Category Archives: Baseball

Officially Still Here

The team was still on earth when the next game rolled around.

Coach Stotlmeyer had convinced the team that their previous coaching

session should be forgotten as those new rules were not official “yet”.

The magic word with these guys was “official”. Something was either

official or it was not official. Fortunately the dance pose that

represented official was an easy hands on the hips with a sullen face.

Not official was the same but with a shake of the head. Since coach

Stotlmeyer used the terms often when discussing the rules it was nice

that he didn’t have to turn his body into a pretzel.


The team went back to winning in perfect fashion and the coaches went

back he to worrying about their secret being revealed. The fans had

seen them at their worst,or so they thought, and they were quite happy

not to see it again.

To be honest, Coach Brown worried more about the future, specifically

the day the team decided to head home. Even though he could barely

pull off any interpretive dance moves without hurting himself, he’d

gotten to like them.

Did you miss previous installments?

First Installment.

Installment 2

Installment 3

Installment 4

Installment 5

“If you find yourself surrounded by beings of intelligence it means the aliens are already here.”



Coach Brown was in his office going over the roster for the next game when Coach Stottlemeyer limped in.

“I see that your ankle is better,” stated Coach Brown.

“Yes but I injured the other one during last weeks team meeting. This is the one I injured yesterday when the team popped into my place for a sit down.”

“A sit down?”

“Well not so much a sit down but an informal dance recital.”

“A recital? Who performed?”

“We all did actually.”

“What did they want to um, talk to you about?”

“They are finding the concept of errors in baseball hard to understand. Apparently their intelligence doesn’t allow them to make mistakes.”

“Now that’s a concept that I can’t understand. Didn’t they make errors all last game?”

“No, what they did last week is what I instructed them to do. Exactly what I instructed them to do. They thought I was introducing additional rules.. They really can’t understand anything in between. There are no gray areas in life for these guys. They have no concept of wrong, philosophical or otherwise. “

“Interesting I guess that’s what comes with superior intelligence.”

“That was only the first half of the meeting.”

“Oh, there’s more?”

“They feel that they have learned enough about baseball to return home and “spread the gospel” shall we say about the game. “

“What does “spread the gospel” entail?

“Well they would like to start a league of their own on their planet and then perhaps take it to other galaxies.”

“Other galaxies? You know I was happy, really happy when I knew that we were the only intelligent life form in the universe. Knowing what I know now, I just lay in bed at night staring up at the ceiling while my mind ponders other life forms hoping that we are not intelligent enough for them to be interested in.”

“Yea, I get that.”

“What are the odds that they will go home soon.”

“Well it depends on what soon is. They are definitely not here for the long haul.”

“That’s good I guess. That means they are probably not interested enough to spend the effort to conquer us. Do you think we should all try harder to be more stupid?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.”

The Team From Nowhere : Chapter 5 Interpretive Dance Can Be Painful

The following day Coach Mickey Brown was in his office and waiting for the arrival of Coach Stottlemeyer and news as to how the interpretive dance performance was received by the team. Ten minutes later coach Stottlemeyer hobbled in on crutches.

“Are those crutches related to your interpretive dance meeting?
“Yes there ended up being three acts, a soliloquy and 4 water breaks. It was brutal.”
“So you got through to them?”
“As near as I can tell. We’ll certainly find out during tomorrows game

After each game the coaches texted their game notes to each other.

Coach Brown’s Notes On The Game:
Note to the pitcher “Its really suspicious, not to mention bad for morale when you have three wild pitches during one at bat. You might want to think about spacing them across several innings. “

Note to the Catcher. You should only lose track of the ball during wild pitches or pop ups. It becomes really suspicious when you can’t find the ball that’s in your glove. You are almost begging for a drug test.

Coach Brown to Coach Stottlemeyer for the outfielders, all of them.
When intending to commit an error during a throw to the cutoff man it is less suspicious if the ball doesn’t sail over the cut-off man on its way to the stands, the upper deck or a rooftop bar.

Note to Coach Stottlemeyer from
Coach Stottlemeyer.
“ I need to come up with better signals during the game.
Interpretive dance moves look really weird not to mention potentially painful.”

Note to Coach Stottlemeyer from Coach Brown “What was the pitcher trying to do when he stopped mid pitch and jumped up and down before falling over in agony?”

Notes from Coach Stottlemeyer to Coach Brown
“I believe he was trying to commit a balk I think it was at that point of my meeting where I hurt my ankle. My interpretive dance skills need polishing.

Note to Coach Brown from Coach Stottlemeyer.
I am looking at the notes and wondering how to translate them into interpretive dance moves and have come to the conclusion that I will need supplemental health insurance before giving the notes to the team.

The Team from Nowhere: Chapter 4 No One is Interested in Average

Monday night had drawn to a close with both coaches in the exact pose they had taken up hours ago. Neither had any spark of an idea on how to handle their nosy reporter. “Well, back at it tomorrow?” asked Coach Stottlemeyer.

“Yes back at it tomorrow,” replied Coach Brown.

The next evening found Coaches Brown and Stottlemeyer once again drinking and thinking. Coach Stottlemeyer had his usual look of concentration. To be fair Coach Brown’s look never seemed to change much. 1.

What had changed beside the day was the location of their meeting. The coaches were on the opposite sides of a bar that Coach Stottlemeyer was tending. Maybe it was the better quality of beer or the change in venue but both men had come up with what each believed to be a good idea when it came to handling the nosy reporter.

“Esperanduh?”

“No, Esperanto with a “to” no “duh,”” replied Coach Brown.

“Well now that I know the pronunciation what is it.”

“It is a language created in the late 19th century for the purpose of becoming a secondary language to be used all over the world”.

“Why”

“The thinking was that if the world could speak the same language, a language that did not originate in any one country, it would bring the world together and they would be able to avoid war.“
The League of Nations actually thought about adopting it as it’s official language.”

“So what happened to it?”

“World War 1 happened and that idea was put on the back burner. Then World War II happened and it became obvious that a march to a common secondary language was never going to end in a world kumbaya moment. Since then, English has become the defacto secondary language and the world is still a dumpster fire.”

“Ok so how does that help us”

“I figure that we could teach the team a few standard sports cliches in Esperanto and a few baseball related conversational phrases. If overheard by a reporter(s) at the game the only idea they could get was the players are not from here and many of them are from the same place. Since no one really speaks it no one will be able to determine the nationalities of any of the players. “

“Won’t that generate more questions we can’t answer,” asked Coach Stottlemeyer.

“Hmm…The look on Coach Brown’s face was probably the same pained look he had when constipation settled in, probably. Ok what’s your idea Einstein?”

“We get them to make mistakes every once in a while. In other words, play badly occasionally. The idea of infallibility will go away and people will start seeing them as average. People aren’t curious about average.”

“That is a good idea,” admitted coach.

“I’m average and nobody is curious about me,” added Coach Stottlemeyer.

“What about your wife and kids?”

“Those are the people I’m talking about”

“So what’s next,” asked Coach Brown.

” I talk to the guys and get them to play less than perfect. To become average.”

“Can I be there when you talk to them?”

“I’d rather you not. I kind of stumbled my way into communicating with them. It wasn’t until I learned some interpretive dance that I really got through to them. I’d rather you not see that.”

“Thanks for the warning. No one should see that.”

The Team from Nowhere

They literally came out of nowhere.
Yes, the entire minor league baseball team seemed to have just popped up in a field in the middle of nowhere. At the risk of alienating anyone living anywhere lets just keep the location as the middle of nowhere.

During the preseason, questions without answers hovered over the team like carrion. Once the season started no one seemed to care. These guys were good.

Even to the novice fan these guys seemed special, almost magical. Every steal that was attempted always ended with the perpetrator popping up in his slide firmly planted on the bag. Every bat swung either connected for a hit or a foul. No one seemed to strike out. Well no team is that perfect. They struck out every once in a while but those were lost among the hits and a few walks. But they didn’t strike out enough for anyone to really remember them.

Fans are like that when their team is winning. Winning was not an accurate term to describe what these guys were doing. They were killing it. They were on an unbeaten streak since well, since the start of the season. No fan could think of any losses in the preseason either but then again the fans were just caught up in the novelty of the new team. Nobody could recall their win-loss record in the preseason. The only question was how long could they keep this up? They were bound to have a losing streak.

Coach Mickey Brown wasn’t worried about that. Those worries were small potatoes. He was worried that someone was going to start asking tougher questions. Questions about where exactly did they come from….

Is God a Cubs Fan?

Scene: The Pearly Gates


A Cub fan appears at the front desk .
He is at peace with leaving his mortal coil.
The Cubs won the world series in his lifetime. The fan gets into a conversation with Herbert, St Peter may be playing hooky by now.

“Well my Cubs won it all so I am ok with my time being up.”

I am so glad God could accommodate you.

Yes even those in heaven can be sarcastic.

“So tell me does God follow sports? “

“Oh no he has more important things to do with you know the Universe.

But between you and I he peeks every once in a while.”

“He’s a Cub fan?”

“Well, let’s just say he couldn’t allow human suffering to continue for one more year. 108 was enough.”

“So he roots for them”

“Only in passing.”

“So no guarantee then?”

“I wouldn’t count on it. Consider 2016 a reset.”

So has the big guy “helped” other teams?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“What about Houston or the Cardinals ? He has to have
intervened for the Yankees at least once.”

“ I can’t say much other than there are dark forces in the universe.”

Waiting For Leo Durocher

The clouds were puffy, the air was sweet and all was well in heaven save for the myriad of Cub fans lucky enough to call heaven their forever home.

Sure they had the same amenities as the rest of the tenants but they had departed the mortal plane wanting. There were plenty of blue sky occupants disgruntled with the circumstances with which they came to find their selves aboard the heavenly bus. Cub fans, in particular, held onto their disappointment ironically like grim death. Living their entire lives without witnessing the Cubs win a World Series stuck with them through many phases of their lives including their last.

You may think  that in the grand scheme of life a lousy trophy is a dust mote in an endless beam of sun but spend some time around Cub fans and understanding may be yours.

During the ebb and flow of the 2016 baseball season, there existed an undertow of excitement among baseball fans both living and dead. Seasoned Cub fans tempered the current atmosphere with pain from the past. They had been on this bandwagon before and derailment had left long-lasting scars. By the close of September, most were firm believers that this time the Cubs were going to make it to the final destination. There was still one solitary soul who thought there was time for one more epic derailment. He had cause. He was Leo Durocher. He was at the helm of the loveable losers during their infamous 1969 season. Many fans and writers alike labeled 1969  the year of the “Miracle Mets”. Repeat after me there was no miracle that year. The Cubs choked. They led their division by nine games in September before going on a road trip they never returned from.

During the seventh game of the 2016 World Series, the view of Cleveland stadium to those in the hereafter was, well, heavenly. The game played out before them in a panoramic 360 and not one seat was a bad one.  If you were monitoring the comings and goings of the crowd, you would notice during the sixth inning the arrival of the aforementioned Leo Durocher. As with all Cub fans he had finally cast aside his past in the belief that after 108 years, this was the Cubs time. It was the seventh game and it was theirs to win.

During the late innings of the game, the unthinkable happened. After leading the first seven innings the Cubs could not close the back door. Cleveland snuck in some runs and tied it in the eighth inning. Nobody mustered any runs in the ninth so the game was heading into extra innings.

The grand view from heaven became obscured by clouds of all things and rain began to fall upon Jacobs* field. Cubs fans on the mortal plain would later say, tongue in cheek,  that the ensuing delay was a gift from heaven. Fans from the celestial sphere sitting in the vicinity of Mr. Durocher would later recall his tear moistened cheeks and the incongruous smile he wore that seemed to clear the clouds.

He knew the Cubs would win but not without strumming the fans heartstrings one more time. That was the Cubs way. 

The game resumed after a brief delay and the Cubs proceeded to vanquish the ghosts of 1969, pulling the bandwagon into the final destination and taking with them millions of fans from both sides of the ethereal plane.  If one glanced briefly one could see the ghost of Leo Durocher manning the engine and silently crying.

* Sorry. the game of baseball is too steeped in tradition for anyone to call it Progressive field.

Cubs Win World Series. For a Moment Therapists lose Millions of Clients.

Economic reports just in show that the many of the  nations therapists have suddenly lost millions of dollars.

One explanation favored by several economists is that this therapeutic downturn is a direct result of the Chicago Cubs winning the world series.

We have decided to investigate this particular angle and have sent our reporter in the street, Roy Hobbes, to investigate the possibility. Roy:

“Roy Hobbes here, I am on the streets of Chicago trying the get the pulse of the citizens in this city. I am particularly interested in the general mental well being of Chicago Cub fans. Here comes one now.”

“You sir are obviously a Cub fan can I ask you a question?”

“Uh, what makes you think I’m a Cubs fan?”

“Well, you’re wearing a Cubs hat.”

“Oh that, yea well I’m actually a White Sox fan but it’s more socially acceptable to be a Cubs fan.”

“Love the loyalty.”

“What was that Roy?”

“Nothing , have a nice day sir.”

“You young man, can I have a word with you .”

“Sure”

“Are you a Cub fan?”

“Uh, yea, I’m wearing  a Cubs cap, Cubs jacket and I have a Cubs tattoo on my face. What was your first clue?”

“Well, you just never know now do you? Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Why sure”

“So sir ..”

“You can call me Joe”

“Ok. Joe, how are you feeling these days?”

“Well , a little hung over and my knee is a little swollen from dancing but other than that I feel great.”

“Good but how about your psychological well being. Any anxiety these days/“

“Why no. Why would I? The future is looking bright and I feel I can tackle anything. I even threw away the number to my Psychiatrist.”

“How did you feel before baseball season?”

“Well, if I look back I have to admit I was full of anxiety like a beauty queen with Donald Trump hanging around. I was constantly on the phone with my therapist.”

“And what do you suppose is the reason for your new found tranquility?”

“Why the sudden loss of a 108 year old burden of course.”

“But sir, you can’t be a day over 50.”
“Ha, you flatter me but no I am talking about the number of years since the Cubs had won the world series don’t you know.”

“Why of course I know. I meant you yourself..oh never mind. Don’t you have more important things to worry about.”

“Like what?”

“Oh you know the outcome of the recent election.”

“Oh, yea. Um, you do have a point. Excuse me….”

“Hey , Joe,” yelled Roy as Joe ran swiftly away.

“Where are you going?”

“To my garbage before its picked up. I think I can get my therapist’s number back!”

Ray watched as Joe became a small dot before he heard the screaming.

“Reminds me of an old party balloon,” thought Roy.

“Well, there you have it. Further proof that a career in therapy is recession proof. I am Roy Hobbes your reporter on the street signing off.”
“

“Thanks Roy. Great to hear that you’re making sure that people don’t forget to worry. I think he’s in some kind of referral program with the APA. That reminds me, I need to give my therapist a call.”

Jump On The Bandwagon

“When did you join the bandwagon?” I had been waiting for that question.
Let me look back and ruminate on the moment. Now as I recall….
I remember crying after some guy in a frock or something had just spanked my ass. Yea I know what you’re thinking , quite rude and at the time I thought uncalled for.
When I stopped crying another man , who I later found out was my Dad,  gave me a couple hats with pictures of animals on them, one of them even had a picture of feathers.

He lightly rested his big hand on my tiny head and said, “Son, from now on most of your crying will be done on the inside.”

I truly didn’t understand what he met until the summer of 1969 which I spent getting my heart broke within the friendly confines of Wrigley Field. At the age of eight the world had said to me,”Sometimes what you love dearly will break your heart.”
From that moment on I spent my off seasons healing and baseball seasons preparing for heartbreak. In that regard my Cubbies didn’t disappoint. I have spent many a moment pondering my sometimes dysfunctional relationship with my boys in blue.

Often times its like your first love where either of you just can’t let go. “Come here darling. No, get away , get away. I love you but I just can live with you. When I need you, you just aren’t there.”

Over time we have come to an agreement, “Lets agree to try really hard and make this friendship work. Sometimes when times get tough we’ll want to lay blame but lets be bigger than that. Let us not say “Its not you it’s me”, we’ll just silently agree “It’s you but next year will be different.”

Well, next year has come and it’s joyously different. It doesn’t matter when you jumped on the wagon. The biggest parties are the best. So jump on the bandwagon and enjoy the party. It’s going to be a good one.

GO CUBS GO!

The Fading Ghosts of ’69

The place had emptied. The last hot dog wrapper of 2015 had drifted across the infield and made its exit out into the parking lot. A few wisps of vapor had lingered in the right field bleachers. If one listened closely one could almost hear the vapor speak.

“Same time next year fellas?”

“Yea, the usual.”

“I think next year is the last, next year.”

“What are you giving up?”

“Never, but next year we’ll be satisfied and we’ll move on.”

“Yea, I think you’re right. It feels different this time.”

“I saw that goat leave during the season.”

“Oh really, when?”

“It was just after a walk off win.”

“Which one? We had a bunch.”

“September 28, 2015.”

“The last one, against the Royals?”

“Yea. We didn’t know it then but the goat knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That we just took 2 out of 3 from a team bound for the World Series.”

“Yea but that was before we made the playoffs, before we beat St Louis to move to the NLCS.”

“Yea but at that point the goat knew that was a foregone conclusion and that his time was up.”

“I’m not going to miss that goat.”

“Me either, he stunk.”

“When does spring training start?”

“It’s just around the corner.”

Note: The Author is a lifelong Cub fan and spent the summer of 1969 firmly entrenched in the friendly confines.  They have broken his heart more times than the women in his life. He is still a diehard fan….of both.