SNL IT'S SATURDAY NIGHT

Only through syndication and The Comedy Channel can I write about the talent on the old Saturday Night Live tv show. And have my readers know what I mean. What an impact. We used to plan our weekends around it. "Well, we can go out to eat Saturday. But if we go to The Plank in Carbondale, then we'll have to be back by 10:30."

There really aren't/weren't a lot of tv shows that had that kind of effect. Of course, this was long before tivo, ipods, A-rod, even VCR home recorders. Actually, it was closer to the time of 8-track tapes, but boy, am I dating myself now. Even with Beta, we couldn't have taped it--not when the show itself was LIVE from New York.

Chevy Chase and his newscasts were my favorites. The others--the Belushis, Bill Murray, Gilda Radner, Jane Curtain, Billy Cristal, Chris Farley, Garrett Morris, ad infinitum were so good, too. The guests hosts were usually great, too. And you couldn't miss the opening monologue.

The musical guests left a lot to be desired. Once in a great while someone or some group might be discovered. But for the most part, they weren't much. But it was part of the mystique, part of the reason you watched. In the later shows with Clinton playing the saxophone, the Sprockets, even Ashley Simpson hoedowning after lip syncing were memorable for their futility.

One of my first times in New York, I thought it would be cool to see a show. The consignoir at our hotel laughed at me, telling me those were booked far in advance. Today with Stub Hub and the internet, I'm sure if you wanted to go, you could. But I can't stay up that late anymore.

I'M TOO SENSITIVE ANYMORE

I grew up (well, that's really not true). For a long time, I've disliked the Chicago Cubs, Bulls, Bears, Blackhawks, and city. The White Sox were less an object of disdain simply because they were a non-entity. I didn't know any Sox fans and have never much cared for the junior circuit. Even last year when they won the World Series, you just knew that it wasn't Chicago. Because Chicago belongs to the Cubs.

And just before a big series with my beloved Cardinals, star first baseman Derrek Lee goes on the DL with broken bones in his wrist. It was like I'd lost a player on my rotisseerie baseball team. That's serious stuff. While I've never rooted for an injury or even felt that someone deserved it, I've never really felt bad for them or the team if it was one I didn't like.

Not with Lee though. It may be that I recently talked to a friend and his teenage son, a special needs young man who loves the Cubs. I thought to myself at the time, how can I be so adamantly opposed to the Cubs when there are guys and girls just like him who really love their team, too. Sure there are jerks in Chicago--probably more than their share. But what about St. Louis fans who boo Izzy and Encarnacion and hassle bleacher fans who catch an opposing home run and don't throw it back on the field? Yup, even in baseball's best city there are jerks.

So what to do? Ignore the ignorant, as another friend of mine says. Don't let dislike (read hate) get hold of you. Forgive. And forget. If you can, say a prayer for Derrek Lee to heal quickly and get back on that field. I did. It felt good.

HOT AIR BALLOONING

One time at the Sweetcorn and Watermelon Festival, my wife and I got to be a part of a hot air balloon race. It was called a rabbit and hare race where the rabbit is the lead balloon who tries to hide and disappear for awhile while the other balloonists try to find him and "land" as closely as possible to the lead balloon.

Our pilot was out of Colorado and he was so irate at the rabbit that he vowed not to return. (To the Sweetcorn and Watermellon Race, not Colorado.) The rabbit was a local balloonist who irritated a lot of us a few years down the road when he served on the high school board and was instrumental in our teachers' strike of 1986. At the time of the race, I suspected him to be a royal pain. He certainly proved it in 1986 as well.

So was our ride a great thrill? For about the first thirty seconds or so when another hot air balloon shot up very close to us at take off, so we had to go higher to avoid him. But for the most part we skimmed the tops of corn with our basket, trying to stay close to the rabbit. He'd drop down and hide, but unlike more knowledgeable balloonists he wouldn't come up to reveal his position. So that's what we did for ninety minutes.

It was getting late, it was getting dark, and the rabbit nearly landed us in Rend Lake when he finally set down. So what should have been a great ride, was not, unfortunately.

For a short while it was awesome with spectacular sights. Whether ego or bad judgment got in his way, I couldn't be sure. And I'm talking about the balloon race, too.

FISHFACE IN THE LIBRARY

When you hear of high school students in days gone by, you most likely will hear tales of the old teachers. I don't know why, but it seems to me the high school teachers of previous years were subjected to a lot more innuendoes and sarcasm than they are now.

One such teacher from the Midwest was known as Fishface. When I saw this photograph of a daffodil, I thought of Leapin' Leta or Fishface from the high school library.

As a result of the baby boom, there was little extra space for high school students in the mid-sixties. We even had algebra classes held in the National Guard Armory because we simply outgrew the campus. Study Halls were a staple back then and they were held in the library.

Tables seating six were spread out over a huge library where lots of students were eager to dig into their homework. Right. Study Hall monitors were there to perform disciplinary duties. Dumbo and Fishface were two of the four to ride herd over the pack. There was to be no talking, because even whispering, which wouldn't last long before it was elevated, wasn't allowed. To enforce this rule, roving teachers/monitors moved about.

Lots of activites besides studying were taking place. Catching pigeons and letting them go, throwing pencils and sticking them in asbestos laced ceiling tiles, tossing the ever popular spit balls, (one monitor once referred to them as saliva balls), and throwing buckshot across the hardwood floors were some of the more popular diversions.

My buddy Jimmy sat next to me in a study hall our junior year. Armed with a handful of buckshot, he surveyed the scene. No visible adults. "Do you see anybody?" he asked. I craned my head this way and that and concured, "Nope."

Jimmy whirls in his seat and fires the buckshot at a 60 degree angle over his shoulder. Fishface almost had to jump to get out of the way. It was pretty obvious who had fired the buckshot. Of course, Jimmy was taken to the office for detention and an incident cited on his PERMANENT RECORD. It followed him all the way to the University of Tampa. He still carries it on his PERMANENT RECORD in the state of Virginia. Even his four children are chagrined by the offense and carry the scar like the scarlet A because their father committed this aggressive act as a high school junior.

And all because Leapin' Leta Fishface was standing in the wrong place.

SUCK IT UP

Except for the few fans in right field, this picture illustrates a lot of good things about the good old game. The correct way to slide, the old uniforms without numbers or names on the back, correct position of the umpire, grass field, pants worn high, some would say day game.

Pete Rose popularized the headfirst slide known in our Northbrook neighborhood as a "Petie". Of course, the trouble with it is that it hurts to make that slide. I don't think it gets the runner there any faster. I know there are lots more injuries to the hands and shoulders. And you certainly can't hook slide, one of the greatest baserunning or basesliding tools ever. It, too, has become a lost art.

I like the idea of no names or numbers on the back. Maybe something about too much advertising in sports. I mean pro golfers are starting to look like nascar with all the logos on their clothes. Just play the game. Your followers will know when you're in or not. Do I have to read PUJOLS and 5 on his back? I don't think so.

The umpire is in perfect position to call the play. His vantage point is heightened by his low position. (Hey that might be a dichotomy or something.) You don't see many today make that effort. Today's umps don't seem to enjoy their jobs.

Grass fields are a no-brainer. Richie Allen had it right in 1970 when he said, "If horses don't eat it, I don't want to play on it." Day games are nice, but so are night games when as a kid you get to stay up way late if you live 75 miles away as we did. The field is so bright with the lights. Now for playoff games and World Series' forget it. Play them all in the daytime so to build fan base. What fan wants to go to sleep not knowing if his/her team won or not? Make them all in the day. Advertisers will still pay.

High socks. Oh yeah. I was with Derek Harlan at a Cardinal Winter Warm Up when he asked J. D. Drew before his rookie year if he was going to wear his socks high or not. He said he didn't know, but you could tell that he loved the question and was going to give it serious thought.

So why the title of the blog? The baserunner is Wally Pipp. Had he sucked it up and not asked for a day off, then Lou Gehrig would have been on the pines and not replaced him that day. Pipp never regained his starting positon.

HE'S A NICE GUY

In yesterday's blog I wrote of Snowbirds and the bad drivers they encounter in their Winter home in Phoenix. I also implied that traffic would be better now that there are fewer visitors on the road. Wrong.

On my way to have an enjoyable meal at Tommy Bahama's Restaurant, I nearly had two wrecks and one fight. And all were talking on their cell phones.

That's normal. Well, not really. I've only dined at Tommy's about four times. Boy is it good.

The drivers were all rude. But I met the World Champ at Sky Harbor Airport last week, and he was very polite. Well, former World Champ anyway(s).

As Caroline was going through the line at Starbucks, I was left to protect our luggage which consisted of two roll ons. I was standing close to the line, but was well in back of it. Two different people asked if I was in line. I moved even further back. Then a third guy asked if I was in line.

My reply, "No, sir, go right ahead." As he made his turn I recognized Mike Tyson. I added, "How's it goin', Mike?"

He said, "Not bad, man. Hey, you look kinda strong. You want to go a few rounds?"

Naugh. He didn't say anything. But it was cool to see him, and at least talk to him. Strong, oh yeah, he looked it, but I didn't realize how short he is. He may be 5'9'', 5'10'' at most. But definitely no more.

But the coolest thing was that he wasn't rude. He didn't try to cut in. He wasn't on a cell. He didn't try to pass. He wasn't moving too fast. He wasn't tailgating. Now, if he wants to do all those things in his car with me around--well, no problem.

I REALLY DON'T REMEMBER WHO WAS GOOD, BAD, OR UGLY

Though I would expect Eastwood to be the good one. There are so many thoughts that come to mind when I think of that old movie title. They can be used in a variety of situations from my fantasy baseball team--The Flying Chaucers, to my golf game yesterday, to the Cardinals' baseball game, to the morning news, though as usual with our media, you have to look a little closer for the good than the bad.

My topic today is to make an application of the movie title to Snowbirds. In an area devoid of much industry, Snowbirds are an integral part of the greater Phoenix area. April 15 marks just about the last day for Snowbirds returning to the northern climes. But they're missing some of the absolutely best weather of the year from April 15 to June 15. But that's for another blog on another day.

The good of course comes from all the money they spend here. And, it's not as if there's no place to spend it out here either. From the FBR (nee Phoenix Open) to the Safeway Classic at Superstition Mountain for the ladies, golf is abundant. With over 175 courses in the valley, Snowbirds should not suffer from inactivity on the links. With the Arabian Horse Show to the Barrett-Jackson car auction, there are some serious big-time events. Spas, shopping, restaurants, Spring Training baseball games, ASU baseball and basketball (new coach next season--watch out), Phoenix Suns and Coyotes, Glendale Arena for concerts, mountain hiking, horseback riding: the list is nearly endless. Oh, I almost forgot--the weather. It's awesome. If you can't find something to do, it's your own fault.

The bad of course is when they have to leave. Also, the traffic. The brown ribbon of pollution that ruins the city view and chokes its denizens. High prices for just about everything. Especially golf. One hundred dollar rack rate rounds are common. Waiting lines abound in restaurants. Some days it's even cloudy and cold.

The ugly is the drivers. Man, they are the worst. Period. There are simply no drivers in the valley who are courteous. Even when I leave my Bible Study Fellowhip class at 9:00 PM on Monday nights, if I don't watch carefully, a man filled with the Spirit of the Lord will run me down. A Snowbird friend of mine has said, "The drivers in Phoenix will kill you for half a car length." Also, and I know I repeat myself if you are a frequent reader, my daughter 's greatest fear when we moved out here was that I would get run over because I don't drive fast enough. And I'm no slowpoke.

The good, the bad, and the ugly, yup Snowbirds have to put up with two negatives to enjoy the one positive. It must be worth it for our population is booming. So, thanks for the moneries, ugh, memories. We'll see you in the Fall of 2006.

OUR GRANDCAT MISCELLANEOUS --- HE'S THE ONE ON THE RIGHT

When our daughter moved from her dorm to our condo when she was an ASU student, she made a list of things needed. Since she was losing her roommate Nikki, she thought she needed a cat.

In Illinois we had a very famous cat named Cujo who looked a little like her Build-A-Bear cat in the photo. We also had a huge dog, but even for condo living in the West, he wouldn't have been a good fit. So she opted for a cat.

On her list of sundry items was Misc.--cat. When she went to the animal shelter to pick one out, the gray guy stood out. When it came to picking out a name, our daughter went to the list --Miscellaneous. Or Missle for short.

His picture is displayed in at least one dentist's office in Mt. Vernon, maybe more. You see, he brushes his teeth with a toothbrush. And we have it on a photograph illustrating his careful brushing technique. One dentist even gave us a dozen toothbrushes with his name on them to try to capture the action for the purpose of advertising. So far, he hasn't come through.

That's basically his only talent. Unless you count sleeping. One day last week when Courtney returned from work eight hours later, she swore he hadn't moved from his spot. He's fun to play catch with little cat ball toys, but he doesn't throw it back too well. Once in a great while he'll kinda push it back to you, though.

Two other grandcats reside in Illinois: Moonlight Graham and Cuddles. They have even fewer abilities than their California uncle. They do survive in the wild woods where other cats, some feral, dogs, deer, racoons, groundhogs, skunks and even a red fox or two hang out. And that's much better than Misc. who has trouble when he's on the patio and one neighbor cat comes to play.

It's fun to have grandcats. Even if I am allergic to them.