October Spawned a (Green)Monster

They say that baseball is a game designed to break your heart and the Detroit Tigers just spent the last week proving that to be true.  After Game 2 I was angry and had lost hope, Game 3 proved me right, but then came Game 4...wait, maybe we can do this.  Ah, but Game 5 was again cruel and I was certain that my need to live and die with ever pitch was over.  The final flickers of the dream had been extinguished.  I approached Game 6 with less a sense of interest and more a sense of duty.  How could I NOT watch?  So I spent the day dreading 8:07pm.

Then Max Scherzer began to weave another gem, inning after inning raising hopes along with blood pressure.  Next came Victor Martinez and his soaring double off the Monster. Two run lead, runners on the corners, NO outs...now I find myself mumbling, "We are going to witness something VERY special with JV on the hill tomorrow".  Tomorrow?  A few innings ago that word wasn't even in my vocabulary. 

Dreams die hard, like a 300 pound 1st baseman comically flopping to the dirt, 8 feet shy of the bag. 

But then there was Max again, "I got this guys, to hell with the Cy Young award, I want a ring!"  Maybe it's destiny, maybe the baseball Gods will not allow the relentlessly brilliant pitching of these front line warriors to go unrewarded.  

An insurance run or two could seal the deal.  Speedster on first, good bat handler at the plate, top of the order due next.

Dreams die hard, like a tag slapped to the wrist, just inches short of the bag. 

Still, we have the lead and a bulldog on the mound. Alas, in 2013 pitch counts overrule the Gods, this game will be decided by the pen. 

 Dreams die hard, like a baseball rattling into the steely jaws of a waiting Monster. 

Unfair, unkind and most of all cruel.  This is how baseball seasons end for all but the most fortunate few.  I wish I could have simply witnessed this as a baseball fan and not a Tiger baseball fan.  What the pitchers did in this series was remarkable.  Sadly, the magnificence of JV, Max, Fister and Sanchez will soon be forgotten to most of the baseball world.  Lasting memories are reserved for champions with hardware, not simply heart.    

Dreams die hard.  See you in Lakeland boys.

Top 5ive Photo Ops

     During the recent broadcast of the 12-12-12 Concert for Sandy Relief Paul McCartney stood on stage for the finale with a large group of first responders.  As Alicia Keys sang "Empire State of Mind" many of the fireman, paramedics and police officers managed to snap quick photos with Sir Paul.  As I watched the scene unfold it got me to wondering, "With what iconic figures would I most like to take a photograph?"  I decided to make a list of five, because, well, I have that kind of time on my hands.
     McCartney quickly made my list, as did Muhammad Ali.  Arguably the most famous rock star and athlete on earth, respectively.  
     I knew that the next slot would be one of the five surviving U.S. Presidents, but which one? This almost becomes a topic unto itself.  After much consideration, I decided to go with George H. W. Bush just narrowly edging out Barack Obama. Bush was the youngest Navy pilot in history (18 yrs), shot down over the Pacific, head of the CIA and eight years as Vice President. (FYI: the rest of my POTUS list goes Carter, Clinton and Bush the younger)  That left me two slots and SO many deserving candidates.
     Number 4 on my list is Stan Lee.  The Marvel Comics giant created nearly every superhero whose exploits I grew up reading. Spider-Man, The Hulk, The X-Men, Thor, Iron Man and the Fantastic Four.  A true literary legend.
     The final photo was my toughest decision.  I considered Bruce Springsteen and Brian Wilson (but already had a music icon), Robert DeNiro, Jack Nicholson and Lauren Bacall ( all Hollywood royalty, and the latter was also Mrs. Humphrey Bogart).  And as a baseball fan I had to give serious thought to Willie Mays, Hank Aaron and Reggie Jackson.
     But after much internal debate the last place on my list goes to Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin.  Only 12 people on Earth have ever stepped foot on the moon,  and of those, only eight are still alive.  Possibly the most exclusive fraternity in history.

     Hopefully my list has sparks a conversation or at least a thought about your own Top 5 Photo Ops.  If you're comfortable, post it here as a comment so everyone can read and debate.  You could also Tweet it or simply send me a private email.  No need for explanations (although they add to the interest).  A simple list of five will suffice. 
     Remember, the only rule is that the potential for these dream photographs must actually exist, so all members of your list must be alive.  Say Cheese!

Dave's Top 5ive Photo Ops
1. Paul McCartney
2. Muhammad Ali
3. George H. W. Bush
4. Stan Lee
5. Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin

Ding Dong, The End is Near

Today, January 10th 2012 the Hostess Company filed for bankruptcy. Also today, January 10th 2012 scientists moved the "Doomsday Clock" one minute closer to midnight...signifying that we are that much closer to the end of the world. Coincidence? Maybe. Or maybe the greatest minds in the world realized what I have known for years, the planet can't survive without Twinkies. The Earth has no reason to continue without Suzi-Q's. How can we go on without Honey Buns? And most of all, do we really want to bother with a world where Ding Dongs don't exist?
My advice; RUN! RUN to your local grocery store! Buy all the tasty, tasty Hostess snacks that your cart can hold. Because apparently, Nobel prize winners, Mayans AND the Hostess Company are all trying to tell us the same thing...the end is nigh.

So Long...

We all knew it was coming. Every Tiger fan in Michigan and beyond knew that the day would inevitably arrive. Yet somehow, it seemed that as long as the sun was in the sky, the grass was green and the boys were on the field...somehow it seemed that we'd always have Ernie Harwell.
Even though he called his last game nearly eight years ago, to Tiger fans of a certain age Ernie will always be "the voice" of the Detroit Tigers. We all grew up knowing that a home run was "long gone!" and a double play was "two for the price of one". We loved it when an opposing player got caught looking at strike three because it meant that Ernie would kindly explain to us that "he stood there like the house by the side of the road". And most of all we'd marvel at how he knew the hometown of every fan who ever caught a foul ball.
For me it was Ernie, along with Paul Carey, bringing late night West Coast road trips right into my top bunk...and my dad conveniently "not noticing" that the radio was on even after bed time was "looong gone."
Many years later, Ernie's dulcet tones again provided a little late night company. My friend Jim and I were on the way to Baltimore for one of our baseball road trips. I'd been driving all day and we were somewhere outside of the city, but in a time before GPS we found ourselves unsure of the exact location of the hotel. Between fumbling with maps and searching for road signs I scanned the radio looking for that night's game. I was shocked when I heard a familiar voice...it was Ernie! He had retired the previous year, but there he was, doing play by play on a Baltimore radio station. It turns out he was in town for an event and had stopped by the Oriole's broadcast booth. While he was there the Baltimore announcers asked if he would do them the honor of calling an inning. I'll let John Nash figure out the odds of my tuning in at just that moment. All I know is that it was a welcome bit of summer serendipity for a weary traveler far from home.
At the conclusion of his final broadcast Ernie told us that instead of "goodbye" he wanted to say "thank you". Well Ernie, for those memories and for providing the soundtrack to countless other summer nights, Thank You.

Ernie Harwell reciting his Hall of Fame essay "Baseball, A Game for All America"

A Diamond in a Mountain of Rock

Finally got around to watching the 2010 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony. LAME. Peter Gabriel was too busy to be there for the Genesis induction, and then they didn't even perform. Phish played a couple of their songs.
Only two members of ABBA bothered to show, Frida and Bjorn. The dude played piano while Faith Hill sang "The Winner Takes it All". Nice version, but...
The Hollies were all there, and they sang, but it sounded AWFUL.
Iggy Pop was interesting. He ripped off his shirt and looked like a rocker. The rest of the Stooges looked like accountants...pudgy, bald and in suits. At least they played, w/ Iggy pleading people to come on stage and dance to "I Wanna Be Your Dog". Only a few (Eddie Vedder, a couple members of Green Day, and one or two others) actually did. He kept yelling, "c'mon, rich people can have fun!"...all evidence to the contrary.
The best part was when they inducted a bunch of songwriters and had different artists sing their songs. It was actually quite entertaining. The segment featured, among others, Ronnie Spector, Eric Burden and Chris Isaak.
This brings me to an amazing artist who I am ashamed to admit that, until recently, I knew nothing about.
A few months ago a songwriter named Ellie Greenwich died. Little Steven made a big deal about it on my beloved Underground Garage show. I hadn't previously heard of her. She was inducted last night and after hearing her resume my only question was "HOW THE HELL DID IT TAKE THIS LONG". This is just a sampling of the songbook she wrote and or co-wrote with her husband Jeff Barry:
Baby I Love You. Da Do Ron Ron. Christmas Baby Please Come Home. Leader of the Pack. Doo Wah Diddy. I Can Hear Music (which I assumed Brian Wilson wrote). Chapel of Love. And Then He Kissed Me. (My Baby Does)The Hanky Panky and two of the greatest pop songs ever...the Ronettes Be My Baby and Ike and Tina's River Deep Mountain High.
She also discovered Neil Diamond. Produced many of his early hits AND sang back up on them. PLUS she was a one woman girl group called the Raindrops (she used overdubbing to sing all the parts).
If there is any justice, somewhere Nickleback, T-Pain and all the other no talent hacks that sell millions of records, should be experiencing the stabbing pain of shame right about now.

Academy Must be Missing an Angel

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has officially been added to my shit list. While I applaud the voters for choosing "The Hurt Locker" over "Avatar", even though I've seen neither, I have a real bone to pick with their "In Memoriam" segment.
Michael Jackson gets the nod, but Farrah Fawcett is left to be forgotten? And the best that Academy organizers can say is that, "Ms. Fawcett's acting contributions were made mainly to television" and "every year it is a very difficult job to decide who is mentioned in the tribute."
Alright, I'll concede those points. Clearly it's her role as "Charlie's Angels" Jill Monroe that we'll all remember her for (especially if you were a boy approaching pre-pubescence at the time). And I'm sure that it's very hard to sift through all the behind the scenes dudes who mix sound, grip keys and gaff (whatever the hell that is)...but c'mon, don't try to hand me some bullshit that M.J. was any more associated with motion pictures. He was a legendary pop singer and he played the Scarecrow in "The Wiz"...not exactly a Nicholsonesque resume.
Farrah entertained audiences from "Logan's Run" to "The Cannonball Run", not to mention starring opposite the night's Best Actor winner Jeff Bridges in 1978's "Somebody Killed Her Husband". She also had a leading role in "Saturn 3" which starred not one but TWO past and future Best Actor nominees...the legendary Kirk Douglas and Harvey Keitel.
Don't worry Farrah, the Academy may have deemed you not worthy, but as any red blooded American male who lived through the '70s can attest, you always held a place of honor on our walls and in our pants...I mean hearts.

Terror Takes On a New Shape

There are killers lurking in your kitchen. They wait patiently in the dark, biding their time until you open the door to illuminate their true devious form. These silent assassins are currently being called "the most dangerous threat to our nation's youth", but who are they? The tiny, tubular terrors have a first name, it's O-S-C-A-R. They also have a second name, it's M-A-Y-E-R. (Yeah, I know that's a bologna commercial, but they make hot dogs too so just go with it).
The meaty menace which is the most American of treats has apparently become public enemy number one. That is, at least, according to Dr. Gary Smith of the American Academy of Pediatrics Committee on Injury, Violence and Poison Prevention (that's not a joke, it's really the name of the organization). Dr. Smith has said that, "If you were to take the best engineers in the world and ask them to create a perfect plug for a child's airway, you couldn't do better than a hot dog." Huh, and I thought Catholic priests had already found the perfect plug for a child's airway.
Back to the quote. It was so specific it got me to thinking, "what kind of sick fuck ponders putting together a team of elite engineers whose sole purpose is to choke children?" Then it hit me...must be a teacher.
Dr. Smith also warns that any cylindrical or round shaped foods pose a serious choking hazard and should therefore carry warning labels. He even goes so far as to call out grapes, nature's snack for cripes sake, as being high risk. Do you think they'd have to put a label on each grape, or just some sort of yellow caution tape around the whole bunch?
Anyway, my intent for the rest of the column was just to make a few thinly veined, I mean veiled, dick jokes. Instead, I'll take the high road and just leave you with this. Enjoy.