Vin Scully. Rugby. Not-Dollar-Movies.

The Master at work. . .

MLB network carried the Dodgers-Rockies game Friday night. The winner would claim the National League West title; the loser, the Wild Card slot in the National League playoffs starting next week. The Dodgers won, 5-0, but the outcome really didn't matter to me, simply because I tuned in for Vin.

Vin Scully.

He's been the Dodgers' play-by-play announcer now for 60 years. SIXTY! Think about that. It's the longest tenure for a single professional sports team in history, and, apart from Tommy Lasorda, has been with the Dodgers organization longer than any other person. How long has he been there? His tenure long pre-dates the Dodger move to California--it was Vinnie, in fact, who was at the microphone when the Dodgers won their only World Series championship in Brooklyn, in 1955.

To hear him on network television anymore is a rare treat. Scully calls only home games and Dodger road games west of the rocky mountains anymore, and since I don't have the MLB package or satellite radio, I hardly get the chance to listen to his broadcast artistry. He's a rarity among baseball announcers: working solo, without a color man. With Scully at the mike, who needs it?

It's Scully's voice that has been part of so many memorable baseball moments. Don Larsen's 1956 perfect game in the World Series. . .Sandy Koufax's 1965 perfect game. . .Hank Aaron's 715th home run in 1974. . .Bill Bucker's error at first base in 1986. . .Kirk Gibson's walk-off home run in 1988.

And now Vin stands alone as the last of his generation. The other Greats--Jack Buck, Ernie Harwell, Jack Brickhouse--are all gone. The 81-year-old Vinnie has said that 2010 will be his last season. If you have the chance to just sit back and listen to the Master at Work, please do so.

He's not a screamer, nor a puker, nor a homer. Throughout his career, Vinnie has realized that often, less is more. I'm hard-pressed to think of a tradmark phrase he's known for. . .if anything it is the slience that he allows to infuse his broadcasts, the rare ability for the man hired to speak to the masses to just be quiet and let the ambience of the moment say it all. He isn't just an announcer--he is an artist, a man who can paint pictures with words. His words have the pacing and deliberateness of a great mystery writer. Listen to him call the ninth inning of the Koufax perfect game, and tell me chills don't run up your spine!


". . .there's 29,000 people in the ballpark, and a million butterflies. . ."

Tyler Kepner, of the New York Times, wrote: "Scully could read an instruction manual and
make it interesting." Indeed. Here's a great profile of Vin from Salon.com.


Melbourne Wins!
So, watched the National Rugby League Grand Final yesterday on Spike. Melbourne Storm beat Paramatta Eels 23-16. It was clear that Paramatta was in over its head from the start, and rather amazing, actually, that they only lost by 7 point. After a lackluster first half, the Eels returned in the second half with a vengence, but failed to even the score in the last minutes with an impressive final drive that fell short.

I'm sure my mate Rick is in a good mood this morning--he the Melbourne fan who accompanied me in April to the Storm-Tigers game in Sydney. And his man Bill Slater came through with a crucial try.

Myself, I'll remember the barely contained ferocity of Paramatta's Kiwi-born back with one of the greatest names in professional sports: Fuifui Moimoi. It just rolls off the tongue. I could easily imagine him a defensive back in the NFL. Think of the money he could make in the states!

Unscrupulous Basterds
So the kids were out of school early Friday and we thought we'd take them to a movie. That "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" looked like somethiing they'd want to see, so off we go to the Star Village 8 Theater in Lake Worth. Granted, it's 2:30pm--Matinee times. And these bastards want to charge $9 EACH to see this movie. That's $6.50 PLUS another $2.50 because it's in 3-D. THIRTY SIX BUCKS for a matinee show? They've got to be kidding. We decided it'd be a Blockbuster afternoon. Where do these crooks get off thinking we're unlimited wells of money. It's not enough they can charge $12 for a tub of popcorn and a soda. . but then to charge us $2.50 because of the "specialness" of 3-D. It's all about sticking it to the customer. And we won't go for it.

The OTHER football. . .

Geelong--with horizontal stripes--battled it out with St. Kilda--vertical stripes--in the 2009 AFL Premiership match.

Sorry, I didn't catch Monday night's big Cowboys game on the nation-wide broadcast. Football? Oh, yeah, I watched football after work that night, but it wasn't NFL. It was AFL. And I'm not talking about the old American Football League

Rather, thanks to Lance Lassen's DVR, I watched the Toyota Premiership match between the Geelong Cats and St. Kilda Saints of the AFL--er, Australian Football League. That's Australian rules football. Footy. And the Premiership, played Saturday afternoon in Melbourne, is the equivalent of Australia's Super Bowl, played before 99,000 at Melbourne's Cricket Grounds.

There's a superb gallery of photographs of the match on line.

And it was a spectacular game. Even for one such as myself who'd only had minimal exposure to footy before, it was clear this game had it all. The drama: Geelong was looking to win their second Premiership in three years. St. Kilda was looking to win their first since 1966. The game had lead changes. Controversial calls (how could that goal umpire not see the ball bounce off the central post?). A rainstorm that made the leather ball impossible to keep ahold of. And it had a nail-biting finish when Geelong finally stormed by St. Kilda in the closing minutes after the Saints missed on so many opportunities to score six-point goals, settling for several one-point behinds instead.

After watching this game, I'm not convinced that, given the proper marketing, footy couldn't be a big hit in the United States. The game has non-stop action played on a huge (150 meters by 135 meters) oval field accomodating 18 players a side. The action is rough--there are no shoulder pads or helmets. There are no wholesale substitutions. You get banged up, you pretty much keep playing. The main drawbacks, as I see it at least, are the large field (fans don't get as up close and personal as they do attending NFL games, but the importance of that has been diminished by television driving popularity) and lack of outlandish personalities. Though I'm sure the AFL has its characters, footy seems very much a team sport as opposed to the "look at me" performances characterizing the modern-day NFL and NBA. (Though, to be fair, Geelong has a captain with the magnetism of a David Beckham; a red-headed muscleman who looked like the current incarnation of Carrot Top, and a bearded cave-man of a guy who'd fit right in on a Geico commercial).

Americans are probably most familar with footy from the early days of ESPN, when the nascent network was compelled to put anything it could find on the air. . and Australian Rules Football (back then the AFL was called the Victorian Football League) was a regular ESPN staple back before shit like Poker and World's Strongest Man was on the air. This weekend, the premiership was relegated to a slot (live though it was) on ESPN Classic. I could've watched it at home, but my satellite provider decided to remove Classic from my channel package and replace it with more college sports channels. Buggars!).

Essentially, each side tries to kick the ball between two sets of goalposts. Put a ball between the inner goal posts, and it's six points (that's a goal). Merely put a ball between the outer adjacent goal posts, and it's one point (a behind). The ball can squib across the goal line or sail high in the air--still the points are awarded. The defenders can get a hand on the ball before it crosses the goal line, but you'd still get at least one point. The ball is moved down the field by kicking it or running with it and tapping it (not throwing it) to your teammate. If the ball is kicked to a teammate and he catches it in the air, he gets a free kick. If you run with the ball, you're fair game to be tackled--and if you're tackled to the ground, you lose the ball to your opponent. When running with the ball, it has to make contact with the ground (bouncing it off the turf) every 15 meters, or you lose possession. Simple enough. At least, much simpler to understand than League rugby.

St. Kilda entered the Premiership the underdog, even though they finished atop the standings for the year. The Saints and Cats traded the lead several times in the first two quarters, and St. Kilda tied the score in the final seconds and converted a free kick for a goal after a Geelong player argued that he touched the ball on the tying goal--and St. Kilda should've been awarded one point instead of six. The umpires didn't buy his argument, and penalized the player for being argumentative by awarding St. Kilda the free kick.

The Cats actually trailed by six points at the end of the third quarter, but St. Kilda blew several opportunities for goals with inaccurate kicks.

"Indeed, this is a grand final the Saints will forever rue, for it was their inaccuracy in that quarter that ultimately cruelled their chances," wrote the Australian newspaper. Indeed, they scored no goals at all in the fourth quarter, and Geelong broke a tie with minutes left wtih a clutch Paul Chapman goal, icing the victory with one last goal at the siren, to win 80-68.

St. Kilda was crushed. “To St Kilda, footy sucks sometimes ... we were very, very lucky and we're very proud of what we've done,” winning coach Mark Thompson told the cheering fans following the game.

It's really a pisser ESPN doesn't regularly carry AFL during the regular season. That sucks too.

And Rugby, Too. . .
As the Premiership began late Friday evening, Texas time, the second-tier cable network Spike was carrying a semi-final match in the National Rugby League of Australia. The Paramatta Eels took on the Canterbury Bulldogs at ANZ stadium in Sydney. Rugby is a bit more arcane to follow than footy, so, once again, I really wasn't sure what was going on in a match Paramatta won 22-12 (I really needed Rick Schoenfelder with me to fill me in on the action!). Still, it was a blast to watch--and violent! As I mentioned after watching the Wests-Melbourne match back in April, our NFL players are a bunch of pussies compared to these guys.

Paramatta moves on to meet Melbourne (and Rick is no doubt delighted!) for the Grand Finals to be played October 4. I've already got the DVR set--10am Sunday morning.

Digging for Victory!

Jerry Picks a Winner!

I didn't watch all of Sunday night's gala opening of the $1.2 BILLION Cowboys Stadium game against the New York Giants, as M. and I were switching channels between the Emmys, the Cowboy game, the Cubs-Cardinals game, and Mad Men. That's where a DVR that would record four shows at once would come in handy.

But we did get to see the highlights: the last three minutes of the game, where Eli Manning drove the Giants the length of the field to set up the last-second game-winning field goal, and a lingering view of Cowboy Owner Jerry Jones picking his nose in his ultra-expensive owner's box. I guess I was surprised that he didn't have some boy-servant do that for him.

Anyway, all is right with the world. Cowboys lose. Record-sized crowd goes home disappointed. The only thing missing from making it a perfect night would've been the giant Godzilla-Tron HD TV screens dropping onto the assembled Cowboy team below, or maybe an Al-Qaeda attack. But the season is early, yet.

Mad Men Season 3

Hey, how about that Sterling-Cooper? The AMC series Mad Men picked up another Best Dramatic Series Emmy last night. About the same time, the season's fifth episode of the year aired, and I think this might be the episode that those so inclined to decide these things would say the show "Jumped the Shark." A visiting young executive from the Home Office in London happened to get on the wrong side of a John Deere riding lawnmower careening through the office during a going-away celebration for the buxomy Joan, losing his foot in a rather Peckinpah-esque scene with spraying blood and shattering glass. A bit far-fetched, if you ask me.


September: Football season in Texas.

Rangers: That's All, Folks!

Kiss the Rangers' chances for post-season play goodbye, barring simultaneous meteorite strikes on Fenway Park and Angels Ballpark. At a time when home wins were most important, the Rangeritos dropped seven of nine in the just-concluded home-stand. We were at the Saturday night game, a 3-2 thriller over the Angels, but it was too-little, too-late, and the feel-good didn't extend to Sunday's series finale, where Rangers pitching was bombarded and the team fell, 5-10. The rest of the season is off little consequence now, however, one question remains. . . .



Thanks, Millie--hope we see you next year.

Is Millie Done as Well?

Tonights game in Oakland will answer whether the Rangers are willing to pay pitcher Kevin Millwood $12 million next year, or just let him go into free-agency. Millwood's contract stipulates that if he pitches 180 innings this year, he'll automatically be awarded a one-year extension worth $12 million. He's currently sitting at 175 2/3 inning. . .meaning that with 4 1/2 innings tonight, he's be into Tom Hicks' pockets next year DEEP. His record this season certainly hasn't been that of a 12 Million Dollar Man. . .he started off strong, but has faded badly. True, his veteran leadership has been a great example for the young pitchers, but he's been eclipsed as a top starter by Jim Hunter and Scooter Feldman.

Rumors have had team ownership "shut down" Millie for the rest of the year, denying him the innings that would fulfill his contract clause. Sneaky? Low-rent? Sure. But the Rangers are essentially broke, and certainly can't afford a $12 million pitcher with Milwood's statistics. On the other hand, shutting down a healthy pitcher just to save the franchise money is uncharted territory in major league baseball; doing so will likely result in some sort of protest through the Players' Union. Not to mention taint any future negotiations to bring free agents to Arlington, as incentives in contracts are the norm rather than the exception, and failing to live up to them in good faith certainly makes the franchise look less than honorable.

The Neighbor

I noticed the next-door neighbor's house went up for sale last week. Not too unusual--there's plenty of foreclosures in our subdivision. I just guessed that he decided to either give up his home to the bank or downsize to a smaller place. He didn't seem to be living there anymore. Maybe he just up and moved?

Our neighbor was a single guy about my age; divorced, father of three. We didn't know much about him, only this: One of his sons lived with him off and on until he joined his sibings enlisting in the military. Our neighbor's father occasionally called the place home as well, and he'd often be seen doing yard work or piddling around in the garage. I guess our neighbor took in his neice as a boarder for a while; she'd had some drug and alcohol problems back home in another state, and he offered her a place in Texas to start her life over. It didn't work--she'd gone back to the booze and he kicked her out.

Our neighbor had been under-employed for quite awhile. When he first moved in a few years ago (replacing a family from Lousiana going through a divorce), he made a low-ball offer on the house and ended up with it--a place far too big for a man and his son. He'd worked in the freight-forwarding business for several years and had been "downsized;" he started up his own business doing the same thing working out of his home, but that went nowhere. He'd finally gotten a job at Wal-Mart--at least they were hiring.

He didn't have any insurance. He'd had a few small heart attacks--he was a smoker, but not obese--and we were amazed to see that he'd be back to work or mowing the lawn a few days later. He said he couldn't afford to be sick--and he had to pay the doctor's bills.

It was strange that our neighbor just left. It's not that we knew him that well, but still, most folks at least stop by to say so-long. We didn't even see a moving truck.

Why his home up for sale was a mystery to us until this afternoon, when another couple from a few doors down stopped by to catch up on things. That's when we'd heard what happened to our neighbor.

He'd died. Apparently from a heart attack. Nearly three weeks ago.

That was a pretty sobering bit of news on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. Sobering in that it well could have been me. And a bit sobering, as well, that we know so little about our neighbors that it took nearly three weeks to hear that a man who lived fifteen feet from us had died.

I can't help but think that the economy helped doom him. Without a good job. Without health-care or even sick leave. The stress must've added to his already damaged heart.

I used to always find him standing in his open garage on days with thunderstorms, watching the show. Nice enough guy. We'd exchange pleasantries, polite banalities. Not anymore I guess. Thunderstorms won't seem the same.

My Back Pages

LONG GONE: The Kingdome, the F-units, even the mainline isn't here anymore; Everett Turn, southbound at Lander Street, July, 1981.

"Ah, but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now."

Back thirty-three years ago, my family had just moved to Seattle from Salt Lake City. Being awkward and not well socially adjusted, I spent much of whatever weekend time I didn't devote to work or school driving around area rail yards, listening to Bob Dylan or Little Feat or the Byrds on the Eight Track, railroad radio plugged into the cigarette lighter plug on my dad's silver 1975 Monte Carlo.

As a teenager, anything new and exciting was worth paying attention to, doubly so for a railfan who'd gotten a small taste of Seattle railroading a few years earlier when I joined classmates for a bus trip to the DECCA (distributive education club--an attempt to turn us all into Young Capitalists) national convention. Along with throwing apples out the hotel window onto the passing monorail down below and having a makeout session with a girl from who knows where in the Seattle Arena one night, I will remember the trip for two things:

• glimpsing the Milwaukee Road's amazing cliff-hugging descent of the Cascade Mountains out the bus window on a rainy, foggy afternoon;
• a tattered old BN F7A, still in faded Big Sky Blue paint, emerging from the King Street tunnel.

So, when we moved to Seattle, there was no doubt what I'd be doing with my camera: photographing the Milwaukee Road, of course, and tracking down those F-units. I ended up doing pretty good, and looking at the prints and slides from those high school years makes me feel at least I accomplished some good photography, even if it did prolonge my finally getting laid.

I've been reacquainting myself--from afar, anyway--with Seattle and its railroad scene as I learn to dispatch the terminal rail operations of the city for my employer. It'd been nearly 13 years, anyway, since I worked the Seattle Terminal desk, and to say things have changed a bit is a crazy understatment. Today, the railroad has been completely rebuilt, and handles 42 passenger and commuter trains a day! Quite a change from when I snooped around in the Grey Monte. . .if anyone had said then that the railroad would someday be a busy commuter railroad, they'd have though you were mad.

So, here's a few of my "moldy oldies," Kodachromes from Seattle, circa 1977-1981.

Northbound Crew 3, North Portal, September 1980: warehouses replaced by a wall of condos.


Amtrak Empire Builder departs southbound, December 1976. At the time, those Amtrak locomotives were less than 2 years old; they wouldn't survive another two years.


July 1980: Brand new BN 8100's approach North Portal. These locomotives are now in storage, awaiting eventual retirement.

Yours-truly, posing at Auburn in May, 1980 for his Tiger-Beat magazine cover. Hey, if it worked for David Cassidy. . .dig the frameless glasses and attempt to grow muttonchops. And when did I ever have a (relatively) flat stomach?

Warning: Another story that makes Texans look like close-minded, potentially-racist, idiots

I'm not surprised by anything anymore, but this one, well, my Incred-O-Meter just about pegged out. So, the school district in Arlington wouldn't allow students to watch President Obama's speech to students because it was. . . .well, politically motivated?

Now, it turns out, the district already was planning on busing--at district expense, at a time when schools are in the financial crapper--500 fifth-graders to the new Cowboys Stadium (built at a cost of $1.2 BILLION, a good chunk of which is carried on the backs of Arlington tax-payers) to hear a speech by former President George "What? Me Worry?" Bush about the importance of volunteerism for the 2011 Super Bowl, which the city will host.

Said the district superintendent: "In retrospect, I can see how the district's decisions concerning these two events could be seen as favoring one event over another."

Uh, ya think?