Thursday, July 1:
HAPPY CANADA DAY!!! Proudly wave your flags, Canada!!!
We're blessed with great summer days. Pretty cool the last two days but warming up, so that by Sunday we'll be in the steam cooker again. Fine by me. All I have to do to cool off is think of the word "February."
I have a couple of early morning shifts over the weekend but that won't stop us from seeing Grant Fullerton and Jamnation at the annual Strawberry Festival Saturday night. Should be a great show!
You never like to write off a baseball team by Canada Day but the Toronto Blue Jays went into Cleveland with designs on -- at least --- taking three of four from the woeful Indians. Instead, they were swept, and now have to regroup immediately this weekend against the Yankees in New York. The problem hasn't been pitching -- the bats have gone into a deep freeze. The Jays have fallen to .500 (40-40) on the season, have now lost eight of 10, are seven-and-a-half games back of a wild-card spot and nine games out in their division. And when that division happens to be the American League East, numbers like that usually mean curtains.
Saturday, July 3:
The Bride has the patience of Job (and yes, I've heard all the jokes about how she needs that quality, being married to me). But that patience was severely tested last night as she tried to merge the wonderful world of Apple with Bell Canada. She has a new iPhone (lucky lass) but had a devil of a time getting 1) iTunes loaded on her laptop and 2) loading software via iTunes to the iPhone. Finally, thanks to a patient tech named Carlos who talked her through it on the land line and a switch in computers (we used the main PC instead of her laptop) everything eventually worked. It probably didn't help that I suggested we try a new restaurant in town a few hours earlier. The NYS outlet in Stouffville was severely disappointing (and overpriced). One and done, in terms of our experience there.
The Netherlands over Brazil? Yahoo! Once England went out, the Dutch became my choice in the World Cup and yesterday's win may have been their finest footy hour.
Sunday, July 4:
HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY! to our American friends!!! Have a great "4th!"
What a wild, impossible swing of emotions in yesterday's Spain-Paraguay World Cup quarterfinal. A second half penalty for Paraguay, denied. An ensuing goal from the spot for Spain waved off and the second penalty kick saved. And finally Spain's 1-0 winner, a shot off the far post, and a rebound off both posts and in just seven minutes from time. Incredible! And then there's Germany, with a 4-0 dismantling of an Argentinian side that looked almost unbeatable going in. So we have the Netherlands, Spain, Germany and Uruguay in the Final Four and that's the order of my personal rooting section. And really, I'm fine with any of the four. The teams I wanted to see eliminated all have been.
More angst with the iPhone and Bell with the 3G network a crapshoot. Sometimes it's there, sometimes it's not. Bell says it's a problem with select iPhones and that they've known about the conflict since June. It was with great self-control that we managed to avoid asking, "which year?"
Heat wave. The cool temperatures of last week have melted into a relatively dry heat. And it promises to continue well into next week with added humidity before thunderstorms eventually arrive. Summer! Bring it on!
Tuesday, July 6:
OK, I don't understand something. Let me start by painting a hypothetical picture: You're a successful stay-at-home NHL defenceman. Not an all-star but a solid player with good numbers. It's game seven of a second-round Stanley Cup playoff series. With half-a-minute left in a 1-1 tie, you find your goalie down and out in a scramble, the puck at the edge of the crease and the opposing right-winger on the doorstep, ready to tap it in for the series-winning goal. But you're on the ice, maybe two feet from the puck and so you reach out, grab it with your hand before his stick can make contact and pull the puck in against your body and wait for the whistle. The verdict is quick -- the referee points to centre ice for a penalty shot. But your goalie saves it and your team wins in overtime. You're hailed from coach to community for your heads-up play, saving a goal and the season. And a few weeks later, Stanley Cup in tow, your team captain tells an interviewer that none of it would have been possible if not for your timely actions in round two...
...So let's fast-forward to last week and the World Cup quarterfinal between Uruguay and Ghana. Late in the tie game, Ghana appeared certain to score -- but what would have been a game-winning strike was foiled when Luis Suarez used his hand to deflect it away. The penalty for the handball was more severe than for our hypothetical defenceman -- an immediate red card (with a one-game suspension) and a penalty. But Ghana missed the penalty and ultimately lost the game. So for his heady play, Suarez has been vilified as a cheater, an embarrassment to the game and a man who owns "the hand of the devil." Much of this codswallop comes from the British press, upset that England was denied a goal a round earlier by officials from Uruguay. But the rest of the world seems to agree. Me, I think anyone who reacts to avoid elimination should be praised, not pilloried.
Wednesday, July 7:
Tempting as it was to wander down to the local watering hole and tip a few whilst watching Spain beat Germany, the ongoing heat wave called for another plan of action. It's a fairly short drive north to Sutton, Ontario, which sits on the southern shore of Lake Simcoe. Since Simcoe is part of the same waterway that eventually leads to Georgian Bay and Lake Huron, I feared the water might be a tad chilly. Instead, it was perfect for swimming. The public beach was jammed (what must Saturdays and Sundays be like?) and spending the afternoon there was the ideal way to cool off!
Friday, July 9:
We all have favourite TV series and if you follow successful, long-term ones, it's fun to watch how characters progress and age over the years. I think of American dramas like CSI and Criminal Minds. And of Coronation Street, the long-running British soap. It's a little more different with favourite authors of long-running novel series but it works there, too. I remember picking up a paperback in 1991, a few months after I started working for my current employer. The author was a Colorado clinical psychologist, Dr. Stephen White. It was a well-penned tale about moral and professional ethics that stayed with me. So, I wanted to read more. Turns out that Dr. White had no intention of starting a series with the same characters. I can only imagine popular demand made him change his mind. Next month, he releases the 18th novel in the Dr. Alan Gregory series. And unlike our fictional television faves, we have to imagine what the characters look like, much as people of a few generations ago had to, with pre-TV shows of the day airing only on radio. One of the great things about the series is that Dr. White incorporates real places into his fiction. Thanks to that, I've taken the time to make the short drive to Boulder (the town the series has its roots in) both times I've visited Denver to enjoy (among other things) the Pearl Street (pedestrian) Mall. I've visited the Tattered Cover Book Store in Denver on the advice of one of the characters and it is one of the best book stores I've ever been in. In advance of "The Last Lie", I have started to re-read the previous 17 books in the series, in order. Fascinating to notice how the author's writing has changed over the years (subtle, yet still -- IMO -- brilliant) and how the characters evolve. His series isn't for everyone, but it's sure for me.
Lebron James to Miami where he'll have pals Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh to play with. Too bad he didn't win a title in championship-starved Cleveland before he departed. Since when did the NBA become the equivalent of a bunch of pals saying, "Hey, let's start a band!?"
Saturday, July 10:
So here we are, with the finale of the World Cup at hand (and isn’t it the fastest tournament in the world? Seems it just got started a week ago, not a month ago). It’s Spain versus the Netherlands tomorrow for the championship. I have to admit I’m torn. After England the United States, these were the countries I wanted to see in the final. I’ll end up cheering for Holland -- they’ve never won the thing. Neither has Spain, but they did capture the European championship two years ago. The Bride, whose normal passion for sports spikes and dives like prairie terrain, is actually having guests over to watch the game (I’ll be at work). Our friends breed Dutch Warmbloods, so I know they’ll be wearing Oranje!
Sunday, July 11:
The heat wave broke Friday. And since Friday afternoon, it's been wall-to-wall sunshine, zero humidity and perfect driving weather. In that time, I have seen two fender-benders on the Don Valley Parkway; a third, more serious one yesterday on the same road, with perhaps half a dozen cars involved; a smash-up on the way to Uxbridge for dinner Friday and a nasty wreck on the big curve on Durham-30 on my way home from work the other day. What's going on? Does everyone think they've driving in the Toronto Indy? For one thing, that race is a week away and for another, it's closed to trained professionals. I still remember Scott Goodyear telling me years ago that he feels far more at ease behind the wheel on a racetrack than he does tooling through The Big Smoke on the 401. I believe him. On the track, he can place a great deal of trust in his fellow pro drivers. Some of the yahoos on the roads of Toronto? Not so much.
Monday, July 12:
Here's an idea. Instead of pitching an octopi on the ice as they do at Stanley Cup playoff time in Detroit, maybe they should keep them alive and get them to make predictions. Paul the Octopus, who correctly picked eight World Cup winners, is the toast of Spain after picking the Spaniards to defeat the the Netherlands in yesterday's final -- which they did, 1-0 in extra time. Not much of a game though. Fourteen (!) yellow cards. It was dirty and chippy, and the team with the least discipline ended down down a man and lost the match. I was cheering for the Dutch but Spain was the better team and deserved the victory.
Wednesday, July 14:
The National League won an all-star game?! I guess I'll have to start searching for bell-bottom pants, chest medallions and rust-coloured leisure suits like we wore in 1970s when the senior circuit captured the mid-summer classic all the time.
Thursday, July 15:
I'm a little torn over the death of George Steinbrenner. In his '70s heyday as owner of the New York Yankees, I absolutely hated the man. His arrogance. His unreasonable approach. His iron-fist reign. The effect he had on what today has become a two-tiered baseball reality -- "have" franchises and "have-not" franchises. He even went to Ohio State, so that was yet (from this Michigan fan's perspective) another strike against him. Not fair, I know -- I never met the man. Turns out he spent millions on charities and for those less fortunate -- all anonymously. Apparently his heart was even larger than his ego, not unlike New York City itself. And he spent money on his Yankees, more than any other franchise, to ensure the club's continued residence in baseball's penthouse. The Yankees win. And yet, while legions of fans, yours truly included, hate the Yanks with a passion, no one can deny the franchise's class in the Steinbrenner era. Little things like providing half a dozen bottles of congratulatory champagne for the six Houston pitchers who no-hit his team at Yankee Stadium in 2003. So, yes, I'm torn. But he was unique, love him or hate him. And I guess in my case, it was a little bit of both.
Saturday, July 17:
I do work with some fine folks. My colleague Rich, who knows of my respect for the late Ernie Harwell, gets Detroit TV at home. And he made me a copy of an excellent documentary one of the local stations did on Harwell.
Manchester United played a friendly here in Toronto last night (a 3-1 win over Glasgow Celtic). It would have fun to see but for a couple of things: 1) The touring team (save for Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs) bears little resemblance to the team that will open the regular season next month, and 2) I’m on the early morning shift this weekend, so it was dinner with friends last night in Uxbridge and an early night.
A three-week vacation beckons in less than two weeks. And why will those two weeks drag by far more slowly than the three that will follow?
Sunday, July 18:
Welcome to Stouffville, Ontario -- where thunderstorms go to die. We've been under so many severe thunderstorm watches and warnings the past week or so, I've lost count. But has it rained? Aside from a light shower Friday night, no. Our lawn looks like the colour of sand along the shores of Lake Ontario. I last cut the grass six days ago and at this rate, it may take another six weeks before it needs the mower again.
Plenty of angst in Toronto over a policeman whose nickname will now and forevermore be "Officer Bubbles." This 'YouTube' clip captured a confrontation between an officer and a young woman during the G-20 standoff three weeks ago:
Officer Bubbles
What's your take? Here's mine (and first, it's important to note that her eventual arrest had nothing to do with the bubbles incident. She was detained -- along with many others -- for having a knapsack and the phone number of a lawyer written on her arm. The video doesn't make that clear):
I think our cops are tops but this guy was pinin' for a fight and I didn't see the female officer getting her bowels in an uproar. Somehow I doubt that Officer Bubbles actually felt threatened by these evidently dangerous orbs of soap. Regardless, it was either a case of an over-zealous cop creating an incident where none should have existed or perhaps he was trying to show his partner some gallantry, protecting her from stray bubbles. Seriously, a firm but polite directive to blow her bubbles in a different direction would have sufficed. I realize that in a situation like this, not every cop is going to react in textbook manner. And maybe he was having a bad day, Happens to us all. But you don't need uniforms barking at people who are non-antagonists (especially where there was no shortage of people who were), and threatening an arrest for missiles that three-year-olds manage to either avoid or escape serious injury when hit by them. Bottom line, Bubbles overstepped his authority -- and today, he looks like an idiot.
Monday, July 19:
The Bride's aunt Grace passed on today in Montreal. My mother-in-law's sister, she never went anywhere without a smile on her face and we'll all miss her. For me, the scary part of her passing is that she's the last of her generation to go. All the parents, aunts and uncles for both of us have now made the big journey. And of "our" generation, I'm the oldest. Can't say I'm all that comforted by that.
Tuesday, July 20:
Wasn't that long ago when the Toronto Blue Jays went into Cleveland, expecting to take at least three of four from the woeful Tribe to stay alive in the American League East. Instead, they were swept. And coming out of the all-star break, the Detroit Tigers did exactly the same thing. After losing the final game before the break to Minnesota, they dropped four straight in Cleveland -- and tonight's second straight home loss to Texas means a seven-game losing streak. They've also lost Brandon Inge for up to a month and a half with injury. The only good news is that they're in the American League Central, and still in the race despite being just four games over .500. But second half swoons are nothing new in Motown. In all of manager Jim Leyland's four seasons in Detroit, his teams have been above .500 at the break (and that includes 2008 when they finished last in the division) and below .500 after the break (including 2006, when they went to the World Series). The trading deadline is just 11 days away. Hard to believe, but if this slide continues during the homestand (with Toronto and Tampa Bay to follow) the Tigers might be sellers instead of buyers.
Wednesday, July 21:
Remember American Graffiti? And the blonde in the Thunderbird? "A white T-bird, y'understand!", said the Wolfman. Saw that car Monday, exact same model, as I was driving west along Steeles. Except it was red. But I wanted to sneak a peek as I went by, in case the driver was a modern-day Suzanne Somers. Nope. It was an elderly guy who had to be about 80 and with the tender, slow way he was driving the Ford, another line from the movie cropped into my head: "What a waste of machinery!"
Forty-five years ago tonight, also a Wednesday, a bunch of us kids took the tunnel bus from Windsor to Detroit and walked out to Tiger Stadium for a twi-night doubleheader between the Tigers and Cleveland, ending at about midnight (the good guys swept, 10-5 and 2-1). And we walked back downtown and took the bus back to Canada. You could do that then. The only riots we knew about that summer were in Watts (Los Angeles). Little did we know that the Detroit riots were only two years away. And the city has never been the same since.
Thursday, July 22:
Poop. I had hoped to catch bluesman extraordinaire James Armstrong -- one of my "terrific twelve" -- after having learned by e-mail that he was visiting Toronto this year. I believed I read on the itinerary that his show was in late July. Nope. It was June 10th. I could have even taken The Bride to see my main man a day before our anniversary. The old memory ain't what it used to be.
Another example of getting old: The other day at the grocery store, a couple of the check-out girls were chatting away whilst ringing up my purchases. The older one, mid-20s, mentioned that her birthday was November 22nd. "Pretty famous date for those of us who grew up in the '60s", I said. The younger one, late teens probably, asked why and I told her that was the date of John F. Kennedy's assassination in 1963. (You know where I'm going with this, don't you?) Sure enough, the younger one replied, "Who?" I gave her a very brief history lesson on JFK and she said that she would be sure to Google him that evening when she got home. I hope she did. And while it's easy to express scorn over someone who doesn't know anything about Kennedy, I have to remember that in my late teens I didn't know anything about Calvin Coolidge, who would have been U.S. president in a similar time frame for me as Kennedy was to her.
Saturday, July 24:
Double poop. In addition to Brandon Inge's injury the other day, now Detroit's Magglio Ordóñez is out for up to two months after breaking his ankle tonight at Comerica Park against the Toronto Blue Jays. What a year from Hades. Between umpires Jim Joyce and Gary Cederstrom blowing (and admitting it) key calls against the Tigers and these latest injuries, this outfit is jinxed. Jinxed, I tell ya! If the Tigers ever recover to win the division this summer, it will be a minor miracle.
Sunday, July 25:
I used to kid The Bride about watching what I termed "retro TV." Old reruns of The Waltons, M*A*S*H, Little House on the Prairie, etc. What she can never comprehend about my viewing habits is the attraction of game replays from the world of sports. "But you already know who won!", she would exclaim, if I suddenly became glued to ESPN Classic or an old hockey game on Leafs-TV. This weekend featured a hockey game from the start of the 1961 Stanley Cup playoffs, Detroit at Toronto. This was the season before I started watching hockey as a nine-year-old lad. The other night, I was glued to the set, listening to both Foster and Bill Hewitt (dad, as the analyst). There was Maple Leaf Gardens in its bare-boned splendor, before they added seating at the ends and before the end of the famed Gondola. There were a few camera angle experiments -- even then -- with a corner camera getting some decent time showing the play. There was a pre-masked Terry Sawchuk in the Detroit goal with his famed straight-legged stance and crouch at the waist, in much the way you'd greet an honoured guest for the first time, with a bow and a revered, "How d'ya do?" There was Cesare Maniago, filling in for an injured Johnny Bower in the Toronto goal, saving the game in overtime. This time, I didn't know who won the game (although I did know the Red Wings had won the series that year). Turns out it was the Maple Leafs, on a George Armstrong wrister in overtime, 3-2 -- their only win of the semifinal. Fun to watch, nostalgic -- and very entertaining!
Monday, July 26:
With completely clear skies and low humidity, last night's full moon was nothing short of spectacular. There are a couple like it I remember in summers past, both involving the old family cottage on the north shore of Lake Erie. Our cottage was one of many arranged in a circle pattern at Pleasure Beach and the inner circle created a marvelous place for kids' baseball. When I was about 13 or 14, we had a night like last night's. Now, this was back in the day when Essex County remained on standard time year-round, so we never had particularly late sunsets (around 7:45-8:15 p.m. for most of the summer). but this one night, the moon was so bright, we kept on playing until about 11 o'clock. Granted, we used a tennis ball instead of a real baseball to make sure no one got hurt but I don't remember any of us losing a ball in the night sky. Another time, I was in my late 20s, and drove from London to the cottage late one Friday night after covering a local ballgame at London's Labatt Park. I turned south off the 401 and eventually found myself on Arner Town Line, a straight-as-a-die shot from Essex down to Highway 18, just east of Harrow. There were no other cars on the road, so I turned off my lights (no daytime running lights in those days) and let the moon guide me for a few miles. The only danger came in the form of very steep ditches on either side of the road, so I eventually came to my senses and turned the headlights back on. But the moonlight was incredibly bright and rather breathtaking, especially half an hour later when I nursed a beer over the sight of brilliant moonbeams over the lake.
Tuesday, July 27:
So Sunday, I give up on the Detroit Tigers, down 4-0 to visiting Toronto and missed a stirring eighth inning comeback and ultimate victory in the doubleheader nightcap. Last night, I stuck with them until the bitter end -- a no-hitter for Matt Garza -- the first in the history of the Tampa Bay Rays -- in their 5--0 win at the Trop. He couldn't have picked a better club to face for his no-no. Three of the kids in the Detroit line-up these days are minor leaguers, due to injuries. And catcher Gerald Laird might have trouble fouling off a slow-moving beach ball with his weak stick. And at the risk of sounding like a tired, bitter fan, can the Tigers start getting some bad calls in their favour one of these days? B.J. Upton was out from St. Petersburg to Bradenton at second base last night and was called safe. Check the highlights. It's pathetic!
Thursday, July 29:
One day. Just one more day of giving my soul to the company store before I'm free for three weeks. I don't know if it's been the summer heat (which I love), a wonky right knee or the added pressures at work (less people, more duties crammed into the work day) but lately I've been tense, irritable, impatient and miserable. And I hate it when I slide into that frame of mind. So to say I'm looking forward to vacation is a huge understatement. The only fly in the ointment -- The Bride may have to work through her holidays. With some major project implementations scheduled for August, she might not be able to get away.
Another day, another defeat for the Tigers of Detroit. Just one game over .500 now after getting swept by Tampa Bay and with the White Sox and Twins on winning streaks, the A.L. Central could soon just be a two-team race.
Saturday, July 31:
El Schmuck-o dep't: The first two hours of vacation last night went like this:
7:05 pm: Drive home.
7:44 pm: Pick up mail at the neighbourhood mail slots.
7:45 pm: Arrive at the house where I realize I've lost one of two sets of car keys (with various other keys on the ring - car, mail, work parking garage, etc).
7:46 pm: Begin exhaustive search for said keys inside my car, along the sidewalk, at base of weeds, inside the house, etc.
8:10 pm: Realizing that light will fade soon, change gears and cut the lawn.
8:50 pm: Resume exhaustive search for keys.
9:03 pm: Dim light bulb goes off in head, suggesting I try the neighbourhood mail slots up the street.
9:04 pm: Retrieve keys from open mail slot where I left them 80 minutes ago.
9:05 pm: Relax for the first time, popping open a long-awaited beer.
I think it will improve from here on in.
