This collection of entries is from September 30, 2002.
Amazon.com has apparently discontinued the Harry Potter Nimbus 2000 Broom that I talked about earlier this month. Now it's listed as "This item is not stocked or has been discontinued". Was the demand too high or were they a little disturbed at the reviews they were getting? Mike pointed out an OpEd piece in the NIU Northern Star that has even more "unusual" reviews from other buyers. The solution? Just take the damn batteries out, and all you've got is a Harry Potter Nimbus 2000 Broom. Without the vibrations.
That's it - the White Sox lost yesterday. The season is over. Yes, there's playoff games and the World Series, but when your team ends its season without post-season play - it's over. (Oh, but if your team gets into the Post-season - that's a whole other matter - the joy, the excitement, the constant following of everything your team does, as well as those in your league, and even dare to think it - those teams in the other league just in case...)
I get all melancholy at this time of year. I measure my life by the seasons - baseball seasons that is. Yes, hockey is just around the corner (my minor league favorite - The AHL's Chicago Wolves - lost their first preseason game Saturday night 6-3), but I don't feel my body clock pacing hockey. It ticks to baseball. When the season is over, I count the days until pitchers and catchers report to camp, the days until the first Cactus League opener, the days until the first pitch of the new season, the first pitch of the home opener... I love baseball... I love being at the park and watching the games, watching how it progresses, the ebb and flow, the grass, the sounds, the tastes, the passing of time... how hard it was to leave Comiskey Park this week...
I am always reminded of my favorite quote from a fictitious Terence Mann, talking to a fictitious Ray Kinsella:
"The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and that could be again. Oh people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come."
Oh, to be in my seat again...
I can barely hear the phone ringing. I'm asleep and I hear the last ring before voicemail picks it up. I look at the clock - 7:22am. OK, that's not a damn telemarketer - who was it? I flip out of bed and look at my computer screen to see the last Caller ID message that was sent to the computers in my home network. It was Carol. OK, that means she's not home downstairs. The phone rings again and it's her. She has a flat tire and wants me to come help. So a throw clothes on, get in the car, meander through rush hour traffic to a gas station that has no air for her to use. We change the tire - first time on her Suzuki Grand Vitara, so we had to learn where all of the pieces are (jack, tire iron) and how to get the damn spare off the back of the SUV (including finding out that she has a key lock for the spare, which we didn't know about). As I'm jacking up the truck, you could see the problem clear as a bell - nail head. The entire nail is embedded in the tire. Anyway, change the tire, get her to work, get me home to collapse. Ugh. What a way to wake up...