America's national pastime has priced itself out of reach for many American families. A night out at a major league ballpark for a family of 4 (according to the FCI or "fan cost index" which the TMR defines as two average-priced adult tickets and two average-priced children's tickets--plus two small draft beers, four small soft drinks, four regular hot dogs, two programs, two of the least expensive adult-sized adjustable caps, and parking for one car) can run around $250 in my hometown of Boston.
Last night I experienced the alternative, and even though the game was "fogged out" (see the pictures below), it was great entertainment. In the minors, they've not forgotten that fans come for the fun.
The venue was Coney Island's KeySpan Park, home of the Brooklyn Cyclones. Although the park's proximity to the Atlantic led to a less-than-hoped-for result, a large part of the crowd was willing to stick around through the delays and was treated to dance routines, tumblers, mascot antics and even a medieval "jousting" tourney conducted in center field.
And with a ticket price of $11 for a good seat, plus the lure of the original Nathan's nearby, I'd come back.
Although restricted from going onshore, the natural harbor in the midst of the Isle of Shoals is a favorite destination of boaters from New Hampshire and Maine. This past Sunday was no exception, with raft-ups everywhere.
A place of beauty, well worth preserving.
Last month I reported on the Turkey Calling Contest at the Kittery Trading Post. Just so you'll understand what all the noise was about, I thought it appropriate to illustrate the object of their affection in this post.
On the way to a meeting in Waltham yesterday, I captured this picture of a fleeing wild turkey at the corner of Forest and Trapelo Roads. Pretty impressive for a suburban turkey!
Happy Hunting!
Sailing lost "one of a kind" on June 3, 2007. Bruce Goldsmith, winner of 2 World Class Championships and 4 NA Championships in the Lightning Class, and 2 Pan-Am Golds was hit by a swinging boom in a storm during the Commodore Perry Race in Lake Erie last Sunday afternoon.
I had the privilege of sailing for a short time with Bruce on "Send in the Clowns," the J-29 he raced out of North Cape Yacht Club. He was one of the finest and yet funniest A-List yachtsmen I've ever known. Having crewed and skippered Great Lakes sailboats for many years, you develop a short list of people you'll join on a race at the drop of a hat. Bruce was one of them.
When I got a call today from my oldest and best sailing friend, Dave Williams, filling me in on the news, we both had a great laugh remembering an overnight (Mills Cup, Sisters?) race that we did with Bruce back in the '80's. We both got to the boat ("Clowns") early, then waited and waited for Bruce to show up. Finally, he arrived, with an armful of liquid "provisions" for the race. We were 15 minutes late for the start, but sailed a good race. Uh, yeah, we had a great time!
My best wishes to Bruce's family and friends at North Cape and elsewhere. Bruce will be missed. But, as his eldest daughter Carrie was reported to have said, he left us while doing what he loved.
Occasionally we do the right thing. Not often, mind you, but occasionally. However, last week I took the opportunity to do just the right thing in flying south to orchestrate (with much help) a party for my mother's 90th birthday.
A quick glance at my mother's medical history, coupled with the fact that she's reached 90 would lead most actuaries to abandon their life expectancy tables and resort to divining chicken entrails. A big factor in her continued presence on the "good side of the grass" can be linked to her wonderful support network, many of whom can be seen in the party photo below.
Best of health to her friends and church group, who've made occasions like last week's possible!
People communicate with animals. Dr. Doolittle notwithstanding, this is an idea that transcends entertainment, and is linked directly to our survival as a species.
This past weekend, on a visit to the Kittery Trading Post (Kittery, Maine), I stumbled into a large classroom on the ground floor of this unique sporting-goods emporium ("we still take deer hides in trade."). Most people filing into the classroom had one thing in common . . . small, hand-held (non-electronic) instruments that emitted sounds that fell somewhere between fingernails on a blackboard and a baby crying.
As the master of ceremonies took the podium, it all became clear . . . the group was assembled for the KTP's first turkey-calling contest. The first contestants (who were very, very young) were asked to emulate three distinct turkey sounds (e.g. a "a cutting hen," etc.) judged by a panel behind a curtain. Despite some obvious stage-fright, these kids were definitely in the game . . . and were rewarded for their efforts not only with well-deserved applause, but with some appropriate prizes. Next came the "hens" (the hunting universe is not exactly a haven for political correctness), providing some really accomplished work and finally the males, many of whom were camo'ed up . . . ready to take the field in search of their elusive prey.
I had to leave before the competition was over, but had a chance to reflect on what I'd witnessed later that afternoon, What really stands out, was both the enthusiasm of the crowd and its love of the outdoors and its traditions. Hunting, which some might think is a sport long overdue for extinction, is alive and well in Southern Coastal Maine. And it is being preserved by families, fathers and daughters, mothers and sons, who see our relationship with the environment as part of their lives, and not just a documentary on the Nature Channel.
Pulitzer Prizewinner David Halberstam died in a Bay Area car crash this morning. I only met him once, at a book-signing and lecture on "War in a Time of Peace," . . . a runner-up for the Pulitzer Prize in nonfiction.
He was one of the great journalists of our time. His book, "The Amateurs," profiled competitors for the olympic berth for men's singles (rowing) in 1984. As a sculler, this book was both eye-opening and inspirational. Although Halberstam will always be known for "The Best and the Brightest," he will always be remembered in our household as a sportswriter. A wonderful sportswriter.
We lost a good one today. He will be missed.
One of the more interesting aspects of working on a major project in Chicago is learning to live with the serendipity of air travel. Like the hotel in the song, you can get here, but getting out again is an altogether different thing.
As a regular on AA's flight 1400 (ORD-BOS), I've learned that Zen-like patience is more than a virtue, it's a necessity. I can count on the fingers of one hand the times this flight has honored its posted departure time.
What's difficult to remember as I mill around on Concourse K with about 100 of my closest friends is that air travel is actually a miracle. The fact that I can get to Boston from here in 3 hours (once in the air) is something that my parents could not even imagine when they were in "business mode." I can remember my mother telling me of snagging a ride from Chicago to Roanoke VA on a troop train during WWII, remembering the ride taking days not hours.
Thanks, Orville and Wilbur.
Book: What book are you most ashamed you haven't read?
Submitted by Byrne.
The Change Handbook (released this year). Although Gil Steil and I wrote a chapter for the book, and I have two complementary copies at home, I'm not proud to admit that I've yet to read through the submissions provided by my colleagues in change. I think that this is going to be my vacation reading project.
