Baseball in September is fun ... even more so when your team is in the race

I have always been a big fan of September baseball. In many years, it was our chance to go to the ballpark and sit damn near anywhere we wanted. Both in Detroit (when I was young) and especially here in Minnesota, there were always plenty of seats available at the ballpark for games.

You could usually find a deal to get tickets from someone for less than full price and sit where you normally would not be allowed to -- in the box seats.

In addition, it was a chance to look at and evaluate some new faces as well as reflect on the end of the career of some old favorites. The games tend to move along quicker. It was also a reminder that summer was drawing down and we needed to enjoy the last nice nights we had.

As much fun as that is, September baseball is even better when your team is in a pennant race. The games suddenly take on more importance. The decisions are suddenly sharper. The fans and players are tenser. The relaxed mentality noted above is not around. Instead, there is an anxiousness in the air that is hard to describe but exceedingly real.

Either way, September baseball has always been fun for me.

This year, my hometown Tigers are having a good run. They have a solid lead in the AL Central, and unless they totally fall apart in the next couple of weeks, should make the playoffs for the first time in five years.

Once you are in the playoffs, anything goes. They'll enter with perhaps baseball's best pitcher (Justin Verlander), a goofy but (so far at least) reliable closer in Jose Valverde and a remainder of a pitching staff that is fairly decent. They have some pretty good sticks in the middle of the lineup, a very good catcher, a center fielder who can go get 'em all over the park and, overall, a fairly good fielding team.

In short, they have a nice club -- one that could be a lot of trouble for whoever sees them in the playoffs.

On paper, they would appear to be the weakest of the likely AL playoff teams and, as one national writer sees it, the weakest overall team in the postseason.

No matter. As we have seen in recent years, when your team gets in the postseason, everything really does start over. The old memories don't matter. Reputations are just that ... they have little bearing on what happens between the lines. The team that would appear to have the most talent doesn't always win. (In recent years, that seems even more true.) It's the team that plays the best that triumphs. And when it is your team involved for the first time in a while, you feel an extra bounce in your step as the games unfold.

I don't get to be a fan every often. It's the nature of my jobs that, although I like the teams I work for and want them to do well, I still need to be professional at all times. So, you check your emotions at the door and you do your job.

But this October apparently will be different. For the first time in a while, it appears I will have a team that I can cheer for. It is a team with a fair amount of skill. Although they will likely be underdogs to whoever they face, they will not be in over their heads against any team. It will be fun to watch.

Twins' fans around here are muttering over their team's poor season. Fair enough. In recent years, they always seemed to find a way to get into the playoffs. So, they seemed to assume it was a birthright of sorts and never seemed to enjoy the divisional titles very much.

Probably, this is because, in recent years, Minnesota's playoff time has been brief -- a lot of sweeps and a lot of losses to the Yankees.

However, if they pay attention this year, Twins' fans may find out just how good they have really had it. Watch the unfettered enthusiasm that will come out of the cities that haven't been to the playoffs very often -- Detroit, Milwaukee, Arizona and even Texas.

Those fans have been appreciating September baseball for a different reason for a long time.

Next Year is now for them. It's their turn to enjoy.

I'm back (sort of)

So I thought I would check in to see if anybody had made any comment sto my most recent posting -- a small item about the pleasures of walking the dog.

Much to my surprise, I discovered that ... and the other 189 tomes that had been offered since coming into existence, had disappeared into cyberspace. I put it down to a computer malfunction and decided to check back later.

Before I could do so, my good friend Steph Harris (god bless a reader) sent me a note asking where the hell my blog had disappeared to?

Time to move to action.

After some detective work that would have made Sherlock Holmes proud.that Google, the parent organization that, in a way, oversees, these enterprises, had detected some nefarious activity and had temporarily put me out of business. To restore myself, I needed to upgrade my computer with various anti-hacking devices and get a new password.

For the technologically challenged, this takes a little while ... and a lot of patience.

However, I have had years of practice at being patient. After all, I am a loyal watcher of Detroit Lions football games. So, I did what I was asked to do and -- voila!! -- we're back in business.

If I was really gutsy, I would ask if anybody (besides, of course, Steph) missed me.

But, as one also learns when watching Lions' games, being patient is one thing. Being gutsy is something else altogether.

So, I will settle for happily being back in business.

Until we meet again ...

Walking the dog can be an adventure for all concerned

Normally, Lynne walks The Happy Dog in the morning and I take the night shift. On weekends, however, I usually take at least one morning and Lynne takes the other. So it was that we did our usual jaunt on a fine summer morn. I have always been fascinated in watching Pete on these adventures.

He seems to carefully pick the places he does business. He will walk up to a plant, sniff it and decide it unworthy of his ... er ... attention. He seems to have personal favorite stooping places. There is no rhyme or reason for this I can tell.

We will be going along at a nice clip when he suddenly stop and sniff up a storm at a plant or a tree. I am told they recognize smells of other critters. Whatever the reason, this behavior is often without warning. In the winter, it has sent me flying a few times.

It just makes you wonder what is going on in that head. Dogs are fascinating creatures to me. They seem to be more predictable than cats but, every now and then, they take off without warning. Rex Harrison was lucky he could talk to them.

43 years later, the memory is still strong

My long-suffering wife said to me one day, "Why is it you can remember old batting averages but forget to take out the garbage?" My response (allegedly) was, "Because I don't have a passion for the trash."

Anniversaries like today are why.

43 years old today, I spent an amazing 9 1/2 hours inside Tiger Stadium. I arrived at 11:30 a.m. and left at about 9:05 p.m. During that time frame, I saw the Tigers sweep the Red Sox in a frantic, frenetic doubleheader before a full house. The first game went 14 innings. Both games ended with Gates Brown, a cult hero of sorts in Detroit, driving in the winning run. In the first game, it was a home run in the 14th inning. In the second game, it was part of a four-run ninth inning rally.

It was a helluva day of baseball.

I remember it all. We got there for batting practice. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Earl Wilson, the Detroit starter, didn't get out of the first inning of Game 1. Boston scored four runs. But the Tigers kept pecking away. Wayne Comer homered at one point (I think it was his only homer of the year). Don Wert tripled to right center to tie the game in the 8th inning. Mickey Lolich pitched five innings of terrific relief. Brown pinch-hit for him and lined a ball that barely got over the right field fence. I remember Ken Harrelson looking in disbelief as the ball barely went in the lower deck in right.

The second game offered more tension. As I recall, Reggie Smith (or maybe George Scott) hit a two-run homer off John Hiller. Norm Cash bombed a two-run shot to tie the game. Boston went ahead with three in the ninth (I think Smith ... or Scott ... homered again). But I can still see the Detroit rally. Five hits in a row ... each one inching a little farther than the previous one. Suddenly, the game was tied and Brown grounded one that somehow snuck through the middle of the infield to win the game.

Bedlam.

In 9 1/2 hours, I think I only left to go to the bathroom or to get a coke between games. I remember taking the Grand River bus home. My mother thought I had been out screwing around and ready to ream me out until my brother Frank came to my rescue by telling her he had listened to the end of the second game and, indeed, it had gone past 9:00 p.m.

I think back to that day now and marvel. 9 1/2 hours at a ballpark? I would have a hard time doing it. But when you are 15 and your club is in the middle of a pennant race, it seemed easy to do. Besides, the Tigers won both games. Is there a better way a 15-year old baseball fan could spend a day?

This all happened 43 years ago today. Yet I can remember it like it was last week. As for taking out the garbage ... you will have to ask my wife if that happened on time.

The joys of West Coast baseball

When I was a kid growing up in Detroit, the Tigers showed roughly 40 games a year on TV. The Saturday afternoon home games were shown as was a select group of 25-30 away games. There would be midweek night games from eastern and midwest time zones. Occasionally, you might get a whole series from, say, Yankee Stadium.

When the team went to the west coast, however, the only games ever aired were the occasional Sunday afternoon game. Night games were never considered.

That meant we listened to Ernie Harwell describe the action from Oakland, Anaheim and Seattle. Often times, I listened to those games through a tiny transistor radio. It was great fun.

What made it fun was the feeling you were being let in on a secret. By the time the games started, you knew how everybody else had done. You knew if the Tigers needed a win to keep pace or gain ground on their foes. You rarely saw Anaheim or (later) Seattle on TV. That meant the ballpark existed in your mind's eye more than anything else. And when you let your imagination run wild at a ballpark ... well ... that is a very good thing.

Times have changed. Nearly every game is televised locally. National TV doesn't go there very often because of the late starts. (For a while, ESPN used to do some games. They gave up on that a few years back. Pity.)

But there is something about West Coast games that I still like. You feel like you will know a result that may no appear in the morning paper. The players somehow look different. Even if we struggle to stay awake, they look fresh to me. It is almost as if the players are performing in a dream. It's hard to explain, I know.

Staying up until midnight or later to watch baseball is still a thrill. You to get see things the rest of the country know little (or nothing) about.

If you pick up the morning paper in New York or Washington, you might see this line: Minnesota at Los Angeles, late. But I already know that Ervin Santana pitched a wonderful complete game and Mark Trumbo hit a mammoth homer for the Angels in a 5-1 victory.

It may have cost me a little sleep but it was worth it.

Goodbye (sort of) to a very good friend

A friend of mine is leaving town next week. My friend's reasons for leaving are personal and needn't be divulged here. (I was sworn to secrecy. When a friend swears you to secrecy, it is like taking an oath in court, I wouldn't dream of violating it.)

But suffice it to say they are very good reasons and I am totally respect my friend for doing so.

Still, I know this is going to be a difficult thing to deal with.

It's not that we won't stay in contact. In this electronic day and age, staying in contact with another person -- no matter where they are -- isn't as difficult as it used to be. (Besides, the situation is temporary.) But staying in contact either by email, text or another electronic means isn't the same as sitting down in person and talking.

See, the problem is, as we get older, we just don't make real good friends. We have a lot of people we are friendly with -- people we can sit and have a drink or tell a joke with at any time. But true friends -- the type where you can bare your soul to them and know you won't be judged for doing so -- are hard to find as you get older. My friend and I have gone through a lot in our lives in recent years. We have shared in each other's triumphs and consoled each other when needed. (I know my friend -- as do I -- has other people who can say the same thing. Still, each friendship is a little different.)

In short, my friend trusted me with key information about things going on and I did the same. As we get older, we don't do that as easily. We simply don't trust as many people. We do that because we have been burned ourselves and seen other gets burned. And it hurts like hell every time it happens.

What I think I am going to miss the most about my friend leaving town is getting together for a drink on short notice. Planning
to go to an event. Watching my friend interact with family members. See my friend play with The Happy Dog. In other words, the simple pleasures of life. I am going to miss chatting with my friend on a million different subjects. I am going to miss seeing example of my friend's big heart when it comes to helping people (myself included). These are the things we cherish in life as we get older.

But a real test of friendship is what is about happen here. I know my friend is leaving the state to do something that is vitally important. It is being done at a bit of sacrifice and it is being done for the best of possible reasons -- coming to the aid and comfort of another person my friend justifiably holds near and dear to the heart. As much as I personally hate to see my friend go, I know this is the best thing to do. Why do I know that? Because my friend's heart has said so. And you rarely go wrong when you follow your heart.

One of the fascinating things about getting older is discovering who really are your friends and who are acquaintances. This particular person has done me many favors -- some of which cannot be priced out under any circumstances. I hope I have reciprocated to my friend accordingly.

But, unlike politics, friendships are not built on a quid pro quo system. Trust doesn't work that way.

So I must put my own feelings aside, say goodbye (for now) to my friend and offer good wishes and good thoughts on the journey ahead. Before departing, I will state my only real goal for my friend is to be happy and safe.

I hope the wishes my friend has for this trip are fulfilled. I look forward to hearing how things go. And thanks from the bottom of my heart for the friend you have been to me oh these many years ... and for the friend I am sure you will continue to be.

Life at the lake is a necessary change of pace

When I was a lad about this time of year, my mother used to pack us up and head off to Grand Bend, Ontario. Grand Bend was a city that had a population of 500 in the winter and 5000 in the summer. My memories of it are almost all wonderful. I once saw a great rainstorm cut across Lake Huron cast against a full moon. I was about seven or eight at the time and can see the pictures of the rain slapping the waves in my head now.

We ate peanut butter crackers on the beach for breakfast. Once or twice, we would go into the downtown area. It was really a 2-3 block strip that ended at Lake Huron. A block before the end, however, was a wonderful penny arcade that also had Dodge-Em cars. I remember my brothers pouring in coins (probably nickels) into a bowling game to win 37 coupons, the amount needed to win a hot plate for use in our cabin. (Youngsters, ask your parents what a hot plate is. It could be used for an amazing amount of things.)

Nearly 50 years later, I still recall that my brothers and myself ran ragged all day long. What I don't recall is what Mom and her good friend Oleta "Pete" Smith, who came on these trips, usually did. I have no head picture of them all from that era.

But I know now what they did while the Wright boys frollicked.

Not much at all. And enjoyed it immensely.

This is being written on a cloudy Tuesday morning inside Cabin 8 at the Nodak Lodge in Bena, MN. It is the second year in a row we have been here. Some longtime friends of Lynne's have been summer vacationing with another family here for quite a while now. As a town, Bena makes Grand Bend look like Grand Rapids. The official population listed is 110. To the best I can tell, though, the town is simply a gas station/general store, a post office and a bar/restaurant. No arcade here.

Nodak Lodge is a simple place run by simple people. It has cabins, a small receptions area that includes one pool table, a video machine and a small area to congregate in, a swimming pool, a few campground spots and pits for fires, a basketball court and Lake Winnibigosh. Thee is an area to dock a boat if you are so inclined. Or you can rent one or a pontoon to go out on the lake.

That's it.

To a New Yorker, a Chicagoan, or a Los Angelino, that probably sounds pretty damn boring without enough to keep people interested for two days, much less a week.

To us Minnesotans, however, it offers something that is hard to find anywhere else. It is something I suspect Mom and Pete did every day in Grand Bend while the Wright boys ran around and through Lake Huron on our inner tubes and chased Shep, the dog up and down the beach for hours.

It offers serenity.

Life in Minnesota is not considered hectic at all. We're known for our laidback approach to just about every issue. The movie "Fargo" wasn't that far off the mark at all when it came to stereotyping folks around here.

But the simple fact is all that life is hectic and complicated in every city that is not the size of Bena or Grand Bend. You can't avoid it. For example, right now in Minnesota, we in the second week of a statewide shutdown caused by a lack of a state budget. The shutdown is affecting services all over the state. It occurred because the state legislature is much more interested in scoring political principles than in helping constituents.

(The shutdown even affects life at the small general store on Highway 2, roughly 7/10th of a mile from Cabin 8. One of that store's biggest sources of income is lottery sales. The lottery is one of the many state-run industries that closed during this shutdown. "People still have their habits," the clerk told me the other day. "They come in daily and ask things have changed and they can buy tickets.")

At Nodak Lodge, however, nothing has changed much. Roger and Melissa, who run the place, are about as pleasant and accommodating people as one will find in the world. I have no idea of their political or social persuasions. What's more, I don't need to know it. No, I'm here to watch Lake Winnibigosh take turns being peaceful and being majestic. (Last night, it was the latter as whitecaps, seen above, bounced to and fro. Wonderful sight.)

Life here is uncomplicated and peaceful ... and that is why we come. The coffee seems to taste better here. The food on the grill smells better. You get up when you want and you go to bed when you want. During the day, we simply have conversations with our friends, read a book while sunning at the pool, play board or card games, or (on cloudy days like today), hack away at writing. There is a TV available in the cabin if you want it (Lynne gets to catch up on shows she doesn't get to see at home because she is working). A fellow might even go out on the dock with a big cup of coffee or a stiff drink, light up a cigar and simply watch the day or night unfold.

In other words, we get to come and go and eat as we please for a week. That is about as good as it gets.

It is also necessary. You see, we are running ourselves ragged as a country. We are at constant loggerheads politically and socially. St. Paul is no New York or Detroit but, even there, people are snapping at each other over the smallest things. This kind of continual unrest cannot be good for the body or the soul. We need a break -- whether it is something as simple as putting a fishing pole in the water, golfing on a course that nobody has ever heard of or simply sitting by the bay window reading a book or working a crossword puzzle.

When you go on a vacation like this, you do the things that interest you -- not the stuff you feel you have to do. You work at pleasing yourself for a change. At Grand Bend, for example, Mom's one personal pleasure was an annual trip to Stratford to see a Shakespearean play. It was the only thing she seemed to insist on (besides making us wait an hour after eating to return to Lake Huron). And I can see the relaxed smile she had on her face as we sat in the round watching those weird costumes and trying to understand 16th century English.

Time here doesn't stop altogether -- we really don't want it to do that -- but it does go slower. There are occasional outbursts of energetic disagreement "Why did you play that card?" is a common refrain. But about the worst thing you will see is an incident like the one that happened by the pool the other day. A mother yelled at her son for committing the crime of splashing his sister. The lad, about age 9, was sent muttering to a chair for a timeout. This lasted about two minutes until the mother turned to another nearby adult and sighed, "Well, we are on vacation, aren't we?" and released the fellow from custody with the plea "Don't do it so often, please." The fellow jumped happily back in the water and was later actually seen guiding his sister around the pool. Such is the healing power of Nodak Lodge.

There is more than can be said but you get the point. It's time for another cup of barefoot coffee. The new day is dawning and today's placid, tame adventure is about to commence. Which will it be today? Do I return to my book? Do I go for an exploratory walk (Bigfoot is supposed to be around here somewhere.) ? Do we hop in the car and go to the adult version of the old penny arcade -- the casino up the road? Do we wander into Grand Rapids just to see what the hell goes on there in the summer? Or so we just sit and talk a bit about life in general or politics in particular? Or is today's task as simple as watching Mikade, the soon-to-be-three year old son of Lynne's godson Donny, as he takes on his world one pillow and toy car at a time?

At the lake, there are many options. But just about all of them are peaceful and quiet ones. It is not a life that most of us would want for 52 weeks of the year. For one week, however, it is about as heavenly as it gets.