen table watching him play, so I actually could appreciate her sentiment.
When I had finished she took the cards and played a few hands of her own. Soon enough four guys - that translated into all of us grandfathers in the room - were watching her play and giving her tips when she thought she was beaten. 'Play the red 6 on the black 7' or, 'Move that stack to the other row' and such as that. She was quickly expert at the game and set the cards down, vowing to keep up her new tradition.
The passing on of customs from the old to the curious young. I guess jury duty can serve a higher purpose.

See Sherman. See Sherman burn his hand

Sherman used to clean drains. That means that we saw him a lot back in the day; he worked until about 1990. Sherman also used to preface every sentence with the word, see. 'See, I'm doing fine,' he would answer when you asked how he was.

One morning Pops was welding an end on Sherman's cable. When Dad finished he noticed Sherman reaching for the cable as he turned off the welder. "Don't touch that, it's hot!" he warned.

"See, I know it's hot," Sherman answered.

A minute later Dad heard him yelp. He turned to see Sherman rubbing his hand; he had grabbed the hot cable full palm. "Sherman, I just told you that was hot!" Dad admonished him.

"See, I didn't know it was that hot."

Pops went and got the burn ointment from our first aid kit. Squeezing some out of the tube onto the wound, Dad said as Sherman worked the goo into his palm, "Are you going to be okay?"

"See, I'll be fine, Bill. See, I didn't burn it that bad. See, I didn't hold it very long."

I imagine not.

Labor Day

Labor Day weekend is upon us, and that means many things to many people. Mostly, it seems, it is meant to be a relaxing time with family and friends. There's nothing with that, of course. But what is Labor Day really, and how does it relate to conservatism?

It is intended, most would say, as a celebration of the labor of the working men and women of our country. Fair enough; labor in all its forms is the backbone of our economy. Further, a fair days' work is something which ought to be prized and seen proudly. The contributions which we make to society when we engage in wholesome work should be satisfying to workers and the beneficiaries of work on about the same plane.

Yet the honor of Labor Day is felt with particular pride in and around Detroit and Wayne County, and why not? As the cradle of the automotive industry and the famed arsenal of democracy during World War II, among other contributions to Americana, we should feel good about our place in history. Then too, with our local economy being so hard hit by the recession, we may well feels the pangs of economic restriction more keenly than many other places in the country.

So where does this leave us with regard to the right wing? Simply that, seen in the, ahem, right light, conservatism is a great friend to the worker. Conservatism respects the rights of all, particularly, believe it or not, those most susceptible to economic strife. Conservatism recognizes the value of work and of the worker, and more, of the rights inherent in work. We respect the right of the individual to seek gainful employment in an open arena of job seekers and employers working freely and respectfully towards everyone's best interest. Conservatism, if allowed to become fully operational, would let the market works its wonders, and everyone would benefit, as they did in the Reagan years and also, truth be told, in the Clinton years under a Republican Congress which did more for the general welfare than our philanderous ex-President.

In short, conservatives are for labor. With the right amount of consideration in return, we could see this current mess ended quickly and spectacularly.

Coil your cables

Me Grandpa Joe rented welding machines, as many of you by now know. He really wasn't fussy about much, but one of those things was his welding cable.
Each machine typically had to have 150-200 feet of cable while in operation. These cables were copper coated rubber and were about an inch thick. He always made sure that they were rolled in loops which were easy for a man to carry on his shoulder. On this point he was very particular; it could take forever to unknot even one cable. That was just time wasted, he rightly believed. Coil the cables, tie them off, and stack them nicely when the job was through, that was his mantra.
Once Acme Steel Processors (not the company's real name) rented ten welders from Joe and had them for a couple of months. When the job was over, Joe himself happened to be the man who went to pick them up. He was greeted at the Acme plant with a pallet of unrolled welding cable. But worse than that. All his beautiful welding cable, more than 2,000 feet, was piled in a jumbled, knotted mess upon it. His fuse, short anyway, was set.
About then the foreman came up to Joe and said, "There was trouble with one of your welders. The plant manager wants to talk to you."
Joe barked, "That's just dandy, because I want to talk to him too."
Grandpa stormed into the plant manager's office. The manager, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, never had a chance to open his mouth. Joe lit right into him, a blast of emphatic, rough English, yet with no expletives more than Joe's liberal use of the mild one 'hell', explaining exactly how little he cared for discovering his cable in one God-awful mess. That was not how he delivered it, Joe vigorously orated. It was gonna take hours to sort out, he, um, explained. I've been told it was quite a harangue. Those who did not know Joe must understand that when his dander was up, whole neighborhoods knew it. Hell, to use his favorite word, small towns were made aware.
Before Joe could wind down Cloyce did manage to say, "You don't have to be so loud, Joe."
"Hell yeah I do!" Joe bellowed. "I want everyone in here to know what I think and I don't want to have to tell them each individually!" He was off again.
I don't believe Cloyce ever got to make his point. He was probably quite happy to get back to the mundane tasks of plant managing once Grandpa left.

Everything's off

One of me Pops best friends was a guy named Ben Gamble. Ben was from Alabama, and like many southerners during the 1940s and 50s had emigrated northward for jobs in the auto industry. He landed at Chrysler himself.

After a few years, there were extended layoffs; Ben was told his would be 3 or 4 months. He decided that, with that much time, he might as well take the family to old Alabam for an extended visit. So off they went.

About eight weeks after they had left he was informed his layoff was over. He was to report the next Monday. So he and his wife packed the kids up, and early Saturday morning began the return to Detroit. You must remember that at the time, with no freeways, it was a long two day drive from northern Alabama to Detroit.

They got in late Sunday, and Monday morning Ben reported to the Chrysler plant where he had worked. He was told by a suit to wait a few minutes, and he'd be back with his exact assignment.

A few minutes passed, which became an hour, then two, and finally four. Eventually the suit returned with a new layoff notice for Ben.

Ben proceeded to tell the suit, in gloriously colorful language, that he did not appreciate being called in all the way from Alabama and having to put his family through that trauma only to be laid off again right away. He then went to that guy's supervisor and told him in no uncertain terms what he thought of the deal, then to that guy's superior, and finally to one more suit above him, all in spectacular manner. He wanted to make absolutely sure Chrysler understood the depths of his anger.

"Bill,' he said to Pops as he brought his tale to a close, "By the time I was done I was laid off, paid off, told off, and run off!"

But I bet it was worth every word.

The end of an era

I wake up this morning to find that the Detroit Tigers have traded star pitcher Justin Verlander to the Houston Astros. The longest era of unreached potential for the franchise is now past history, as me Grandpa Joe used to say.

This edition of the Tigers never lived up to its billing. Sure they made two World Series, in 2006 and 2012 respectively, yet were embarrassed in both. Mismanagement and a lack of real fire in the players doomed them. I blame mismanagement more so because part of the mistake has been managers who could not, and I wonder if maybe the right term here is would not, inspire, cajole, or kick their players' tails into higher gear. Because let's be honest: they had the tools. The tools were simply misused.

Jim Leyland, I've said it before and I'll say it again now, was not a good manager. He got a career pass for 2006, yet people forget that as cool as that season was the Tigers actually backed into the postseason. They were 19-31 the last fifty games. Take away the wild card and they were not in the playoffs. Then they did not make the playoffs again until 2010. And Ausmus is his clone. They do not, did not, call out their players to greatness. A Sparky Anderson would have won a lot more with the teams Leyland and Ausmus have had.

Now we get to watch years of painful rebuilding. That's never fun, and never certain. I'm left to wonder if a friend of mine who believes the Tigers will never win another World Series is right. It was hard enough to win one before all the expansion of the last 60 years. It was hard enough to win one when you had the horses. Now, well, all we can do is wait and watch.

And regret what might have, what perhaps should have, been.