Saturday with the Mariners and Mom

Top of the sixth. Dave Sims announces, "This inning it'll be Gutierrez, Ichiro, and Chavez." Gutierrez stands in. In the Anderson household, the following conversation occurs.

Mom: Is that Ichiro?
Dad: No, it's Gutierrez.
[Gutierrez hits the ball down the third base line and bolts to first. San Fran's third baseman Uribe makes the play, but it's a foul ball. Gutierrez heads back to the plate.]
Mom: Is he out?
Me: No. It was a foul ball.
Mom: Then they should punish him.
Dad: Why would they punish him?
Mom: Because he did something he isn't supposed to do.
Dad, amused: Then they should punish Uribe for throwing it.
Mom: He shouldn't do things that are confusing.
Dad: It's not confusing. Everyone knows what's going on.
Mom: Baseball is ridiculous.

A minute or two later:

Dad, teasing: Here's ol' what's his name.
Mom: Who?
Dad: Ichiro.
Mom: I can't see his face. All I can see is the top of his head. It could be anybody.... He does a dance at the plate. Doesn't he? He does. He was shaking his hips and everything... [Ichiro singles.] Come on, Ichiro. You need to get home or you're no good.

When Dave Niehaus retires, I know who should replace him.

where the truth lies

Earlier this afternoon, as the sun pushes the last clouds off the horizon, the family is playing our own highly modified version of bocce. (I will end up winning all three matches.) Early in the game, we are treated to this exchange:

Someone: "Mom doesn't have any points."
Me: "That's because she stinks."
Mom: "That's not what it says on the Internet."

liveblogging the NCAA championship

8:09 p.m., April 6th, 2009
We're live from Pete's Pub at the bottom of the Intercontinental Hotel--Hotel Intercontinental?--Continent Interhotel?--surrounded by blue smoke and bluer language. (Comparative zeugma, free of charge.) Rumor is there's a basketball game afoot.

8:13
Since much of the game's banter is going to be drowned out by the rowdy gents behind us, I'll get to imagine what the announcers are saying. Right now, a pretty good approximation: "Everyone knows MSU has no chance in hell. Still, Tom Izzo gives a heck of pregame speech. Detroit is a ghost town. Tyler Hansbrough plays like a berserker raiding a neighboring village."

8:19
Let it be said that the hot wings at Pete's Pub are simply excellent. If I stop liveblogging for awhile, it's because I ran out of finger napkins.

8:23
And they're off. At least 50% of the blowhards, I mean. And the game has started, too.

8:25
Suton nails a three, and UNC answers. America prays that the game is competitive for at least one half.

8:28
The problem with trying to beat North Carolina is that you have to play a nearly perfect game against them. They're going to build a big lead and then weather your runs.

8:31
Ad: Rally caps positioned, GM is reinventing their company. (Starting with their government-mandated new CEO.)

8:46
A carrying call? Don't see that every day. This fifteen-point deficit might as well be Mount Olympus, and Roy Williams is Zeus, hurling thunderbolts... I tire of metaphor.

8:50
The wife has taken to calling Tyler Hansbrough "Captain Drama Queen."

9:02
The bartender observes, "Any time you get down by more than 22, you have to call a timeout." This game is about to get worse than reruns of the World Series of Poker.

9:03
John Corbett: from "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," sliding down to "My Big Fat Greasy Entree." Mmm, Applebee's.

9:10
Tell someone that all you have on tap is Bud Light, and they're bound to be disappointed.

9:20
The largest halftime lead in championship history; the biggest halftime score in championship history. Anyone still think MSU can come back? Put that hand down, Magic.

9:23
"I'm Greg Gumbel. Why are you still watching? Put your hand down, Magic."

9:26
The only sure-fire way to get the Employee Free Choice Act through Congress: tie it to the Cable A La Carte Free Choice Act.

9:35
If you're in Ed Brayton's neighborhood, give him a hug.

9:43
I don't say "awesome" either.

9:50
It's over. If you can't take advantage of North Carolina's mistakes--and MSU can't--and you can't get within ten, ever, then you're done, and it's over, and over and done, and this liveblog is done. Bobby Knight in his boxers. That is the image the television leaves me with, and I leave you with, and good night.

Japan defeats South Korea in an instant Classic

I'm glad I was able to make it back from tonight's staff development / cult recruitment in time to watch Japan edge out South Korea in a hard-fought contest. There's something magical about a stadium rocking with baseball fans--truly insane, be-costumed fanatics--in March.

I hope the World Baseball Classic can work out its kinks, which mostly involve coddling Major Leaguers, and eventually become the true World Series. (We can rename the World Series the Professional Championship of Mostly American Franchises With an Increasingly International Flavor.) Maybe someday, after the Mayan Calendar expires, we'll all live together in perfect post-apocalyptic harmony and settle our global differences on the diamond.

P.S. Oh, and why would you pitch to Ichiro with runners in scoring position in the top of the tenth? The guy's sworn mission is to triumph over the South Koreans. (It's why I picked Japan to beat the U.S. in the semifinal.)

P.P.S. The wife, looking up from her novel about 9:43 p.m. PST: "Oh, it's over, Japan wins." Except it's an hour early--and a clip from 2006. Good predicting, though.

today's New Year links... and more!

Let's ring in the New Year with a few links and a Cathyism.


The Edge annual question for 2009: "What will change everything?" Plenty to digest as you digest in front of the television.

Washington State welcomes 2009 with a higher minimum wage and free e-cycling.

The TRP's blog turned 1000. He's included a best-of from the previous 500 posts.

After a year of gloomy news, anything good to report? Radley Balko says yes.

We were watching the Nittany Lions lose the Rose Bowl as my older sister Cathy shared with me some "strange" answers from a crossword-esque puzzle she had been working on. "Did you know that 'shiftbess' means lazy?" she asked me.

No, I didn't. Other wrong answers included:

"Herrint," a food fish.

"Bandanne," a colorful handkerchief.

"Ephemetal," short-lived.

And I'm spending all weekend with family. "The most wonderful family," Mom says. More juicy quotes, guaranteed.

Happy New Year, everybody.

a Nigerian luau

Notes from a Weekend of Chaos, With Assorted Photos


Travels and Travails
I have been to Quilcene, and back, and back again. I am no longer fond of Quilcene. However, my car survived its mountain trek, a $275 tow (insurance paid, after much wrangling), $84 worth of brake repairs, and that was it. I still own the champagne chariot, but I'm not sure for how long.

Much praise for Craig of Northwest Towing and Satch of Satchworks, both in Port Hadlock.


Balderdash and Beyond
Mom and Cathy may not always score the most points when playing Beyond Balderdash, the best party game ever invented, but they always win when it comes to the crazy.

Movie Title: Let's Go Places.
Cathy's synopsis: "A Hell's Angel follows a leprechaun to a pot of gold."

Movie Title: The Trouble With Dick.
Cathy's synopsis: "A peanut farmer is forced to sell his farm when he goes bananas."
Mom's synopsis: "Mine worker by day, sleuth by night, Dick Harris finds himself at odds with his family and community."

Movie Title: Every Home Should Have One
Cathy's synopsis: "A refrigerator falls in love with the dishwasher and teaches the homeowners about true love."

Word: Mohoohoo.
Mom's definition: "A Nigerian luau."

Better than a thousand hours of psychotherapy.


They Bring the Funk... Inc.
Lacey is host to the best-named corporation in the world: an AllState Insurance outlet called Zuckerman Funk Agency. What a great name for a band.


Seen on a Flower Shop Sign Near Monroe, Washington
"Celebrate Hawaiian Days Here. Come Get Laid."


Serenity Now
Lake Serene, along Highway 2, is a stiff hike up a rather unforgiving trail. Steep stairs--500 by Cathy's count--lead to slippery rocks. Slow going, especially down, and treacherous for the unlucky. Count my sister Caroline among that number. She lost her footing, slamming her tailbone on a sharp rock while spraining an ankle. She tried, heroically, to hike back down the mountain, but eventually had to be carried by Snohomish County's search and rescue squad, a volunteer force that seemed to relish an adventure in the woods. Friendly, fast-moving folks who made her trip down the mountain a lot less painful.

Hope you're feeling better, sis.









Bonus Cathyism
My new specs sport an eagle logo that looks vaguely like a W. Upon first seeing them, Cathy, without a shred of irony, asked, "Are those Wienerschnitzel glasses?"

one fewer Anderson to worry about

1. Caroline is now a Hoffman, enjoying her first days sans the Swedish appellation that has served all of us so well.

2. While the hitching went swimmingly, everything else was full of hitches. Sample exchange, from the day trip taken with our relatives on the mom's side:

Mom, driving backseat: We need to make sure Susan is still following us.
Gary, driving: They're going to be fine.
Melissa, taking sides: They're behind a long line of trucks. They can't see us. We need to pull over.
Mom: Pull over!
Gary: Okay, okay. I'm pulling over now. Everyone calm down.
(pause)
Jim, riding shotgun: I seem to recall someone a while ago saying we were fine, no worries, we have a cell phone in every car. And it came from the back.
(pause)
Mom: Sounds like someone has to be Last Word Larry.
(pause)
Jim: You mean, you?
Mom, laughing: I guess so.
Cousin Tawnya, befuddled: Who's Larry?
Mom: I don't know, it just rhymes with L.

I am home. Photos may arrive soon.

immortal, immemorable

As I was blogging, Dad spooned sugar on his midnight-Eastern snack--Frosted Mini-Wheats--and Mom and Melissa tied ribbons on wedding favors for sister Caroline's upcoming nuptials.

"Mom, you're immortalized on the blog, you know," I mused aloud.

Melissa adopted her mimicking-Mom-falsetto. (It sounds remarkably like mine.) "You be nice on your blog."

"I never said that," Mom said.

"Yes you did," I said. "Those are your exact words." Melissa agreed.

"Did I really?" Mom confessed. "Well, I am turning 55."

"Not till next May," Melissa said.

eminently quotable

"I haven't thought about the California Raisins for a long time."

--Mom

the caped crusader strikes out

We're over at the folks' place, watching the Mariners attempt to salvage their dignity against the White Sox. It's been a tough second inning. I've been grading papers and brooding.

"Haven't said much," my dad notes. "You know we always enjoy your running commentary."

Mom nods.

"Fine," I say, and gesture toward the screen. "That fellow--they call him Bat Man because he likes to bat."

"Really?" Mom says.

Really.

color commentary, part II

On another night of Jeff Weaver playing the M's eight million dollar pitching machine, I watched the debacle (fiasco? tragedy? embarrassment?) with my folks, once again enjoying the musings of an astute observer of the game: my mom. During the nine inning shellacking, she...

• Referred to the catcher as "the shortstop."
• Confused the pitcher for Ichiro. Again.
• Theorized that Jeff Weaver was faring so poorly because his wife recently left him. (Weaver is single, and will be for a while if he doesn't get his head straight.)
• Warned, "You'd better not blog this."

demise of the comic duo

North Korea has tested The Bomb (or have they?). Outside, fall rain falls like fallout. One question:

Whatever happened to comic duos? Abbott and Costello, Martin and Lewis, Burns and Allen: gone, and in some cases largely forgotten.

The question came to mind this Saturday night, when Melissa and I were watching "Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (and The Wolfman and Dracula)" with my parents, who form a Burns-and-Allen of their own.

(Sample: I made a crack about Harry Potter's sibling "Larry," and it turned into a race to find the most rhymes and puns, like "Barry Potter and the Bucket of Steroids." My mother stopped at "Fiduciary Potter." My father's two most salient entries were "Quaternary Potter and the Field of Horses," and "Aquamarine Potter and the Temple of Granite." Do either of those make a lick of sense? No, they do not.)

Was it American individualism that eventually tore the comic duo apart? Was it the triumph of stand-up comedy? Was it the tragic disjunction of Martin and Lewis?

Post-Cold War, shells of comedic pairs like the Smothers Brothers and the Blues Brothers and Bob and Doug McKenzie tried to carry the flag--but they tripped and stumbled. The closest thing we have now is Car Talk.

I miss the comic duo.


Update: But not this much.

color commentary

Watching baseball with the women of the house is a treat. You never can anticipate what they're going to say. Especially Mom.

(after the camera switches from the back view of Ichiro, who's warming up on deck, to the batter)

"Ichiro doesn't look Japanese anymore."
"Huh?"
"He looks black."
"Mom, that's Adam Jones."
"Oh."

(after several minutes of merciless ribbing, and another choke-strikeout by Adrian Beltre)

"Is Adrian Beltre the pitcher?"
"No, Mom. In the American League, pitchers don't bat."
"They don't?"
"No."
"Then why did Ichiro bat?"
"Mom, Ichiro isn't a pitcher."
"He isn't? I thought he was."
"Did you see Ichiro pitch anytime today?"
"No."

(my younger sister, at another point, observes as the Red Sox pitcher throws it in the dirt)

"That's a ground pitch."
"Yes," I say, "Also known as a 'lander,' 'cause it scoots along the land."

Barry Who?

On this historic day, I cannot refrain from commenting on a great moment in sports. We're sitting at the dinner table when I announce that Barry Bonds has hit his 714th home run, tying Ruth's mark. "Barry Bonds?" says Sister One. "Hmm... that doesn't sound right."

"What do you mean?" I ask, dumbfounded. "Oh, right, it's 'James Bonds.'"

Determined to out-knowledge her sibling, Sister Two cuts in. "Barry Bonds plays for the New York Giants."

"If this is 1956," I say. "You mean San Francisco."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Sister Two says, laughing guiltily.

"Hey, Sister Two," I say, "What was Barry Bonds' first team?"

Sister One jumps in with "The White Sox." Sister Two pauses for a second. "Chicago?"

"Which one?"

"The Red Sox!"