I Met A Hero Today

Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose. Nothing, I mean nothing honey if it ain't free, no no. Yeah feeling good was easy Lord when he sang the blues. You know feeling good was good enough for me.

These are lyrics from a song called "Me and Bobby McGee", and "you know feeling good was good enough for me." The chorus has been playing through my head since 4:30pm on Tuesday afternoon. You see, at 4:30pm on Tuesday afternoon, I met a guy named Dan.

Dan is 20 years old. He is a lot like me. He is a happy go lucky KID very close to my age. Dan likes to joke around, hang out with his friends, have some drinks, and let loose. Who doesn't. He enjoys all the things people in their 20's do.

Dan is a soldier, and in two weeks, he is off to Afghanistan. This is my story of my time with Dan.

I am sitting in my basement apartment at now 4:41am on Wednesday morning, twelve hours after meeting Dan, and as we sit in my apartment enjoying a couple beers and watching "Old School", I feel the need to tell this story.

Our first encounter was Tuesday afternoon, we were both going out for a couple drinks and chicken wings for our mutual friends 21st birthday. Our reservations were messed up and we had to squish 6 people on a table that would sit two people comfortably.

We were all seated very tight, but it allowed me to talk to this guy. At first glance, he is just like me. He and I laugh at and make very similar jokes. We hit it off pretty well as soon as we met. After we ate, and enjoyed a lot of drinks, we all went back to my place.

The group picked up a case and we hung out. The decision was to go to a local country bar and have a good time. As time went on, it turned out that Dan and I were the only two people willing to go to the bar. So, everyone left. That left Dan and I with a bunch of drinks to enjoy.

This was my chance. One on one with a guy, my age, about to take a life changing trip. I had to ask him "are you scared". With a very serious face, Dan looked at me and said without hesitation, a very firm NO.

I was astonished. Days after the Canadian forces lost another 4 brave individuals, Dan is not scared at all. You see, as Dan explained it, fear creates doubt. Doubt in what he has been trained in and prepared for. It reminded me of what coaches have always said to me "Champions are made off the field". With doubt, mistakes are made. Mistakes that are beyond life changing, these mistakes could potentially be life ending.

I was astonished to hear this. I remember as a little kid, playing war. I recall playing imaginary games with friends, and sometimes we would "die". But that death was remedied simply by removing whatever caused the deathly blow. Whether it was a sword in the chest, or a bullet from the "bad guys", if you took it out, you were alive again. This "reality" that I used to play in, is not the same reality that this young man is off to face.

You see, the possibility of being shot, or subject to a very common road side bomb that continually takes the lives of soldiers, is a very real one. You can't simply take it out and be alive again. The fact of the matter is that in REAL life, there is no coming back, and this MAN is aware and accepting of that fact. WOW.

As our conversation continued I learned that his biggest fear is not the loss of his own life, it is in the agony that it would leave his family in. He pulled this picture from the Toronto Sun, and his words were very simple. "Look at this. Wow."

He was referring to the woman in the red jacket. The pain that this woman is feeling over the loss of a loved one is evident. All he could say is "wow". This is something that he GOD willing, will never have to put his family through, but it is his biggest fear. Leaving the people who love him in this type of pain. He will be there to help assure other peoples families will never have to feel this pain.

Our conversation continued. As he spoke about it, he used a very common expression; "the world needs ditch diggers. And, the world needs soldiers. This is my job."

He see's this as his job, which it is, and realizes that you are going to have good days at work, and you are going to have bad days. For a student like myself, a bad day means more homework. For him, there is often no coming back from bad days. But, you can't be afraid. Refer back to what happens when fear is present.

We talked about his basic training, and the grueling hell that he was put through. People yelling at him, insulting him, spitting on him. He told one story from his training that forced him awake for several days non-stop. People around him were literally losing their minds, and he spoke to some people in training about it.

He told them that this wasn't for everyone, and if you are not 110% committed, than this is not the job for you. Many people were granted voluntary releases. Not Dan. This is what he wants to do, and he can't picture himself doing anything else.

The conversation proceeded to the issue of whether or not he feels he is a hero. Not the case. Although what he is doing is very heroic, in Dan's eyes, the hero's are the incredible men and women who are not fortunate enough to come back. Wow.

I have used "wow" several times in this entry, but I do not have any other word to describe how I feel. I am blown away at this man's perspective. He does not see himself as a hero, but in my eyes, give him a cape.

Tonight was a night where I didn't want to talk, instead, I listened. Dan said he thinks its great people like me are going to college and university, and going after what we want to do. He is doing what he is doing, so that I can do what I am doing.

I told him that where I live, is very close to a military base, and to show support for OUR troops, we wear red on Fridays. This is something I try and do as often as I can. Dan smiled. It wasn't unusual tonight to see him smile. In fact, he smiled a lot throughout our entire encounter.

We went out, and I did my best to help him have a good time. I held doors for him, picked up drinks for him, and I introduced him as "my friend Dan who is a hero." I think I may have put him on the spot a bit, but oh well. There is no other word to describe it.

What happened when we were out is not important. That being said, he saw his cousin at the bar, and they spent a lot of time talking. At the end of the night, she hugged him tight and I heard her say "I'm going to pray I see you again." So will I.

Dan is now sleeping on my futon. He is sleeping with ease. Two weeks away from heading off to "work." I don't know how he can sleep with such ease as he prepares to go and do something for real, that I have only had the courage to do as a "game" when I was a child.

Upon his arrival, Dan has been assigned with a 24 hour patrol convoy. As we all sleep soundly, and go about our days as per usual, Dan will face risk to his own safety and well being every inch of the way. And he is happy that we can all do what we do, as he is doing his service.

We talked about our purpose in life. He told me that he feels a simple act of crossing the street can have more of an impact than we could ever imagine. He told me that if I am able to make a car stop, or even slow down, I could potentially be saving the life of someone that the particular car I am stopping might have hit. Dan said that an action that is common in my everyday life could have more impact than I'd ever know.

His actions in his day-to-day life while serving, have a global impact. Wow.

I have met an incredible individual. Dan is brave, confident, strong, self-aware, self-accepting, prepared. Heroic.

Comic books paint pictures of "heroes" who are larger than life. They accept the risk involved in the roles they play. "With great power comes great responsibility" is the line echoed through the Spider-Man series. Their weaknesses: kryptonite, and super villains. Things that don't exist can bring the people, whom we can all remember idolizing, to their knees.

Dan has accepted his responsibility. His kryptonite, bullets and bombs. His super villains, opposing soldiers. His acts, brave.

Dan plans on coming back. He will be receiving a month leave, and he plans on coming home to visit family and friends. He will then face 7 months of war. Upon completing those 7 months, if you ask Dan, he is coming home again to see family and friends.

We have all put on a brave face in our lives. We build up the courage to go on the roller coaster with lots of loops on it. We build up the courage to ask someone we have our eye on for a date. We build up courage to step on the field and PLAY. Dan is about to build up courage to simply get out of bed in the morning. WOW.

Sometimes I talk with friends about people our age or younger who are entering or playing a professional sport. It astonishes us. This is a case of a man our age or younger who is going off to war. Until today, it never had much affect on me. I know people in the army, and people who have been over seas. For some reason, this encounter with Dan has put it all into perspective.

There is no reset button. The wounds can't be undone by taking out the bullets. They will leave scars, physically and emotionally. The games of war I used to be play could be stopped and forgotten. This isn't a game for my new friend.

The war that my friend is shortly off to fight is a war against a cause. Similar to the war against drugs, poverty, hunger, the war against terror is never ending. There will always be a group of radicals that oppose the norm. People like Dan will always be needed. Utopia is impossible. I don't care how cynical that sounds, I believe it to be true. I would love to be proven wrong.

As Dan goes off in an attempt to achieve peace, I am going to continue my life. Although this encounter has had a great affect on me, life goes on. We can't stop what we are doing everyday, otherwise, it makes the commitment by Dan and other soldiers worthless. They are giving us a gift. The gift we can give back is to live our lives.

I am having a very difficult time ending this entry. I have read it over to see if I forgot anything, but I keep thinking of more things I want to say. I want to say that this individual is INCREDIBLE. I want to say he is BRAVE. I want to say I think he he COURAGEOUS. I want to say that I don't understand how he is doing what he is doing. I want to say God bless. I want to say COME HOME. I want to say I think he is a HERO. I want to say THANK YOU.

My mom has always encouraged me to put myself in someone else's shoes. I don't think I can do that in this case. Dan's shoes are too big. My feet wouldn't fit. Luckily for me and for everyone, Dan will tie his shoes tight in place for us.

Be brave and stay safe dude.

A Fresh Can

I have a very bad habit. Well, more than one bad habit. But this one in particular is not very esthetically appealing, and tends to gross out most people.

I chew. You could be reading that and say "so do I. During breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks. Who doesn't chew?" Different type of chew. I chew tobacco, more accurately, I dip. To the uneducated, they may not understand the difference. There is chew, and there is dip. Chew is the actual tobacco leaves, while dip is ground up.

To dip, you simply take a pinch of tobacco and slide it between your cheek and your gums, and enjoy the ride to flavor town. Skoal Straight is my flavor. It's natural, robust, potent, and masculine; just like me.

I collect my empty cans. I put them on display to show off my habit proudly, and add a bit of decoration to my living area. Currently, they are above the bar in my apartment, holding up a Canadian flag, next to some empty liquor bottles that remind me of some GREAT nights this year!

I just cracked a fresh can of dip. Delicious. The can is packed full, and it seems near impossible to take the first pinch. It is very exciting, and I am very anxious to do so.

It could be hard to understand, but having a dip in is a symbol that your a ball player. It is calming, euphoric, enjoyable, and part of the image. Nothing is better than hanging out with a buddy, and shooting in a pinch. Dip helps long bus rides go faster, and makes long games even better.

So as gross as it is to see, I can proclaim proudly, I fire in bombs, drop hammers, pack heaters, go around the world, and fill my lip. And in no way do I find that depressing. Tossing in a dip just seems to make life a pinch better;).

The Sweet Spot

Hitting a baseball is one of the most difficult things to do in ANY sport. To make contact with a baseball being thrown at 85 mph, the hitter needs to react in fractions of a second. To hit a baseball square, is a completly different story.
Hitting a baseball square means that you have hit the ball in its center, with the 4 inch sweet spot that exists on your bat.
It is an accomplishment of a perfectly synchronized act. The batter has timed the ball perfectly, kept their weight back, took their hands to the ball, extended their arms, cleared their hips, and (hopefully) kept their head on the ball.
The ball leaves the bat with a different feel, and you can just tell you hit the crap out of it. Whether the ball lands somewhere for a hit or not is in the hands of the baseball gods, but you put the ball in play the best you could, and gave yourself a chance.
Finding the sweet spot is pivotal for success at the dish. If you miss too low on the bat, it could break. Too high, and you could likely fart the ball further. A simple inch off of the sweet spot can take away a shot in the gap and turn it into a pop up to the pitcher. So unfair.
But as a great player once told me, "that is why you get more than one at bat." Baseball is a sport that can beat you down, but finding that sweet spot, even if its only 3 out of 10 times, makes it well worth it.

Until You're Not a Dumbass.....

I spent a brief stint in the United States on a baseball scholarship. It was something that I had always wanted to do, and in another entry, I'll tell you more about it. This particular post is about one of my many memorable experiences there.
We had just started outdoor practices again. The weather had cleared, and it was permitted that teams could go back outside.
On this particular day, we were spending some time working on bunt defense. As a corner infielder, knowing my role, and executing properly is very important, so this was something we practiced often.
We had worked on all of our different plays during indoor workouts during the winter, and it was time to put all that work into on-field execution.
Our coach called out a play, and everybody ran to where they were supposed to be, like clock work. Apparently, I had done my role incorrectly.
"STOP!" yelled my coach, "now where, where are you supposed to be Canada?" I responded to my coach by telling him that I was where I was supposed to be. WRONG. We were going to do it again.
The simulation took place again, and I went to where I was supposed to be. "Wrong again Canada! Let's try it one more time, don't screw this up."
I asked one of the other players where I was supposed to be, and as quickly as he could, he explained my positioning on the different varied situations that could occur. The third simulation started, and once again, I was out of position.
This may sound like I am a complete idiot, but with 6 different bunt plays, and variables within each, sometimes you make mistakes.
"Damnitt Canada! You must be a dumbass!" my coach shouted in an attempt at public humiliation "I think you need to go and run the dumbass out of yourself! Get going!"
I was furious. How long was I supposed to run for? Would he tell me when I wasn't a dumbass anymore and I could get back to practice? I was sure I hadn't made a mistake. But what coach says, goes, I got into the outfield, and began running my poles.
With each pole, I became more and more angry. "I can't believe he is making me run for this shit!" I thought to myself. I spent a lot of time thinking of witty and smart ass things to say to him when I got a chance.
I kept running, and running, and running. I was getting exhausted. You see, our field did not take water very well. When the outfield got wet, it became a swamp, so running was often difficult as we had to trench through muck.
After about an hour and a bit of running the dumbass out of myself, my coach jumped into his gator (an ATV type vehicle with a cab on the back) and drove out to meet me on the opposite side of the field. He planned on making me run over to meet him, and I obliged.
As I ran up to my coach, I was panting in an attempt to regain my breathe, and my coach asked a simple question.
"So Canada, you still a dumbass?" That question set me off. Angered by having to run for so long when I didn't think I had done anything wrong, and then receiving a real smart ass question from my coach, I decided I would respond in a very inappropriate manner.
"I don't know coach, I'm sure there is still some dumbass left." Although I was bent over, anticipating that I was going to vomit, on the inside, i was jumping with joy and thinking "HA HA! Take THAT!"
Shaking his head, and laughing to himself, my coach won that battle of witts. "Well Canada, that surely was a dumbass response. So you clearly need some more running".
He gave me a sip of water and sent me on my way.
We practiced for 3 1/2 hours that day, and I think I ran for almost the entire time. I was not happy, and I didn't talk to my coach for the rest of the week.
He later apologized after one of the seniors told him that I was in the right position for the play my coach was calling out. My coach thought he was asking me to do something else.
Looking back, however, there were a lot of reasons that I think my coach sent me out there. For one, it was definately a punishment. I kept screwing up, and I deserved to be punished for it. Most coaches would do the same.
Another reason, was it gave him an opportunity to calm down. This is his job, in reality, and if the team under performs, his job is at risk. He expected us to do the best we could do all the time, and clearly, he felt I was not doing the best I could do at that point.
It was also in an attempt to isolate me from the situation. Take a step back, and think about what was going on. Forget about the personal frustration involved in making the errors, and focus on how to make sure the mistake didn't happen again.
The next week, we worked on some bunt defense again, and after my turn had passed my coach yelled "Canada, are you still a dumbass?"
I shot back him, angered that he was accusing me of making a mistake, and fearing the possibility of running the dumbass out of myself again, "Coach! THIS IS WHERE I'M SUPPOSED TO BE!"
"Then I guess you ain't a dumbass anymore, all that running must have helped." He smiled at me and told the team to get ready for batting practice.
It was his way of apologizing for making me run, and letting me know that I had done well. I laughed it off, and took the jokes about being a dumbass from the guys for the rest of the day.
The running really wasn't that bad physically, mentally it allowed me to calm down about the situation. I had stepped back, and was able to think about things in order to prevent making that mistake again. So I would like to encourage everybody to run until they aren't a dumbass anymore. Let's face it, we all boot a bunt play now and then, and sometimes, a 3 hour run can make sure we stop making those mistakes.

A New Glove

To an outsider, a ball glove may seem like just a ball glove. Something used to catch, and prevent injury to the daring 9 men who step between the chalks lines for 27 outs. But to a ball player, it is our most valuable tool.

To paraphrase a bit of "Full Metal Jacket", each ball player feels the same about their gloves; "This is my glove. There are many like it, but this one is mine. It is my life. I must master it. Without me, my glove is useless. Without my glove, I am useless."

To some people, this may seem like jibberish, but a ball player understands. It is our most important tool, and we cannot excel without it. Our gloves truly become our best friends.

A flash of leather allows us to draw the crowd and opposition in to view our greatness, and assures you are doing your part to help the team.

Although there are many gloves made of each model, no glove is ever identical to the one next to it. Each player shapes it to their preference, keeps it soft, or stiff, and the battle wounds that our gloves wear are never duplicated by anothers.

Of all the equipment turn over that takes place through the game, the glove tends to stick around. I have never met a person who has a new glove for each season. You keep the glove as a safety blanket, and a reminder.

It reminds you of what you are capable of, what you have done, and reassures you that you can keep on doing it.

But like every dog, every glove also has its day. The day when all the patch work to fix laces, to prevent balls from popping out, and to just keep the glove functioning, will no longer be enough. Your tool has fulfilled its duty, and it is time for a new one.

Although it is a sad day, and many of us hold onto our old gloves, the excitement of a new mitt is unmatched.

It is a new start. We are allowed to upgrade our models, choose to have new features on our gloves, or take some features away. We can choose a glove that is already loose, so it will break in faster, or one that is stiffer than a corpse that will require time and dedication to work in.

When the decision is made on a glove, there is no turning back. Your hand slides in, and the glove is truly a part of you. The two of you have begun a journey together. A new glove is like a woman. It has a soft and tender touch, and you must treat it properly to get what you want out of it. But, like women, a new mitts smell can often leave you hypnotized. You become enthrawled with what is to come with your new partner.

So you may pick up your old mitt and think to yourself very bitter sweetly, "remember that game?" A new glove is a new journey which unfortunately means the previous journey has to end, but the stories and memories will, no matter what, continue.

The Tripod

I have two best friends. At this point in my life, they are likely the closest people I have to life long friends. It took me awhile to come out of my social shell, so I was never the most popular kid. That is not to say I didn't have friends, because I did, I'm just saying that I bounced around a lot of people. I tend to still do that. However, for some reason, these two rascals have managed to stay around.

These guys are always down for a party, share a sense of humor, and keep me on my toes. When the three of us are together, laughter is never a scarcity.

The nights that we go out, we stand out. We command the attention of the people around us, and we take it. Whether it is through our stunning good looks, or by hopping on stage to sing "Living on a Prayer", people take notice to us. I love it.

We affectionately nicknamed ourselves "the tripod" very quickly. Not the most original name out there, but it has great meaning. A tripod needs all three legs. Without one, it is useless and will not stand. That's how the three of us felt. Alone, we were not as strong as we were when we were together.

The strength that the three of us displayed was beyond an increased level of confidence. We laughed harder as a trio, we talked more, we partied better, things just never seemed to go wrong when the three of us got together.

All of us are doing different things in our lives, but we all know we can count on each other.

The tripod started out as three single guys who would go out on the town and get a little crazy. I've beat to the ground how much fun we have together, but some of my best stories that I can tell involve these two guys.

Times change however. Such is life.

Today I found out about a new girlfriend that one of us has. Apparently they have been together since late November, and I had zero clue about this. Not angry about it, I think its great for my buddy. What has happened as a result, is that I am left as the only single member of the tripod. With one recently entering an exclusive relationship, and the other in one that has lasted over a year, I am a leg who stands alone.

I am not saying that these girls are bad, or have affected our friendships, because they haven't and I don't want to give the impression that they have. I'm ecstatic for my friends. I just find myself sitting here and laughing about the situation.

We began as three wild horses, romping around care free. But we have all started to grow up.

Wants and needs change, and things like this happen; we become tame.

I just find it difficult to not feel that this is truly an end of an era. An epic era may I add. These guys have been my best friends through my bests and worsts, and I trust they will continue to be.

We are still the tripod, and get together any chance we have. We still raise some cane, and howl at the moon, but the relationship has changed. What began as checking our cell phones for new phone numbers, has turned into checking for text messages from the girl friends.

I had almost hoped that things would never change, but what can you do?

Where I initially fit in perfectly with my friends, I now feel like they are waiting for me to catch up. As if they are saying "alright man, this is part of growing up, come join us". I guess I kind of feel left behind.

I know that I can always count on my buddies, and I hope they know they can count on me. As long as we are friends, we will always be the tripod.

So thanks to these guys, I have truly been able to live the expression "nights I don't remember with friends I'll never forget". My biggest concern I guess is that they keep growing up, and I can't catch up.

These guys are my support system, the legs I lean on when I'm not as strong. It scares me. It shouldn't, but it does.

So now I find myself rambling, and the ability to write a good story has likely suffered. I think it is great that my friends are doing what they are doing. I wish, like all the times before, that I was right there with them. But for maybe the first time in our friendship, I'm not leading the way, they are.

So in an attempt to end this latest entry, I want to say congrats to my best friends who have both got something great going on for them. Over the years, our friendship has evolved, and I hope it keeps on evolving. So while these guys are already having the next round, I hope they keep on keeping a few on ice for me.

I began saying that I was a leg left standing alone, but as I write, I realize that this is just another example of the tripod. While I catch up to my friends, they are staying strong so that I can lean on them. So rather than being left standing alone, these events I suppose, have truly left the Tripod as strong as ever.

A Case of the Mondays....

There is an expression that is thrown around, that is actually one that really irritates me. I can't stand people who say "looks like you have a case of the Mondays" or anything that resembles that statement. I feel these people should be dragged through broken glass by their thumb nails. I know, very harsh, but you can understand how much I hate this expression.

That being said, having a case of the Mondays in my basement apartment seems to be a cue for excitement. The past 3 Mondays have been ridiculous. Company has arrived, beverages have been enjoyed, chaos has ensued.

I had finished classes for the day, and gone to the gym. After the big weekend that was my Buddy's birthday and Superbowl, I was looking forward to having a nice quiet night where I could simply shut the world out. This plan was interrupted with a call from the Magician.

You see, he had been over the previous week, and left his pack of cigarettes here. He asked if he could stop by to pick them up, and once he arrived, he sat down to relax and shoot the shit for a bit. The night took a turn when the Magician said "hey, you want a beer?"

My stomach wrenched up momentarily, and my liver pleaded that I let it rest. Yes, I would like a beer. My innards screamed in disdain for what I was about to do. I assured myself that it would only be a SINGLE beer, and then the night would continue as planned.

Before I could finish my first, a second was being handed to me. Then a third, and a fourth. "Let's go get a case" proclaimed the Magician. It was going to be another Monday.

The only rule I had was that we were unable to miss 24. I have two man crushes. Jack Bauer is one of them. Everyone involved agreed. Oh yeah, did I mention Big Red was here too? Because he was, and plays into the story.

After a few beers, I was looking around my sweet basement apartment, thinking that it doesn't get much better. Good beverages, good company, good times. I was very content. That changed when I noticed something on the ceiling panels above my bed.

"Red, do those ceiling tiles look wet to you?"

Without even looking up at them, he said "oh yeah they are. I noticed that earlier, and its been dripping on your bed. I can see the water dripping down"

Immediately I wondered, "how long has this ginger known that this was happening? Why the hell didn't he say anything? What an ass"

I climbed up onto my bed and started to move the ceiling tiles to check things out. They were moist enough that as I tried to lift them up, they cracked a bit and got me in the eye (that's what she said). I was relieved to see that it did not look like a leaking pipe, and hadn't gone down the drywall. Something had been leaking from the kitchen, which is right above my bed, and dripping down the floor boards.

I went upstairs to get the attention of my land lady and her live in boyfriend Bobandy. He came downstairs to confirm what I had already discovered, and we put a garbage bag onto my bed to prevent the leak from soaking my mattress.

Apparently what had happened was the "wrong dish soap" had been used in the dishwasher and it flooded the kitchen. My landlady yelled down "the lesson is don't use liquid dish soap." I'll keep that in mind tips.

Drinks and flooding ceilings are just the tip of the ice berg for a Monday night here in my basement apartment. I'm starting to think I might just not answer the phone on Monday from now on so I can just have a nice simple night. But that being said, recent history has shown that my cases of Mondays turn out to be pretty sweet.


**NOTE** A big accomplishment for me was achieved that night. After we had finished the first case of beer, I ran to the Beer Store, got another case and got back to my apartment, all between a commercial break. I figure that is pretty sweet.

It's A Wonderful Time of Year!

To the baseball fan, there are a few great times of the year. When pitchers and catchers report to spring training is always a great day. That means that the rest of the position players will be shortly returning, and spring training will be in full affect.

The Grapefruit and Cactus leagues will start and everyone will have their chance to watch their favorite players get their cuts and conditioning done to be ready for the season. You also get to see the potential up and comers. It is something fun to watch and talk about.

Opening day for the MLB is another great one. The boys of summer are back, and nothing can ever possibly go wrong when baseball is being played.

Now one of the best days of the year comes when we can all step back on the field. Here in baseball north, it often means throwing on some extra layers and watching the inside pitch, but it is still great. The greatness comes because for 27 outs, and 90 feet at a time, we can all live the dream.

For myself and a lot of my fellow dirt bags, the season runs from May until sometime in November. I like to take a few months off once the season is done. I eat what I want, drink what I want, and forget what the inside of a weight room looks like.

Well the attendance in the weight room has started again, and its time to drop the off season LBs. But this entry is not about time in the gime. It's about what follows.

Last week I started to hit again. Great feeling. The hitting calluses will be back soon, and it will be time to start legging out the extra base hits and trotting after the dingers!

But the real way I could tell that it is almost time for ball season, was I started to throw the other day. It was incredible. A simple game of catch might seem just that, simple, but to a die hard fan of the game, it is so much more.

Catch is a reminder of the tens of thousands of times you have done it before. It's a time to reminisce about the season just past, with the bitter taste of being so close. It reminds you of the glory years you've had, and the better years you hope to have.

The throws start off really short, just to brush the dust off the arms. You go through the mechanics that have been entrenched into your brain, and try to
just get the feel for things again.

As the throws start to stretch out, the accuracy tends to diminish. One hops to your partner, too high, too wide; it goes with the territory, but you know that the rust will soon be removed to reveal the polished piece of machinery that is a ball players arm.

It is the beginning of the best time of year. It means the season is just around the corner, and we can all be boys of summer. It has always been the center of some of the best memories of my life, and it will continue to be.

I've said for years once I finish playing college ball, my playing days will be over, and I'll be alright with that. Baseball been very very good to me, so it will be my turn to give it all back.

One of the best pieces of advice I ever got in regards to the game hits the nail right on the head. Always remember, the umpire calls out the first pitch to ever game with "Play Ball!" Never once has it been yelled "Work Ball!"

The season is right around the corner everyone. Swing hard, just in case you hit something.

It's Your Birthday Dude....

This past weekend was a BIG weekend. One of these only comes around every couple months within a group of friends. Sometimes, you have a bunch right in a row, and let me tell you, it gets painful. Long days, late nights and early mornings are all mixed in with loud noises, unquenchable thirsts, and the resulting headaches.

For those who might not know what I am talking about, it was a good friend of mines birthday this weekend, and we got after it! It turned into a two day debauchery dedicated to the birth of my good friend Santana.

I began receiving texts and phone calls Friday afternoon around 3 to confirm my presence. The first of which came from my friend Noire, and I told him that I would be in attendance but would have to touch base with them later. I had my hands full with things around the apartment. Phone calls and IM's were not on my priority list.

Phone calls continued, but I ignored them; with such bad reception in my basement apartment, answering calls can be a real inconvenience. The occasional text was sent on my behalf, but my friends seemed to get a little peeved over the fact that I was sending texts, but not answering phone calls. I received a voicemail from my buddy Leo calling me gutless for not attending the festivities and explaining that I was a real jerk for not attending.

Not once had I told them I wasn't attending. Like I've already stated, I was just busy all day and answering the phone was not something I wanted to do.

Let me continue. I had a couple beers while I got ready and jumped in a cab to meet my friends for 11 in front of a bar we normally do not attend.

I was greeted by shocked faces and comments along the lines of "I can't believe you showed!" or "I didn't think you were coming!" I call these people my friends, but they seem to not know me at all. When have I turned down an opportunity to head out and misbehave? Party foul on their behalf!

Myself, Leo and Noire were standing out front waiting for Santana and the rest of the group to show up. I was introduced to a guy, who was also celebrating his birthday, but I don't remember his name. He had a guest list that he put us all on, and a bottle service once we were inside. He could stay.

Santana eventually arrived, but for some reason felt he had to wait in line. You will understand why in a second. He saw us waiting for him, and tried to run up to greet everyone, and me. Santana tripped over the rope that separated the line from the sidewalk. This was followed by him realizing that he had forgotten his wallet at home. He was already out of his tree, and the night was only supposed to be beginning. Thankfully, the DD for the night was willing to drive him home to get it. What a joke.

Unwilling to wait outside in the cold for Santana to get back, myself, Leo, Noire and the dude with the bottle service went inside.

We proceeded to the top floor, and got ourselves some drinks. The plan was to hang out there for a bit, and then head to a more familiar bar. But as you know, plans tend to change in an instant.

Anticipating that we were leaving, the three of us did not even check our coats. We stood in this crowd, and watched the room slowly fill up. A shot of tequila and another beverage later, Santana finally got there, this time, with his wallet.

He dragged us to the lower level of the bar that was featuring some cover band. As most tend to do, they were butchering some of my favorite songs. I ordered another drink, and they started to sound pretty good.

Santana was staggering around from conversation to conversation as people continually were filling up his pint. Every time he came up to talk to me, I spent most of the conversation trying to avoid him spilling his booze all over my sweater.

A booth finally opened up, and we capitalized on a chance to sit down. We felt it was a good idea for Santana to sit a couple plays out. We chatted about this and that, cracked a few stupid jokes, and then the plans changed.

As we were all talking, someone made a gay joke, and Santana decided to share with us that he is gay. I think his girlfriend of several years might not be too impressed with this, but we all thought it was hilarious.

He began walking up to people, and introducing himself in the following way "Hi, my name is Santana. It's my birthday and I'm gay too. It's also my coming out party." Once this started, we all decided that this two leveled bar was the destination for the night. Santana had already been let in, and most likely would not be let in anywhere else.

In for the long haul, we finally checked out coats. More drinks were acquired, and dancing ensued.

The requests were made that I did my impression of how my friends danced, and if you've ever seen them dance, I've got it down to a T. Since Noire was out with us, I decided to add his bump and grinds to my repertoire. People were paying attention to me, I was very happy.

Another drink was gathered.

I noticed my first individual to laugh at. His dance moves were unparalleled, and resembled a seizuring three legged dog. We pointed. We laughed. He joined us in laughter, but we were laughing at him. Kudos to this random dude though, he was having a great time.

The night continued rather uneventful, fill in some drinks, more dancing, and the occasional inebriated heart to heart from Santana, and you pretty have an understanding of how the majority of the night went.

Deciding that we needed to spruce up the evenings events, I began to ponder how to jump start the things a bit more. Leo and I approached the bar to get another drink, when I saw my opportunity.

A girl had gone to the bar to get herself a beverage, and removed the tiara that she had been wearing as an accessory. When she glanced away, the tiara became mine. I subtly grabbed it, and put it on my head. She faced forward and wondered where her tiara had gone.

The way I saw it, it was a win-win situation. She either noticed I had it, and I was granted a conversation starter, or she didn't notice I had it, and I would have a nice accessory of my own to make me look pretty. She didn't notice I was wearing it, so I was looking pretty!

I walked back to the group and instantly got laughs. My plan was a success. We continued to dance, and everyone wanted a piece of the princess in the tiara. After so much dancing, in such tight quarters, I began to find it very difficult to control my perspiration. This upper level bar featuring your usual club mix of music had slowly filled to the brim. Every time you moved you were unintentionally groping, or being groped by some stranger. I had just enough of the liquor to not even be bothered by it.

My sweat continued to pour out, and I decided the sweater had to go. I took it off in an attempt to cool down, but that plan did not work. More sweat leaked our of my pores. The jokes were made that I "needed a squeegee" to mop up all the sweat. Thanks guys.

The night ended, and we piled into the DD's car. I live out of the way from everyone else, so the driver was very nice to drop me off. To show my appreciation, I drew pictures on her window. It was fun. You are welcome for the artwork.

A stop at pizza pizza for a slice was necessary, and after it was purchased, we quickly arrived at my basement apartment. The driver asked for a bite, I laughed at her, and told her I was thankful for the ride home.

The first night had ended. It was fun. Happy birthday!

The next morning started slowly. That was to be expected. A nice meal and a shower later, I was starting to feel better. I tackled some book learning, until I was summoned to the gym by Leo. My body ached with the thought of working out, but it was very necessary after the previous night.

We got to the gym, and started our workout. It was a chest and back day for me.....ladies.

As I began to lift, the gas began to start, the smells really burnt the nostrils. To quote a favorite movie of mine, it smelt like "burnt hair inside a used diaper." I've been told by a friend who has three beautiful daughters, that the smell combination of those two things could be one of the worst smells on the planet. My innards had achieved that.

We had finished the workout and decided to do some abs. I should have quit while I was ahead, because the ab exercises did me in. The combination of compressing the stomach, sweating, and the physical exertion, did not sit well. The party that had been taking place in my stomach the night before, was about to end.

I ran to the restroom to discover that some good Samaritan had used the stall, and not flushed. Thanks you jerk! The poor urinal took the punishment for your ignorance.

We left, and I got home to a warm shower and a nice nap. I got a phone call from Leo informing me that it was time to do it again. Great!

We arrived at a nice restaurant/pub and glanced into the room to notice it was Santana and some family (cousins, sister, his girl friend etc.). We sat down and instantly noticed we were the white shadow in the room. Time to get a drink.

We stood out like sore thumbs, and periodically caught other people at the table looking at us and whispering. I'm going to assume they were commenting on how good looking we were. I mean, how could they not.

After a couple drinks, people started to buy the birthday boy some shots. Leo and I decided to provide a few for him as well. Santana began to oppose taking shots alone, so they started coming in two's. For some reason, I was elected to take the shot with him. That's cool, free shots are my favorite kind of shots.

We told stories about the night before, other nights out, and just had a good time. It was nice, we were the last to leave.

Leo and I went to one of our favorite places after this, but the story for Santana's birthday celebration ends here. It was good times shared by all, and a nice 48 hour bender. So happy birthday dude, and I wish a drink for you, a drink for me, and lots of sex when its free.

Cheers!

Did That Just Happen?

Today has been a bad day in terms of weather. It is winter time, but today has been exceptionally poor; the snow has been constant, the wind bone chilling, and the temperature numbing.

Big Red, Hedman and myself had just finished throwing around some weight in the gym (Hedman was throwing around less, but doing his fair share), and we were on our way back to the car. We had decided to take the long route to the parking lot because the snow had filled the path that is the short cut to the parking lot. Deciding to not be the trailblazers that sacrificed the dryness of our pants to reconstruct the short cut, the longer route was deemed a better decision.

Turns out it was a good decision.

Big Red and I had been waiting at the lights to cross the road and were observing cars drive by at speeds not conducive to the poor weather conditions. As the light turn orange there were two cars preparing to turn into campus. One was making a right turn, the other a left. Both cars seemed to ignore the existence of the other, and had decided to make their turns.

I had been just starring off into space, when the silence was broken by Big Red asking "is this about to happen?" As I looked up to observe these two cars starting their turns, I responded simply "yup".

The car making the left turn was a small sedan while the right turning vehicle was a truck that towered over the left turning vehicle. Both vehicles attempted to turn into the one lane road into campus, when both back ends started to fish tail.

CRASH!

"Did that just happen?" Big Red inquired. I nodded in agreement that we had just witnessed a minor accident.

The young lady got out of her car and was hysterical that she had just been hit by the older man in the truck. "Did you just hit my car you..." insert a slew of expletive language to finish her sentence. The old man was much more calm about the situation, and asked if the girl was alright or injured. After being assured that nobody was hurt, the two pulled up the road a bit to begin exchanging information.

The long route turned out to be a good decision, because we were able to witness two examples of poor driving and bad judgement. Drive safe.

Cherry Popper

Well here it is everyone. My stories are finally going to be published, and I figure I am doing service for the people I know, and society in general, by writing them down. I've joked with my friends for a few years that my life should be documented, and that I should write a book; this is the first step.

I've been known to drink at inappropriate times, make fun of posers and idiots, indulge upon every opportunity I can that allows me to have fun, and ignore the consequences that result. I am much more responsible of a person than this makes me sound, but I try to live my life 90 feet at a time.

Let me take a second, well more than a second, to explain the title of my blog. I am a student athlete, a baseball player to be specific. Baseball has been, next to family, the most consistent part of my life. But, after a few disappointing occurrences around the game, I was ready to retire. Hang'em Up!

I spoke to my mother about this, and I remember the conversation exactly: "baseball has been air to you since you were 4 years old, what has replaced air?" I thought about that as the conversation continued, "just because you can't have baseball in this way, doesn't mean you can't still play. Why not give it one more year, season..." the fall season is what she was referring too, "and if you still don't enjoy it, then stop playing."

She then dropped a bush league line to end the conversation "C'mon, do it for your Mama!"

On the scale of the things that your mother can ever ask of, clean your room, put away your dishes, don't stay out too late, chew with your mouth closed, take that chewing tobacco out of your mouth, to play a game for a few more weeks is probably the easiest of her requests.

So I decided to give it one more go.

What resulted was one of the best seasons of baseball I have ever been a part of. Everyday, we showed up at the "yard", put in our work and shot the shit. And for the first time in my entire life, I played on a team where top-to-bottom everyone got along, the first actual team I ever played with. These are The Lords....aren't we sexy?

The cohesiveness showed on the field, we won, and we won, and we won. What made it better almost, is that we lost some games we shouldn't have. It made the wins taste that much sweeter. And the bus trips, the bus trips were epic. The most memorable line of the season came from one of my good buddies on the team during a "who has the hairiest ass" contest. Conceding defeat without even competing, I made the comment "my ass is like my face" referring to the ability to grow hair, my good friend responded with "your ass has a goatee?" The bus erupted into laughter.

But I have digressed a bit. Over the 8 week season, the team had its ups and downs, and rallied around them all. We won the provincial championship, and the veterans on the team claim that this is the best Lords team that they have ever been on. We were essentially a game away from becoming national champions.

But through all of that, the most important thing I walked away with, was a renewed love of the game. This season with the Lords represented everything that is good about baseball, and why it is so perfectly imperfect; kind of like life.

This season provided me with a great group of friends as well, and a has started me on a path of self-acceptance, realization, and given me even more confidence (the jury is still out on whether that is a good thing or not). I am a Lord, and I live my life with my teammates day in and day out. We go to class just to pass the time between opportunities for fun.

So now that you have a better understanding of the title, this is where you can find my stories about the adventure that is my life.

So thanks to CMO for giving me the inspiration to start writing this blog after continually reading his blog (check it out at http://mykalsreport.blogspot.com/) and my Mom for begging me to keep playing, I've reached a point in my life where I have never felt more assured about myself just because I was willing to "do it for my mama". Thanks also goes out to my friends that are there for all the 90 foot intervals, hup hup hup flip it and row and then we can do it live!

And to everyone else, I hope you enjoy reading my stories as much as I enjoy living them.

Later Days!