Happy Summer Solstice

Today marks the longest day of the year in the northern hemisphere, a day that has been celebrated by pagan groups historically the world over for millennia before the advent of christianity.

In Riga, Latvia, a festival of the sun begins on the evening of the 20th and lasts a few days, in a tradition that has lasted centuries.

This also marks Corrie's and my anniversary. Love you baby.

Hope all is well. Enjoy the sun today, as north of the equator the days gradually shrink from today on towards December.

Round Rock Express Game

Round Rock is a town just to the north of Austin that in any other place would be called a suburb. Strangely not here. In any case, Round Rock hosts the AAA affiliate of the Houston Astros, but I hear the affiliation is changing next year to the Texas Rangers due to the fact that Nolan Ryan is an owner of the Express and an executive of the Rangers. Two people very close to me work out at the Dell Diamond, the Express' stadium named after the area's local computer guru and naming rights purchaser, and I got to go to a game and chill in the swanky club. I stayed until I discovered my actual seat location.

The Dell Diamond is a rather nice minor league complex, repeatedly winning awards for excellence, and I can imagine why. It was definitely nicer than where the Brooklyn Cyclones play, but they are a SS A-ball team (the "SS" stands for "short-season"), so it makes sense. Up until seeing this stadium, I would've said that the nicest small stadium I'd been to would have to be the Camelback Ranch in Glendale, Arizona, home of the Dodgers and White Sox spring-training facility.

The Express have been streaky this year. Their home-stands are eight games long, followed by eight away games, with occasional days off book-ending the stands or trips, and it seems this year that early they'd go 2-6 or 1-7 at home, similarly on the road, then they'd go 7-1 and 5-3 at home...up and down. I saw them play the Nashville Sounds, a Brewers affiliate.

I started off the game watching from inside the Express Club, the cool joint only rich people would go to right above home plate. It was air-conditioned and the windows are tinted. When I saw a Nashville player foul a ball out to right field and heard nothing, I got up and went outside to the ledge and sat in the humidity. Silent ball games are for a bar's television, not being at the ballpark.

After a while, I got curious about the whereabouts of my seat, or at least the location of my free ticket, and went exploring. Once I found it, I left only for the bathroom and then, once the game seemed in hand, to return to the Club to talk to my peeps. They were the best seats I'd ever sat in for any kind of professional or amateur baseball game. They were the twenty-five-hundred-dollar seats at the new Yankee Stadium, right behind home plate. In Glendale, in March '09 at the Camelback, I saw a game with my mom and sat basically right on the Dodger dugout, which was probably the closest I've ever sat, but here you could here the batter's arguments with the ump and watch the hits arc and soar into gloves or off the walls.

Weird observation: both pitchers were south-paws, white, and wore number 26. Our 26 pitched slightly better than theirs. Nashville's 26 seemed to be throwing better, but he'd get into trouble, and the Express would scratch out a run here, plate a run there, eventually it was 3-0 after a rather solid outing. His relief gave up two runs in about a third of an inning, and at 5-0, I went back up to the Club.

Explaining what was happening in the top of the 9th to a friend who hadn't really ever been gripped by the drama of the sport, our 26's relief didn't do much better. It was an adventure, but the Express won 5-3.

I've got some pictures. The first is taken before the game out at the right-filed "berm" seats...the earth-berm being a grassy area to chill and drop five bucks to see a game, something I'd do anyway since the view is pretty cool. Back above homeplate on the second level are the tinted windows of the Express Club, with a small balcony out in front where the privileged folks sit.



Here's how the game looked from that balcony. Pretty damn sweet, if you're a regular person who's also a baseball fan and never would get to this kind of a seat under normal circumstances.



But here are the next two from my actual seat. Oh man, once I found it I just planted myself. I had an extra ticket and couldn't find anyone to go with. The second picture is my foot, the down steps, and the filed, all in the same bizarre picture. I call it my "proximity view".




And lastly, I thought I'd throw in a picture from March '09 of sitting behind Joe Torre (2nd from left) and Don Mattingly (my favorite player as a kid)(3rd from left, next to Torre) at the Camelback Ranch, to underscore that case's proximity (and because I've never really shown those pictures on here). It should also be noted that this picture was taken using a different camera.

"The most fortunate goal in World Cup play."

Yeah, we'll take it though.

So I was sitting on the edge of my couch, grumbling at the Yank's wasted attempts getting into the box, save for a few decent header attempts to equalize the match with the Three Lions, who scored in the fourth freaking minute.

This was the first World Cup soccer match between England (um, the Three Lions, called so after their "badge", the crest with three lions on it, based on England's own coat of arms, a thing with three lions dating back to Richard the Lionheart) and the US (their nickname is "Yankees", which is more of a feeling about 'mer-kins than a reference to a Bronx baseball team; we also have the worst "badge" in futbol) since the 1950 match that saw a collection of deli workers and bus drivers from the States beat one of the tournament's favorites. The Yanks won the match in 1950 1-0, and back in England the papers thought the wire information was wrong, and printed the score as 10-1, which made more sense to the English.

That 1950 match, historians and experts agree, seems to symbolize the how the two nations, as nations, view the beautiful game. England, the inventor of the sport, tends to underestimate opponents and underachieve, since, as a country (this year is no exception) they can field one of the best teams on paper. America can have success but no one back home will even notice. Those deli workers and bus drivers returned to those jobs, a free trip to Brazil and some good soccer was all they had to show for it. (Brazil in 1950 lost the final to Uruguay, on home soil, in a tragedy of national significance equal to losing a great war. Guess how 2014 will be, when the tournament is back in Brazil...)

On the couch, yelling at the television (ABC is the one channel we get with the least interference) I watched Landon and Dempsey having a damn tea party in the box, and Dempsey kicks it over to the English goalie, Green. "Dammit!" I was yelling, "What a f-in!---" And then it happened.

Green muffed the easiest shot you can get as a goalie. It bounced off his hands and by him. "Ahhhh!" I yelled, then, "Buckner! Buckner!" in reference, of course, to Bill Buckner of the '86 Red Sox, muffing an easy out at 1st base and becoming the national symbol for the "d'oh!" moment.

So, the Yanks held off and got a draw. They left the match with a point, which is what they need in their match play.

I'm not always the first guy with the "USA! USA!" chants, and you won't find me doing that here. But, when it comes to international soccer, we're the Underdogs who have skill and a chance, and I like the idea of being perpetually counted out, then delivering and pissing people off. We'll see how we do against Slovenia and Algeria, when we're the favorites.

All we need is a better "badge."

Mexico Got Robbed!

I imagine stories tend to be the opposite when Mexico is involved, right?

I got up early, hooked a laptop up to a very large plasma television, the bandwidth held out, and Mr. Eames and I celebrated his birthday with the opening World Cup game: Mexico vs South Africa.

In the first half, Mexico scored a goal, but it was called off by a ridiculously bad call by the line judge. The final score was 1-1, a draw, luckily for RSA, since they were outmatched in all aspects of the game, but the real score was 2-1, Mexico.

I mentioned this to the Mexican guys I work with, guys born and raised in Mexico and here legally (since that's how my corp. works), and they didn't care. The blown call didn't matter so much to them. What burned them was their countrymen's inability to capitalize on their many, many scoring chances. It was, admittedly, a Slop Sloppy Joe game by the superior team. And in the World Cup, that's all that can matter sometimes...sloppy game by the Good team, great goaltending by the Underdog team, and a lucky break here and there.

Happy Birthday Chris!



Here's me walking around a Mexican cathedral in Mascota, a small town in Jalisco. The cathedral, built in the 1500's, was destroyed in the 1700's by an earthquake, and one can walk around the inside if they find the right street entrance.



Here's a cool shot of the Colima Catedral, or the cathedral in the heart of the city of Colima. It, too, was wrecked by an earthquake, but since Colima was one of Spain's colonial capitals, there was enough money to refurbish it.

News From Countries We Care About

Corrie and I care about many countries, of course, but when news of political strife or natural disaster tear through one of our countries, we try to stop and listen. The two countries I'm talking about right now are Thailand and Guatemala.

Thailand's political crisis has been brewing since, well, in the immediacy, since '06, when Thaksin, their PM, was deposed by a military coup, forced into exile, and, as the courts have alleged, began to plan out the crippling protests that have gripped the nation since '08. Thaksin Shinawatra was a very wealthy businessman who formed his own political party, was swept into office in a landslide, used his connections as Prime Minister to make him an even wealthier man, and like any good politician, made sure his friends and relatives were well take care of. Not that the Muslim conflict that's been going on in southern Thailand is his fault, but it wasn't helped by his "war on drugs" that turned out to be basically a hit-list of both his political opponents and prominent southern Muslim Thais. By 2006, he was so disliked that once the king backed the coup, it was a foregone conclusion. The Thai king's power is not as a political figure or ruler of the country's infrastructure, but as an elder statesman and role model; the Thai are united under their king. They love him, and when he publicly backs something, the people tend to obey.

So people protested Thaksin. Then they protested his replacement, who turned out to be Thaksin's brother-in-law (or something), and now a group allegedly led by an absent Thaksin has choked out Bangkok's airport and main thoroughfares on and off for the past few months. A leader for an opposition (to Thaksin) organization was almost assassinated in early May, while two weeks later, a general (most likely having been involved in the coup) at a well attended rally was shot in the head...he remains in critical condition.

The political problems in Guatemala are as evident as any small yet densely populated Central American country, but here I'm talking about natural disasters, and I meant to write that in the plural form. One day, their main volcano gets angry and spits soot and ash all over the place. Within a week (maybe even less time) a tropical storm makes landfall, and rivers of mud proceed to take out valleys, bridges, and towns. I have a picture from the Internet that is of a sinkhole formed in Guatemala City, the capital city. It is an amazing sight and isn't doctored at all.

"I chewed my gum until it turned to powder."

Dock Phillip Ellis, Jr, was born on March 11th, 1945, towards the end of The Big War in soon-to-be-booming Los Angeles. A young black man with athletic talent, he was drafted by the Pittsburgh Pirates, and started playing in 1968. Although not a Hall of Fame player, Dock had an incredibly successful career in baseball, lasting twelve seasons, compiling a record of 138 wins vs 119 losses, had 462 more steikeouts than walks, played in an All-Star game, won a World Series in his best year (going 19-9), and even threw a no-hitter.

He was a colorful player who retired in 1979 and died in 2008 while waiting for a liver transplant. After retiring from baseball, Dock worked as a drug counselor to the Los Angeles youth. He is best known for some incidents from his playing career. Like:

In 1972 he was maced by a security guard at Riverfront Stadium (the Pirates home) for "failing to show ID and making a threatening motion with his fist." He claimed he was just showing the guard his World Series champiopnship ring.

In 1974 he had a dispute with some of his teammates, and decided for a game to hit every single batter he faced. They were playing the Reds, so Dock hit Pete Rose to start the game, then he hit Joe Morgan, then he hit Dan Driessen. Now the bases were loaded, and he was just four or five pitches deep. Tony Perez hit cleanup, and managed to duck and dive out of the way, and he drew a walk, sending Pete Rose in to score. Johnny Bench hit next, and after two throws at his head, Dock's own manager came out and yanked him.

Those events might have been "colorful", but he is best known for that June 12, 1970 no-hitter. I've mentioned this gentleman and this no-hitter in the past, but in case it was missed, this was the infamous "LSD no-hitter." Dock wasn't the original starter, but since there was a double-header that day, and the first guy was sick, his leisurely afternoon enjoying the San Diego weather while tripping on acid was interrupted by having to pitch a ball-game.

He walked six guys, hit one, struck out four, but didn't give up a single hit. Quite an achievement. Talk about being able to function well on the spot and under tough conditions...Dock is one of my baseball heroes. Curiosity caused me to check on personalized jerseys, a cool thing fans can purchase...I tried a blank Pirates Jersey with number "17" and "Ellis" and was told that that would be permanently unavailable since there had been a player with that name. Okay...

Here's Dock's own words about the no-hitter in question:

"I can only remember bits and pieces of the game. I was psyched. I had a feeling of euphoria. I was zeroed in on the (catcher's) glove, but I didn't hit the glove too much. I remember hitting a couple of batters and the bases were loaded two or three times. The ball was small sometimes, the ball was large sometimes, sometimes I saw the catcher, sometimes I didn't. Sometimes I tried to stare the hitter down and throw while I was looking at him. I chewed my gum until it turned to powder. I started having a crazy idea in the fourth inning that Richard Nixon was the home plate umpire, and once I thought I was pitching a baseball to Jimi Hendrix, who to me was holding a guitar and swinging it over the plate. They say I had about three to four fielding chances. I remember diving out of the way of a ball I thought was a line drive. I jumped, but the ball wasn't hit hard and never reached me."

Passage of Time Seen Through Plants

This is such an easy thing to do, demonstrating time passing through vegetation growth, it seems like a cop out...

I went outside and snapped some pictures yesterday of the sunflowers that I posted about a few weeks ago, trying to take them from the same angle. You be the judge. The second is the same picture from the Gardening 101 post.

World Cup Preview (Not Really)

I am getting excited for the international soccer sensation, the World Cup, to get started next Friday. Am I as excited as real, hard-core futbol fans? No, and I'm comfortable conceding that.

This little note is really about the exportation of American players to the premier European soccer leagues, but more specifically, the strange fact that the majority of the handful of Americans that play at the top levels are goalies.

I've read that there are different schools of thought on why this is, and the one that seems to win out in the informal discussions is that Americans, while athletic as the best of the world's athletes, tend to be especially good with their hands. To paraphrase a quote I read, "Have you ever seen an Englishman throw a ball?"

A tiny, mostly insignificant thought...