Pitchers and Catchers

We have another bad weather stretch here in the Big Apple, as the winter of 2010-2011 has turned into one for the record books.  The worst on record?  Maybe.  Certainly if you believe all of the hype.  It's definitely one that I think we'll all remember.

So just a moment ago, I posted this status on Facebook: "I look outside and think to myself: 13 days until pitchers and catchers!"

It's so true, and yet, the date is purely symbolic.  Let's think about it: all fall and winter long, those of us who love baseball look forward to that mythical moment when those first players report to Spring Training.  Yet, they just kind of drive in and begin to loosen up.  Some have been doing that for weeks already.  Derek Jeter is among those already in Florida (and based on what I've seen, he's hanging at his MEGA mansion in Tampa, so it's not like he has a long commute).

What I'm saying is - it's nice, but it's almost like Groundhog Day (coincidentally tomorrow).  Poke your head out, and it's still six weeks or so until first pitch of the regular season.

Don't get me wrong.  I'll take whatever images I can find of the boys of summer whirling the arms around and playing catch.  I'll take a few exhibition game broadcasts featuring one at-bat by the starters and the rest of the game of names you'll never hear again (I'm exaggerating, of course).  It's all nice, definitely.  Yet until 1:00 on March 31st, at Yankee Stadium against the Tigers, it means zero.  Nada.

Pitchers and catchers reporting is a sign that warmer weather is on the way, but we have oh-so-far to go.

Thus Opening Day remains my official start of the year and, arguably, my favorite day of the year.

(I Googled "Yankees Spring Training" and that picture came up.  That works.)

Moby Wakes Up and Finds "Robbie" in his Place

Hopefully you all remember Moby, the super-talented and fairly down-to-Earth DJ/musician who scored big with his 1999 album Play.  I haven't listened to it in some time but I remember liking it a lot back in the day.

I have a friend who had the chance to go hang in Moby's place a few years ago in New York.  He said Moby was about as nice a guy as you'll meet.

Anyway, Moby has a blog, and he writes about an uninvited visitor.

A few things: 1) I've never touched acid or anything else, and 2) I never introduce myself as "Robbie."  People are welcome to call me that, but it's mostly my family who does so anymore.

Now back to our regularly scheduled snow/ice storm.

Starting Them Right!

Thanks, Carrie for this link.  All babies should be brought into the world this way: wrapped in the love of Terrible Towels! (Yahoo!)

Now make sure they grow up with a love of Yankees baseball, hockey and the Rangers, and you have a well-rounded child (with no disrespect to basketball.  I'm just giving the child a foundation).

By the way, I'm considering a telethon for the Wilpons.  We could sing songs, like "Do They Know it's Baseball Season" and "We Are the World of the National League East" and other uplifting tunes - all to raise money so that the Beltrans, Wrights, and Santanas can put food on the table.

I offered to buy the Mets the other night.  I think I had about 80 cents in my pocket.  Chris Kaelin was not amused (but then again, he still think Yogi Berra is a Met).

Stay thirsty, my friends!

Stewart Airport

Stewart Airport is located in Newburgh, NY.  I've flown out of it, and have picked up passengers there.  Like Westchester County Airport near White Plains, it's a nice alternative to New York and New Jersey's big three of JFK, LaGuardia, and Newark airports.

The New York Times (HURRY before they go behind the dreaded pay wall!) brings us this article from Patrick McGeehan discussing Stewart Airport's lack of progress to become New York's true "fourth airport."

I'll give you a way Stewart and Westchester can both do better...bring flight prices down!  That's why, after I weigh all of the costs, I always wind up flying out of the JFK or LaGuardia.  Not that I don't try.  I enjoy using Stewart and Westchester.  They're generally friendly and comfortable airports and mucho convenient to Exit 55's home cave.

Of course, they also tend to be a little more susceptible to bad weather, especially Westchester.  I didn't fly until 1994.  I was 25 and heading out on a business trip to Chicago.  It was raining, and our flight was the first to be stopped...on the runway...at the hangar (they didn't have a big terminal yet).  So we sat...for three hours (so much for my plans to go see the Yankees and White Sox at "New Comiskey Park" that night).

Still it's nice to have the option of these airports.  Let's hope Stewart can become a stronger presence in the New York scheme.

Stone Cold Crazy

Let's start the morning with some Queen.  Great song - performed with James Hetfield and Tony Iommi at the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert.  Of course, Hetfield is no Freddie, but that's not a knock.  Who is?

The year was 1992.

NBC No Longer Proud as a Peacock

Welcome to what is likely another addition of "Things Nobody But Rob Gives a (BLEEP) About!" with your host, Wink Morningdove!

Thank you, thank you...you're too kind...

OK, I'll stop.  By the way, "Wink Morningdove" was the name of a game show host that I played in one of the old softball videos.  Wish those were on YouTube (or maybe not).

Anyway, it saddened me to see that, with Comcast taking over NBC Universal and turning them into NBCUniversal, one of the iconic logos is now gone.

Today means the death of the peacock.  It made its debut in 1956, an indication of NBC broadcasting in color (kids, we didn't always have color on TV). 

I guarantee most of my older friends know this:


The peacock would take a break from 1975-1979, before returning and living on...until this morning.  Now, we get this:

Inspiring.  Isn't it?  Yeah.

So far analysts seem to be unimpressed.

You want a history of the old logo, go here.  The old NBC Chimes, with sound files and more from their radio days are featured here.

Time marches on.

We return you now to your regularly scheduled day.

Remembering the Challenger

Twenty-five years ago today...

I was heading into my seventh period history class at Mahopac High School when I first heard the news. Like most, I was glued to the TV as soon as I could get to one. My dad was home from work and saw it live.

By this point, we as a nation (and I suppose, as the news media - though I wasn't a member in 1986), had begun to take the space launches for granted. They weren't going to the moon, so the missions weren't as "exciting." The first shuttle launch, in 1981, was impressive because it was the reentry to space for the US. I had just seen the shuttle on the launching pad in February, 1981 so I had an even deeper sense of excitement.

We pause to remember the Challenger Seven this morning, with the words that President Ronald Reagan spoke to the nation that night (and please leave the politcs out of it).

Giants/Bills - 20 Years Later

January, 1991.  I was the Sunday-overnight DJ at Majic 105 (WMJV-FM) in Patterson, NY.  I finished off another fine night of playing the hits of Luther Vandross, Whitney Houston and so on before running home to get a few hours of sleep.  The Super Bowl (number XXV) was later that night.

It was the somewhat upstart Giants, who had just knocked off the two-time defending champion 49ers (oh did I love that one), against the K-Gun Bills of Jim Kelly, Thuman Thomas and Bruce Smith.  It seemed like the proverbial David versus Goliath.  I naively figured the Bills would win and, to be honest, I had no deep rooting interest.  I respected both teams (though probably preferred the Giants).

You probably know what happened.  Giants 20, Bills 19.  Wide right (ESPN New York by Ian O'Connor).

Bills fans, it's unfair to blame it on Scott Norwood.  Have Kelly or Thomas get five more yards and you win your Super Bowl.  He's no more to blame than Bill Buckner.

This one's for you, Giants fans.  Here's the last drive of the game.


By the way, that's the way to win.  Players carry the coach off the field.  Teams meet at midfield to hug and shake hands.  No orgy of stupidity.  Thanks to the Steelers for winning like that last week in Pittsburgh.  Classy.

Incidentally, John Clayton of ESPN picks his top 10 Super Bowl plays.  He puts James Harrison's 100-yard interception return at number one, Lynn Swann's mastery at number three (sorry, I always thought it was better than David Tyree's catch - as great as that was), and Norwood at number eight.  Check out the rest of his list.  All subjective, of course, so your mileage may vary.

Oh, wait.  There was debate as to whether we should celebrate Wayne Gretzky's birthday yesterday.  So maybe I'll just delete this whole post...

"The Great One" Turns 50

People all across hockey are celebrating the 50th birthday of Wayne Gretzky today, and with good reason.  Few people can claim bringing more people to a sport than the man dubbed "The Great One."

Incidentally, my father would reject that notion.  Jackie Gleason was also known as "The Great One."  The older generations would lean towards the man who made us know Ralph Kramden.

So to some, the question is: why is Gretzky's 50th birthday significant? Is it just a slow news day?

I can't say Gretzky made me a hockey fan.  My introduction to the game really began with John Davidson and the late 70's Rangers, was solidified by the 1980 Olympics and, more importantly, Mike Bossy, Billy Smith, and the rest of the early 80's Islanders during their run of four straight Stanley Cups.  It reminds me of my days hanging with my buddies around Austin Road Elementary School and watching whatever games we were given on channel 9.

But in fact, I hated Gretzky and those Edmonton Oilers.  Mark Messier?  Grrrrr.  Grant Fuhr...Glenn Anderson...Paul Coffey...Jari Kurri.  Oh dear God, how I remember them.  They beat the Islanders and they became the gold standard.  Of course I hated them (but man I respected them).

Then of course, the Rangers picked up the Messiah, which really should be Messiers' title with the Rangers now.  I mean, he's got that "Chuck Norris" thing going for him.  We know how the story goes from there: Messier, Leetch, Richter and Graves (along with many of the old Oilers) helped bring nirvana to New York in 1994 and, I believe, the sport hasn't been the same again. 

Oh it's still great, no doubt about it.  It's just different now.  We watched two big labor battles (including the loss of an ENTIRE season).  We saw the NHL, desperate for eyeballs, go to the shootout (OK, who wants to say it's a good thing?).  Probably, most notably, we've seen the NHL receive an Ellis Island-worth of European players.  Again, good or bad?  There are varying opinions - longing for the day when the NHL was made up of purely Americans and Canadians, with a few outsiders.

It's like everything else.  Sports change.  The days of the organ player and crowd noise being the only sounds you heard are long gone.  Now we need to clap along to goal songs and do stick salutes and other "fan friendly" measures.  The evolution continues.

That's why we celebrate Gretzky's birthday.  Despite the way I disliked him so much, few have dominated a sport like him (but still...Babe Ruth...Michael Jordan...Pele...Jimmy Johnson...shall I go on?).  He was amazing to watch, and truly was (and is) a great ambassador for hockey.

"Seinfeld" 200 Quotes

A nice flashback to a time when "yada yada yada" was more than acceptable.



OK, that's 100 quotes.  Now onto part two.


These pretzels are making me thirsty!

Interesting Comments by the Cash-Man

Brian Cashman spoke at a breakfast hosted by Mike Francesa this morning in Manhattan.  Cash Money had some interesting things to say that, while not necessarily surprising, still will leave some ripples in the waters of Yankees Universe.

Chad Jennings was there, writing on the Yankees' blog at Lohud.

And thanks to Exit 55 correspondent (and extremely beautiful person) Carrie, it appears Cashman is now backpedaling just a tad regarding the comments about Derek Jeter heading to the outfield (via the Daily News).

By the way, do we need a pseudonym for Carrie?

Anyway, while everyone else wrings their hands over this, I'll simply say that there's nothing to see here, folks.  It's clear the Yankees are - at best - the second team in the AL East, and maybe the third best in back of Boston (the clear number one) and Tampa Bay.  Plus...the Blue Jays aren't terrible, and the Orioles are improving.

Just sayin'

A Reminder That Bowlers Can Have Off Days

You might know that I was the captain (OK, co-captain - my friend Rob Ellsworth would prefer that I don't forget him) of the 1986-1987 Mahopac High School bowling team.  I have said, on many occasions, that I was not the captain because I was a great bowler.  Or even a good bowler.  I think I was just a good leader, and that's why the late Dan Veglia gave me that honor.

I never appeared on TV to bowl, though.  But Carrie told me about perhaps the worst TV bowling performance ever.  The meanies at ESPN won't let me embed it, so head over to this link at Deadspin to get some background before you proceed to the video.

The funny thing is - people think this ROCKED!  And I guess it did.  I'm laughing at it and hey, why not?  If the bowler, Tom Daugherty, can laugh at it, why can't we?

YOI! The Terrible Towel

Today would have Myron Cope's 82nd birthday.  So...oh, wait, what's that?  Who is Myron Cope?

WHO IS MYRON COPE?

Clearly yinz knowz nothing about the Stillers.

Mmmm-hah!

Myron Cope was a sports journalist; a fine writer whose work appeared in Sports Illustrated and elsewhere.  That would have sufficed for a fine career but in 1970, he joined the Steelers and began a 35-year run in radio, working first with Jack Fleming and then with Bill Hilgrove (and Tunch Ilkin).  To say that Cope was colorful would be putting it, let's just say, mildly.

We need a little audio (with video)...


But today, on this AFC Championship Sunday, we pay homage to Cope's greatest creation.  The one that EVERYONE now uses.  The Terrible Towel!


The Pittsburgh Post-Gazette (Blog 'n Gold) serves up a tribute to Cope, complete with the reminder that his last broadcast was a loss in the AFC Championship Game...on his birthday.

Feh.  Or double YOI!

Here We Go!

Steelers fans love making songs to support their teams.  Most are, frankly, beyond dumb (keep in mind I'm not exactly a rah-rah, pep rally, championship parade kind of guy). If you wish to listen or download any of them, you can find most of them here, here, and here.

The classic "Steelers Polka" is one of the best and, of course, "Here We Go."  Now I have an especially emotional response to that one because Sean and I danced around when the Stillers made the first Super Bowl of his life, in 2006.  So yes, I love that one.

We often played it on "The Press Box."  This is newest version, in time for the AFC Championship.

That’s It, Jets…Keep Talking…

After a quiet week of respect between the two AFC finalists, that jack wagon Antonio Cromartie opened his pie hole, going to an old notion: attacking Hines Ward.

Whatever.  I'd worry a little more about Mike Wallace, but that's just me.

Hard to argue with what Gang Green has done.  The talking just makes them an easier target.  If they win, they’ll never pipe down.  However, most football fans will take more delight in watching the Jets go down, should the Steelers beat them tomorrow.

I have too much respect for the Jets (and any opponent) to start talking crap about them, so I won’t.

The Jets were my dad’s team.  They are my brother’s team (though we haven’t spoken about the game as of today).  I say everyone just shut up and play ball.

Yet I know this – since last weekend I’ve received a few texts and emails begging for a Pittsburgh victory.

Again, whatever.  Let’s kick this thing off and with any luck, an unnamed landmark in New York will be decked out in a Terrible Towel.

I Love LA (The Trip, Part 2)

Day 5, Saturday: We began our final few hours in San Diego at Broken Yolk Café for a reprise of our Friday morning breakfast.  It’s funny how little reviewers know.  I had read a few negative thoughts about the Gaslamp location of the BYC, but they were simply wrong.  The place is clean, the food is great, and the service was fine.

Yet with breakfast done, we grabbed our bags back at the US Grant and walked to the Santa Fe train station (pictured above) where Amtrak’s Pacific Surfliner was waiting for us.  We grabbed two seats upstairs (staying away from the rambunctious kid that stood behind us as we boarded) and made sure to sit on the ocean side of the car.  Unfortunately that also meant we were riding backwards.

Still the view was beyond spectacular (especially up through the Oceanside area).  For me, an unexpected highlight was pulling into Anaheim and seeing The Big A (home of the Angels…which really isn’t in Los Angeles, despite what the team wants you to believe).
It wasn’t log before we pulled into Los Angeles where a new batch of passengers joined us.  Our station was still about an hour away, but we soon pulled into Moorpark, where Carrie’s second cousin Mel* was waiting for us.

*At least I think they’re second cousins.  That’s what I remember being told.

Regarding the train, I’m sure many of you are amazed that I – lover of the American road – willingly rode the rails.  It was a very nice experience.  It allowed Carrie and I time to explore the train a bit (see the dining car and change seats every now and then), and otherwise just stare out the window.  A nice time for talking also.  Sure, I would have loved to been in a car cruising up The Five, but it wasn’t meant to be.  I only wish Sean could have been on the train because he’s such a railroad kid, but he’ll have his chance.

Mel drove us to his house where wife Helene and daughter Renee awaited (along with Lady the dog).  They would then whisk us away to Malibu for the stunning ocean view, and a cup of coffee at Starbucks.  This gave us all a chance to get better acquainted but we needed to return to their house for a pizza party (in honor of…gulp…us).

Well, mostly Carrie.

Oh, one thing.  The Steelers played the Ravens during this stretch, so I followed it as best as I could via Carrie’s smart phone (one other thing…Sprint sucks.  Just sayin’).

Renee’s fiancée Robb (yes, two “b’s”) came along and we talked sports all night.  Among those I met were Mel and Helene’s son Adam, along with various other family members.  Adam and his wife have three sons, and their oldest Jacob (hope I spelled it correctly) hung around the house quite a bit over the weekend. 

They’re big New York Giants fans out there!

We crashed on our comfy Aerobed and thought about how to spend our time around the LA area.

Day 6, Sunday:  Nothing like beginning the day with an amazing brunch made by Helene.  But with Renee being a bride to be, she and Helene went off to a bridal show, while Mel, Carrie and I made our way to Hollywood.  Mel was hardly interested in doing such a thing, but was a wonderful tour guide nevertheless.
There had been some debate among the family.  “Hollywood is overrated.  So touristy” was the popular opinion.  And what’s the problem?  Then there was a discussion that the evening’s Golden Globe Awards were being held there, but I found that they were in Beverly Hills, so that was that.  In the end, Carrie and I did as we wished, and touristy be damned.

What I’ve figured out (a long time ago) is that I don’t travel like most people.  I don’t mind the tourist areas.  I also don’t mind being unique.  I don’t mind driving to the Mexican border just…because.  I like driving around and seeing things.  Carrie and I really seem to blend well in this regard.


So spending an hour or so in Hollywood to see the handprints and the stars was fine with me.


Even these guys wanted to watch over us (and their star)


And yes, we took pictures of the Hollywood sign:

We’re tourists.  So?  We even drove to Hollywood and Vine (I had always heard about it) and, to be blunt, there was nothing there (OK, we saw the Capitol Records building, but that’s about it).  So we kept driving though LA, with the idea of stopping at the Santa Monica Pier, but traffic kept us from doing so.  We moved back towards Malibu for a really nice small lunch.

That night, we hit In-N-Out Burger (seemed like a thing to do) for dinner, then joined Renee and Robb for dessert.  We called it a night, ready for our final day.

Day 7, Monday: I could feel the end of vacation blues leaning towards me as the day began (and those pangs would get stronger as the evening wore on).  Mel and Helene were so kind that they allowed us to drive their car for the day, allowing us time to return to Santa Monica so that I could…finally…stick my feet in the Pacific!

We walked Santa Monica Pier, the honorary end of the legendary Route 66 (though not the actual end) and made our way over to Beverly Hills.  For the record, while Greenwich is the smaller sibling of Rodeo Drive, there’s still a similarity.  Beverly Hills is still more overwhelming though.

After that, we worked our way through the traffic on The 101 to have lunch at Philippe’s The Original, home of the original French Dip sandwich (and really good chili too!).  The lines are long, and a nice patron was kind of enough to take a picture of us.

Really good food.  My god, we had some terrific culinary experiences on this trip.

We followed that up by trying to see some of the famous sports sites.  We started with Dodger Stadium, which was only about two miles away.  Should be easy to take a picture, right?  Yeah, not so much.  Dodger Stadium might be the most inaccessible place I’ve ever driven by.  Because of its location in Chavez Ravine, the stadium can’t be seen from any road.  Not that I didn’t try, but a guard shooed us away at one site, and all other gates were closed.  So I got a picture of the light tower.  That’s…about…it.  I see on their website that there’s a tour.  Maybe next time…

I eased that pain (not really, I think we were both baffled) by driving the Arroyo Seco Parkway, the first freeway in the US.  It opened in 1940 and is interesting to drive.  It also leads to Pasadena, where we followed the signs to the Rose Bowl.  The Steelers won Super Bowl XIV there in 1980.

We moved from there to downtown LA, where we found the LA Coliseum (site of Super Bowl I, first home of the Dodgers, and where the Olympics were held in 1932 and 1984…and many other events).  The LA Sports Arena was right there also (one time home of the Clippers).  We also saw the Staples Center, home of Kobe.

And the Lakers.

Our driving day ended there as we made our way back to Thousand Oaks to begin saying our good byes and head to the airport.  Mel and Helene were so gracious to chauffeur us to LAX for our departure.

As for LAX, at least in the Jet Blue terminal, there’s the good (a super short security line) and the bad (smells like cigarettes and there is almost no food).  We are at a seafood place that was OK, but seemed to magnetically pull money out of our pockets.  Yep, gotta love airport prices!

That carried us, technically, to…

Day 8, Tuesday: Our flight was a red eye, departing just after midnight in the east.  I was exhausted and expected to sleep clear back to New York.  But…no.  It doesn’t happen often, but I battled a touch of claustrophobia.  My breathing was irregular and I just couldn’t get comfortable.  Around 3:00 AM, I couldn’t take anymore and had to stand up – which meant waking Carrie and the girl on the aisle.  While I love looking out the window, this could mean that I should sit in the aisle seat.

Back in New York we grabbed our bags and got a taxi back to Brooklyn, where we both fell asleep.  I cam back to Mahopac on Wednesday and the trip, this amazing experience, was over.

California Dreamin’ (The Trip, Part 1)

Four days have passed and I wish I was still there.  I’m surprised at how much I enjoyed it, considering I’m such a New Yorker/East Coaster.

It’s been a while since I’ve really traveled.  I’m not sure I put our camping trips in that category.  Traveling, to me, involves a bit of effort.  Driving from Mahopac to Richmond, or even Maine, can qualify.  But anything that involves flying?  Yep.  Now you have a party. (Last flight?  Naples for the Greenwich game in November, 2007)

So let’s break it down, shall we?  To do so, let’s go back to the beginning.

Pre-trip: Ah, the usual.  Packing.  Preparing.  Over-packing.  Over-preparing.  That’s how I roll, I guess.  Right up until the minute I left my house to get on the train to go to Carrie, I was still changing my mind.  The sweatshirt I brought with me, for instance, was grabbed literally as I was walking to the car.  Of course, this means the possibility of bringing too much (which I did).  Still, moving through Metro North and New York’s subway system wasn’t too bad, as I had a large suitcase (granted, with flowers all over it – had to make do with a borrowed one) and a backpack.

In Brooklyn that Monday night, Carrie and I grabbed a dinner of Chinese food, watched just a little of the BCS National Championship, and went to sleep – prepared for an early start.

Day 1, Tuesday: The alarm went off around 4:30 AM.  Both of us shot up, showered and were ready to hit the road.  Carrie had ordered a taxi, with a promise that they would charge us $25 to go to JFK.  He was to show up at 5:45 AM but he was waiting when I strolled out at 5:30 to go get breakfast.  So we were off, and he overcharged us ($30).  Guess we won’t use them again.

At JFK, all went well.  Security was very crowded (shocking!), but otherwise Jet Blue’s Terminal 5 (T5 to those in the know) was very nice.  As for the flight…nothing spectacular (that’s a compliment).  Jet Blue knows what they’re doing.  It’s a bummer that in this day and age they charge for everything (except bags and a snack), but that’s life.

I watched “Caddyshack” (trying to not laugh out loud) and listened to music on XM Radio.  Finally, just after 11:00 AM Pacific time, I began to see the Pacific Ocean in the distance (first time for me!).  We touched down around 11:30.  Off the plane, and onto the bags, and…wait… a voicemail.  My credit union left a message saying there was a problem with a deposit that I sent.  Fortunately (you have no idea how fortunate it was) it was resolved quickly, and we were soon off cruising in our little Kia that we rented for the day.

I highlighted some of the early portion of the trip here.  We had a great lunch and drove around, crossing the San Diego-Coronado Bridge (stunning), riding along the Silver Strand, and heading to the Mexican border before coming back north.

We pushed ourselves for the first day, making sure that we didn’t fall asleep at, say, 7:00 that night (which would have been 10 back in the east).  This was a conscious decision, with me continuing to drive up “The Five” (freeways use “the” in front of numbers out there).  Perhaps our favorite moment of the evening was looking at the enormous, rather opulent Mormon temple that could be seen glowing near the highway.  We stopped to have a look, and would have gone inside had there not been an event going on.  (Of course, no disrespect is intended…we were fascinated)

We had a decent dinner across the street from our amazing hotel (Yard House…opening soon in Yonkers), and I think we crashed around 10:00.  The whole time, I worried about our little Kia, as I refused to pay $30 a night to have the car parked at the hotel.  So I found a street spot a few blocks away, and the homeless folks simply ignored it.

Day 2, Wednesday: Carrie had a few hours before she needed to get to her first event at the conference she was attending, so we began with a HUGE breakfast at Hash House a Go Go, where we had…I kid you not…a bacon waffle

A bit decadent, no?  Time allowed us to explore a little more, but we had a lunch to get to in the Gaslamp District at Sammy’s Wood Fired Pizza.  Carrie and Deb (the lunch organizer) were nice enough to ask me to join her peers for the meal while they talked shop.  Nice people, all.  After that, I was on my own for a bit.  To be honest, my feet (always an issue when I travel) were OK with just sitting for a bit.  Carrie and I met up after and I joined her for a reception, after which we snuck off to do some exploring.  We checked out Petco Park, home of the Padres, and stopped off at Fred’s Mexican Café for a drink. 

Day 3, Thursday: For the first time, I was really on my own.  It was during this time that I broke my rule of traveling:

Always try to eat at places that can’t be found in our home area.

Subway.  Fail (though I’ve never had breakfast there before, and it was OK).  There were places that I’d like to try but just didn’t want to do it without Carrie.  It just didn’t seem right.

So I strolled back to Petco Park with my cheap Subway breakfast (“Cheap” being the motto of this trip).  Petco opens their outfield area for what they call “Park at the Park” – featuring a youth baseball field, open space, the Tony Gwynn statue, and, yes, access to the baseball stadiums’ bleacher seats.

In fact, I was able to walk right down to the outfield fence.  Very cool.  More parks should be this fan-friendly.

Thursday also afforded us the chance to go visit the Old Town area via the very accessible and affordable trolley system, and return to the Mexican border where we walked through the outlets.  Amazing how close we were without crossing (neither one of us had passports with us).

Day 4, Friday: I wrote some notes about everything up to this point in a previous post.  This was the day that I expected to be alone the longest.  I thought that perhaps I would go scope out the touristy Seaport Village area and investigate the USS Midway (which I simply couldn’t fork over the $18 to go on…and didn’t want to do so without Carrie).  San Diego, as you can imagine, is very proud of its military and, primarily, Navy history.  To the many sailors that I saw (and a few soldiers as well), thank you so much for your service.  That same gratitude is extended to the veterans that I saw as well.

By this point, my feet had almost had enough, but I pressed on.  After my stroll along the water, I decided to look for Balboa Stadium – the first home of the Chargers when they came to San Diego.  It took some effort, but I found it out behind San Diego High School (which, it should be noted, made me just a tad nervous to be walking around).

Let’s step back in time (picture via Ballparks.com).  The Chargers played here from 1961-1966

Now, let’s step ahead to 2011:

That’s it.  Same place.  Now a high school field and very inaccessible.  A gate was open, and I was able to step in quickly, but there didn’t seem to be any way to go walk around the track or, heaven forbid, step on the turf.

I went back towards the trolley, where I had some Jack in the Box (probably haven’t eaten at one since they were in New York in the 70’s) and met up with Carrie for an afternoon and evening of shopping, walking (oh my aching feet) and dinner.  Let me just say that I will gladly hang out with Carrie’s friend Phyllis anytime.  She loves music and has a fun, quirky, honest way about her.  The three of us had a nice dinner.  Just talking and laughing.  Very cool.

Sadly, that all but ended our San Diego portion of the trip, as Saturday would begin with us boarding a train towards Los Angeles.

We’ll go from there…

Stuff...Linky Dinks for a Snowy Friday

Yes, I'm clearly back in New York.  I'm not sure we'll see any grass around here until April...maybe June.

It's winter.  It is what it is.  But I'm sick of it already.

Richard Sandomir in The New York Times says we're a bunch of losers around here.  Think about it.  The Knicks...1973.  The Rangers?  Fifty-four years of futility.  Then nirvana.  Seventeen since.  The Mets?  I'll let that one go right there.  Too easy.  Islanders...Nets...and unless they win Sunday, the Jets.

Of course, the Devils have three Cups to their credit since 1995, the Giants have three Super Bowl wins since 1987, and then there are the Yankees.  I think those shiny 27 rings kind of make up for the rest.

So to sum up: we're not Cleveland.

Jon from R-VA comes to us with two Vintage Richmond offerings.  The first is right up my ally.  A postcard of the Belvedere Street toll plaza on the Richmond-Petersburg Turnpike.  Ah, I remember it well.

(right about now, Jon - always the wise one - is saying "I knew Rob would post a link to that one...it's like leading a camel to water.")

The second one is a poster for a Lou Rawls concert on this date in 1967.  What intrigued me about it is how, to me, the poster looks nothing at all like Rawls.  It looks, well, it's a cartoon.  Let's leave it at that.

Tom Hoffarth explains why Carrie and I saw so many construction trucks driving around Chavez Ravine on Monday.  Eventually I'll get around to writing about how impossible it is to see Dodger Stadium - even from the outside.

Lastly, Tom gives us the announcing rundown for March Madness, with lots of TNT/CBS symmetry.  Unimpressed is a good word for it.

I'll be calling Greenwich and New Canaan hockey tomorrow night on WGCH.  Pregame coverage begins at 6:05 PM,  Chris Kaelin and Sean Kilkelly will help me sound good.

(oh...and go Steelers!  Just in case I don't say it before Sunday.)

Greatest Hockey Player Ever?

Ah, the age-old question.  Now to me, I came up with my answer quickly to a poll on The Hockey News website.

The choices were:
- Wayne Gretzky
- Bobby Orr
- Mario Lemieux
- Maurice Richard
- Gordie Howe

There was also an option for “other.”  As of now, Gretzky has a 49% to 20% lead on both Orr and Lemieux.  I voted for Gretzky, but to me, it’s a lot closer between Gretzky and Orr than anyone else.  For those who didn’t know, go read up on Orr.  He invented the idea of a defenseman being a scorer.  He redefined the position.  He brought hockey into the 70’s with a boom, and scored its most famous goal (I know many want to give that honor to Stephane Matteau, but let’s be real).

By the way, I would also include Mark Messier in the discussion of greatest ever, and he is most certainly the greatest leader, but alas he just misses out.

So while I voted for Wayne Gretzky, I can’t argue – ever – with anyone calling Bobby Orr the greatest player in hockey history.  In fact, in Boston, he’s a saintly figure…

Danny Wood...Wood...

Thank you, Joe Theisman.  Just thank you.  A thousand times, thank you.

What can I tell you?  I'm 42.  Generally, I act like I'm 42.  But I still have a youthful spirit and heart that is sometimes 12.