Author: In Write Field

2013, or How Baseball Broke My Heart

On By In Write FieldIn Baseball, Sports PhotographyLeave a comment
A cha cha bowl, courtesy of Orlando's Caribbean BBQ at AT&T Park. (Photo by The Travelling Hungryboy)
A cha-cha bowl at Orlando’s Caribbean BBQ courtesy of The Travelling Hungryboy.

Over the past week or so I’ve detected a whiff of fall in the air, which always makes me a little melancholy.  Days are getting shorter, and nights are becoming chillier… except in San Francisco, where the exact opposite is true.  Even so, in clothing chains all over town, corduroys and wool sweaters in warm autumn shades have replaced flip flops and linen shorts.  Where did the time go?

The end of summer 2013 is especially blue for me as a baseball fan.  The San Francisco Giants – currently occupying the cellar in the National League West – have no chance of repeating last year’s World Series run.  And the Cleveland Indians are seven games out of first place in the American League Central, which means my dream of a Giants/Indians October throw down will have to wait at least one more year.

Over the weekend, I caught two of three games in the Oakland Athletics vs. Cleveland Indians series across the Bay.  Unfortunately/naturally, the game I skipped was the only game the Tribe won.

It was fun to see the Indians in person for the first time since spring training, but it was tough to sit silently as Oakland fans celebrated being only .5 games out of first in the American League West.  Having spent 2010 and 2012 cheering the Giants to the World Series, losing smarted.  I did not enjoy it… but deep down I’m happy for the As.  They are a talented, scrappy, underrated, red-headed-stepchild of a baseball team, with a crummy, dilapidated ballpark.

Can someone please get that team a new ballpark?  The flawed sewage system in the restrooms should be reason enough.  (My advice to ladies visiting Oakland Coliseum – schedule your potty breaks before the 6th inning.  Otherwise… YUCK.)

Today I picked up a couple of Giants tickets on StubHub, at bargain basement prices (relatively speaking).  Even though the team is zapping my strength, come October I’ll long for “summer” evenings at AT&T Park, wearing a ski parka and using a cha-cha bowl as a hand warmer.  I’ll fill the void with the NFL and the NBA, but I’ll really just be going through the motions – at least until the first winter storm drops buckets of cold rain on San Francisco.

Until then… some photos from my bittersweet weekend.

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Swept Up: San Francisco Giants vs. Chicago Cubs

On By In Write FieldIn Baseball, Sports PhotographyLeave a comment

Tim Lincecum, San Francisco Giants vs. Chicago Cubs 7/28/13I attended my first San Francisco Giants game in at least a month last Sunday, July 28.  By happy coincidence, my favorite Giant, Tim Lincecum, was on the mound.

Timmy pitched great — giving up just two runs in seven innings, and striking out 10.  He also went 2-2 at the plate. You know the Giants’ offense is in serious trouble when Lincecum is the hottest hitter of the game.  And so it was that the Giants were swept by (*gulp*) the Cubbies for the first time in 20 years.  Final score: 2-1.  It’s been a long season.

So let’s look on the bright side.  The weather on Sunday was spectacular, and I got lots of great shots of Timmy on base — which doesn’t happen very often.  (Sorry, Tim.)

During the plentiful lulls in the action, I took the opportunity to experiment with my aperture and shutter speed, instead of relying so much on automatic settings.  The outcome was respectable.  (I’ll spare you the underexposed shots, in which Lincecum looks like he’s pitching during a solar eclipse, as well as the overexposed ones that resemble X-rays.)

Let’s go Giants!

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Hold the Phone

On By In Write FieldIn This Annoys MeLeave a comment

Man going into a coma waiting to get off hold with customer service.That’s what I’m doing – holding the phone.  I’ve finished off my soup and salad, and am now reduced to listening to bad Muzak® on a loop, brought to me courtesy of the Department of Motor Vehicles.  So to distract myself for the rest of lunch, I’m choosing to blog about the experience.  Why should I be the only one to suffer?

As an introvert whose career has long been in the digital realm, I’ll do just about anything to avoid talking to a live person, so this is kind of killing me.  Yet when the DMV’s message warned me of a two-hour wait due to “high call volumes”, I decided to go all-in out of sheer stubbornness.  At least, I think the message said two hours — I kind of blacked out right about then.

I’m on hold because my registration and license plate tags expire today, and I’ve yet to receive new ones despite the fact that my check to the DMV cleared four days ago.  It could be an especially ambulatory weekend, if I don’t get this sorted out.  I tried researching my status online, but no luck.

Under normal circumstances, one might assume that since the check cleared I have nothing to worry about.  The DMV would not have processed my payment if there was anything wrong with my renewal – certainly not without informing me – because, you know, that would not be logical.  However, this is the DMV we’re talking about.   I learned this lesson a few years after moving to San Francisco from New York City (where I was carless). I submitted my registration renewal form but forgot the required smog check certificate.  The DMV cashed my check, but never bothered to let me know I shouldn’t be expecting any tags.  It was a big mess.

Why is on-hold music so awful?  I mean, I assume it exists in part to assure the person who is holding that his/her call has not been dropped.  But I suspect it’s also a tool to dissuade us from holding out for a costly human interaction. Sadly, I can’t put this call on speakerphone, or my colleagues will toss me out the window.  And I can’t turn down the volume on my headset, because I need to know when/if a representative finally picks up.

For a while I thought the most ridiculous part of today’s call was the phone tree.   I hate to malign the California DMV because I’m sure there are some really nice people working there, but… who came up with that thing?  It’s the kind that doesn’t use key prompts; the caller is instead asked to say words aloud, from a list of choices, to be directed to the correct department.   Unlike ANY OTHER PHONE TREE I’ve ever used before, though, the California DMV doesn’t just give you words – it makes the caller choose from among many long phrases like “Check the license of an ID installer or auto repair dealer”, or “Check current status of my vehicle registration insurance and suspension”.   And the voice recognition system expects you to remember most of the phrase correctly, or you’ll get a sorry-I-didn’t-catch-that recorded message.  (In case you are wondering, no — I didn’t remember those phrases for this blog post; they were taken from the common tasks section of the DMV website, which I’ve been perusing.)

After several unsuccessful attempts to find the right phrase, the voice recognition system does understand when a caller shouts “IDIOTS” into the receiver.  I tested it.  It’s how I made it into the queue, where I’ve been for the past hour.  Pity the poor sucker who doesn’t know that trick!

Fast forward about 15 minutes…

Just as I thought I’d run out of DMV anecdotes, someone picked up.  She was very nice, and explained that my registration would be mailed out next week.  Um… next week?  The agent explained that the check goes to one department, but the registration is handled by another.  Of course!  This is the DMV!  The department that delivers your service will always be slower than the one that relieves you of your cash.

If I’m lucky, the DMV pads their estimated delivery date for registration tags the same way they pad their estimated hold times.  (I actually held for just over one hour, instead of two.)

If not, anyone feel like taking a long walk this weekend?  I’ll even let you carry my grocery bags home!

One Man’s Junk…

On By In Write FieldIn Politics, Random Stuff2 Comments

Anthony WeinerI recently blogged about Milwaukie Brewers outfielder Ryan Braun, and his 65-game suspension from professional baseball. I was unimpressed by Braun’s flimsy written statement, which fell well short of contrition.

The most disingenuous and manipulative part of the statement was the first line: “As I have acknowledged in the past, I am not perfect.”  Braun had not, in fact, ever made such a public acknowledgement, but what galled me more was the implication that if fans, teammates or the media were disillusioned by his behavior, they had no one to blame but themselves.  After all, he’d warned them that he was flawed, hadn’t he?

I was reminded of this self-serving position last week, when Anthony Weiner grudgingly acknowledged his most recent sexting scandal.  “As I have said in the past, these things that I did were wrong and hurtful to my wife, and caused us to go through challenges in our marriage that extended past my resignation from Congress.”

Such a careful parsing of words! What was it that extended beyond his resignation – the marital troubles, or “things” like posting lewd photos online?  Regardless, the inference was similar to Braun’s.  We can’t blame him since he warned us back in 2011 that more embarrassing facts could emerge.  (Did he? Am I the only one drawing a blank here?)

Well, now that that’s cleared up… we can all move on. Right? Please?

Anthony Weiner is like a child who makes up his own rules, just as he’s about to be tagged “it” on the playground.  “No WAY!  No fair, I’m SAFE!  I CALLED TIME OUT!”

Since the Weiner scandal broke, the former congressman has been quizzed about how many more digital paramours could come forward.  I’d argue that the tally ceased to matter once it was clear that he continued sexting AFTER his resignation from Congress, AFTER he claims to have entered therapy and WITHIN ONE WEEK of posing for People magazine with his wife and son, hinting about a mayoral run.  The guy is pathologically dishonest.

To me, the big story is… Weiner can’t even provide an ESTIMATE.  HE SAYS HE’S NOT SURE.  How is it possible not to know how many people you’ve been sexting with?  He’s either completely out of control, or so predisposed to lying that he still can’t bring himself to come completely clean.  Maybe he’s so deluded about his intellect and so ambitious to be mayor, he still thinks there is something to be gained by hedging.

I have been wondering how many men, when caught dead to rights in an indiscretion, get creative about the duration?  Once, a married male friend confided in me – out of the blue – that he’d been unfaithful to his wife years before. He claimed the affair lasted just three weeks.  Three weeks, I wondered?  How many men have affairs that last less than one month?

I later learned from mutual friends that the affair had in fact lasted months longer; he’d looked straight into my eyes, and lied about it.  I still scratch my head about this.  Why did he bother confessing — since I had never suspected and it was none of my business anyway – only to lowball how long his affair had lasted?  If his goal had been to get it off his chest, how much guilt can a half-truth alleviate?

Watching Weiner, I am reminded of John Edwards, and the public revelations of his affair with Rielle Hunter. Edwards also clung to his lies well past their expiration date. In her book Resilience: Reflections on the Burdens and Gifts of Facing Life’s Adversities, his terminally ill wife Elizabeth wrote about the day he revised his account of his relationship with Hunter.  I paraphrase as follows:

“Honey, remember when I said it was just a one night stand, and that the baby isn’t mine?  Well, I wasn’t entirely honest.”

“OK, what part is true?”

“Um… none of it?”

The Weiner debacle has become so sad and tawdry, as a former New Yorker I have to avert my eyes.  Polls show him in fourth place among the mayoral candidates, and most voters say they wish he’d drop from the race.  He’s making videos, eluding to the City’s 9/11 fortitude as the reason he won’t bow out, and flexing his hipster vernacular as he describes how New Yorkers “roll”.  He’s even suggested that his still-burning shame will make him a better mayor.  (Don’t ask me, I don’t understand it either.)

“It’s not about me,” Weiner says. “It’s about the citizens of New York.”

Listen, there is an entire Wikipedia page devoted to Anthony Weiner’s sexting scandal, and that fact alone should preclude his candidacy for higher office, don’t you think?

No one really cares how many more of his BFFs are out there – even if he finally told the truth, we’re way past the point of believing.  If he is truly devoted to New Yorkers, the greatest gift he can give them is to unplug the Wi-Fi, step away from Instagram and maybe take an extended vacation to Pennsylvania Amish country.

I’ll even pitch in for bus fare.

Ryan Braun: If Truth Be Told

On By In Write FieldIn Baseball2 Comments
Milwaukee Brewers outfielder Ryan Braun
(A/P)

“I am very pleased and relieved by today’s decision. It is the first step in restoring my good name and reputation. We were able to get through this because I am innocent and the truth is on our side.”

That was Milwaukee Brewers outfielder Ryan Braun in February 2012 – thumbing his nose at Major League Baseball after his positive drug test was overturned on appeal. It was a cheeky move, to claim that the truth had set him free, when in fact Braun only managed to slither out of a suspension through a chain-of-custody dispute.

Effectively, the guy who collected his 2012 urine samples had stored the sealed containers in his home fridge overnight, because it was too late to FedEx them to the lab. Braun cried cross-contamination, and a possible MLB conspiracy as well as some other nonsense.

If the urine is cold, the charge won’t uphold?

I’m sure many Brewers fans really wanted to believe he wasn’t juicing, but I doubt many did.

Fast forward to this afternoon, when it was announced that Ryan Braun has been suspended without pay for the remainder of the 2013 season for violations of MLB’s drug policy:

“As I have acknowledged in the past, I am not perfect. I realize now that I have made some mistakes. I am willing to accept the consequences of those actions.”

Come again? I guess I missed his confession of fallibility in 2012. Perhaps his sanctimonious crowing about his innocence — ALL WHILE LYING THROUGH HIS TEETH – drowned it out.

Even more fascinating in today’s statement?  “I realize NOW that I have made some mistakes.” Soooo… this only just occurred to him? Even after having paid high-priced lawyers to get him off the hook 18 months ago? Ryan Braun or his publicity folks — likely both — clearly think baseball fans are pretty gullible.

Often when a cheater or lawbreaker expresses contrition, the rest of us grumble, “Oh sure you’re sorry… sorry you got CAUGHT.”  I can’t recall a confession or apology by a public figure that has better reflected this kind of convenient epiphany, or blatant insincerity, than Ryan Braun’s did today.

Ode To Big Time Timmy Jim

On By In Write FieldIn BaseballLeave a comment
Buster Posey bear hugs Tim Lincecum after his no hitter, July 14 2013.
Photo courtesy of Lenny Ignelzi/AP

 

It’s been a tough year for the Freak

Some said that he was past his peak

He’d lost his mojo, so to speak

His pitches lacked location.

 

His Cy Young self seemed to have faded

His confidence was much degraded

If this kept up, would he be traded?

Or fall out of rotation?

 

As it turns out, the Freak was fooling

Gave his critics quite a schooling

No hitter: the official ruling

He lasted the duration.

 

His fastball started sort-of clocking

No one reached base, except by walking

Tim let his slider do the talking

A hardball demonstration.

 

Twelve dozen pitches were expended

Plus four more, his slump thus ended

Hugs from Buster, fences mended.

Giant celebrations!

Truth or Consequences

On By In Write FieldIn Baseball, Sports4 Comments

Top of mind for me this week are the appeals of the New Orleans Saints’ GM and coaches accused of (at a minimum) ignoring a bounty system in their organization, as well as the suspension – and planned appeal — of Cleveland Indians pitcher Ubaldo Jimenez. Jimenez was recently suspended for five games, and fined, for intentionally throwing at (and hitting) Colorado Rockies shortstop Troy Tulowitzki.

Anyone who has watched too much Law & Order (like me) is familiar with the apparent appeal of an appeal. When judgment goes against the defendant, his attorney immediately rises and shouts “We will appeal, Your Honor.” And so it goes in sports. With a few notable exceptions, if you get a suspension and/or are fined, you appeal.

Because appeals proceedings tend to be very secretive, it’s not always clear what is being appealed. Behind closed doors, is the accused claiming his innocence or just arguing that the penalty is too severe? Brewers outfielder Ryan Braun reportedly focused less on his innocence when appealing, than on improper protocol in the handling of his urine sample. He won, and became the first Major League player to successfully appeal a suspected violation of baseball’s Drug Treatment and Prevention Program.

Total vindication like Braun’s is unusual, however. The norm is a reduction in the fine/suspension after appeal, which makes the process feel more like a shady negotiation. It encourages players and coaches to appeal, because really… what have they got to lose? When was the last time you heard about an appeal resulting in a BIGGER fine or suspension?

Let’s consider Ubaldo Jimenez. He threw at Tulowitzki, and pretty much everyone knows it. “I shouldn’t be suspended,” he said. “Players are hit by pitches every day… I can’t get the ball to go where I want every time.” (If you’ve watched him pitch lately, you know the last part of that statement is true.)

Too bad Jimenez was so vocal about resenting his treatment in Colorado when he was traded to Cleveland; it’s well known that there was already bad blood with Tulowitzki because of it. After drilling him, Jimenez accused Tulowitzki of calling him “names”. So, his claim that it wasn’t score settling rings pretty false.

Very rarely, a sporting professional will consider appealing… but ultimately back away, and accept his punishment. Last year Cardinals catcher Yadier Molina was suspended for five games for bumping, and possibly spitting on, umpire Rob Drake after a questionable call. His statement:

“I am sorry for my actions and apologize for letting my emotions get the best of me… I have great respect for the umpires and the job they do. I accept full responsibility for my actions and will begin serving my suspension tonight.”

Molina may have truly wanted to own up to his bad behavior, and take his punishment like a man. Or perhaps he just knew the league had him dead to rights, going nuts on Drake. Regardless, it was refreshing.

While I wanted to be similarly impressed that former Saints defensive coordinator Gregg Williams declined to appeal his indefinite suspension, it felt a bit less noble once I heard audio of him seeming to promise cash to any player who made a game-ending hit on San Francisco 49ers Quarterback Alex Smith during the playoffs.  You don’t get more dead to rights than that, I figure.

I will be disappointed if the Ubaldo Jimenez suspension is reduced. As it stands, he’ll miss maybe two starts? Baseball needs to send a message: There are no excuses for pitching at a hitter. It’s nonnegotiable.

Will the one-year suspension of New Orleans head coach Sean Payton withstand appeal? Payton’s argument that he didn’t know about the team’s bounty program doesn’t pass the smell test. As it stands, he got a one-year suspension that allows him to work in broadcasting (for example) and apparently does not entirely prohibit interaction with New Orleans staff and players. That’s not exactly taking him to the woodshed. A reduction in that punishment would be disgraceful.

I think Payton would be a great test case for INCREASING a suspension when an appeal is obviously frivolous and disingenuous, similar to how a judge can penalize civil litigants who pursue frivolous lawsuits.

At last, a teachable moment I can really get behind!

Choosing Sides

On By In Write FieldIn Books, Page and ScreenLeave a comment

Book jacket for Hellhound On His Trail, by Hampton SidesI usually experience a mild euphoria when I reach the last chapter of a really good book. There’s a sense of accomplishment — especially if it’s long or has been a bit of a slog — as well as excitement, because finishing a book means it’s time to start a new one.

I have a general methodology for choosing what’s next on my reading list. I have a fondness for nonfiction, but rarely read two nonfictions in a row. I prefer to switch things up a bit. And while I have a Kindle, which I love, I also have a bookcase that is sagging under the weight of dozens of books I have not yet read. So I try to read at least one old-school book that used to be a tree, for every two eBooks.

Alas, I never seem to make much of a dent in that bookshelf because whenever I pass an independent bookstore, I feel compelled to buy at least a paperback.

It’s like being on a book diet; even if I manage to drop a few books, over time I end up adding back the same number… and then some. And they all go straight to my bookshelf. (Ha! See what I did there?)

Every Christmas, I drag my mom to the Fireside Bookshop in Chagrin Falls, Ohio, with its creaky oak floors and corner dedicated to the picturesque, 170-year-old village of Chagrin. It’s the same bookstore I shopped in as a kid, and I am a slave to its “staff picks”.

I’m not ready for a world where this and other venerable little shops like Book Passage (Corte Madera), Books Inc. and Browser Books (San Francisco), and Copperfield’s (Sonoma and Napa Counties) don’t exist. So, I try to do my part.

Book jacket for Americana, by Hampton SidesThis brings me to today, when I finished reading Americana: Dispatches From The New Frontier, by Hampton Sides. As usual, I felt accomplishment because… well, 30 essays is a lot of essays! Plus, it’s a great collection. “Waiting for Liddy” and “In Darkest Bohemia” are bitingly funny, while “Points of Impact”, featuring the harrowing accounts of 9/11 survivors, sent shivers down my spine.

I’m a little sad to say goodbye to this book, because it’s the last one by Hampton Sides on my reading list.

Is Hampton Sides a great name for a writer or what? He grew up in Memphis and now resides in Santa Fe, New Mexico – but with that name, I always picture him sitting at an old typewriter in a mountain cabin in New Hampshire, or upstate New York.

New Mexico is proud of its adopted son. When I visited Taos a few years ago, I stopped at yet another lovely independent bookstore – Moby Dickens – and asked the kind women who work there for a recommendation. They made a strong pitch for Blood and Thunder, Sides’ acclaimed biography of controversial frontiersman Kit Carson, who lived in Taos (his home is now a museum) and is buried there.

Portrait of Author Hampton SidesOne of the shopkeepers reminded the other that Hampton Sides had visited the store once as part of a book tour. Perhaps reluctant to cheapen his literary reputation, she sheepishly added, “and he is… quite handsome”. Truth. Book jackets do not lie.

My favorite book from Hampton Sides is Hellhound On His Trail, a gripping account of James Earl Ray’s stalking of Martin Luther King, Jr., the assassination and the manhunt for Ray that followed. I was consumed by that book, and could not put it down. It is remarkably suspenseful, considering the reader obviously knows how the story ends. In fact, Sides has been forced to defend the book as nonfiction, because some readers assume he embellished the facts to juice up the story. In fact, Hellhound On His Trail is a factual account based on painstaking research. The rest… well, that’s just great writing.

So now comes the fun part; it’s time to choose my next book. Unless Hampton Sides publishes something tomorrow, it’ll be either The Reliable Wife or one of the three Ann Leary books on my Kindle that are just aching to finally be read.

What about you? Read any good books lately?

Happy Fourth of July!

On By In Write FieldIn Holidays2 Comments

1917 sheet music cover for George M. Cohan's hit song, "Over There".

It was a stunning Independence Day in San Francisco, with uncharacteristically balmy temperatures and not a smidgen of fog to interfere with tonight’s fireworks. Some neighbors and I sneaked up to the roof of our building to watch — strictly verboten around here.  Luckily our always-vigilant building manager (somewhat of a tippler) must have been pouring extra strong G&Ts this evening, so we eluded his capture.  I feel like such an outlaw!

Earlier, while I waited for darkness, I re-watched — for probably the twentieth time — Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942), the biopic of entertainer, playwright and composer George M. Cohan.  It’s a great film, with patriotic, toe tapping tunes like “Over There”, “Give My Regards to Broadway”, “The Yankee Doodle Boy” and “You’re a Grand Old Flag”.  A very worthy Fourth of July tradition.

Behold the pics!

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