Susan Draper's Blog, page 4

Dad's Birthday Tribute

Do you ever find yourself daydreaming about when you were a kid?  I did today while sorting through some of my mom and dad’s mementos.  Dad has been gone since 1985 and mom went to join him in heaven last September.  It’s been hard to enjoy the first few major holidays, especially now that both my parents are gone. I’m very thankful for my immediate family to lean on when I feel a little blue.

Reading old letters and gazing at family pictures of when I was a child triggered some really fond memories of growing up in the sixties and seventies in the Hoosier state.  I’ll share a few about dad with you now.




Dad's girls.  I'm the bratty baby

                                             
One vivid recollection I have is when dad tossed us all in the back seat of the Buick and we headed to the Indiana Dunes!  Every single window was down and our unrestrained bodies bounced wildly as he pressed the pedal to the floor.  A half-smoked cigarette hung from his mouth. The car radio blasted a current top hit.  My hair was a tangled mess from hanging out the window in fervid anticipation of catching that first vivid blue shot of Lake Michigan as the car crested the last hill.  It looked like the Pacific Ocean!  So beautiful and inviting! The pristine white dunes surrounded us, towering up like sandy sentinels to the incoming waves.  Dad would throw us in the frigid water and laugh while we spluttered and splashed but he’d never let us sink completely.  He was teaching us how to fend for ourselves.  And we have.

Indiana Dunes.  Get there.

 I lingered on a picture of grandma’s red brick house with the diamond-paned windows.  How I loved those windows!  Through them I could see W. 43rd Ave and the other pretty homes that lined the street in Gary, IN.  I looked out front at the white picket fence that grandpa put up himself.  The fence and the house are gone now, destroyed by fire.  Heartbreaking.


Grandma and grandpa's house
                                           
We visited their home quite frequently when I was young.  My two sisters and I used to walk down to the corner grocery store on the rare occasions when we had enough loose change to purchase an ice cream bar from the antique freezer case.  Remember the doorbells that older establishments had?  A backup notification of a patron’s arrival or exit, just in case the proprietor was in the back alley, taking a smoke break.

We’d leisurely walk back to grandma’s house, trying to make the ice cream last as long as we could.  It seems like summers were always hot and humid, too.  We didn’t care.  It was part of being a kid.  What did we do to cool off? I’ll tell you!  Grandma had a red scooter that we rode like maniacs down the sidewalk hill next to her house!  Over and over again, whooping it up and enjoying the breeze in our faces and thrill in our hearts.  If it wasn’t your turn to ride it, you’d pretend you were a horse, smack your thighs and whinny on the way down. Imaginary characters from TV and movies manifested themselves without the use of a computer or cellphone.  How ‘bout them apples?  Even though we still laugh about the “lame” entertainment at grandma’s house, I’d give just about anything to step onto that scooter again and take another fun ride down the hill!  No major accidents ever occurred. If one of us had taken a spill, mom and dad were right there on the back porch, just a cigarette butt’s throw away.  Notice how much I mention smoking.  It was such a prominent part of life in that time period.  That’s just the way it was.  Now, we know better.

Grandma’s neighbor had a black dog that dad loved to tease.  He’d walk up to the fence that separated the houses and goad that poor dog until he was beside himself.  Poor thing, I’m sorry dad was a little off his rocker.  It makes me laugh to think about it, because I am too.

At times, however, dad revealed that he really did love animals.  Oftentimes, he would come home from being out of town on a business trip and sadly say, “I saw Spot again.”  Spot was an imaginary dog that dad loved to repeatedly conjure up in the hopes that mom would allow him to bring home a real dog.  He claimed that Spot showed up on a street corner or a parking lot in every city he traveled to.  Who knows, maybe he did.  Dad would bring strays home with no advance notice.  A Great Dane one year or a Sheep Dog the next.  Mom would exclaim, “Byrt, what were you thinking?”  The dogs would be banished to the basement for a few days and eventually taken to the pound for adoption by another family.  My parents did adopt a Siamese cat named Rufus. He was a loving pet for many years.  The occasional hamster shared our home, too.

I miss all the family reunions we had at Fred Rose Park in Hobart, IN.  Dad would always organize the softball games.  Those were some great times.   You don't realize it until you are grown and look back.  A lot of relatives have passed away since then.  Dad, being the oldest brother, was always looked up to.  Big Brother B was his nickname.

Fast forward to my teenage years when we lived in Houston, TX.  Dad took us to some pretty unique events.  Fiddling contests, prison rodeos and ethnic food fairs.  I’ll never forget how proud I was when we attended his ring presentation after becoming a Thirty-second Degree Mason.   The surprise baseball game he took us to between the Astros and Cubs was epic.  I wrote about it here:  A Baseball Game With Dad

I received two of my favorite birthday gifts from mom and dad while I lived in Houston.  A softball glove and a microscope. Dad took me to buy both.  Guess you could say I had duel interests.  I still love sports and science.

Although dad had a great job at the time I think the opportunity to own a business was too hard to pass up so in 1978 he bought an accounting firm and we moved back to Indiana.  He put in some really long hours managing books for his clients.  At one time, my older sister and I worked for him at his office.  We were paid $25 a week and had to purchase groceries for the family with our paychecks.  That really didn’t leave us with very much spending money but it did leave us with a realization that it doesn’t grow on trees.

In the eighties dad bought The Hoosier Court Motel in Rockville, IN.  A mini-mart and gas station would be added to the location.  Dad was proud of that business but it would take its toll on his health.  He lost his battle with heart disease at the age of 57.  He never got to meet our wonderful daughters and their husbands.  At least he was able to go with mom on one long road trip to the deep South, visiting plantations and landmarks of interest.  He always did love to just get in the car and go for a drive.  Sometimes, a destination isn’t always necessary in life.  It’s the trip that matters.

Happy 91st Birthday in heaven, dad.  Hold my reservation, please.  Give mom and Spot a hug.  Love you.

Memories of Mom

                                                                   
Mom on her wedding day
I lost my mom, Virginia Coppinger (Harding), a week ago at the age of 89.  This blog will be a memorial to her memory and the influence she has had on my life and other family members.  I'm going to reach back into my mind to capture some events that have remained with me throughout the years. Grab a cup of coffee, kick your feet up and take a trip down memory lane with me.  It might be a memoir similar to yours....
                                                 
Mom is the little imp on the right
Mom was born in Greentown, IN, in 1928, during an out-of-town trip.  Although that was her birthplace, her family's residence was in Gary, IN. She was the youngest of two daughters. Her father, John Harding, was a real estate developer and an accomplished artist.  Her mom was a teacher and at one time had Virginia as a student at Lew Wallace High School.  It must have been hard to be in your own mother's classroom.  Georgia Harding had to act impartial to the fact that she was teaching her own child.  Absolutely no family privilege was granted or exhibited. Grandma was a huge influence on mom.  She was strict but kind.  She instilled a love of books and reading in her daughters that was passed on to us. Mom attended Lew Wallace from kindergarten through graduation and fostered childhood friendships that lasted for a lifetime.  Some of them called her "Gin" or "Ginny" as a nickname.  Mom also got in trouble a lot.  Several visits to the principal, Ms. Hoke, took place.  I have mom's old yearbook and there are several "endearing" comments written next to the administrator's tight-lipped picture. Her older sister, Patty, would attend Purdue University.  Mom had a love for movies, music and the entertainment industry.  She really wanted to attend Northwestern University for acting, but her request was denied because it wasn't a proper choice.  I really think she missed her calling.  We should all pursue a career that inspires us.

Gary Business College sweethearts                                                     
After graduation mom attended Gary Business College.  This is where she met my dad, Byrt Thomas Coppinger.  He would purposefully bump her chair until she finally asked him to quit.  That's how dad got her to go out with him, I guess.  Sometimes, it's nice to be bothered, especially when you are young and ready to leave the nest.  She told us she loved dad's pretty brown eyes, his nice hands and his thick, dark hair.  Dad was indeed handsome, and when he asked for mom's hand in marriage, she said yes!

Mom and Dad on their wedding day
They were married in 1953 and had their first daughter, Moneta Ann, in 1955.  Then, Gayl, in 1959 and finally me, Susan Lee, in 1962.  We grew up in Hobart, IN, land of the Brickies. Their marriage was in no way perfect, just like all marriages.  But they forged through and we always knew that mom and dad would be there for us.  Our family lived in several different states but northwest Indiana is where I call home. Mom took care of us no matter where we moved, keeping a nice house, getting us ready for school and making sure we did our homework. Dad was a hard-working self-made man who taught us that success is not something that is handed to you.  But it was mom who taught us about classic movies, actors, and singers.  She loved to sing! There wasn't a Frank Sinatra or Peggy Lee song she didn't know. And she loved to dress up!  I have many childhood memories of her and dad getting dressed up to go out somewhere.  How many of you ladies loved to watch your mom get ready when you were a kid?  Did she stand in front of the mirror teasing her hair into a ridiculously high beehive?  Did she drive your dad crazy because she took so long to get ready?  Or, perhaps, you can still smell the scent of Chanel no 5 wafting through the house because your mom sprayed it in a thick cloud of aromatic delight.  It's still my favorite perfume.

Our family
Our lives were simple. Very simple.  We were not rich, but were fortunate enough to live in many nice homes over the years.  Some were haunted, some were not.  That story might be told in another blog.  But one day dad really surprised mom and us.  We were living in Indianapolis at the time in the late sixties.  The bus had just dropped us off after school.  All of a sudden, dad pulled into the driveway behind the wheel of an absolutely stunning 1969 turquoise blue Thunderbird!  My mom rushed outside and exclaimed, "Byrt, it's gorgeous!"  We all piled in and took a ride!  Of course, he gunned the engine a few times.   Dad made up for never teaching mom how to drive (she taught herself) that day.  Not too long ago, I saw a gentleman in a parking lot with a similar car and I told him about our old one.  How our family loved that automobile.  It was enjoyed by all of us so much.  Classic cars make classic memories..

As a child, I loved to ask mom to tell me the story of when I was born.  She recalled that the Tonight Show was on and Johnny Carson was introducing his next guest, when the labor pains started.  I was born in the wee hours of the morning at Methodist Hospital in Gary, IN, during a time when, ridiculously, fathers were not allowed in the hospital delivery room!  What???  When he was finally allowed to see mom, dad walked in and quipped, "Well, do I have my boy, yet?"  Alas, I was the third and final baby girl she would have.  Susan Lee Coppinger, future pain in my sisters' sides, tomboy, rebel, wife, mother, and finally, my mom's caregiver when she could no longer handle her own affairs.
                                                           
My first Christmas
Neither of my parents were the molly-coddling type.  We were disciplined when we needed to be, albeit sometimes excessively.  Any parent knows there's a fine line between punishment and stepping over the line.  Yes, mom pulled my hair a time or two.  What she liked to call, "snatching me bald-headed."  Like the time I played with the front door lock and we couldn't get in the house.  Or the time, as a smart alec teenager, when I called her a bitch and she chased me down to the basement with the broom.  However, up until the day I moved out with my boyfriend Rick, (who I later married), I kissed my mom and dad before bedtime every night.  Our own girls have followed suit.  Nothing wrong with that.  We still do.

I remember when a neighborhood girl bullied me and waited outside my house taunting me to come outside and fight.  My mom said, "I don't want you to make trouble, but I don't want you to take trouble." Then she, along with everyone else in my family, told me to go out there and kick that mean girl's butt. Too bad I wound up with a large bump over my eyebrow.  My big sisters would beat that same bully up for me on two different occasions.  Karma is sweet.

Another nice memory is the dozen red roses mom presented me with when I graduated from high school.  She told me she was proud of me.  You don't forget things like that.  Especially from your mom or dad.  I moved out of the house shortly after high school.  It was a tense time between my parents and me but we all got past it.  I couldn't relate, of course, until I had children of my own.  It is incredibly difficult to see your children move on in life with someone else.  Thank God our two girls have married wonderful men.

Sis, me and mom on my graduation day
Before dad died mom helped him maintain the Hoosier Court Hotel and mini mart in Rockville, IN.   She had to keep the rooms clean and do all the laundry.  It was hard work.  I know they both took a lot of pride in the business and after a long day they would walk a block to the Ritz Theater to see a movie together.  Dad could turn any business into a gold mine.  And he did, along with mom's help.
I'm proud of that.

What a journey life is.  When you are a kid, you don't appreciate the things your parents do for you.
Hell no.  You rant and rebel against the molding of good manners, dating restrictions,  or any other stringent rules that your parents force you to abide by.  Then, one day, after your own kids leave the nest, as have our two girls, you suddenly come to the realization that your parents knew what they were doing.  Even though they might have gone too far at times in the discipline department they raised three awesome girls and we have in turn, raised our own children in a similar manner.  The circle of repetition has had the desired effect.  Our kids have manners, compassion and a strong work ethic.

Dad passed away in 1985.  Mom was a widow for 32 years.  She had a few male friendships afterward but no one could replace dad in her heart or ours.  That's the way it should be.  She lived in California with her sister a short while but then moved back to Hobart and later Crown Point, IN.

Mom loved to sing!
We moved mom closer to us as she aged.  She did all right at first but when she started to exhibit erratic behavior we knew she needed assisted living.  Because dad was a veteran, (thank you dad),  I was able to get her the surviving spouse VA benefit to help with the cost.  Please look into to this wonderful benefit if you have a loved one who qualifies.

Mom and the girls, on a good day
Slowly but surely Alzheimer's disease started to take its tole on mom.  The stories of her childhood and life began to fade away, like the seashells which slip from our grasp when we reach into the water to capture them.  There for too short a time, before another wave washes them to an unreachable location. I tried as much as I could to remind her of how she used to dance the night away at the Indiana Dunes Pavillion with dad, while Herb Alpert serenaded the dancers.  Or how we drove for a week on a family vacation to reach California when we were kids. Her memories, at first, could be retrieved with gentle reminders.  But like a dark oil slick spreading over the ocean, the disease crept into her mind, robbing her of all recollection of anything to do with her husband, her life and her family.  At the end, she no longer recognized any of us. I prefer to think that she did know us but was unable to tell us.  Her speech became broken and garbled. It was very hard for my sister, husband and my daughters to witness her slow but steady decline.  But it wasn't all sad.  We made friends with many other kind residents and staff.  We enjoyed just being with mom, talking and laughing over old times.  We remembered FOR mom.  Isn't that what family does?

Mom's last Christmas 2016
Mom didn't take very many medications.  Two blood pressure pills and two memory pills.  She never lost her sense of humor or love of music and singing.  She continued to giggle and hum random tunes right up until she took a turn for the worse.  Everyone loved her feistiness at the nursing home.  When she started to decline, my youngest daughter, Natalie, who is a CNA, prepared me for what was to come.  In fact, she had talked to me months before, gently relaying what to expect.  Thank you, honey.  You are an old soul in a young body.  She was the first one at mom's side when we received the dreaded call that mom didn't have long to live.  Natalie resides a little closer to the nursing home than we do.  When we arrived she was sitting next to her grandma, holding her hand and whispering for her to hold on until the rest of us got there.  I'm so very thankful that my oldest daughter, Laura, a third-year vet school student, and her husband Jacob, were in town to be with her.  Rick, (who mom adored and always called a peach), and I, walked in and went to her bedside.  I kissed mom's soft cheek and told her dad was waiting and that we would all be reunited soon.  She seemed to immediately relax, drew her last few breaths and peacefully passed to the other side.  God is good.

I love you mom.

Retired and Admired

Forty years of hard work on the job has come to an end for my husband.  I couldn’t be more proud of him.  It takes a special kind of man to get up and go to work day in and day out for that many years.  His support of our family has never wavered and I’m very thankful that our two daughters have the best father in the world.  His retirement is well-deserved and I’m excited because he can finally enjoy the things that he has toiled so hard for.
How does this tribute tie into a baseball blog?  I’ll tell you.  I got to thinking about who my favorite retired Cubs player is.  One name immediately jumped into my mind.  Mark Grace.  Consistency is an apt word to describe not only my husband’s employment record but also Grace’s accomplishments on the baseball field.  Let’s look at just how consistent he was.
Grace debuted for the Cubs in May of 1988, replacing the struggling Leon Durham at first base.  His 2,500 hits and 500 doubles over a 16-year career, (13 years with the Cubs and 3 years with the Arizona Diamondbacks), were proof of his amazing effectiveness in the batter’s box. He holds the record for the most hits in the nineties, piling up a total of 1,754. That was his decade all right. His season batting average would drop below .300 only two times during those ten years. Ask any older, die-hard Cubs fan, who they think had the most beautiful swing from the left side and most will reply with his name.  Fluidity and length were what I remember. Although he didn’t have the power numbers of his teammate Ryne Sandberg, he could still put the ball out of the park at times.  Take a walk down memory lane with me:





Grace was also a talented first baseman.  He won four Golden Gloves and made the National League All-Star team in 1993, 1995 and 1997.  His lifetime fielding percentage was .995.  Yet another indicator of consistently great defense at his position.  In 2009, he became eligible for the National Baseball Hall of Fame but only received 4.1% of the vote to remain on the ballot, falling short of the 5% requirement. 
But baseball stars can falter.  Not only on the field but in life as well.  Since retiring from baseball in 2003, Grace has suffered the effects of not one, but two DUI arrests in 2012, which not only cost him his job as a Diamondback broadcaster but also jeopardized his public image and self-esteem.  He served a four-month work release jail sentence in 2013. The Arizona organization allowed him to return as an assistant hitting coach, thanks to the good will of their general manager, Kevin Towers.  Grace told reporters that it was a wake-up call that forced him to replace his reckless habits with a much more stable lifestyle.  He appreciated the second chance the club gave him and successfully turned things around. When asked if he misses the Cubs and the city of Chicago it’s apparent from his responses that he does.  The Fall Classic championship he won with The Diamondbacks was sweet but I’d wager he would have preferred it to take place during his years as a Cub. Recent reports state that he will not be returning to Arizona in 2017.
Where does this leave Grace now?  I’m saddened that the Cubs organization has not reached out to a player that brought so much to the game and fan base.  The Amazing Grace signs once held high by loyal fans at his games have turned into fallen from grace slurs in the sometimes overly critical eye of the baseball community.  I think about the second chance that was given to Aroldis Chapman, the Cubs’ fire-throwing closer, who, after serving a MLB suspension for domestic abuse allegations, was courted and paid quite handsomely to help the Cubs achieve their first World Series victory since 1908.  I understand the need the team had for that investment, although serious issues were swept under the rug.  Yet, when it comes to forgiving former longstanding players who have made mistakes such as Sammy Sosaor Grace, the Cubs seem to forget and ignore the huge impact these players have made on the game and the hearts of millions of fans like myself.  Nothing would please me more than to have these two legends back in the fold. It would signify a renewed intent to let their impact on future players and fans continue for many years. 
As a retiree, my husband will continue to enjoy various perks from the company he served for such a long time.  It’s a way to acknowledge a respected work record.  I hope the Cubs will GRACEiously do the same.  It’s the right thing to do. 

Wrigleyville

My husband and I were really excited as we counted down the days before our trip up to Wrigleyville.  Game 4 of the World Series was going to be played, pitting the Chicago Cubs against the Cleveland Indians.  Both teams have long droughts of non-appearance in the Fall Classic hanging over their heads.  The night before we drove up, we called our friends to ask what time to meet.  New developments with the area bars in Wrigleyville were going to affect our arrival time.  Why?  Because the majority of bar owners had taken it upon themselves to jack up their cover charges to unprecedented amounts.  Some establishments planned on gouging loyal fans thousands of dollars to reserve tables and then, on top of that, charging astronomical cover charge fees.  What a horrendous way to treat the most loyal fans in baseball.  Murphy’s Bleachers, a well-known bar, was promising to not have a cover charge but warned fans about long lines.  This is why we wanted to meet up as soon as possible. Well, it was all for naught, as Murphy’s was forced to reverse their no cover promise on Saturday, October 29th, Game 4. The city ordinance committee ordered them to keep patrons off their outdoor patio.  Due to this unforeseen decree, the bar, in an effort to make up for lost profit because of a shrunken serving area, reversed their no cover charge policy from zero dollars per person to $100.00 per person.   When we met up with our good friends around noon, they were standing in line to get inside.  God knows how long our wait would have been if we had remained in line twiddling our thumbs and holding our bladders.  We looked at each other and decided that was not how we wanted to spend our trip to the city. So off we went in search of a more reasonably priced bar.  The first one we hit only had a cover charge of $10.00 but it was small, did not serve in-house food, and only had a few TV’s.  It was time for lunch!  Luckily we walked right past Big G’s pizza on N. Clark St. and had some delicious thin crust pizza!  Amazingly, it wasn’t even crowded yet.  Don’t forget to try them out the next time you go to Wrigleyville! You’ll get a kick out of their handwritten menu:


After we finished lunch we wanted to try to stake out a spot at another bar without having to pay an arm and a leg.  Some locals told us to try Yak-Zies which was close by.  Two huge men outside the front entrance were selling admission wristbands and told us the cover was only $25 a person. We jumped on it.  They told us we would be able to come and go with the wristbands. Yak-Zies is a beautiful establishment.  The patio beer garden is nice and inside the main bar is divided into several dining/drinking areas with lots of wooden décor, numerous overhead TV’s and some beautiful, framed photographs of the city, Wrigley Field and famous players/managers, etc.  The place was already super crowded.  We ordered a couple of rounds of beer and stood around in closely packed groups of fans looking for a table. There weren’t any.  This was about seven hours before the game would start.  We stayed there for an hour waiting for a table but no one budged.  Once again, we made the decision to chill for a few hours at our Air Bnb host location so we wouldn’t have to stand for an eternity.  When we returned to Yak-Zies around 5, it was even more jam-packed.  We ordered another round of beer.   Additional people were admitted into the bar.  Less space was available to stand.  All of us were gradually forced into a small open space which led to some stairs that went down to the restrooms.  When the pregame finally started, we were able to move into an area to watch the game which, as we know, started off well, but ended up being a heartbreaking loss.  What was hard to stomach was the service of some of the employees.  One male employee rudely told my husband to move out of the way and he was asked, “Just where would that be?”  There are no available tables, and your owner has filled the bar over capacity.”  That, my fellow Cubs fans, is not how an establishment should do business.  I asked a very nice waitress named Michelle, to let the owner know that I would like to speak with him.  He came up to me about an hour later and acted very non-sympathetic to the way his employee spoke to my husband.  I guess he didn’t think that manners are paramount when you own a business.  Too bad the fire marshal came in shortly after that and suspended all alcohol sales.  This was after more and more and more people were allowed to enter the bar, creating a huge safety risk.  I’m not going to say that the poor service ruined the night because we still had a great time singing “Go Cubs Go” with all the other faithful fans.  However, eating a chicken sandwich with fries while standing was challenging when you’re trying to hold your beer, too! 
But, hey!  Not everyone in Wrigleyville was a greedy go getter!  I want to give a shout out to my Twitter friend Tommy Randell who runs CubParking.com and gave our friends a great deal on parking.  Business owners like Tommy are what make Chicago wonderful!  Yak-Zies should take a page out of their business etiquette book.  When you treat someone right they spread the word and come back!
I was really hoping for a watch party at Wrigley for games 6 and possibly 7 but I guess the cover charge would be $10,000 anyway.  Go figure….
Right now, I just want to enjoy the postseason ride along with everyone else.  The city of Chicago should be proud of their beloved Cubs!  And area business owners should revert back to normal cover charges for their beloved fans!  It’s a W, W kind of deal.  Can I get a hell yeah?

Chapman Watch vs. Watch Chapman

Albertín Aroldis Chapman de la Cruz, the latest closer to be signed by the Chicago Cubs, has been under the spotlight since he first stepped onto American soil in 2009, after successfully defecting from his home country of Cuba. To put it mildly, Chapman’s fastball is akin to Halley’s comet.  It can streak across the plate at up to 105.1 mph, the current confirmed MLB record. Pittsburgh’s Andrew McCutchen was batting at Great American Ballpark in 2011 when Chapman supposedly threw a pitch clocked at 106 mph per the scoreboard. Unlike the famous comet, however, we get to witness this trajectory path of brilliance over and over again.  The control issues Aroldis experienced at the beginning of his career have greatly diminished.  At least with his fastball.  More on that later…
Originally drafted by the Cincinnati Reds in 2010, Aroldis has been setting pitching radars on fire and sending batters to the bench wondering if they ever saw the flash of white that just exploded in catchers’ mitts behind them.  During a spring training game in 2014 against the Kansas City Royals, Chapman was hit over his left eye when catcher Salvador Perez smoked a line drive and he couldn’t get his glove up in time. It’s really scary to think that such a gifted athlete’s career could have been extinguished that day.  Luckily, he battled back from the disabled list and proceeded to throw 15 out of 20 pitches over 100 mph when he returned to the rubber approximately two months later.  Wow.
Why then, am I in such turmoil over the Chicago Cubs recent acquisition of this one-of-a-kind player?  I’ll tell you.  In December of last year, it was learned that Chapman was involved in a domestic dispute back in October.  Reports confirmed that he fired gunshots from his Davie, Florida home and also included accusations that he choked his girlfriend.  As a result of the allegations, Aroldis’s imminent trade to the Los Angeles Dodgers was nixed.  He was eventually traded to the Yankees but would become the very first player to be disciplined without an actual conviction per new MLB rules enacted in August of 2015.  After accepting and serving a 30-game suspension, Aroldis was marginally apologetic over the incident and insisted he never hurt his girlfriend. 
Fast forward to July 25th, 2016, the day news dropped that Chapman was signed by the Cubs.  The following article from Steve Rosenbloom of the Chicago Tribune describes my rolling emotions to a T: Chapman Trade.   Rosenbloom aptly expresses the conundrum many Cubs fans like myself are faced with.  How can I support a man who left his girlfriend cowering in the bushes?  Yet, he has served his suspension and now wishes to leave his prior poor judgement decisions in the past.  Language barriers have not helped him to convey, if it actually exists, his remorse over what he did nor his acceptance of what the Cubs organization expects out of him.
Theo Epstein claims to have done all of his homework on Chapman and assures fans that the integrity and values of the Cubs have not been compromised or overlooked.  So, after reviewing the facts of an incident which formerly had me incensed, I have decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.  I will, like the rest of us, enjoy his compact windup, perfect leg kick, and delivery of pitches that primarily make contact with a glove only.  In other words, I am willing to move forward but not forget Aroldis’s mistakes.  Everyone deserves a second chance.  You can blow an occasional save, Chapman.  Just don’t blow this second opportunity that you’ve been given. Help us win a World Series the right way, by keeping your domestic life drama free.  Or your fast ball along with your career will disappear into a black hole.  


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Remembering a Legend on the Fourth of July

In 1927, the year my dad was born, there were two baseball players who dominated the headlines in their quest to hit the most homers in a single season.  One of them was Babe Ruth, who would finish with 60. The other player, who ended the year with 47 and whose life would come to a tragic end fourteen years later, was my favorite player of all time.  Yes, The Iron Horse, Lou Gehrig, stands atop my shrine of beloved baseball legends.  My admiration for this man even exceeds that which I hold toward my favorite Cubs players;  Ernie Banks, Ron Santo, and Kerry Wood .  These three players did/do share several characteristics with the legend who represented the New York Yankees for seventeen years.  Heart, humility, and honor.  But it was Larrupin’ Lou who set the tone.  Allow me to tell you a little something about each of the traits that he possessed and how his influence continues to mold the game today.
Heart.  Lou hit his very first grand slam when his high school team traveled to Chicago in 1920 for an inter-city championship game.  Guess which field he was at? That’s right, Cubs Park! The name would be changed to Wrigley Field six years later.  Signed by the Yankees in 1923, his hitting prowess would continue until he took himself out of the lineup, due to the terrible disease that cut his career short at the young age of 36.  The debilitating effects of his illness were all that could stop this man.  Beginning in 1926 he went on a streak of 13 consecutive seasons in which he had 100 or more RBIs.  His career record of 23 grand slams lasted until 2013 when it was broken by Alex Rodriguez. But the most mind-boggling record he set, of course, was the 2,130 consecutive game streak he tallied.  He played with a broken thumb.  He played with a broken toe.  He played through the pain of lower back spasms.  He played with his heart in every defensive performance at first base and every time he stepped into the box. Compare this to players today, who miss games for “stiffness” or “fatigue”.  You can count on one hand the major leaguers who exhibited comparable mental and physical stamina throughout their careers.
Humility. Records are nice.  But the way Lou lived his life and how he handled catastrophic news in the eye of the public is what will be remembered most.  God had a mission for him.  It included hard work, perseverance and an amazing propensity at excelling in baseball.   However, the true measure of his greatness was not in the numerous records he set on the field.  It was measured by his humble personality which he showcased during the speech he recited when the Yankees honored him on July 4, 1939.  Have a listen:






Honor.  Gehrig honored and loved the game of baseball.  He wore his German heritage proudly on his back.  Many talented players with immigrant backgrounds have followed and excelled in the path he forged.  The Fourth of July is a perfect time to remember Gehrig and the huge influence he has had on his modern day counterparts.  He was the epitome of the hard-working average Joe who made it big on guts and grit. These traits were so ingrained in him that he made the difficult decision to retire because he could no longer live up to the strict standards he set for himself.  When his health deteriorated to the point that he couldn’t perform, The Iron Horse put himself out to pasture.  Can you imagine how heartbreaking that was for him?  He could have tried to keep going but he sacrificed his own record so that a more able-bodied replacement could be utilized.  The mayor of New York City appointed him to the Parole Board but he eventually had to take a leave of absence and was never able to return.  America suffered with him through the remaining pain-filled days of his life.

I never knew Lou Gehrig but I sure know of him.  May his indomitable spirit remain an everlasting beacon from the past, a spark of comparison in the present and a ray of hope for the future in this great game we call baseball.  Happy Fourth of July Cubs fans! And God bless the Yankee who wore the same number.





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Spanish Class With Mrs. Chaw-I Mean, Mrs. Shaw

Attending high school in Houston on a daily basis was hard for me as a teenager.  I wanted to hang with my friends down on the bayou and smoke cigarettes instead.  My grades never suffered but my interest in school did.  So, every once in awhile, I would "hop" class (this is what ditching was called by the kids) and play the rebel.

My favorite teacher at Sharpstown High School was Mr. Wizenand.  We called him Mr. Wiz for short. He taught biology and it was my best subject.  There were only two kids who aced his year-end final, myself and another boy.  I stayed up late the night before the test, studying from a legal-sized paper full of diagrams and notes.  Being the pack rat I am, I found it in a box of high school mementos not too long ago and proudly remembered the effort I put into the class and the satisfaction I felt when I was handed the graded result.  I never hopped Mr. Wiz's class.






Spanish was another subject I took for a few years in school.  The first year I took it I skated by, mainly because the hottest boy in school, Mark Davidson, sat directly behind me and I had a difficult time concentrating on verb conjugations and vocabulary when all I could think about was him.  He had a girlfriend but there was nothing wrong with pretending otherwise...

My second year of Spanish was taught by the weirdest teacher in the world.  Her name was Mrs. Shaw.  She was just about the geekiest woman I have ever met.  She had oily, mouse-brown hair that was parted on the side.  It stuck to her shiny face when the air in the classroom became heavy and stagnant.  The horn-rimmed glasses on her nose were way too large for her small face.  Every day she wore a frumpy, button-down dress with a huge, red patent-leather belt cinched to the max around her pudgy waistline.  But the weirdest thing about Mrs. Shaw wasn't her attire.

I had a friend in class named Paul.  Pablo was his Spanish name. We sat next to each other during the days that I actually attended and tried to stay awake.  Mrs. Shaw would hablo Español in her monotone voice while we dreamt about being anywhere but in her period.  Each of the students was also given headphones so that we could listen to recordings of the spoken language. Afterward, we would be asked to read a short paragraph so that she could monitor our progress at mastering the dialect.  Poor Pablo was not a bright kid.  I'll never forget one day he was instructed to read a simple sentence:

Juan y Maria tienen un madre muy bonita.

 Now, anyone who has taken Spanish knows that the "y" is pronounced as a long "e".  When Pablo loudly recited the letter itself in the sentence I almost lost it.  He botched it muy mal!  I tried to help him as much as I could, but I think he failed the class.  He's probably a microbiologist now.

Over the course of the semester something strange happened to Mrs. Shaw.  She became afflicted with chewing on her inner cheek.  For some reason, I became fascinated with watching her do this as it became progressively more frequent and severe.  Maybe it was the lack of interest by her students in the subject matter.  Maybe it was the fact that her shiny, red belt was too tight.  I was seemingly the only one who noticed her face contort!  The other students were following the taped lessons in their textbooks.  But I couldn't take my eyes off of the teacher!  She would chew and chaw until the side of her mouth became skewered in the most grotesque formation! Her upper lip curled in a horrific snarl as her bunny teeth sought the soft tissue she longed to chomp. Hilarious!  I was rocking in my seat trying to keep it together.  Finally, I elbowed Pablo and told him to check it out for himself.  After he woke up from his nap and watched for a few minutes he couldn't believe it either.

I have a few words of advice if you are going to teach high school kids.  First of all, don't ever wear a red, patent-leather belt.  Secondly, if you develop a nervous habit try to refrain from displaying it in front of your students.  And thirdly, beware of class clowns who like to cause trouble.  Ahem....

Freaky Free Agent #55

                                                             
Don’t let this future hall of fame pitcher go to another team.
Tim Lincecum, aka, The Freak, is one of my favorite pitchers. He is currently a free agent and I think the Cubs should take a serious look at him.  A future HOF shoe-in, Lincecum is the epitome of elite.  Other pitchers would kill to equal what he has accomplished. He won back to back Cy Young awards in 2008 and 2009 and has helped his San Francisco Giants win three World Championships.  That’s right, three. How many pitchers can you name, who have struggled and then come back to pitch a no-hitter in consecutive years?  The Freak did, both against the Padres, in 2013 and 2014, proving that he’s still quite capable of dealing a knock-out punch. At the age of 31, he holds a lifetime ERA of .361, which is 19thamong active pitchers.  
How can you not be impressed with an athlete, who, at only 5’11” and 170 lbs., has thrown some of the nastiest junk during his nine years in the majors?  It’s where his nickname comes from!  I never get tired of watching his delivery, which remains innocent enough in the prelude and then morphs into something unhittable. You can thank his father, Chris, for teaching him that unorthodox windup and huge stride off the rubber.  If you haven’t seen him pitch, then you have missed out on a thing of beauty.  Take a look. 



Freaky #55 has made national news for more than just sending batters back to the dugout.   In 2009, he was pulled over for speeding and a small amount of marijuana was found to be in his possession.  Guess the big cloud of pot smoke that drifted out of his car window was a good sign of a joy ride.  Personally, I could care less about whether he bakes or not.   He can have long hair or short hair.  Makes no difference to me.   I just want to see him pitch.  How about another no-hitter, for the Cubs!?  Makes my heart race to think about it!

Lincecum, hashad his share of slumps, like in 2012, when he gave up 107 earned runs and 90 walks.  The control was gone.  Last year, his season got shut down early due to a degenerative hip condition. It was diagnosed while he was in rehab for a forearm contusion from a line drive.  Analysts point to the reduction in his fastball velocity and speculate that the hip problem might have been the cause of his previous struggles. He had surgery last September and is working hard to get back to where he used to be.  Keep in mind that most of his strikeouts have come via a sneaky changeup that mimics a fastball for the first 30 feet and then drops out. It’s a killer pitch.

 The Florida Marlins and San Diego Padres are supposedly looking at The Freak with interest.  In fact, most MLB teams have asked to see his medical information.  I think the Cubs should throw their two cents (plus a few more million dollars) into the ring.  Offer him a one-year contract and see what he can do on the back end of the rotation.  I’m willing to trade Jorge Solerand his ninja balaclava to get a Cubs jersey on The Freak.  Don’t miss out on the resurgence of this legend’s career! We need his arm, especially with the shaky history of Jason Hammel. No one has a stronger work ethic right now than Lincecum.  He has gone through extensive rehab and will be showcasing his renewed arsenal in February.  I certainly hope the Cubs will be watching.  Make a move.  Before I freak out.

That Shark Has Sailed

No Cubs cruise ship for this guy.

Jeff Samardzija, aka, The Shark, has decided to prey near the warm water of the Pacific ocean. I had hoped he would return to the Friendly Confines, but, apparently, his dinner date out west was more appetizing.  He accepted a five-year deal with the San Francisco Giants for $90 million.  I wish I could reap as much money from a prior year of failure in my job like what Jeff just succeeded in accomplishing.   Baseball-a warped profession that rewards sub-par performances.  Go eight-figure figure.

Cubs fans were left with a more economically priced St. Louis Cardinal leftover.  Free agent, John Lackey, has reportedly signed a two-year contract for $32 million. Putting aside the fact that he played for a team we despise, let's examine his numbers.  At age 37, his lifetime ERA is a respectable 3.92.  He produced the lowest ERA ever with the Cards last year at 2.77 and proved his continued longevity by pitching 218 innings, the most since playing for the Los Angeles Angels in 2007.  It's also nice to remember that in 2013 he was the winning pitcher for the Boston Red Sox against the hated Cardinals in game 6 of the World Series.  That wasn't the first time he clinched a championship for his club.  When he played for the former Anaheim Angels during his rookie year in 2002, he won game 7 and celebrated a Fall Classic victory with his teammates.  Over his career, Lackey has proven himself to be a true Texan.  Resilient and tough.

Theo and the Cubs have bolstered the starting rotation at a great price. They also recently signed former Colorado Rockie, Rex Brothers, to a short-term pitching contract.  Management has tendered offers to the following players, per Cubs reporter Carrie Muskat.  The fact that money is owed to arbitration-eligible players has played a large part in the team not going after high-priced free agents this year like David Price and Zack Greinke who went to the Boston Red Sox and the Arizona Diamondbacks, respectively.

So, in other words, let's embrace the fact that John is a Chicago Cub now.  Forget he beat us in the NLDS this year. If his former teammate and friend Jon Lester can, then we can too.  Next year he's on our side.  Let's find a solution to other shortages in the outfield and leadoff spot.  A new season is quickly approaching.  If someone would like to send me to the Winter Meetings that would be a nice Christmas present!  Let's Go Cubs!!!