Monthly Archives: June 2019

A middle of June mashup

I felt guilty yesterday, and it lightened my wallet a slight bit.

Two ladies who teach at a middle school in Liberty met for drinks. I felt like I was eavesdropping on their conversation. I buried my face in my hands a couple of times.

I thought it was happening again. I had it going through my mind I was “hovering” and making women uncomfortable in a Buffalo Wild Wings.

Very few people have told me outright I’m hovering and making them uncomfortable, but Lord knows how often I’ve thought it.

One of the teachers got there a little after two. She was waiting for her colleague, and ended up waiting more than an hour. She was on her phone quite a bit. We made a little small talk, but once her colleague arrived, I felt uneasy sitting there, despite being engrossed in trivia.

The lovely ladies, Joanne and Heather, told me everything was okay and I wasn’t eavesdropping. Crista has told me more than a few (thousand) times I read too much into situations. I’m sure I’ll tell Crista all about it when I see her on 27 June.

Joanne was the one who arrived early. She asked me if she could help me with anything. Fortunately, she didn’t have to.

I told Tina to put their drinks on my bill. She kept the secret until Heather was ready to pay. Heather was going to pay for a couple of Joanne’s drinks due to being late, but then Tina said their bill had been taken care of.

I shouldn’t be so surprised. There was Kelsey, the young lady in the Army from New Hampshire who stopped in at Zona Rosa on her way to St. Louis in December. I would give anything to hear from her. But I know she’s got much more important things to worry about.

December 27, 2015 still pops into the mind from time to time. It was the infamous Sunday when two strangers began kissing and groping one another while sitting next to me. Luckily Robb and Dawn showed up to provide me company.

Speaking of Zona Rosa, their Buzztime system has been down since Mother’s Day. No sense in going there. Also, most of the employees I knew are gone. Tori, Trey and Morgan are there amongst the veterans, but Liz, Lisa and all the rest are gone.

The atmosphere at Shoal Creek is better. The decor is nice, the lightning isn’t too harsh, and it isn’t as loud as Zona gets. Between all the kids and the hip-hop often blaring from the jukebox, it gets unbearable.

Between Joanne and Heather, Larry, Jeff Lagrande and trivia, yesterday was pretty darn good. I didn’t leave until 2030. I have to leave Kansas City tomorrow before 0730 to make sure I’m back in Russell by 1200. I might have dawdled around town Sunday and then driven home late, but my mother is cooking eggplant parmigana.

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The Raptors won the NBA championship. YUCK. There was a jerk wearing a Kawhi Spurs jersey in Buffalo Wild Wings Thursday, cheering every good thing the Raptors did and every bad thing the Warriors did.

First, I cannot stand Kawhi. Period. I’m not a fan of Gregg Popovich, but Kawhi was totally at fault for the stuff he pulled in San Antonio. Popovich had every right to treat Leonard the way he did, because Kawhi did it to himself. Kawhi wanted out of San Antonio so he could find a coach he could manipulate. Nick Nurse proved to be Kawhi’s stool pigeon.

Second, Drake’s antics have made me hate the Raptors. He has no business anywhere near the benches. If it were up to me, I would ban courtside seats. Yes, they bring in boatloads of money for NBA teams, but is it worth the trouble?

Third, men should never, ever wear sleeveless shirts without an undershirt in public, UNLESS they are working out. And if men are to wear sleveeless shirt while working out, they should have to shave their armpit hair, which is disgusting to begin with.

I’m getting my armpit hair laser removed, along with my chest and back. Body hair grosses me out to no end.

My father has almost no body hair. I wish I were like him, not my grandfather, who has more hair than an ape. Apparently, my sister-in-law loves body hair, because my brother is a gorilla. The only good news in my genes is my hair is light-colored, whereas my brother’s is darker, coarser and harder to remove.

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The 25th reunion of my graduating class at Brother Martin High was last Saturday in New Orleans. I didn’t go, of course, but I did donate $70, the cost of attendance, which I did not do previously.

I am friends with very few high school classmates on social media. On the other hand, I’m not wishing them any ill will, which wasn’t the case for a long time. I held a lot of resentment even after moving to Kansas, which was 12 years after my senior year of high school began. Time has a way of healing wounds. Maybe these have started to heal.

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Geez. A man has walked into Buffalo Wild Wings wearing a cowboy hat. WEARING the cowboy hat.

This is not a rodeo, sir. You should remove that hat.

I am just aggravated by men who cannot remove their hats in a restaurant. I wore hats indoors when I was younger; I stopped after visiting the Louisiana state capitol in 1992 and being politely asked by an usher in the House seating gallery to remove it. I like showing off my short hair anyway.

I made a horrible mistake many years ago of going outside without a hat in Kansas. My head was fried within two hours. I haven’t made that mistake since.

Baseball hats are a nuisance. They do not block anyone’s view. But cowoboy hats? Another story.

The public address announcer at Hill City’s gym wears a giant cowboy hat. Anyone sitting directly behind him who is not more than three rows up will have his or her view blocked.

I don’t see why people in Texas want to spend tens of thousands on a Stetson cowboy hat. Make a down payment on a car.

I used to own a ton of hats. Most of them were flooded by Katrina. The only hats I own now are a few MLB throwbacks and the ones I used to wear when I covered outdoor sporting events.

The last hat I purchased was a White Sox throwback, the one they wore from 1976-81 with the floppy-collared jerseys and navy blue or white pants. I discovered those uniforms watching Johnny Bench’s instructional show, The Baseball Bunch, in the mid-1980s.

Most people hate them, especially Chris Sale, who cut a replica up in 2016 when he was scheduled to pitch wearing them on a Turn Back The Clock night, one incident which prompted his departure from Chicago. I love them. I bought the hat as a protest of Sale’s hacking. I despise the White Sox’ uniforms, which they have worn since 1991. Black is ugly, especially for a team which hardly ever wore black before then. It also is a reminder of the White Sox’ disgusting past, namely the Black Sox.

Right now, I’m the only man not wearing a hat at the bar. One black cap, one Royals batting practice cap, the annoying cowboy hat, and a Diamondbacks batting practice hat. I swear there needs to be a hat rack in every restaurant.

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Gary Woodland, a Topeka native who played at Washburn and KU, is leading the U.S. Open at Pebble Beach by two strokes. He and Justin Rose make up today’s last pairing, teeing off at 1645 CT (1445 PT). Woodland has never won a major, while Rose won the U.S. Open in 2013 at Lower Merion near Philadelphia.

It looks like Brooks Koepka’s bid to win his third consecutive U.S. Open has ended. That doesn’t make it any less compelling.

Singing the Blues no more

Let the record show St. Louis’ Stanley Cup drought ended at 2241 Eastern Daylight Time, 12 June 2019.

That’s when the final siren went off in Boston’s TD Garden, ending the Blues’ 4-1 victory over the Bruins in game seven of this year’s Stanley Cup Final.

The Blues, the team which lost 12 consecutive Stanley Cup Finals games without a win in their first three seasons of existence, then waited 49 years to get back to the finals, took the Cup back to Missouri, where it arrived very early this morning at Lambert Airport.

This puts three NHL teams on the clock.

The Canucks and Sabres, two teams which came into the NHL three years after the Blues, Penguins, Flyers, Kings, North Stars (now the Dallas Stars) and Seals (ceased to exist after merging with the North Stars in 1978), now have gone the longest without winning a Stanley Cup.

Vancouver and Buffalo have been to the finals a combined five times. The Sabres lost in 1975 to the Flyers and ’99 to Dallas, while the Canucks fell in 1982 to the Islanders, ’94 to the Rangers and 2011 to the Bruins. Only the 2011 Canucks were within one win of the Cup, but they lost twice to the Bruins, game six in Boston and game seven in Vancouver, the latter sparking disgusting riots throughout British Columbia.

The other team on the clock is the Maple Leafs.

Toronto has won 13 Cups, second to Montreal’s 24, but the Leafs haven’t hoisted the 16-kilogram (35-pound) silver trophy since 1967, the last year of the “Original Six”. The Maple Leafs haven’t even reached the finals since 1967, losing in the semifinals on numerous occasions.

The Leafs’ futility is a running joke in the NHL, especially in Montreal, Boston, Ottawa and Buffalo, four cities which would root for a team captained by Donald Trump over the Leafs. Toronto hasn’t won a Cup since Lester Pearson was Canada’s Prime Minister, yet the Leafs are the NHL’s most valuable franchise, have some of the highest, if not the highest, ticket prices in North American professional sports, and have a season ticket waiting list rivaled by only the Packers and Redskins.

Toronto isn’t going to win a Cup until it gets rid of Mitch Marner and/or William Nylander for help on the blue line and a competent backup goaltender.

The Leafs’ defense is putrid. It stinks. Yet the Leafs went out and threw a crapload of money at John Tavares last year. Tavares is great, but how many scorers does a team need? This isn’t 1984 when the Oilers were winning games 10-3 and 12-5 on many nights. It isn’t 1998 when 1-0 games were as common as a cold, but the days of teams scoring 400 goals a year are long gone.

Fredrik Andersen isn’t that good to begin with, and he certainly can’t carry a team on his shoulders the way Patrick Roy, Martin Broedeur and Grant Fuht could in their heyday. The Leafs haven’t had one since Terry Sawchuk.

I can’t see Toronto doing a damn thing until the two things I mentioned above happened. Until then, it will be one and done in the playoffs for the next couple of years.

Vancouver and Buffalo? Please. They’re even more hopeless than the Leafs. If either makes the playoffs before 2022, I will be truly surprised.

Boston’s window may have slammed shut. Tukka Rask, Patrice Bergeron, Brad Marchand and Zdeno Chara are near the end of the line.

As long as Tampa Bay, Nashville, Carolina, Florida, Arizona, Vegas, Dallas and Anaheim don’t get their grubby paws on the Cup, it won’t be too bad.

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The NHL needs to seriously realign when Seattle comes on board. The NFL model of eight divisions of four might work. This would be my setup:

–Seattle, Vancouver, San Jose, Colorado

–Anaheim, Arizona, Los Angeles, Vegas

—Calgary, Edmonton, Winnipeg, Minnesota

–Chicago, St. Louis, Dallas, Detroit

–Nashville, Carolina, Tampa Bay, Florida

–Washington, Philadelphia, Rangers, Islanders

–Buffalo, Pittsburgh, Columbus, New Jersey

–Boston, Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto

Dividing the three New York City teams seems like blasphemy, but the Devils haven’t been in New York as long as the other two. And the Devils make more sense in a division with three other American teams. Toronto makes sense with Boston and Montreal, since the three have been rivals since the beginning of the NHL.

Detroit and Chicago should be in the same division. It’s silly they aren’t. I understand the Red Wings’ fear of playing more west coast games, but why they aren’t playing their oldest rival more often is silly.

The Flames and Oilers have been begging for more games vs. the Jets. The two Alberta teams would love Vancouver in their division, but the Canucks and the new team in Seattle not together doesn’t make sense. The only other way to slice it would be to put Seattle in with the Canucks, Flames and Oilers, then move a few other pieces around on the board.

The four southernmost teams deserve one another. Washington needs to be in a division with northeastern teams, not ones far south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

If the NHL wants four divisions of eight, here’s what I’d like to see:

–Vancouver, Seattle, Calgary, Edmonton, Winnipeg, Colorado, Minnesota, St. Louis

–San Jose, Los Angeles, Anaheim, Arizona, Vegas, Dallas, Nashville, Columbus

–Chicago, Detroit, Pittsburgh, Buffalo, Florida, Tampa Bay, Carolina, Washington

–Boston, Montreal, Ottawa, Toronto, Philadelphia, New Jersey, Islanders, Rangers

That’s enough hockey for now.

Blue Sunday night (and Monday)

I’ve been singing the blues since 2200 last night, at least as far as sports goes.

The Blues choked in their attempt to win their first Stanley Cup last night, losing 5-1 at home to the Bruins. The series goes back to Boston for the winner-take-all game seven Wednesday.

St. Louis has performed very well away from the Enterprise Center in the playoffs, winning 9 of 12. However, no team in the Stanley Cup Finals has lost game six at home, then recovered to win game seven on the road since the Maple Leafs in 1945, who lost to the Red Wings in Toronto, but somehow got back up and took the Cup at Detroit’s venerable Olympia.

The Blues became the third team this millennium to lose game six of the finals on home ice. The Devils blew it in 2001 and the Flames did it three years later. New Jersey bowed to the Avalanche in Denver, and Calgary choked against the Lightning, subjecting us to the ridiculous spectacle of the Cup being skated in Tampa by the home team.

Three other times since 1995 have the finals have reached game seven:

2003–the Devils and (Mighty) Ducks each fail to break through on the road. New Jersey has the good fortune of home ice advantage.

2006–the Hurricanes lose twice to the Oilers after taking a 3-1 series lead, but recover to win the Cup in Raleigh

2011–the Canucks and Bruins split the first six games, with neither team able to win away from home. In the seventh game, that changes, with Boston rolling 4-0 in Vancouver, prompting lawlessness in the streets of British Columbia.

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Meanwhile, about 800 miles down the Mississippi River, LSU’s 2019 baseball season came to a sorrowful conclusion.

The Bayou Bengals were swept in their super regional by Florida State. LSU blew a 4-0 lead in the first game and lost 6-4, and in the second, it erased a 4-0 deficit, only to lose 5-4 in 12 innings.

LSU’s season ended 40-25. There were some highs, like winning a series in Starkville, but some real lows, like being swept in Austin by a mediocre Texas team which finished last in the Big 12 and losing a series for the first time to Missouri.

The Seminoles are going to the College World Series in coach Mike Martin’s 40th and final season. Martin has won the most career games of any baseball coach in NCAA Division I, surpassing 2,000 earlier this year.

The Seminoles will be in Omaha for the 17th time under Martin, who succeeded the late, great Dick Howser when the latter left Tallahassee in late 1979 to become manager of the. Yankees and later the Royals. FSU also played in Omaha six times prior to Martin’s ascension. The Seminoles’ baseball stadium is fittingly named Mike Martin Field at Dick Howser Stadium.

For all their success in the regular season and early rounds of the postseason, the Seminoles have yet to claim the brass ring. Their 22 previous CWS appearances without a title are the most. By comparison, LSU didn’t make its first CWS until 1986 and has six titles in 18 appearances.

Martin’s plight resembles that of longtime FSU football coach Bobby Bowden, who came close season after season in the 1980s and early 1990s before winning two titles in 1993 and ’99. Bowden and Martin are good friends, and I bet Bobby will be in Omaha rooting on his former school.

I’ll never forget the 1998 CWS. I went to Omaha for the first time. In the first game of that year’s series. FSU lost 11-10 to Arizona State in a game marked by numerous errors and wild plays.

A reporter came back to the Rosenblatt Stadium press box with audio from Martin’s postgame press conference. The first words out of Martin’s mouth: “We stunk the dadgum cotton picking ballyard up!”

The Seminoles were eliminated two days later by Long Beach State. Martin was much more subdued and conciliatory after losing to the 49ers (aka Dirtbags).

In 1999, FSU reached the championship game, but lost to archrival Miami (from 1988-2002, there was a single CWS championship game). In 2000, the Seminoles were ousted by LSU, which went on to win its fifth title under Skip Bertman.

Another school which has been to Omaha plenty with nothing to show for it, Mississippi State, is going back. Also in the field are Louisville, Texas Tech, Michigan (first time since 1984), Auburn (first time since 1997) and Vanderbilt. Arkansas looks like it will round out the field, as the Razorbacks lead Ole Miss 7-1 in the fourth at Fayetteville in the decisive game of that super regional.

I’ll take Vanderbilt and Arkansas in an all-SEC championship series. And I’ll take the Razorbacks to overcome their heartbreak from last year’s championship series loss to Oregon State, which would bring Arkansas its first baseball national championship and first major sports title since basketball in 1994.

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Once the Blues fell behind 3-0 last night, I turned off live television and switched back to The Brady Bunch DVD collection. I’m halfway through season four. I’m going to rewatch them once I get through the entire series.

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I need to get my car washed. The bugs are bugging me big time. It looks horrible.

For those who live in a big city, you would be well advised to get an unlimited car wash plan. It will do wonders against the bugs in the summer and the snow, ice and grime in winter.

One good news for my car: my custom sunshade arrived today. It works great. The generic ones in Target (and Walmart, even though I no longer shop there) don’t fit my car. They are awful. No wonder they are #########################################################################

The United States plays its first match in the FIFA Women’s World Cup tomorrow in France. At least Hope Solo, Lauren Holliday and Sydney LeRoux are no longer on team. However, Megan Rapinoe, Alex Morgan and Carli Lloyd are, and those are three big reasons I’m rooting against the Americans.

Morgan is nowhere near the caliber of player former teammate Abby Wambach was, and certainly not in the same league as past greats Mia Hamm, Michelle Akers, Julie Foudy, Brandi Chastain, Kristine Lilly and Cindy Parlow.

The only reason Morgan is getting attention? She’s a sexpot. She posed in a bikini for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition. So what?

Rapinoe is association football’s version of Collin Kaepernick, taking a knee during the Star-Spangled Banner to protest pay inequality in association football and the poor treatment of LQBT athletes like Rapinoe (and Wambach). If she wants to protest on her own time, that’s her business. I don’t give a darn if she’s a lesbian. That’s her privilege. However, she should not protest her country’s national anthem representing that country on an international stage. Rapinoe needs to pipe down during the competition. Save it for later.

Lloyd is nowhere near Hamm. Give it up already.

Solo is a crybaby. And she’s stupid for marrying a man, former Seahawks tight end Jerramy Stevens, who beat the piss out of her days before their wedding. This weekend, Solo opened her mouth and inserted her foot by saying US manager Jill Ellis chokes in pressure situations.

Last I checked, Ellis was the team’s manager in 2015 when Solo and the US won the World Cup. Therefore, Hope(less) Solo should shut up.

Of the current players, Julie (Johnston) Ertz would crack the starting XI in any era. But that’s it.

Personally, I’d like to see France, Germany or England win the Women’s World Cup. The jingoism of American broadcasters is sickening. That’s why I loved the 2018 Men’s World Cup–the Americans were nowhere to be found, and Fox had to actually cover the matches as neutral journalists, not as surreptitious cheerleaders for Uncle Sam.

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Have I bored you? If I have, I’m sorry. That’s it. For now.

More Arabi Park memories

My post earlier this week about Arabi Park Middle School was well received by my former classmates.

However, names continue to come back to me, and I would be remiss if I did not mention them.

One I feel terrible about omitting was that of a beautiful young lady who joined our classes for the seventh grade.

Michelle Woodland came to Arabi Park from Houston. She immediately showed she was bright and kind, and she took a real liking to me. Of course, I brushed her off because I stupidly continued to crush on Stacie Dauterive (Seube).

Looking back, Michelle obviously did not mean any harm. I felt bad when I left for Brother Martin that I wouldn’t see her anymore. I should have been nicer to her. I’d give anything to find out where she is today.

One young lady who was on the receiving end of my volatile temper was Lori King. I spilled red drink on a white shirt she was wearing the afternoon of May 13, 1988, and I was suspended for one day.

I wanted to crawl into a hole. I cried all weekend and the day of my suspension. My homeroom teacher, Mrs. Robichaux, saw me with my parents and brother in the parking lot of the old K-Mart in Chalmette the day after the incident and tried to make sense of it. She thought being suspended was too harsh.

Lori never mentioned it again. We danced together at one of the school dances the next year.

Another young lady I omitted was Jennifer Cancienne, who played saxophone in the band with Jack Bastoe and Allison Richardson (White). Rest in Peace, Allison.

Jenny lived a couple of blocks south of Judge Perez Drive, the main thoroughfare of St. Bernard Parish. The busy highway separated her house from Carolyn Park and the Dauterive house, which was two houses down from St. Robert Bellarmine Catholic school and church, where I attended school from kindergarten through fifth grade.

I recall Jenny undergoing a horrific ordeal. It was either kidnapping or assault; I’m not sure. I hope she has recovered and is living a happy life.

During seventh grade, Aimee Roniger, who was in my fifth grade class at St. Robert’s, transferred to Arabi Park. She and her neighbor, Nicole Lowery, who was also in our classes at APM, once came to my house and played football with Jason Malasovich and I. It was Jason’s birthday, the day after mine.

There are a couple of things from my seventh grade year at Arabi Park which are hilarious looking back upon them 30 years ago.

The first was after our trip to the Stennis Space Center on the Mississippi Gulf Coast on February 16, 1989. We got back to school in time for seventh period, but instead of forcing us to go to class, Shelly Schumacher, our science teacher who led the field trip, let us stay in the school’s planetarium, where we had science class during sixth period.

She turned the radio on, and invited anyone who wanted to sing along to do so.

George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex” came on WEZB (B-97), the top-rated FM station in the New Orleans area.

Yours truly took the mike and proceeded to sing along terribly with Mr. Michael. Mrs. Schumacher and many of my classmates were amused. Some weren’t.

Two more notes on WEZB.

Mrs. Schumacher let us do karaoke one day in December. Eddie Money’s “Walk on Water” came on. I asked Nicole would you believe in me if I walked on water. She said no.

In 1989, WEZB’s Walton & Johnson, who were on the air from 0530 to 1000 each weekday, had a birthday contest. If your birthday was called and you were the first to call the station, you won cash, usually $20.

On May 18, 1989, the prize was $10,000.

The birthday Walton & Johnson announced was November 6.

The birthday of Roy Steinle, aka my father.

I called Air Products trying to get dad on the phone so he could call. Unfortunately I was too late.

Jason (my brother) or I should have called and told them I was Roy. If he would have been disqualified because one of his sons called on his behalf, so what? It wouldn’t have cost us anything, and I’m sure WEZB would not have pressed criminal charges.

Back to Arabi Park.

I was obsessed with sex during my seventh grade year. I was only 12, and I was way, way, WAY too young to even be considering it. That unnerved the girls in my classes, except for Rosemarie, who knew me too well, and Michelle, who thought I was endearing.

This leads to my next escapade from APM.

In the fourth quarter of my seventh grade year, the boys and girls were separated for sex education. Mrs. Schumacher taught the girls and Susan Buras taught the boys.

Shoulder pads were a big fad among women in the 1980s, and at the time, I had a very misguided idea as to why women were wearing shoulder pads.

To satisfy my curiosity, I asked Mrs. Buras if women carried their sanitary napkins (maxi-pads) in their bra straps around their shoulders.

That cracked everyone up. I was teased the rest of the year for it.

Turns out the pads were nothing more than a fashion statement.

I’m laughing so hard thinking about it as I type.

It’s been 30 years, but I’ll never forget all of you. Nor the good times we had.

The mind of a scatterbrain

SIX, the hour-long Buzztime trivia game on Wednesday and Thursday evenings at 1930 CT, made me look really dumb.

Greek mythology, birthmarks, George Clooney, bowling…all stumped the hell out of me. I had my lowest score in that game, below 40,000, in at least five years.

I know everyone has a bad game, but my bad game found me missing question after question. I almost didn’t come out tonight to play, but since I had to drop off my busted keyboard at UPS in Hays so it can be shipped off to Indiana to complete my warranty claim, I decided to go to the Golden Q anyway.

Between finding out I had ruined my keyboard, the frustration with dictation, my poor trivia game and then staying up far too late watching The Brady Bunch, yesterday wasn’t that good. The only good thing was the session with Crista in the morning.

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Today is the 75th anniversary of D-Day, the most important day in the history of the United States military, or at least in the last 150 years. I hope the rain which flooded Baton Rouge this morning didn’t do the same in New Orleans, where there have been commemorations all day.

The Greatest Generation will be completely gone by time the 80th anniversary rolls around. Every president from Truman to Trump has done a fine job honoring the men who prevented the evil of fascism from spreading its tentacles past Germany and Italy.

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The Sixth of June was mentioned in the opening line of C.W. McCall’s 1975 hit “Convoy”. Truckers have taken advantage by declaring June 6 International Convoy Day. I don’t know if it started in ’75, but it has been going on for many years.

McCall’s song was a subtle dig at the numerous regulations hampering the trucking industry, including high tolls, the 55-mile per hour (89 kilometers per hour) speed limit which took effect at the beginning of 1974, and weight restrictions designed to keep truckers off of secondary roads, where the weight of their cargo could cause significant damage.

“Convoy” also included a series of conversations between truckers on Citizens Band (CB) radio, and it drove CB radio sales through the roof in the second half of ’75 and ’76. The song hit #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 in early ’76, something unusual for country songs in that era.

“Sixth of June” rhymed with “Dark of Moon”, but I’m also betting McCall chose June 6 because it was D-Day. The fifth of June would have worked just as well, but wouldn’t have had the hook as the sixth.

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The Brewers were outscored TWENTY FOUR to THREE in losing two games to the Marlins Tuesday and Wednesday, including a 16-0 destruction Tuesday, the worst home loss in the club’s history, which goes back to 1969, their year as the Seattle Pilots. I can accept losing by a combined 24-3 to the Dodgers, Phillies, Cubs or Yankees. But the Marlins, who are so crappy nobody wants to watch them play in Miami.

Milwaukee won 5-1 today to avert the sweep, and they are one game back of the Cubs in the loss column. Miami is 23-37, the worst in the National League, but still comfortably ahead of the American’s League’s dynamic duo, Baltimore and Kansas City, who each have yet to win 20.

I feel for Wichita. The good news is the city is getting a Triple-A baseball team next year, the first time since 2007 it will have an affiliated Minor League Baseball team. The bad news is it’s the Marlins Triple-A team, which currently plays in New Orleans. Having the Marlins as an affiliate has depressed attendance in New Orleans, and that’s a reason why my native city won’t have professional baseball in 2020 and for the foreseeable future.

The Marlins shouldn’t be in Miami. The city only supports professional sports if they win big. The Dolphins have struggled mightily to attract fans since Dan Marino retired following the 1999 season. The Heat sold out regularly when LeBron colluded with Dwayne Wade and Chris Bosh to form their big three, but empty seats were common before and after Wade. The Panthers? Don’t get me started about the NHL in the south. They are one of Gary Bettman’s charity cases.

Even worse, Jeffrey Loria conned the taxpayers of Miami-Dade into building him that eyesore where the Orange Bowl once stood. I’m not going to argue (a) the Dolphins’ stadium (currently Hard Rock Stadium) was a dreadful baseball venue and (b) a retractable roof (or permanent roof in the Rays’ case) is a must for baseball in subtropical climates. Why did it take the Rangers 48 seasons of playing outdoors to figure that out? And why did the Braves not figure it out when they built SunTrust Park?

How the Marlins won two World Series is beyond me. Actually, I know how.

The first, in 1997, was Wayne Huizenga printing money to buy a team, plus getting help from Eric (Rerun) Gregg’s ridiculously bloated strike zone in the NLCS vs. the Braves.

The second, in 2003, was because the Marlins hoarded so many prospects from trading all their big names, and the Cubs melting down after the Steve Bartman incident. A blind squirrel can find an acorn every blue moon. A watch is right twice a day. And the Marlins can win a title.

Remember, the Marlins have two World Series titles and zero division titles. They also have zero postseason appearances outside their World Series years.

Another thing that angers me to no end about the Marlins is the hero worship of Jose Fernandez, their stud pitcher who died in a boating accident with two others one week before the end of the 2016 season.

The Marlins continue to keep his locker preserved and won’t issue his number 16, even though it was determined Fernandez was drunk and high on cocaine when he operated the boat in a wreckless manner at night in rough seas. Fernandez KILLED two other people with his stupidity. Yet the tone-deaf Marlins continue to deify him.

The Royals have done the same with Yordano Ventura, who died in a January 2017 accident in the Dominican Republic. The DR sealed the results of his autopsy.

GEE, WHY DO YOU THINK?

Ventura was probably under the influence of something the day he died. Besides, he was a big reason why the 2015 Royals were a cocky group of jerks. Ventura started several bench clearing brawls by throwing high and inside.

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The Blues and Bruins play the critical fifth game of the Stanley Cup Finals tonight in Boston. Puck drop in about 25 minutes. St. Louis needs this one more, because it can go back to Missouri and clinch Sunday. Boston still has a mulligan if it wins, because game seven would be in Massachusetts Wednesday.

The Warriors were crushed last night by the Raptors in Oakland despite 47 from Stephen Curry. Uh oh. With Klay Thompson and Kevin Durant struggling with injuries, Golden State may be fighting an uphill battle, similar to the way the Lakers did 30 years ago when they were trying to three-peat vs. the Pistons. That year, Magic Johnson and James Worthy were crippled by injuries, and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar was 42 and nearing retirement. Detroit swept.

Golden State has to win tomorrow. Well, it could come back from a 3-1 deficit the way the Cavaliers did to them in 2016, but I wouldn’t bet on it. If the Raptors win, it will just show how ridiculous the Maple Leafs’ continuing Stanley Cup drought is.

Listen up!

Click the link for my first audio blog post!

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Killing time and my keyboard

Monday’s theme song was Elton John’s “Desiree” since it was June 3. Today’s song is Styx’ “Too Much Time on My Hands”.

I am sitting in the Taco Bell in Hays right now, almost 2 hours after my appointment with Crista. The Golden Q does not open until 1100, And I really did not feel like going there when it opened and hanging out until 2100. Therefore, I felt it would be best if did some other things around town like shopping and Taco Bell to kill time.

Clumsy old me spilled pop on my keyboard last night at Old Chicago so work anymore and I have to use the on-screen keyboard or dictation. Fortunately I bought a protection plan through Amazon and hopefully I will get a new one next week. Come in handy when you happen to break something.

I’m trying to get the hang of this dictation, but it is frustrating!

30 years ago: out of the (Arabi) park

I didn’t realize it until this morning, but Sunday marked the 30th anniversary of my last day at Arabi Park Middle School.

There were no classes that Friday; it was just to pick up our report cards and say goodbye until late August, or in my case, say goodbye, period.

I knew since mid-February I would not be attending eighth grade at Arabi Park. I received my acceptance letter to Brother Martin High, which has an eighth grade, February 11, four days after Mardi Gras and three before Valentine’s Day. I was surprised I got in, because I thought attending a public school would work heavily against me. Apparently, someone saw something in me to let me in.

I did have some help.

The admissions director at Brother Martin at the time, Greg Rando, had a sister-in-law, Anne, who was the assistant principal at Arabi Park. Greg, who graduated from Brother Martin in 1977, later became principal and is now president at his alma mater. Anne really helped me navigate the choppy waters at Arabi Park, especially the last three months after I was accepted to Brother Martin.

The famous trip to the Stennis Space Center on the Mississippi Gulf Coast came five days after I received my acceptance letter. On that trip, I wore not a shirt for my future high school, but the college I hoped to attend…Kansas State. It had Willie Wildcat, the cartoon mascot who bore a striking resemblance to Tom from Tom and Jerry, on the front.

On my last day at Arabi Park, I wore a Brother Martin t-shirt. Mrs. Rando was proud to show me off wearing it, but a lot of my classmates were not thrilled. Stacie Dauterive (Seube) was relieved I would be attending school in Gentilly, but I can’t blame her. I gave her and the other female members of my classes a lot of grief. I feel horrible I cannot apologize to Allison Richardson (White), who passed away from cancer in 2008. If I could have taken her place, I would have.

I admit I had a crush on Stacie at Arabi Park. She is a beautiful lady, but she is intelligent, kind and funny, and I love her much more for that. Her sister, Andree, is the same way. They definitely got it from their parents. Stacie could have been great at anything she wanted to, but she chose to give back by becoming a teacher like her mom.

Stacie has an autistic son, something which is heartbreaking for me. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But he will thrive because he has great parents and a great family support system.

Rosemarie Renz (Huguet) went to school with me in kindergarten through fourth grade and could handle my antics, but the others couldn’t, but I really have no ill will towards them. I came into their universe in the second quarter of their sixth grade year, and I was, well, different. Nobody knew what Asperger’s Syndrome was in the United States, and they wouldn’t for five more years.

God, I miss Rosie. She is my oldest friend. I was sad when I didn’t get to see her in Baton Rouge last year. I hope my next visit there will reunite us. Rosie, like Stacie, is a teacher. The profession is that much better because of people like Rosie and Stacie.

I DID see Jason Malasovich, my second oldest friend, in Kansas City last year. I had the pleasure of meeting his lovely wife, Melissa, and their kids, Olivia and Carson. I’ve known Jason since we played basketball together in 1986-87.

And I’ll never forget Toni LaRocca in a Hooters uniform in 2000. She is such a wonderful soul whom I would give anything to see again, just like Rosie and Stacie.

I’ll never forget the others, either: Shawn O’Neil, Lara Doyle (Meyers), Kimberly Carmouche (Lee), Christi Rehage (Alvarez), Tammy Gilbert (the brains of the APM Class of ’90), Holly Atwood (Syrdal), Erin Billingsley (Lee), Nicole Meyer (who was taller than all the boys and damn good at the flute), Juli Wahl, Tina Calabresi, Vanessa Condra, Janis Maillet, Jack Bastoe, Jared Couture, Brandon Miller….plus a few who graduated before me, especially Jennifer Newell and Chastity Manzella.

They probably don’t remember me, but hey, memories fade.

I got teased quite a bit because I really liked Phyllis Marsolan, our sixth grade English teacher. I liked her, but most of her other students were more lukewarm. She was my first teacher crush, followed by Janine Koenig, my eighth grade science teacher, at Brother Martin. But I knew better than to act. It would have been disastrous for all involved.

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Yesterday was what I like to call Desiree Day.

That’s because in the opening line of Neil Diamond’s 1977 hit “Desiree”, it mentions the third of June as the night he supposedly became a man (read: lost his virginity) to a woman twice his age named Desiree.

Desiree is one of my favorite Diamond songs, and I have a lot of them. Here’s the Foots top 15:

15. I’m Alive

14. I’m a Believer (no, that is not a typo; Diamond came out with a version of the Monkees smash in 1967)

13. You Don’t Bring Me Flowers

12. Coming to America

11. Crunchy Granola Suite

10. Soolamion

9. Shiloh

8. Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show

7. Kentucky Woman

6. Cherry Cherry

5. Song Sung Blue

4. Desiree

3. Forever in Blue Jeans

2. Play Me

1. Cracklin’ Rosie

Notice what Diamond song is not up there. If I’ve offended any Red Sox fans, then too freaking bad.

Thursday is another anniversary mentioned in a song. Can you guess?

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The Blues and Bruins have alternated wins in the Stanley Cup Finals, with Boston winning the odds and St. Louis the evens. St. Louis has to break that pattern, preferably Thursday in game five at Boston. If the Blues win, they can clinch the Cup Sunday in St. Louis.

St. Louis had to watch the Canadiens skate the Cup in 1968 and ’69 after the Blues were swept in the final. In 1970, the Blues somehow had home-ice advantage, but it didn’t work a bit, with the Bruins sweeping, winning the finale in the Boston Garden on that goal by Bobby Orr.

The Stanley Cup has been skated four times in Boston since then, all by visitors: the Canadiens in ’77 and ’78, the Oilers in ’90 and the Blackhawks in 2013. Boston won the Cup in ’72 in Madison Square Garden vs. the Rangers, and in 2011 the Bruins won it in Vancouver, taking Game 7 4-0 after the home team won the first six games.

St. Louis has payback for more than 1970 on its minds. The city would like to get Boston back for the 2014 and ’13 World Series, Super Bowl XXXVI in February 2002, and the 1961 NBA Finals, the last time the Hawks franchise has made the finals.

In the NBA, the Warriors went on an 18-0 run to start the third quarter Sunday and won by five in Toronto, squaring that series 1-1. Had Golden State lost, it would have been bleak for the Warriors, even going back to Oakland. Hopefully the Warriors can hold serve at home and close it out, because the last thing I want is to see Drake leading a parade in Toronto.

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Feeding myself and my trivia addiction at Old Chicago in Salina. Got my hair cut by Amber. I have something groovy waiting for me in Russell..gl.