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I’ve got to admit, I do get a little caught up in the trade deadline hype every year. I suppose the main reason is because my team, the (World Champion) Red Sox, are usually in the pennant race. And they also have a boatload of money, giving them an unfair advantage over other teams.
Isn’t it funny though, how much the media blows this day up? It seems to me that the media members making phone calls all day probably work harder than the GMs themselves. Everyone wants to be the first to break the big story, and it’s already started this morning with FOX’s Ken Rosenthal breaking the Griffey to the White Sox news.
I have this image in my head of the 4pm deadline rolling around, and at exactly 4:01, Buster Olney chugging down half a bottle of Patron, stripping down to his skivvies, and crawling into bed for the next 16 hours. Oh wait, that can’t happen because ESPN is running a Trade Deadline Special at 5:30pm. See what I mean? You can’t escape it.
BUT…If you want to TRY and escape it, might I suggest a short piece I wrote for the Burnside Writers Collective last year called “One Trade Deadline to Rule Them All”? It was probably the most fun I’ve ever had writing something, and while it’s a little dated now, I still think it might make you giggle once or twice.
I mean, where else are you going to hear about A-Rod being traded to Grey’s Anatomy for McDreamy? Unless there’s a WHOLE LOT of Patron involved,Steve Phillips and Peter Gammons aren’t going to be breaking THAT story today.
I used to backpack a lot with my dad and brother back in junior high and high school. We were dorks back then. I probably weighed 100 pounds on some of those trips, but I’d load up a big old canvas Boy Scout external frame pack with 50 lbs of gear…just for a three-day trip up near Lake City, Colorado. I used to cram frozen steaks, cans of beans, cans of Dr. Pepper, sweatshirts, and extra pairs of jeans into those trips…it’s no wonder my packs were so heavy back then. The trails were never that difficult, with only a slight elevation increase. But I always remember being pretty miserable on the way up.
But I’ve learned. Last weekend I went on my second big backpacking trip in the last two years with some good friends, and I think I’ve gotten a good taste of the virtues of packing light. My pack — a midlevel GoLite pack I got off eBay — weighed only 25 pounds, but carried enough gear, clothing and food to keep me clean, dry, and well-fed for four days. It’s a good thing I learned to lighten up, too. This trail was nearly six miles long with an elevation gain of over 4,000 feet. We hiked up to the Bushnell Lakes, a set of three alpine lakes between 11,000 and 12,000 feet near Coaldale, Colorado.
Going up — thanks to intermittent rain and occasional climbing stretches that were pretty much like walking up flights of stairs in a lovely forest setting — took six hours. After two days of camping, hiking, summiting, flyfishing (big, beautiful cutthroat trout at the top lake), and hanging out around a campfire, we came back down to the trailhead. The descent took less than two hours. And while the road up was exhausting thanks to the climb and the altitude, the road down was flat-out painful. A steep descent like that — over rocky terrain — is constant pressure on the quads, the calves, and the soles of the feet.
The trail up and the trail down are both tough, but you know what makes it a lot easier? Traveling light. With a smaller pack I could enjoy most of the trail, rather than focusing only on getting to the destination as soon as possible and getting the stinking pack off my aching back. It’s why you can still smile after three miles and 3,000 feet of climbing, like this:
The lesson? I think there’s a pretty good metaphor in there somewhere. There’s value in simplicity. And backpacking teaches a person a lot about simplicity. Like how it’s OK to eat oatmeal every morning. And how it’s not a crime to wear the same shirt for three straight days. And how the best thing to do with a bunch of good friends is to just hang out and talk and tell stories, especially if a campfire is involved. And how a weekend without televisions and cell phones and box scores isn’t necessarily bad.
If you want a full recap of the trip, along with pretty pictures, you can find it starting here at my family’s blog.
Last Friday three friends and I loaded up and drove 8 hours south to play a round of golf at the TPC Sawgrass Stadium Course. It was a trip that we’d been discussing for probably eight or nine years, and when Uncle Sam sent us all $1,200 to stimulate the economy, it was on.
The Sawgrass Marriott is your typical swanky resort. The beds were soft, the TV’s were flat, and the breakfast was yummy. Oh, and according to our waitress, had we woken up ten minutes earlier we’d have eaten Belgian waffles with Morgan Freeman.
Our tee time at the Stadium Course was 9:09AM, so we arrived about 6:09AM, and hit range balls and practiced putting until we were exhausted. Then we found out our tee time had been pushed back 20 minutes, because Vijay Singh called the night before and requested a foursome of his friends be squeezed in.
When we finally made it to the first tee, I was scared to death. Not because people were watching or the shot was particularly demanding, but because I had paid a lot of money for the round, and there were no guarantees that I was going to play well. As cool as the course was, shooting 105 isn’t my idea of a memorable trip.
Fortunately I did play well. Shot a 41 on the front nine, and it could have been lower had I not been pulling short putts. Our forecaddie, John, was a great guy, and knew everything about the course. He told us where to aim, where not to miss, and when we made the greens, he could read our putts like a diamond-cutter.
I played well on the back nine too, but staying focused was difficult knowing what lurked on #17.
The island green on #17 stays hidden when you play the course. Much like the best horror films, the monster is out of view until near the end. But when you clear the last mounds on #16 fairway, about 100 yards from the green, there it is. 140 yards of terror, just staring you down. I contribute my bogey on sixteen to the seventeenth hole. It’s hard to make a four foot putt when you know you are minutes away from a watery doom.
So we get to the 17th tee and the fourcaddie says, “130 to the front, 133 to the pin.” That’s right, the pin was cut 3 paces on the front of the green. My friend Scott hit first, and sailed a pitching wedge over the flag, safely onto the back of the green. Then Jeremy, who knocked one stiff, right over the pin to about 15 feet. Then it was my turn, and the last thing I remember was looking down at my ball and telling myself to hurry up and swing before I become paralized with fear. I swung, the ball went right, but not too bad, and landed 20 foot long and right, then spun back down the ridge, and left me a relatively flat 20 foot putt for birdie. Finally my friend Chris had his turn, and with the pressure of potentially being the only one of the foursome to not hit the green, Chris made a great swing, threw his hands into the air, and watched his ball land safely on the back of the green.
John the forecaddie said in his 3 years of working the Stadium Course, we were the first foursome he’d had to all hit the green on #17 with their first swing. Of course he may tell every group that, but it made us feel good nonetheless.
Chris, Scott and Jeremy all three-putted for bogey on #17, while I made my par. Not a great end to the story, but it beats four balls in the water. And for all the talk about #17, it’s not the last hole, as I found out with my double-bogey on 18. Even so, I shot an 83, and was thrilled. It was a truely memorable round of golf, and I hope to play their again one day. But even if I don’t, I’m one for one on the island green!
+ As a semi-informed Red Sox fan, let me give you my opinion on Manny Ramirez as well as what I think will happen. Manny Ramirez is a diva and a goofball. For years, he has made sure that his goofball level always surpassed his diva level, at least as he was perceived by fans. This year, however, he’s not hiding it. Seems like his manager, and his teammates, are pretty tired of him sitting out games against tough righties and not really caring if the Red Sox win. Peter Gammons says it’s taking a huge toll on Terry Francona, and for that reason, I do think this will be Manny’s last year with the team. I think the Red Sox do not pick up his option this offseason and the Yankees, Mets, Phillies, or Angels sign him to a 4-year, $70 million dollar deal. Meanwhile, the Red Sox can move Ellsbury to LF, play Crisp in CF, and spend the money bringing in a better SS (maybe by trading Jed Lowrie) or more pitching. (and yes, Manny would play for the Yankees in a heartbeat…but we already knew that.)
Introducing a new feature here at Prayers For Blowouts: PFB PhotoChop.
I use my ninja-like Photoshop skills to combine the faces of a notable Christian and a notable sports personality, and you have fun guessing at who it is. (hint: it might be more fun to make incorrect guesses than correct guesses, especially if someone has already correctly identified the combo.)
It’s Brandon Roy’s birthday today, celebrated joyously by the folks over at OregonLive.com’s Blazer Blog. They’ve got this awesome video of Brandon devastating the Lakers.
So the Blazers return one of the league’s most promising teams. They also add Jerryd Bayless, who was MVP of the summer league. And Rudy Fernandez, who was the best player in Europe last season.
Kevin Pritchard, when not pritchslapping the rest of the NBA, keeps reminding Blazer fans this crazy experiment in bringing in good quality character guys and turning them into champions will take a while.
But looking at this roster, if these guys even live up to half of what they can do this year, I think this team could win an NBA Championship. Like, now.
Some of you watched the 2008 All-Star game this year. Far less of you actually saw the ending.
A 15-inning affair that ended with a close play at the plate, the midsummer classic did not disappoint this year in terms of drama. Is this a credit to Bud Selig, who has awarded home field advantage to the winning all-star league since 2003? Or is it a credit to the players, who usually want to perform well in any circumstance?
Much ado has been made about the stakes Selig has married to the final score of the All-Star game, but we want to know your opinion. Do you think home field in the World Series should go to the ASG winning League? Do you think the League with the best record in Interleague play should earn Home Field? Should it be simply be based on regular season record? What about alternating between leagues every year like it used to? Vote below before we run out of relief pitchers…
While skimming through my Publisher’s Marketplace weekly Publisher’s Lunch email I found this little tidbit in the “New Book Deals” section:
Texas Ranger Josh Hamilton’s comeback story from blue chip prospect to addict to American League All Star; after being confronted by his grandmother at rock bottom, Hamilton embraced Christianity, found his faith, and made it back to the pinnacle of his profession, to Harry Helm at Center Street, by Richard Abate at Endeavor.
I’m assuming this is a book that Hamilton is helping to write, but I could be wrong. In any event, it should make for a good read.
Florida assistant sports information director Zack Higbee actually made the decision for Tebow months ago, but only recently told him of it. While Tebow was fine with the decision, Playboy’s senior vice president and photographer director Gary Cole, was not.
“I don’t hate it when someone has all the facts, understands what our weekend and our history is and then chooses not to attend,” Cole told Florida Today.
“I do hate it when someone bases their choice on false or incomplete information…The weekend (in Phoenix) is completely wholesome. I have always brought my children whether they were one or 16 years old. It’s a really special few days when these fellows get the opportunity to meet each other and spend a little time together. Friendships are formed at these weekends that last a lifetime.”
As it turns out, Cole says that West Virginia’s Pat White, and not Tebow, was the choice for All-American at QB anyway. So take THAT, Missionary Boy!
But really, this is nobody’s fault but Playboy’s. They’ve spent many years and billions of dollars creating the brand recognition that they have. No matter how “family-friendly” their All-America weekend is, it’s not what anyone thinks about when they think Playboy. Don’t give me this “…incomplete information…” garbage. Ask 100 people on the street what they think of when they hear “playboy” and NO ONE will say, “their All-America Football Picks”.
Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t have faulted Tebow for being named in their magazine. Had he been named in the magazine as an All-American, I wouldn’t take it as any type of endorsement of the publication itself. But if he chooses to distance himself from the Bunny, he has every right.
Playboy wanted to own the market on female skin, and until Al Gore invented the internet, they had it.So you know what, if someone doesn’t want to be associated with the infamous brand YOU created, you’re just going to have to deal with it.
And if you need something for your tears, rip a page out of one of those great magazine articles to dry them.
A month ago I wrote about deciding to train and sign up for my first triathlon, which was gonna be in September. I’ve been at it since the middle of June. But a friend of mine ended up being the race director for another triathlon two days ago — July 19 — and convinced me a week ago that I should participate in his. It was flat, and easy compared to the hilly, challenging September one. “You need to get this one under your belt,” he said.
“I’ve barely started training for it,” I said. “The first time I ran any distance longer than a mile was three weeks ago.”
He told me to shut up and stop being a baby.
So, only four weeks into my training, I let him convince me to compete in a sprint triathlon. 350-yard swim. 12.7-mile bike. 5K run.
I finished, without having to walk or crawl or break into tears. My time was 1:18, which I guess is respectable and which put me squarely in the middle of the pack. Jim probably would have beaten me, though. And speaking of Jim, I have to apologize: I forgot to take a half-naked picture of me in my tiny little tri-shorts. The world can now breathe a sigh of relief.
I did end up with these pics, though. Here I am rounding the curve toward the finish.
Finish line.
And posing with my two biggest fans…in front of a pile of dirt. (Construction in the area.)
I got passed along the way by guys in their 50s. There was a 13-year-old in line behind me for the staggered swim start. Seriously, anybody can do this.
I’ve got to admit, I do get a little caught up in the trade deadline hype every year. I suppose the main reason is because my team, the (World Champion) Red Sox, are usually in the pennant race. And they also have a boatload of money, giving them an unfair advantage over other teams.
There’s a report out of Tampa Bay today that 
But really, this is nobody’s fault but Playboy’s. They’ve spent many years and billions of dollars creating the brand recognition that they have. No matter how “family-friendly” their All-America weekend is, it’s not what anyone thinks about when they think Playboy. Don’t give me this “…incomplete information…” garbage. Ask 100 people on the street what they think of when they hear “playboy” and NO ONE will say, “their All-America Football Picks”.
