Remembering a spirited lady fondly

It's funny how a person you meet only once can sometimes grab your attention and never let go. Eleanor Mondale, who died the other day way too young, was one of those folks.

I met her at, of all places, Midway Stadium. She came to a Saints' game with Neal Karlen, who wrote a book about the Saints. They were friends. I suspect Ms. Mondale knew as much about baseball as I do about pottery. But she came with Neal, who was publicizing his book. Being a good sport, she agreed to pose for a picture wearing a Saints' warmup jacket and with a big. goody grin on her face.

This was a woman whose picture was everywhere at the time. She hung with rock stars. She worked for CBS. Yet she was unnoticed as she walked around Midway Stadium -- a fact that seemed to amuse her to no end. She sat with Neal in the stands, drank some beer and seemed to genuinely enjoy herself ... even she probably had no clue at all what the hell was going on. When Neal introduced her to me, she asked, "How do you remember all that stuff about ballplayers? I can't remember what I had for breakfast." And then she laughed at herself.

She had what the French would like to call "spirit de joivre." Loosely translated, it means she was full of life.

Years later, I would hear her on the radio and instantly see that blond head with the devilish smile. And I would wonder how it was such a person could be the offspring of Walter Mondale, a great man but a fellow with a personality that would make Ben Stern seem like George Gobel.

The gene poll took an unusual turn there.

Many people thought she was a natural for TV. But she was much better on the radio where her personality and her insatiable curiosity could flourish. Try at it might to pretend otherwise, TV news is generally about as imaginative as Latin. There is simply too much money involved. The picture must be perfect at all times.

I suspect perfect was not a word Ms. Mondale used very often. Good choice, too. Even Mary Poppins referred to herself as "practically perfect."

When the word got out she had cancer, I imagined her battling it with considerable strength. People of spirit are, after all, great fighters. I imagined that, while she knew what eventually would happen (cancer has an impressive winning streak), she was damned and determined to go down swinging.

I only had the one brief encounter with her. But it is to Ms. Mondale's credit that she had such personality that I can hear her voice and see her face right now ... even though this meeting happened roughly 15 years ago.

One hopes she has moved on to a place where she can have lively conversation with interesting people. She certainly deserved that for an afterlife because that is what she gave us when she was here.

The 9/11 legacy I would like to see

There are millions of words being written about this day, the 10th anniversary of one of the darkest days in our country's history. Many of them are heartfelt and sincere. Allow to add these to the list.

The lessons of that day are too complex for any one person to solve. The simple fact is we were attacked by bad guys. But there have always been bad guys -- people bent on destruction and mayhem. They try all the time to wreak havoc. They have been trying this ever since the Declaration Of Independence was signed.

This time, unfortunately, they succeeded.

The sad fact is that, someday, they might again.

But it is important to understand that the current administration is hellbent on making sure this did not happen ... just as all previous administrations were. It wasn't George Bush's fault that 9/11 happened. But it occurred on his watch. So he did what presidents before him have done -- he counseled us the best he could. He went to his advisors and said, in essence, "You get paid a lot of money to handle problems like this. Now get to it and get back to me ASAP with some ideas for the next move."

In the talkie/blogger world, there is constant wish and yearning for rapid response and to assign blame. In the real world, however, it doesn't work that way. It's complicated.

President Bush seemed to understand this concept very well. He understood we needed some kind of symbol that we could get back to our lives while the government worked to find out who was responsible. When he walked to the mound at Yankee Stadium to throw out a ceremonial first pitch, he was walking for all of us in the country.

Only a leftwing zealot could think otherwise.

And that's is what worries me more than anything else. God forbid, but if there is a similar attack of any type this year, I fear the right wing talkies/bloggers will seize on it as a sign this administration is weak and needs to be tossed out. But it wasn't true 10 years ago and it wouldn't be true now. Even worse, such an attitude would be exactly what the enemies of our country want.

You win a war by exploiting weakness.

The legacy I want to see from what happened 10 years ago today is that we remember what those who went before us did. They were fearless yet fearful. They plowed forward with their lives but kept an eye out for potential trouble.

That's not easy to do in a world where it seems everything, ranging from fiscal policy to the BCS selections in college football, is turned into a political statement.

From what I have read about those who died on that day, most of them were able to departmentalize their political views and leave them in a proper place. It didn't affect their work and it didn't affect their play. Shame on all those who try to say otherwise.

We can get to the political machinations later.

The legacy I want to see from that awful day 10 years ago is for us to do what those who died on that day were doing -- going about their lives as best they could.

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.