Misdirection
May 22, 2012
I often arrange my days so I can see their sunrises and sunsets; so I have seen more of them, and paused longer over them, than most people I know. But in spite of the large number I’ve seen, I still have some favorites.
Without question, my most memorable sunrise was observed this past January as I stepped out on the balcony of a hotel room in Panama City, cup of coffee in hand, and watched a huge, red-golden sun rise out of the Pacific Ocean. That’s right, the Pacific!
I was in one of those relatively rare locations in the world where the Pacific Ocean is located east of the Atlantic Ocean.
Nearby, great ocean-going ships were traveling east through the Panama Canal in order to reach their western destinations more efficiently.
And beneath the ocean surface, the trim tabs of the huge ships’ rudders were being turned to the left to help the ships steer right, and to the right to help the ships steer left.
Sometimes it is quicker or more economical or just more acceptable to go in one direction for awhile in order to reach an ultimate goal that’s in the opposite direction.
Dodger Lessons
August 6, 2013
The first baseball team I played on was the Dodgers. I’ve been a Dodger fan ever since, checking their place in the National League standings almost every day of the season, year after year. It would have been difficult to learn more about sports and life from any professional sports franchise than one could learn from the Dodgers as I was growing up.
It was the Dodgers who returned integration to the Major Leagues in 1951, which from my home in central Wisconsin seemed unremarkable; and when I became old enough to think about baseball, Jackie Robinson was my most favorite player for a long while.
It was the Dodgers who led the Major League’s migration from the northeast to the west, which my young mind could not grasp. From historic Brooklyn to Los Angeles? To play in the Coliseum?
I could not know then that this leading edge of professional sports franchise mobility would become an early adopter of a new toy called “television,” and that this would solidify baseball’s place as the national pastime for two more generations.
I coped with tragedy as catcher Roy Campanella suffered a paralyzing injury. I considered religion’s place in life as Sandy Koufax declined to pitch on Jewish holy days.
The Dodgers of my youth already knew that life is not fair. How could it be after Oct. 3, 1951, when the hated Giants’ Bobby Thompson hit a ninth-inning homerun to steal the National League pennant from my Dodgers?
Sadly, the Dodgers of more recent years have been beset by the kind of ownership dramas now common among professional sports as the insipid idle rich ruin even the most stable and storied franchises.
And speaking of rich, had it not been for my dear mother’s insatiable desire to clean out every closet she found, I might be rich too. For I had collected, and kept in mint condition, the baseball card of every Dodger player of the 1950s. They were thrown out while I was away at college.