Well, the time has come to end this little experiment of mine. After nine months of entries, I will no longer posting to this blog. I have been taking an inventory of sorts these days and have decided that keeping this blog is not something I need to be doing at this time.
My thanks to everyone who stopped by to read my posts and to leave comments over the past months. Your support and encouragement have been extremely helpful.
I will still have a presence online (of course):
Feel free to check me out at these places or to email me at email@example.com.
Thanks again, ladies and gentlemen. It’s been fun!
The MLB trading deadline came and went yesterday with the Yankees not getting exactly what they need, but getting something nonetheless. That much needed pitcher did not materialize but utility man Jerry Hairston, Jr did.
I, too, had a deadline of sorts to meet. Pay up or move out by this coming Monday or be evicted. I didn’t get what I needed. I didn’t get the money I need to pay my back rent. But I got a promise of help, nonetheless, and that was enough for the judge in housing court to nix my lanlord’s deadline. I will be meeting with the landlord’s lawyer in a few weeks to come up with a new payment agreement.
There’s another deadline out there. Well, the word “deadline” isn’t the right word for it. Call this one an “upcoming show.” Brit Morgan, my former online radio co-host, does a show now with a really nice guy named Frank Maniscalco (“Frankie The Sports Guy”). They do the show Sunday nights on BlogTalkRadio. Frank will be away tomorrow night, so Brit will be going solo. She’s got some great guests coming on, so tune in tomorrow night at 10PM Eastern. Click here for more details.
I wanted to mention Brit because some of you might know that the show we did together ended on a bad note. A bitter rift caused us to go our separate ways. I am happy to report now that we have settled our differences. She is a talented young woman with a good future ahead of her. I wish her the best of luck in all that she does. Knock ‘em dead Brit!
So I’m still without internet service in an apartment I’m fighting with my landlord to keep, but this afternon, when I turned on my laptop to play some CDs, I discovered that I had a wireless connection in my bedroom. Oh, what fun! I’ve been online practically non-stop since around 5:30. As I write this it’s a little past 9:30.
Anyway, with tomorrow being Hall-Of-Fame Sunday, I’ve been thinking about what it was like back when Jim Rice and Rickey Henderson were in their heyday. Specifically, I’ve been thinking about what it was like for me, and I’m finding that, right about now, it’s almost exactly the same:
No internet (Forget what I said about the wireless connection I found. I’m talking in general terms.)
No income ( I was a student back then. Now I’m getting ready to start another retail job next week.)
Not much of anything, except God and church. Back then it was force-fed to me. Now I accept it willingly. I’m sitting here now, quite the happy camper, listening to contemporary Christian music, feeling blessed to have found this wireless connection and knowing that more blessings are coming down the pike toward me. It’s all good.
I joined Twitter probably about two years ago when no one knew what it was. I didn’t even know what it was. I only joined because someone whose work I admired and whom I wanted to emulate had joined. Since then the site has grown by leaps and bounds. Now the words “tweet” and “tweeting” have become as much a part of the internet lexicon as the word “email.”
What used to be something only computer geeks did is now becoming part of mainstream new media. I would venture to say that it might be becoming it’s own new medium. So many companies, groups and government organizations have accounts! Even the White House has one!
What I’m most impressed about, however, is seeing how sports fans are coming together through it, doing “in-game tweets.” And it’s not just fans who are doing it. Beat writers are tweeting from the press box and sportstalk radio hosts are tweeting in-game from their studios. I had so much fun last night during the Yankee game, tweeting with fans and beat writers. When the Yankees lost I didn’t feel as bad as I usually do, I think because I’d been commisserating with Yankee fans for the past few hours.
If you don’t have a Twitter account I think it worth looking into.
Do subscribe to the belief that we are never given anything more in life than what we can truly handle? If you do, the last 7 days are proof that I am a very strong person.
Monday: In court, once again fighting a recurring legal problem.
Tuesday: Internet connection was cut off, the same day my MLB.com article was published.
Thursday: A rainy day. Water-logged from my trip to and from the library to use the public computers, and heartbroken over the Nats’ series win over the Yankees.
Friday: Just a general feeling of malaise. Can you blame me?
Saturday: The contractors working on my apartment still hadn’t finished the job, even though the super had promised.
Sunday: While writing this very post, my time on the computer here at the public library ended. I was granted no extensions and was not allowed to make another reservation. (That is why the “week” in this post goes from Monday to Sunday.)
I was so glad to see last week end. But, at the same time, I learned something about myself: that, with God’s help, I’m stronger than I think and I’m growing stronger everyday.
From the LATB Radio Show Blog:
The Subway Series returns this Friday when the Yankees host the Mets at the new Yankee Stadium. It continues in two weeks at the new Mets ballpark, Citi Field. These two parks have yet to produce any real memorable moments that fans can turn back to again and again. For now, they will have to be content with the memories they have collected from the old ballparks. Here are two great ways to relive those memories: The New York Yankees Essential Games of Yankee Stadium and The New York Mets Essential Games of Shea Stadium:
This Sunday night, 4 lucky listeners will each win a copy of one of these DVD sets. How? By entering the The Great Subway Series Giveaway. Click the link below for instructions on how to enter:
Get your entry in right away and listen to LATB Radio this Sunday night at 10PM Eastern to find out who won The Great Subway Series Giveaway!
Thanks and, GO YANKEES!
The mother of Yankees play-by-play announcer Michael Kay died from this disease and the father of Joe Girardi has it. As Mark Teixeira says in the video, within 50 years, one out of every 5 people will either have the disease or will be caring for someone who has it. Kudos to the Yankees for stepping up to the plate for Alzheimer’s Disease.
What better way to celebrate Melky Cabrera’s second walk-off hit this season? Thanks, Jane.
Last night the season finale of LOST aired while the Yankees were playing Toronto. I’m not a Tivo or DVR person, so I flipped back and forth between the two. Bad idea.
I’ve been watching LOST since its beginning but since this season’s episodes began I’ve been “lost” when it comes to understanding the plot. After last night I’m not sure I’ll ever be found.
Why was Ben so upset about Jacob not paying attention to him? (“What about me?”) What’s the difference between him and Widmark?
Why were there two groups of people looking for Jacob?
Who is Ilana?
Is the ship Jacob was looking at at the beginning of the episode the same one found shiprecked in the jungle seasons ago?
Why is Horace so annoying?
Why can’t Hurley get more air time?
Will I ever get the answers to these questions? Something tells me I won’t, just as I’ll never find out why the Yankees Retired Numbers are a recurring theme on the show or why Jack and his father trash the Red Sox from time to time. Actually, I read that a few of the LOST writers are big Yankee fans, so perhaps there are no deep, underlying meanings there. Which leads me back to my other questions: perhaps they have no deep, underlying meanings either, which means viewers of LOST will be forever just that.
I have one person to thank for my undying love for baseball: My “mother.”
In 1969 when I was 7 years old I was living in Washington, DC with my parents. In March of that year my mother passed away, and my father, a native New Yorker, decided that the best thing for me at that point was to go to New York to live with his sister, Lillian. I did not know Lillian at all. I met her for the first time when she came down to Washington shortly before my mother died. A few weeks later I was in a strange city, about to spend the rest of my formative years with a complete stranger.
Over time, I came to see my aunt as the only true mother I’ve ever had. In fact, I have always called her Ma. But things were very difficult for both of us while she was raising me. Ours was a tenuous relationship to say the least. I won’t go into details. Let’s just say we gave each other hell from the time I moved in until well after I’d moved out as an adult.
There were a few moments when hell disappeared and heaven was a place on earth. One of those moments was when my aunt introduced me to baseball. My aunt grew up in Brooklyn, and when Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier she became a Brooklyn Dodgers fan.
She began following baseball in earnest and paid close attention to what Jackie was doing. When he passed away in the early ’70s, I recall her talking about how much of a fan of his she was, saying she followed everything he did, and everything his family did. She spent a lot of time at Ebbets Field, cheering him (and the rest of “dem Bums”) on.
My aunt is a woman of faith, and when she felt that she’d replaced God with the Dodgers, she “put away childish things” and stopped following baseball. I’m sure it was a hard thing for her to do, but I suppose it became easier when the the team left Brooklyn for Los Angeles.
So, she stopped following baseball, but it never left her blood. When Willie Mays tried to keep his career alive by playing with the Mets in the early 70s, she turned on a Mets game briefly one day to catch of glimpse of him, perhaps to re-live, for a few moments, the golden age of New York baseball. Then, when Hank Aaron broke Babe Ruth’s home run record, she again turned on the TV, but turned it off after Aaron had broken the record.
She didn’t turn the TV on again until October 1978, when the Yankees and Los Angeles Dodgers were the two teams in the World Series. I don’t really know why, but she was captivated by the series. Suddenly I found myself feeling the same way, and then, “that was all she wrote,” as they say. I became a fan for life.
My aunt didn’t stay captivated. In fact, she rued the day she introduced me to baseball. But I am glad she did. She passed both her love of the game and, more importantly, her faith in God onto me. These two things have sustained me, kept me going during this, the toughest time of my life.
Now my aunt is about to start a new chapter in her life. Her declining health has made it no longer possible for her to live on her own. She will be leaving New York early tomorrow morning to go down south to live with her daughter. This morning she reminded me that God will make a way. Somehow.
Thank you, Ma, and Happy Mother’s Day.