After a tough 3 hours of driving, I turned to Diedre and
announced, "We're here!" She
looked around, sniffed once, and replied somewhat sardonically, "Wow,
Alexx! First Detroit, and now …
Cleveland?! What’s next, Newark?”
Well, we all
have our druthers. And it had always
been my dream to visit the three most exotic locales on this planet we
laughingly call “Earth.” They are, in no
particular order, Paris, Hong Kong, and Cleveland. Now it’s just Paris and Hong Kong left
on the old bucket list, although getting AB1 to those two sites will be a bit
of a trick.
We were to
spend the following 10 days at the fine Grafton RV Park while my Arizona Men's
Over-60 softball would be in a quest to
win gold medals at the National Senior Olympic Games in Cleveland. There would be approximately 11,000 old folks
(over 50) in 20-some odd sports descending on the metropolis situated on Lake
Erie, exposing the people of Ohio to extraordinary feats of athletic prowess by
old people as well as seeing more cars driving around with their left turn
signals blinking than ever before.
On Tuesday,
July 16, 3 days prior to the Olympics, we drove around rural Grafton looking
for a sports bar to watch the baseball all-star game. We finally found the Depot Union Station in
LaGrange, OH. A lot of people dismiss
this game, but I've been an absolute baseball nut since I was 4 years old, so
it was (is) rare that I ever miss seeing the game. I actually attended all-star games in 1962,
1965, and 1982, but my favorite remembrance of the all-star game was what I had
to go through to see the 1972 all-star game.
I had been
called to active duty in the army army around the 1st of July that year; my
destination was basic training at Fort Polk, Louisiana ... yes, that's
Louisiana in July. It was usually
98-degrees by 8 a.m. there. My routine
as the platoon guide (head flunkie of the 50 privates in Charlie Company) was
to get the troops up at 4:30, be out in formation by 5:30, and then train all
day in the heat and humidity of the great south. Our drill sergeants used to say the devil
would go back to hell from Fort Polk to cool off. When 9 p.m. finally rolled around, we were
only too happy to hit the fine army cots provided to all us
"soldiers." A vacation this was
not..
In the army,
there's a job called "CQ Runner" which was basically a gopher
position at company headquarters. The CQ
runner would be on duty from 9 p.m. till 5:30 a.m., running any necessary
errands needed by the company commander.
Most guys did not want this duty.
But on the night of the 1972 all-star game, I wanted that job. You see, Company headquarters was the only
place on campus that had a television set.
And so I asked the private on duty if he was o.k. with me taking his
shift. He was only too happy to
oblige. So, I pulled my first (and only)
all-night duty, which mainly consisted of me sitting around all night watching
the game, an exhibition most people don't care about one whit. To this day, I have not missed seeing the A.S.
game since 1957. What a sports-geek!
In Arizona, we
have no pesky insects like the midwest has: no mosquitoes, no house-flies, no
gnats.
We do have rattlesnakes, bobcats,
and scorpions, but no mosquitoes.
So now
in AB1, we were being infested with house-flies hitching.
They, too, obviously recognized Diedre's
superior cooking abilities.
They also
thought the cat's litter box was some mighty fine dining.
However, being flies, they were not aware of
of our secret weapon.
These denizens of
dead meat were not counting on dealing with our living flyswatter, Samantha the
Snowshoe cat.
Sammi is an absolute fiend
when it comes to catching anything that moves in the RV:
flies, moths, my twitching big toe in the middle
of the night while I'm sleeping (trying to).
She's relentless, even if it means pouncing on the middle of Diedre's
stomach at 4 a..m.
Within hours, we were
fly-less.
The word had apparently spread
through the great fly community.
 |
| Sammi resting after devouring many flies. |
The day before
the Olympics were to start, I suggested we take a day trip to the Pro Football
Hall of Fame in Canton, OH, a scant 50 minutes away.. Surprisingly, my honey was only too glad to
join me, but then, horror upon horrors, she discovered she had no clean socks,
so an emergency trip to the laundromat precluded her from joining me for an
afternoon of viewing old, sweaty football jerseys. Better luck next time, dear.
Pro football
ranks 3rd for me behind baseball and college basketball, so whereas as I had
spent two full days at the baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York, back
in '63, and most of one day at the basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield,
Massachusetts, in '94, I made it through the PFHOF in roughly 26-minutes. So that the day wasn't a total loss, I
climbed to the top of the nearby President McKinley Memorial, and then treated
myself to a quick tour of the Fannie Mae chocolate factory. That was pretty trusting of Diedre Kaye to
turn a recovering chocoholic like me loose in the birth place of diabetes. It's funny, you know, that when you go into a
place where they make their living off the rotund sweet-tooths in our society
and ask them if they have any "sugar-free" chocolate, well, they look
at you like you just declared war on their sister, then they shuffle you off to
the back of the bus (store) where the few remnants of edible (read: sugar-free)
chocolate lay randomly strewn about fighting for shelf space with
overly-aggressive dust bunnies. I bought
my largely symbolic piece of healthy chocolate and beat a hasty retreat back to
the Grafton campground.
Friday, July
19, our sturdy senior softball team, the Rox, met up for registration at the
humongous brand new convention center in beautiful downtown Cleveland (and
surprisingly, that is NOT an oxymoron).
The Senior Olympics had some interesting participants: crooner Pat
Boone, age 79, would be there playing basketball for the Virginia Creepers
while real Olympics Gold medalist (twice) Dr. Dot Richardson (I'd like to be at
her hospital so that I could hear over the loudspeaker system, "CALLING
DR. DOT!"), softball shortstop extraordinaire, was playing in the Olympic
golf tournament. After registration and
wandering through the geriatric trade show, we took the first of what would
seem to be an indeterminable number of batting practices. I swear I've spent 1/3 of my life shagging
batting practice balls. This madness has
to stop sometime soon.
Finally, on
Saturday, the games were to begin, only to come to a screeching halt. The skies opened up and the rains came forth
... even fifth at times. We were supposed
to play at 9:10 a.m. and 12:40 that day, but with Noah loading up the ark at
the Cleveland Zoo, we were moved back to 5:10 p..m. and 10:30. Our rusty, arthritis-ridden boys staggered to
a first game win over the Ohio representative in extra innings, then put it all
together for a 2nd game romp over a fine Tennessee ten in a game that finished
at midnight. With the drive back to the
campground and the trudge through the woods to the archaic shower facilities, I
finally got to bed at 2 a.m. And remember,
we're OLD guys.
On Sunday,
July 21st, batting practice was scheduled for 1 pm with the game to follow
shortly thereafter, we hoped. No such
luck. Again, it started raining (of
course, only AFTER we had taken hitting) and never stopped.. We were again rescheduled to play at 10 p.m.
(making this the tournament of the zombies) but that was cancelled after an
all-day wait.
Finally on
Monday morning, we caught a break, knocking off Springfield, Illinois at 9
before knocking off a mouthy New York team at noon. And of course, the rain started up again the
moment we left the field. Our next game
was pushed back to 10:30 that night.
Women shrieked and men cried, then we all went back for naps.
As you might
guess, there was no way we were going to get started at 10:30. We stood around waiting for the interminable
women’s game to end on our field. 11:00
came and went as did 11:30. Fortunately,
there was no where under the lights to take batting practice.
While we stood
around, we were entertained by our utility infielder and jack-of-all-trades
player, Joe Ricci, who told us about the weirdest tournament he had ever played
in. It was in Carson City, Nevada, back
in 1978; for you kids reading this, that was back when prostitution was still
legal in the state. This particular
tourney was sponsored by a very successful brothel (Were there
"unsuccessful" brothels?). The
winning team got a night in the brothel … really, Joe? I never did find out how you guys did? I'm sure Barb would also be interested to
know.
When we had
first arrived at the fields oh-so many days ago, the word was that the Delaware
Stars were the team to beat. And sure
enough, that was who we were to play in the winners' bracket final that night
... er, early morning. To explain, you
had to lose twice to be put out of the Olympic softball tourney; we two were
the last two teams without even one loss.
This was a key game.
Just after the
stroke of midnight, we took the field.
12:01 A.M.! These are old guys accustomed
to an 8 p.m. bedtime, but here we were hitting, fielding, running (sort of) as
a ghostly fog slowly covered the field.
Neither team played great, but we played less bad and finished on top at
about 1:30. And amazingly enough, there
was a losers' bracket game after ours.
After a solid
5-hours sleep, we were back at it at 10:30 the next morning. The Delaware ten had to get up even earlier
to knock off the last surviving 1-loss team.
Now they would have to beat us twice for the gold medal while we just
had to win once. The mighty Rox jumped
off to a 16-3 lead, hitting the ball hard and often, but the plucky Delawarians
(?) held on, rallying to close it to 16-13 in` the top of the 6th (softball
games are 7 innings). We finally started
hitting again (no doubt due to our marathon batting practice schedule) and got
4 in the bottom of the 6th to lead 20-13.
In Delaware's last at-bat, we got their first guy out, but the next two
guys hammered base hits. They got really
fired up in their dugout.
Their meaty
clean-up hitter advanced to the plate.
He was a wily veteran, but then again, which guys in senior softball
AREN'T wily veterans? He clouted one to
deep right. I was sure it was going to
be at least a triple. So did their base
runners as they both took off flying.
But then miracle of miracles, our hobbling right-fielder, Pat MacDonald,
after a long run, stumbled and fell, but not before he made a circus catch of
the long bomb. Then while lying on the
ground, he had the wherewithal to toss the ball to Larry, our right-center
fielder.
At this time,
the Delaware runners were still under the impression that it was an easy hit,
so they were still running for home.
Larry let loose with a cannon throw (as much as seniors can have a
"cannon" throw) and threw the ball all the way to Joe at first base.
DOUBLE PLAY!
THE ROX WERE
NATIONAL OLYMPIC CHAMPIONS!
You may
remember the Guireys, our friends from the eastern Michigan blog.
Well, they had made the trip south just to see
us play in the Olympics .. and also go with us to the Rock and Roll Hall of
Fame.
Jerry Guirey got so fired up by
the game that he's now considering playing senior softball.
I've invited him down for some spring
training in Arizona next winter.
The next day,
Wednesday, July 24, the four of us did indeed make it to the R&R HOF.
I proudly wore my gold medal; it was amazing
how many seniors stopped and talked to me about it and told me tales of their
athletic prowess.
I met a 78-year old
guy who won the hammer throw in track and field and an 82-year old guy who
broke the Olympic record for the 100-meter dash.
Over at the convention center, we watched
some volleyball and badminton and got more comments on my medal.
I anxiously awaited a phone call form the
David Letterman people.
We extended
our stay in Cleveland (there's six words I bet you've never seen together
before) a few more days in order to see a baseball game at the Cleveland
Indians stadium.
You may recall that our
goal is to see all 30 major league baseball stadiums in the next three
years.
Cleveland would be number 14.
The game did
not disappoint. In a lovely ballpark
with great seats, we watched the locals pound the Texas Rangers to an early 7-1
lead, but by the ninth inning, the game was all square at 8-all. In the 11th inning with all Indian fans, of
which we were ones that night, young third-baseman Ryan Raburn launched a shot
well over the left wall for a walk-off home run. the place went absolutely nuts, and as it was
Friday night, a fireworks display lit up the Cleveland sky right away. It's how I'll always remember downtown
Cleveland.
That win gave
us a 5-0 record for home teams on our trip.
Front offices are now clamoring for our presence at their games this
summer.
Saturday, July
27, would be our last day in the great state of Ohio. When we started this 178-day journey, we had
agreed to go to ballparks and theaters, but so far, we had been to 5 baseball
ballparks and only 1 theater, and that play was about baseball, so that night
we made our way Sheffield, Ohio, to the TrueNorth Theatre to see “Happy Days:
The Musical.” I know, I know, it ain’t
Shakespeare, but what can you expect in Sheffield, Ohio?
O.K., it's on
to Indiana.
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Hello Everyone - just a few added notes from Diedre. The Cleveland Senior Olympics were won not only due to the skills of the old fellas but with the cheering of the wives, so we take some credit too. Jimmy Erickson - one of the team managers and wife Carol weren't able to join us in Cleveland because of Jimmy's recent surgery (remember the scar match-off in the previous blog) but being excited about my new ability to "text" I sent them a "play by play" of the championship game. Now if that's not worthy of note in the blog I don't know what is! So here are the cheerleaders:
I also have to say that Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was especially fun to see with my friends from college days. We hadn't seen each other in about 15 years and yet reconnecting was like it was only yesterday - funny how that is with good friends. I've always felt a special kinship with The Boss because we were not only born on the exact same day but even within a few hours of each other..so hear I am with his place in the Hall of Fame.
Take care everyone! Another post is coming soon! Thanks for reading and caring about our adventures.
A nice young
Notre Dame junior gave about 15 of us the campus tour. The buildings were old but sparkling clean,
as if they had all just recently been power-washed. We wanted to see the theatre building, but
that wasn't part of the tour. Instead,
we were treated to an inside look at the school's Basilica. It was immense, full of incredibly old and
quite valuable religious paintings, sculptures, and equipment used for their
masses. A lot of the pieces were gold plated,
including one fairly weird old priest. 
At the end of
the tour, they took us to the football stadium, the main point of my taking the
tour. Incredibly, we were not allowed
inside this most holy structure; the gates were securely padlocked. Sure, they were willing to allow us 15 boobs
to wander and touch priceless relics in the Basilica, but when it came to the
football stadium, a place where 300-pound behemoths could not do any damage to
the building structure, we were barred from the insides. After all, there's no telling what kind of
destruction can be rained down on a football stadium by an 83-year old
grandmother from Paducah, Kentucky.
Sadly, I settled for photos outside the pigskin arena with Knute Rockne
and Touchdown Jesus. 
