Nicknamed The Bird

Sometimes Facebook memories bring out somber events. Yesterday reminded me that it's been 14 years since Mark Fidrych, nicknamed the Bird because of his supposed resemblance to Big Bird on Sesame Street, died unexpectedly in an accident while working on his Massachusetts farm.  Here's what Wikipedia says about him: The Bird

The Bird was classic baseball Americana: he had fun playing a kid's game (as one should), and was totally sincere. He was manic while he played, a controlled lunacy, grooming the mound and talking (it was said) to the ball before pitching it to a perplexed batter. He made the whole 1976 season special. I remember seeing him live several times: old Tiger Stadium rocked to its foundations. The curtain calls after each game, win or lose, were great. I wish everyone could have seen him pitch, could have experienced the vibe which only Fidrych produced. It's cliched, but there will indeed never be another like him.

At the final game at old Tiger Stadium on September 27, 1999, after the last out, there was a ceremony where as many old Tigers as could were brought out onto the field. The Bird was the first introduced. He ran to the mound and got down on his hands and knees and groomed it, just as he would when he played. Vintage Fidrych. It was a classy move by the Tigers to bring him out first. I was glad I could be there. I miss him.

Itching for a Fight

Remember yesterday? I was cranky about being cranky Wednesday? Then our old pal Cloyce, after a bit of consternation, promised me he'd come in for cables at Noon Thursday?

He didn't show. About mid afternoon he did call me to say he would actually come get them snake cables at ten this morning.

We'll see. What I did not tell him was that me brother Phil has deliveries in Toledo today while I have an appointment in nearby Dearborn at 9:30 to pick up a repair. Oh, I should be back by 10 easily enough. And I won't lollygag. But you never know. 

What I do know is that if I should leave him cooling his jets for five or ten minutes, he better watch his tongue. Sometimes I like to let me inner Joe Cosgriff tell folks exactly what I think.

Older New Car

My new old car, so to speak, is a 2007 Chrysler Town and Country. But I've picked up a newer older car. I bought my brother in law's 1996 Chevrolet Sport Van.

As a rule, even when I buy another vehicle it tends to be more a recent model even if still a decade or more older than the current day. Now here I am, potentially replacing a new old van with something 11 years older than it. So I'm replacing a new old van with a newer older van. Make sense?

I'm regressing. The older I get, the older my cars get. That counts as serendipity, doesn't it? Or maybe it's just plain old irony. 

Whatever. I like it.

Marty the Reviewer

As I'm getting a bit of traction on my book sales, the number of reviews are increasing. On the whole I'm pleased with that. Some of them I take issue with yet I try to be open minded about whatever folks say. A fella has to have something of a thick skin when he writes for public consumption. He must as well consider that the negative reviewer may even be right in their criticisms. 

I find that most observations have been fair enough. I'm greatly pleased in fact that one reviewer caught on why I named my lead character Michael in my book Michael's Story. I chose the name very particularly and I'm pleased someone caught it.

I've taken to doing Amazon book reviews myself. Reviews help drive sales, and I don't mind helping with that. I'm going to be reading books anyhow, so why not help other writers? Yet even when I don't care for a story, or find many grammar, spelling, or narrative issues (believe me, there's a lot of bad writing out there) I really try to be kind. It's a courtesy, and charitable. Why try to be Mr. Critic, being scathing just to be mean? It's rude.

Yet there are problems which seem to occur generally. Several books I've reviewed apparently believe that you're supposed to italicize whenever someone is speaking. I try to gently point out that that's not really a good stylistic practice. Describe the tone of how they're speaking and then let the words flow. You should only use italics when you really must stress a point. To do it all the time takes away from that purpose. 

Then there are people who feel that commas, are, the, greatest, thing, since, sliced, bread. They, use, them, constantly. While they have their place, the rule of thumb is that when in doubt, comma, leave the comma out. Use them for lists, or to separate two thoughts within a sentence. Or, and this is acceptable too, use them to mark an aside within a sentence. 

See what I mean? There are other rules of comma usage, but I will not bore you with them today.

In fact, I'll bore you no more with this blog entry. Have a great day!

Chester Casino

This past Friday I received three boxes of cables to repair from the Chester Wastewater Treatment facility in Chester, West Virginia. It reminded me of the trip me Pops took there to deliver I believe 75 repaired snakes. It was going to cost so much to ship them that he figured he'd make a road trip out of it. He had me Mom in tow.

After making the drop, Mom and Dad went to a local diner for breakfast. Now Mom, she liked to play the slots. She was always disappointed, indeed dismayed, when she didn't win big. "The winners didn't build the casinos," me Pops would remind her. Pops would play, typically video poker, but he never expected any big winnings.

They entered the diner and were given a table. While taking the order the waitress remarked, "Y'all's from out of town, I can tell. Y'all gonna visit the new casino down the road while you're here?"

Mom's face brightened expectantly. "We are now," me Pops reluctantly conceded.

But it made Mom happy, even as she didn't win.

This Jesus

What are we to make of this man, this Jesus? He said and did some pretty astonishing things.

I mean, I get that when I apologize to someone when I did them wrong, they might forgive me. They might say, "It's all good, Marty" should they feel I'm sincere. Yet Jesus says to me, "You know that guy you harmed? I forgive you. I got it covered."

What? How's that? It's really effrontery when you think about it: how can He forgive what I did to someone else? 

He lets Himself be thoroughly humiliated: mocked, scourged, hung on a tree. But why? For our salvation? How can he effect that? How can His dying save me? He must be crackers. Who can say such stuff and nonsense and actually mean it? This nobody, this carpenter's son; this guy who could have lived a life of relative ease and relative comfort who instead gets himself killed? It's silliness. Rank stupidity.

That is, unless.

Unless He is exactly what He says He is. Unless He really is the Son of God, who wants us to spend all Eternity with Him in unimaginable happiness. He'll die to show us how sure He is that that can happen. He's certain it's His death and resurrection which will accomplish that, this Jesus. 

And that's the rub. He's either precisely who He says He is or it's all ridiculous. I don't see any other explanation. Yet I know where I stand on this Easter Sunday.

Choose Your Punchline

Me buddy Ron commented on my blog yesterday that although cars are better built these days, there were differences on older models. "The styling just isn't there like it was back in the 60's & 70's. Except for subtle differences cars now all look the same."

I responded, "It is hard to tell one from the other these days. I remember being able to tell a Chrysler from a Ford from a Chevy a block away in 1975."

And now, it's time to play Choose Your Punchline!

You could tell one from the others because:

The Chevy was the one with the hood up.

-or-

The Ford was the one with the hood up.

-or-

The Chrysler was the one with the hood up.

Who's gonna win this one?