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!