Two Things I Love About Baseball

The Yankees won the World Series and that feels very right to me. But now that the season is over, I find myself feeling a bit lost in the evenings without a baseball game to watch. That got me thinking about baseball and its appeal. I've been a Yankees fan as long as I can remember, but the first time where I specifically thought, "I love this game," was at the World Series in 1977 or 1978. It was against the Dodgers, in any event. (I went with my pal Jeff and he'll tell me which year it was.) We sat down the third base line in seats that today would require a second mortgage. At one point, Graig Nettles made an astounding dive to his right to snag a hopper in the hole, got up and threw the runner out. It was an amazing, graceful play thatmade me appreciate how beautiful the game could be.

But it's not just the beauty and the athleticism of the game that I like. Thinking about it more recently, I came up with two things that I truly admire about baseball.

One -- Nothing has changed. Well, maybe not nothing; there are new rules and new equipment, juiced balls, superstars with astronomical salaries and quite a few other things that have changed. But fundamentally the game the Derick, A-Rod, Jorge and Mo play is the same game that Mickey and Joe D played, that Babe and Lou played, Ty Cobb and Tris Speaker played and that Honus Wagner and Cy Young played. So, when you read an account of an early game, you can follow the play by play and imagine the excitement of the crowd, even if the game was 100 years ago. As Sherlock Holmes said to Watson in His Last Bow, "You are a fixed point in a changing age." There are fewer and fewer of those.

Two -- It changed everything. Well, maybe not everything, but it has had a very positive impact in at least one respect. Wearing my Yankees cap, I was riding back to my parents' house in Manhattan Beach on the Q Train after my first visit to the New Yankee Stadium. The Yankees were losing badly to the Mariners so I left at the top of the 8th to beat the crowd. On the train, a young African American man with whom I -- a middle aged suburban white guy -- probably have very little in common, struck up a conversation about the game. He asked what had happened, what the score was when we left. He expressed the same disgust I felt at the outcome. We talked about the game, the team and the new stadium for a bit until he got off the train. Not a big deal, but I'm hard pressed to imagine another topic in which two people so different could have come to such a meeting of the minds. Baseball today transcends race. I'm sure there is still racism in baseball, as there is in other places. But the fact is that on the baseball field, players are players, heroes are heroes, a great performance is a great performance no matter the color of a player's skin. And that, in turn, binds us as fans. We take that for granted today, but I also started to think how much we owe Jackie Robinson for enduring what he endured to break that barrier.

Anyway, there's plenty of time to contemplate baseball now. As Joe Girardi said at City Hall the other day, pitchers and catchers report in 96 days. Something to look forward to.

What Money Can Do to a Man

In my professional capacity (harumph...harumph...) I have worked closely for many years with people of substantial means. Some absolutely rolling in the stuff. And I recall the day clearly when I confirmed with absolute certainty that money cannot buy happiness. It was only about 15 years ago when it hit me that one particular executive for whom the woild was his erster was perpetually miserable. Here was a guy who ran out one day to buy a brand new Jeep on a whim because after all, in his words, "money is not a factor." Yet, he had a permanent scowl and hardly ever a positive word to say. At the same time, it occurred to me that even at the outset of my working days, when I was bringing home a lot less, I was no less happy than I was then, or now for that matter. When it comes to happiness, to quote Mr. Bacigallupe of the Abbott and Costello show, "Money's-a-gotta nothing for do for dis ting." Obviously there are going to be some very sad times in everybody's life and none of us can control all of the circumstances we encounter and sometimes things will turn sour and so will we. And I'm not saying that having some dough to pay for a full belly and a roof over your head isn't something to aspire to. But when it comes to attitudes, I believe we can control our default setting. Whether we set the dial on "OK" or "This sucks" is up to each of us -- whether we have a lot of money or not so much. And it just seems to me that money tends to push the dial over to the "sucks" setting. I know, that sucks, but whatayagonna do.

And another thing! Recently, I've been witness to some individuals receiving some very large sums of money to do good things they, arguably, should be doing anyway. We're talking multiples of what most people make in a year. And the reaction isn't to jump up and down with glee and gratitude; it's to complain bitterly that it's taking too long to get the money. And this from people who are already pretty well off. (Prehtty...prehtty well off.) And I've seen this coming not just from jerks, but from people who I thought were pretty nice. Is that what money does? Is it really the root of all evil? They talk about the curse of the lottery winners. Maybe there's something to that. Hey, not for nuthin', but you gotta wonder.

Hello, Jade!

I was back in Brooklyn this past weekend with my son David to visit with my folks. I had intended but didn't get the chance to drive by the site of the best job I ever had. That would be my four years as a delivery boy (aka, Pharmaceutical Distribution Engineer) at Jade Pharmacy which was located at 1778 Utica Avenue between Avenues I and J. I worked there from August 1972 to September 1976. After 33 years in the corporate world, I still consider it my best job because I learned more of practical use at Jade than I learned at Brooklyn College during the same four years.

From the customers I learned that there are all kinds of people and all kinds of personalities. I learned when to speak up and when to shut up. I learned what to laugh off and what to challenge. I learned that most people are nice, but some aren't. And I learned how people react to words and that the words you choose are important.

From Herbie, the owner and my boss, I learned the difference between real urgency -- the kind where something important is at stake -- and artificial urgency -- the kind we impose on ourselves for no reason. I learned to work with others, that not everyone works the same way I do and that that's all right. (In fact, I subsequently learned that very few people work the way I do.) I learned that no matter how routine a job is (e.g. stocking shelves) or how physically demanding (e.g. carrying a case of Pampers up 5 flights when the elevator was out.) work can be fun if you're connecting with other people. And I learned that you can be a professional and still put your family first. (I also got to drive around in a Gremlin, which at the time was something I wanted very much to do.)

It took me a while after I got my first "real" job to stop answering the phone, "Hello, Jade!" But today, whether I'm writing a speech or working with a reporter or dealing with an irate employee, I know that I'm tapping the things that I picked up at the pharmacy all those years ago. (Thanks, Herb!)

Our Fears Reflected in Car Windows

I love old cars, especially those big swoopy dreamboats with fins from the late 50s. And what I think I like the most about them are the big greenhouses, the acres of glass --almost as much as on George Jetson's car.

Compare that to the narrow slits that pass for windows in modern cars. It seems like car windows have gotten narrower and smaller since about 2000. And I wonder if that has something to do with the general level of fear that has pervaded our society since then. The small windows you see on most new cars today evoke the small openings and gunslits on military vehicles. On those vehicles, they're a way to protect the occupants from gunfire and explosives. Are small car windows a reflection of a general need to protect ourselves from some unknown danger? Are we hiding from harm behind them? Are they indicative of a pessimistic view that can't see beyond today to a brigher future?

Maybe.

Compare today's car designs with those of the 1950s -- the postwar era when prosperity seemed to be growing, anything seemed possible and optimism abounded. Cars of that era looked like they could fly and the windows were so big and open that you could practically see into the future from the driver's seat.

Living in fear isn't living at all. Peering through gunslits is no way to drive. I'm going to eBay motors to see if I can find a nice old car with acres of glass. Maybe something from the magical era in which I came of age. A nice AMC Pacer? Hey, just stayin' alive.

Not for Nothin'

One of the most useful phrases in the world is, "Not for nuthin." We have to make the distinction here between "Not for nuthin," and "Not for nothing." The latter is an archaic phrase found in English literature which means, roughly, there is a reason for something, as in, "Not for nothing did Lancelot offer aid to the maiden Guinevere. For he sought her affection in return for his."

But, not for nuthin' means so much more. It's chock full of meaning and rich in implications. It means, "Look, I don't mean any disrespect and I have your best interest entirely in mind when I tell you this." As in, "Hey, not for nuthin', but that tie makes you look like a jerk."

It might also mean, "I'm not trying to get anyone in trouble but you should know this. "Not for nuthin, but Guido was pokin' around the petty cash box last night."

I also means, I'm not being critical. I'm just making an observation. "Not for nuthin' but that guy Ernie talks like he's got a dozen golf balls in his mouth."

I've even heard it used to combine an expression of admiration with a pre-emptive defense against an accusation of laciviousness. "Not for nuthin' but that girl down the hall... hoo HOO!"

In short, there are few more versatile phrases in the English language. Not for nuthin'. I'm just saying.

All right! All right, already. I'll blog! I'll blog. Geez.

I've gotten to be one of those people with all these stories that people seem to think are amusing. I usually have something to say about everything, and people have been telling me, "You should blog." I don't generally have much use for blogs and even less for Tweets. But the more I thought about it, the more it started to seem like a better use of time than Brick Breaker. So here we are.

The name of this blog, EOCAWKI, is shorthand for End of Civilization as We Know It. My pal, Jeff and I have been using it for as a subject line for emails in which we share tidbits that point to the rising tide of idiocy that seems as if it could undermine the fabric of our civilization -- or at least make things damned annoying and inconvenient.

I'll probably spend some time recounting the stories I've been boring people with over the years -- about my family and the people I've worked with and the great advice I've gotten and shared. Let me start with this from my friend and mentor, Barry, with whom I have had the pleasure and privilege of working for 20 years: "You wouldn't worry so much what people thought about you if you realized how seldom they do."