Just an old sweet song

Back from our trip to the place of Noel's birth, to the metropolis where we played and absorbed culture during our University of Georgia days, to the team that haunts our childhoods and commands our undying loyalty. Back from Atlanta, where we seized the excuse provided by a colleague's wedding to introduce our children to some of the city's riches. Here are a few highlights.



We got to experience two, count 'em, two Staybridge Suites about a mile apart! This photo was taken outside the first one.




Walking the downtown streets.




Archer utterly confused this attendant at the World of Coca-Cola's secret formula vault exhibit with a robotboy question.




Granny Lou and Papa were with us for a couple of days, and the kids worked hard to give them enough love to last until the next visit.




We may not have eaten very healthy, but we ate very happy, including this Johnny Rockets lunch ...




... followed by rock candy on a stick.




We got to hang with old friends from our UGA days.




These are the kinds of smiles that happen inside a Legoland Discovery Center.




And these are the kind that happen when you're in the home of Hammerin' Hank.




Look at that form!




He's trying to stretch it to three! Really testing the arm of that right fielder!




More old friends at the ball game.




Our tomahawk chop took a while to get coordinated.




Cady Gray insisted on keeping score.




An enthusiastic rendering of "Take Me Out To The Ballgame."




Outside Staybridge Suites #2. It's a long story.




The Georgia Aquarium mesmerized Cady Gray.




Peeking at penguins.




There was even a fish for Archer.




CG picked up so many feathers for her collection that I was sure she would fly away on our many long walks.




Our friend Stephen probably wears suits frequently. This is the first time Noel's been in one in many a year.




MARTA was Archer's favorite Atlanta attraction. Goodbye, Peach City -- we'll see you again soon!

Waiting for a win

When the news is relentlessly bad, when the numbers are in the tank and the sniping is vicious and the disasters just keep mounting and no one seems to have any answers, sports become a refuge.  It may be bread and circuses (or just circuses, really), but we can escape the drumbeat of doom when our team chalks up one in the win column.

Unfortunately, my team -- the Braves -- haven't gotten one in the win column for a week now.  A nine-and-a-half game lead in the National League wild card race has become a four-and-a-half game lead.  Leads have been few, and squandered when they occur; hits in RBI situations have been anemic, the slim one- and two-run margins of victory have consistently not fallen in our direction.

I get piqued at times with how personally Noel takes all of this.  He gets angry or cynical or fatalistic when the Braves can't get it together.  I usually want him to show his frustration less, to maintain a front of "ah well, it's only sports," at least for the purposes of the smooth functioning of our home life, which gets disrupted when somebody's mood goes black.  But deep down I understand.  When nothing else in the news is going well, when the outlook everywhere is negative, when the political "teams" or causes that we root for are on the ropes and gasping for air, you need the more even-handed and less morally-charged world of sports to throw up a couple of moments of joy for you.

Probably I shouldn't be writing this while the Braves are still in the midst of their game tonight, with a small lead still out there to lose -- or before their playoff spot is clinched.  And I recognize that the view of the sports world as fair competition without significant moral downsides is horrendously blinkered.  It's hard for me to take the same refuge in college football, for example, being all too aware of the tradeoffs schools make in ethical standing and prudent academic management to bring us those contests.

But damned if we don't really need those wins right now.  Every one gives us a few hours, maybe a day or two, or feeling like it's possible to do something right.  Go Braves.

Rooting interest

I'm in the Memphis airport waiting for my flight to Kansas City to depart in about an hour. The airport authorities have thoughtfully tuned all the TVs in the terminal -- the ones normally blaring CNN -- to game 5 of the American League Championship Series.

Now my team, the Braves, was eliminated in the National League Division Series, after putting up a heck of a fight despite the heart of the All-Star lineup being sidelined by injuries. So I don't have a team to root for in either league championship or the World Series.

But sometimes it's enough to have teams to root against. And there they are in both leagues: the Yankees and the Phillies. The team battling the Yankees, with their obscene payroll and 900-pound-gorilla attitude, suddenly becomes a David that easily captures the heart of any baseball fan except the privileged New Yorkers. And this year it's the Rangers, a team that before this series had never won a playoff game at all. Their offensive explosions in the last three games have been both flabbergasting and highly satisfying, considering they occur at the expense of the vaunted (but aging) Yankees pitching staff. As I type they appear to be on their way to lose this one, extending the series to a sixth game. I hope it's just the inevitable bump on the way to victory, and not the start of a distressing Yankee comeback. If the Yankees won, it would be expected, boring, and a little bit evil, like the Empire crushing the Rebellion.

The Phillies aren't nearly so insidious; in fact, with their tradition of scrappy blue-collar hitters, they're kind of likeable, at least historically. But for the past few years, they've been a powerhouse that's run roughshod over the dreams of other denizens of the National League East. They are direct competitors for postseason slots against the Braves, and therefore our rivals, and it's hard to break the habit of rooting for them to lose all season long. And so I find myself in the odd position of rooting for the suddenly underdog Giants, a team that we all loved to revile during the Barry Bonds era, when their bandbox ballpark and freakishly 'roided hitters made them a run-scoring factory and a symbol of raw, amoral power.

Should both my teams win, I'll be in a pickle. The National League has a severe deficit of Series wins, so it will be hard not to root for the senior circuit and the honor of the games' oldest traditions. But the Rangers have won my heart, and what a joy it would be to see them and their fans celebrate a championship they've never been able to fathom before..

The magic number

A month or two ago, we Braves fans were riding high.  Now we are sweating out the last few games of the season, hoping to slide into the playoffs as the National League wildcard.

Most recent years, we've been able to write off our team fairly early.  It didn't make the losing any easier, but at least we didn't remain in suspense for months.  We knew where we stood.

This year everything seemed to be different.  We had hot rookies, breakout stars, and ace pitchers.  Just like the old days.  It was Bobby Cox's last year in baseball, the manager we loved leaving the organization we loved him.  If we could make a run at the playoffs this year, what a sendoff that would be, wouldn't it?

And so here we are at the end of September, decimated by injuries, down to a shadow of our All-Star glory, trying to eke out a few wins to back into the playoff spot that once seemed to be ours by right.  Every night I watch Noel's face out of the corner of my eye as he watches the game on his iPad, riding the ups and downs.  Right now the magic number is three; by the end of the night, if the Giants and/or the Padres lose, it could be two or one.

When it's zero, you will hear a sigh of relief from our house.  But that's just the prelude to the long in-drawn breath of the playoffs.  No matter how much we tell ourselves not to hold out hope, that our star-studded disabled list can't get us past round one, we'll be hanging on every pitch.  Again.

Mighty swings and trick pitches

If the weather is fine, we will spend Labor Day at the ballpark catching one more Travelers game. Noel assembled a brief video of highlights and lowlights from our early morning wiffle-ball matches on vacation a couple of months back.  Note especially Archer's eye-of-the-tiger batter's scowl and Cady Gray's determination to cheer and celebrate regardless of whether she knew where to run.

Get your game on

It's All-Star time in major league baseball. At this halfway point in the season, the contenders have been distinguished from the bottom-dwellers. You know whether your team has a decent shot of competing for a title, needs to step it up to get off the bubble, or will be unloading stars before the trading deadline.

This is the time of year when I look to my right, where Noel occupies the other recliner, and check his mood. In the last few years it's been darkling. The Braves hovered somewhere south of .500 ball, and even though they made a couple of runs, it was hard at the All-Star break to imagine them as pennant winners.

In 2010, it's different. The Braves are on top of their division and boast the best hitter in the league. Now I'm looking over at Noel and trying to remind him to enjoy the moment. Anything could happen in the second half. So we should resolve to be happy that our team is successful now, and not to be too disappointed if that doesn't translate into postseason play.

That's always been my philosophy as a sports fan, although I can rarely follow through: Keep expectations low and be pleasantly surprised if anything good happens. The All-Star game (which features five Braves on the NL squad) is such a pleasant surprise, and the standings at the break are another. It's too painful to get your hopes up that it will last. So the moment will have to be enough.

After the boys of summer are gone

Today's post about the serendipity of a hat is at Toxophily.

Thanks to our friend Ali's invitation, we went down to Dickey-Stephens Park for the last afternoon game of the season. It was a glorious afternoon. Here are two children at a baseball game on the last weekend of August -- one keeping score, one mugging for the camera.

A grand day out

Our fair city of Conway isn't really a tourist destination. It's a nice place to live and we enjoy its hometown charm. But I'm not sure what you do with people after you've taken them to Toad Suck Park and antiquing downtown and touring the college campuses.

So thank goodness our repeat guest this weekend is an easygoing sort. I've been hauling him around to look for crafting supplies and help Cady Gray shop for her brother's birthday and the like, when he's not being challenged by Archer to games of Mario Kart. It's probably not the kind of excitement anybody's looking for on vacation, but it's just about the best we can do on a hot August weekend when the kids need diversion, too.

But tonight I broke away and took him to Little Rock for an Arkansas Travelers ballgame. Because of the scarcity of day games on the schedule, we don't get to Dickey-Stephens park as much as I'd like. Most games start pretty close to the kids' bedtimes. So it was a real treat to see a few innings under the lights.

And I followed Charles Schulz's advice: A hot dog just tastes better with a ballgame around it. I know it's heresy, but I like my dogs with mayonnaise and ketchup, if I can't get 'em with cole slaw. We sat behind home plate and hoped that the season ticket holders whose seats they were wouldn't show up (and they didn't). The talk of academia and politics was occasionally interrupted by a dizzy bat race or budding no-hitter.

It was a lovely ending to a low-key visit by our friend Mark from Ohio. He's been unerringly gracious in letting us pursue our normal weekend program of keeping the kids entertained and getting a little work done, so it was nice to reward him with some Travelers baseball and adult conversation.

Attending my own funeral

Today's blog post, about falling to a worthy adversary in Sock Wars IV, is at Toxophily.

It's Memorial Day weekend, and we're hoping to catch a ball game if any sunshine sneaks in between the rains. We'll see you at the park!

Greatest show on dirt

We celebrated Labor Day in style by going to the last regular season game for the playoff-bound double-A Angels affiliate Arkansas Travelers. And the kids thoroughly enjoyed their first live baseball game.



Dickey-Stephens Park, the brand-new North Little Rock home of the Travs, just opened this year.




O'er the land of the freeeeeeeee ...




The kids industriously tucked into some sort of ice cream pellet treat that their dad found for them.




After a couple innings' practice, Archer became quite attached to the process of keeping score. While cheering during exciting plays, I would hear him at my elbow: "Mom, what do I put down?"




A light crowd for a very rare day game.




Toward the seventh inning stretch, Cady Gray became punchy from the excitement and started pretending she was a lemon.




Covered with chocolate sprinkles, flushed from a trip to the collection of inflatables behind the right field wall, she's feeling her oats.




Thanks for the fun, Travelers -- we'll be back!

Skip Caray, 1939-2008

Skip Caray has been a part of my life ever since Braves baseball has been a part of my life. Baseball wasn't my favorite sport growing up -- that would be NCAA basketball and football -- but it wasn't long into my adulthood before I embraced America's greatest contribution to the world of sport.

We were always Braves fans in Chattanooga -- hey, it was either that or the Cincinnati Reds, and Atlanta was closer. When I moved to Athens Gee-Ay in the late eighties, the last vestiges of the early eighties contenders had faded and the Atlanta dynasty was almost in place. We were all crazy for Braves baseball, crazy for the Olympics, crazy for the Atlanta renaissance that put the town on the map at the end of the twentieth century.

Skip's old-fashioned, slightly twisted, highly idiosyncratic radio calls took me through many a long road trip. I fell asleep to his voice whenever the Braves were on the West Coast. And thanks to TBS, I got him on TV too. For years the broadcasting teams would switch after four and a half innings -- the pair that started on TV moving to radio, and vice versa. It wasn't unusual for me to turn off the sound on the TV and follow Skip over to radio after half the game.

His immortal call of Francisco Cabrera's game-winning single and Sid Bream's lumbering trip home from second in Game 7 of the NLCS against the Pirates in 1992 -- "Here comes Bream! Here's the play at the plate! He is -- safe! Braves win! Braves win! Braves win! Braves win!" -- was my System 7 startup sound for years afterward.

I was sad when Skip began to have less of a presence in my life and my continued Braves fandom, thanks to a move away from TBS broadcasting the Braves. I'm devastated that I'll never here him call a game again. Rest in peace.

Joy

It was a stressful Spring Break at our house. Work continued apace for both of the bread-earners, but the kids were both out of school and needed to be entertained. When classes started back up, in one way it was a relief to be back in the routine; but in another way, all the tasks I failed to get accomplished during the break nagged at me, and I knew some tough deadlines and decisions were coming my way like a series of freight trains.

Happily for my blood pressure, it was Opening Day at the new Washington Nationals ballpark last night. And the Racing Presidents were on hand.



What is it about tall, costumed sausages and world leaders booking it toward the infield that sends me into flights of ecstasy? Honestly, these Presidents' Race YouTubes are better than Prozac. I take two of them and I'm giggling the rest of the night.