OK, I admit it, I’m prejudice. It has a lot to do with how you are raised. It has a lot to do with what your parents thought. So because of my Dad, I didn’t have much of a chance. My Dad was a catcher. My older brother was a catcher and, of course, I was a catcher. I still believe that being a catcher is one of the most important positions on the field.
So, I look at these collisions at home plate and I scratch my head. Other sports like football and hockey are making heroic efforts to protect their players against concussions. A player in a helpless position is entitled to protection. You can’t use a wide receiver who had just missed a pass as a tackling dummy. If a player takes a cheap shot, it’s 15 yards, an automatic first down and perhaps, an ejection from the game. Ejections seem to get a team’s attention. But, exploding into a catcher, that seems to be “good old fashion hard ball.”
Now I’m a reasonably smart guy and before I started this article, I decided to research the rules of baseball. I wanted to find out what it said on collisions at home plate. I studied all the rules, particulary concentrating on “interference” and “obstruction.” I couldn’t find anything that specifically addressed the crash. I found out what the rule was if the catcher pushes the batter out of the way on a squeeze play or if he grabs the bat, but nothing on the runner throwing an elbow into the catcher’s chin.
My Dad taught me how to catch and how to tag a runner out at home plate (Dad played professional baseball for a number of years). The tag out procedure works great if you have time. You catch the ball, transfer it to your right fist and if the runner trys to run you down, you step out of the way and tag him with the mitt and the fisted ball. Balls pop out of mitts, but not out of fists. Always be to the front of the plate (the ball will get to you faster).
It is obstruction if the catcher blocks the plate without the ball and is not “in the act of fielding the ball.” “In the act of fielding the ball” is not defined. I guess if the ball is on the way and the catcher is reaching out for it, he is in the act. In the 1970 All Star game, catcher Ray Fosse was standing next to home plate and Pete Rose ran him over and dislocated his shoulder. Fosse did not have the ball and didn’t seem to me to be “in the act of fielding the ball.” He also seemed defenseless. Rose clearly could have gotten into home plate without clobbering Fosse. If Fosse had hit Rose it would have been obstruction and Rose would have been awarded home plate. But, this is a swinging door that only swings in one direction.
If the catcher has the ball and has placed himself in such a position that there is no place for the runner to go, I can understand the collision. Sliding into a shin guard won’t get you there. An impact intended to jar the ball loose seems appropriate. But not a forearm to the side of the head.
Assuming there is one young future catcher out there reading this, please stay on your feet when you make the tag. You can maneuver much better from your feet and if you have to dive to make the tag, you can cover more distance from your feet. Plus, your chance of getting you leg broken is much less. I’ve looked at Giant catcher, Buster Posey, on his knees just before the collision that broke his lower left leg. If he hadn’t been on his knees, he would have been OK. I think the runner, Scott Cousins, could have slid around Posey, but under the present rules, there’s no requirement. I love to say “good old fashion hard ball.”
Did I have collisions at the plate? Of course. I weighed 150 pounds and never got hurt. Good old fashion hard ball doesn’t require you to be stupid. My favorite play is the decoy. You stand at home plate looking like there is no play at all. Hand and glove are by your sides and you look annoyed. Then, just as the ball arrives you spring into action. You snatch the ball and pop the tag on the unsuspecting runner, who never even thought of sliding.
So what do I propose? My suggestion is very limited. First, I live in fear that someone out there who knows the rules is going to shoot me down by telling me what I am proposing is already covered. If that happens, at least we will all be enlightened. I suggest that something be added to the rules to protect the catcher’s head. No shoulders or forearms to the head. That would, at least, be a start.
Requiring the catcher to show part of the plate to the runner and for the runner to go for that part of the plate would be great, but I suspect too much to ask. After all, we are talking about good old fashion hard ball.
Written be PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com
All posts by pajarice
Consumer Advisory Report
You probably don’t realize it, but I have self appointed myself as your consumer advisor. I will look at products that have fortunately fallen into my hands and will report on them. Everybody would like to make a contribution to our society and this is mine.
The product I am evaluating today is Gillette Fusion ProSeries Thermal Face Scrub. I never buy that kind of stuff, so you can be sure that it came as a free sample when I bought the razor or some blades or something. I know it’s a sample because it is such a tiny tube. It’s so tiny that you can’t read the directions on the tube. But who needs directions, especially when the name of the stuff is six words long. It’s a face scrub and it deals with shaving and thermal means hot.
So I squirted a little on my hands. Part of it was solid and part of it was liquid (not good). I rubbed my hands together and it started getting hot. Strange (I wonder if a boy scout could start a fire with this stuff). Then I rubbed it on my face. Face felt warm. Good sign. I wasn’t sure whether it was supposed to take the place of the shaving soap. I tried to shave. Not a good plan. I got out a magnifying glass and the directions said to rinse it off. Then shave as normal.
OK, I rinsed it off. Then I applied my shaving soap. The thermal scrub must have still been there, because as I was applying my shaving soap, something was killing my foam! I applied twice as much shaving soap and had one-tenth of the foam. I found out you can get by with one-tenth of the foam, but it still seemed crazy.
Then I decided that maybe my problem was that I wasn’t using a Gillette shaving soap. I was using Medicated Noxema for sensitive skin in a red can. The can said, “THICK RICH LATHER.” They had never seen what a thermal face scrub could do to their thick rich lather.
I finally decided that maybe this was some ingenious plan by Gillette to ensure the use of Gillette shaving gel. I am the proud owner of one can of Gillette Fusion Hydra Gel moisturizing shaving cream with Aloe and Cocoa Butter. I don’t care for the gel, but the can was only $1.80 at the Commissary and Carole had a $2.00 coupon (We’ll never get rich, but what the hell).
So in my ever-vigilant quest for knowledge, I applied the Gillette gel after applying the thermal face scrub. I am here to report that there are no devious chemists at Gillette. Gillette’s shaving gel failed to make foam when confronted with the face scrub.
I decided to go on Google and Youtube to see if I was overlooking something by not reading the directions. I seemed to be using the product correctly. I watched a couple of guys on Youtube and they applied the thermal face scrub just like I did. Of course, I didn’t see anyone apply shaving cream after the fact. So, I am giving the product a C- because it is a foam killer.
One of the things that frosts me is when a product I am using disappears or changes its appearance so that I can’t find it. I use a Head and Shoulders shampoo. I think Head and Shoulders must have 40 different shampoos. Different names, different color containers. Sometime back, my particular shampoo went to purple writing on a white container. That was neat. All I had to do was scan through the H & S section until I found purple. I wonder if they have thought about their customers who are color blind.
The last time I looked, purple had disappeared. So I looked for the magic words. My magic H & S words are “extra volume.” I looked at all the bottles for the magic words. No luck. Fortunately, I have one more bottle stashed away, so we are not in crises mode yet. But, I do need that extra volume!
I’ve used Old Spice stick deodorant forever. It too has gone through a number of iterations. I think I was around when stick deodorant first came on the market. I was a little kid and my eccentric Aunt Marie showed up at our house with a stick deodorant. She had me and my brother unbutton our shirts and she rubbed the stick deodorant on our chests. I thought it stunk. I was eight years old and I decided that Aunt Marie wasn’t eccentric, she was crazy. She drove around in a big new Cadillac and her license plate was attached with chicken wire. She also was convinced that fluoride in the drinking water was a Communist plot. I thought it was stick deodorant.
Anyway, the last time I looked for my Old Spice High Endurance deodorant, they had changed the label. But, when I found what I thought was the right one, it said at the top of the container (I’m serious), “High Endurance. SAME STUFF! DIFFERENT LABEL.” Now there’s a company after my heart.
Written by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com
The Judge Says – Cutting a Deal
June 12, 1981
In 1969, Uncle Sam sent me to Chicago (Northwestern University) to further my education. Not a great time for an Army major to be on a university campus. I joined up with a bunch of graduate law students to take some courses that would prepare us to defend serious criminal law cases. Our professor was Bill Martin (he was the lead prosecutor in the Richard Speck case). Sure, you remember Speck. He was the one who killed all the Filipino nurses in Chicago. The jury was out for 32 minutes before coming in with a death sentence. Anyway, for two hours credit each semester, we defended indigent (no money) clients from the Cook County jail.
One of the things I learned how to do was “deal a case” – to cop a plea, to squeal for a deal, to “plead to a lesser and walk” (you think the Army has buzz words). What I am trying to say is that I learned how to enter into an agreement with the prosecution so that my client would plead guilty to something (my clients usually were guilty of something) and receive something in return. Sometimes my client would receive a lesser sentence or, perhaps, probation.
The way it worked in the civilian world (or at least in Chicago) was that the court didn’t start until 10:00 AM, but the prosecutor would be there before nine. Defense counsels would wait their turn to see him. I would huddle with the prosecutor in a corner and I would tell him about my case and he would tell me what he had. We would look at my client’s record and see if we could work out a deal. If my client had previously been clean, I could usually work something out. Then I go back to the cage (oh, I’m very sorry – back to the holding cell) and see what my client thought. If he bought it we were golden because the judge went along with whatever the prosecutor recommended. If he didn’t the system wouldn’t work.
Boy, I’ve taken a long time to get there. What I have been getting ready to say for three long paragraphs is we do the same thing in the Army. Only, I think we do it better.
First, why do we do it? If a soldier knows he is guilty and knows the prosecutor has the goods on him, why shouldn’t he try to get something for a guilty plea? On the other hand, it costs time and sometimes big bucks to prosecute a case. If the Government can save time and money and still be assured a fair sentence for the crime, then what’s the harm?
Here are some of the safeguards the Army has built into the system. First the offer must be submitted in writing by the accused and his counsel (no hashing it out in the corner of the room). Second, it has to be approved by the general court-martial convening authority. That’s the commanding general. He will look over the offer and decide if it is fair to the Army. Then, if all agree, the military judge will look the deal over during the trial. But, he won’t just rubber stamp it. The judge will satisfy himself that the accused is only pleading guilty to what he really did. The judge will also make sure that the accused fully understands the terms of the agreement. Only then will the judge accept the agreement.
So when you read somewhere that the accused pleaded guilty for no apparent reason, the answer most likely is that he had a deal.
Written by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com
Nikki – The Remarkable Creature
We are dog people. So we have had the yappers and the chewers. Replacing furniture is no fun, especially when you are just starting out and money is tight. Then there was the time when the two leather straps on my briefcase disappeared. They were there when we went out to eat. Ah yes, the adolescent years.
We lost Holly, our lovable Sheltie, at the age of 12. She could identify a dozen of her toys and when I would ask her to go get a particular one, she would race to the hall closet and come back with the requested toy. She had all kinds of energy and when I would raise the weights on the grandfather clock, would come tearing to assist. The weights would end up with nose prints on them. They were brass and I would have to polish out the nose prints. We finally negotiated a deal where she could chew on the end of the chains, but hands (nose) off the weights.
Holly ended up with kidney problems and died in 2005. At that time we were over 65 and unwilling to replace our beloved Holly. With no children or pets at home, we were free to do something spontaneous (not that we ever did). But after about two years we weighed the pros and cons and decided to find another Sheltie. One of the cons was did we have the energy to keep up with a puppy, especially a Sheltie?
We located the woman up in Colesville, Maryland where we had purchased Holly, but she was no longer breeding dogs. She recommended a woman near Clifton, Virginia. The woman had one puppy that was going to be too big to show and she would sell it to us if we didn’t mind an oversize Sheltie. It turned out that Holly had also been too big to show, so that was fine with us. We saw Nikki in the pen with her two sisters. She was already a lot bigger than them. A gigantic ball of fluff.
From the time we brought her home, she very seldom barked and never in the house. I’m not sure she had any accidents in the house, but that may be more to our credit than hers. There were certain rooms she was not permitted to enter. One time when I caught her in the living room, I shouted at her. She leaped sideways and then scampered out of the room. Shelties can leap sideways back and forth to control the direction of sheep. We have no sheep. She did it because she was startled, but she never returned to the living room.
One of the remarkable things about Nikki is her understanding of things around her. She is a quiet, friendly dog that is not demanding. When it is time for her meal or evening treat, she will appear and start staring at us. She usually starts 15 minutes early. Daylight savings time will screw her up for a short time. But she seems to understand that she has entered a subdued environment and does nothing to change it.
I like to putt on the family room rug, but I couldn’t do it with Holly in the house. As soon as the white ball started rolling, Holly had it in her mouth. Nikki, however, understands that the ball in not one of her toys (it was never given to her with much ceremony). So she gets comfortable and watches me putt. I can putt with in an inch of her nose and she never moves it. I wish I didn’t move my nose when I putt.
A few blogs back (“A Summer on the Road”), I mentioned that this summer was going to be an ordeal. We were traveling for 45 days in a three-month period. Well, it was even worse for Nikki. She was boarded five separate times for a total of 52 days. It never phased her. Each time when I picked her up and brought her home, she would come in the house, look around and then look around the fenced-in back yard. With that done, everything was back to normal. No pouting, no destructive gestures, like making my briefcase straps disappear. Just back to her comfortable routine.
Maybe other dogs do this, but this is our first. Nikki sleeps on her back with all four legs in the air. With her hind legs spread apart I would start humming, “Some day my prince with come.” Carole would stare daggers at me.
I just reread this blog and I am not sure how convincing a case I have made that Nikki is so remarkable. I guess it is the day to day things like when I’m putting on my socks and she is putting the sock and my foot in her mouth. And doing it so gently that is doesn’t cause any discomfort.
Written by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com
Cruising and Ranting
For the last two weeks, we have been on a cruise of Alaska. I have felt like Nero fiddling. Here I am on a plush cruise liner and all I have to worry about is showing up for meals, whale watching tours and my ping pong competition. Yet, from what I’m getting from the TV, it seems like Western culture, as we know it, is sinking into the abyss.
First, we lose a chopper full of Navy Seals. What a disaster. Afghanistan keeps chugging along. Longest war in our Nation’s history. I don’t see an end. I’m not a “cut and run” guy, but I wish some smart people could figure out how to get us out of there. When I hear politicians talking about the importance of giving the Afghan tribesman a democratic system of government with free elections, I want to barf. Where’s McNamara when we need someone to lie to us about the “light at the end of the tunnel.” It is costing us billions each year to carry on the fight and when we leave, it will still cost the Afghan government those same billions. Once we pull out, the billions will not be forthcoming.
Also, while we were watching the Hubbard Glacier calve, the stock market was also calving. Crack, rumble, crash. No “oohs and ahs” on the market. The Hubbard Glacier, unlike our economy is growing. Don’t tell Henny Penny Al Gore. Standard and Poors downgrades the US Treasury Bond. What a joke. S & P are the guys who gave the triple A rating to all the banks right before we had to bail them out. They are partially responsible for the problems in the first place. Then they downgrade the US government bonds.
Then there’s the President. He seems to be a pleasant guy, but he is clearly out of his element. I am satisfied that he is clueless when it comes to running our government. However, he does know how to run a campaign and raise money. He has lots of strategists to help him get reelected and when I hear him talk about jobs, I am satisfied he is only interested in his own. No, that’s not fair. I am sure he would like the unemployment numbers to come down, because that would help him save his job.
He seems to be constantly running for reelection. For the first two years of his presidency, he had large majorities in both houses of Congress (a fillerbuster proof Senate) and he couldn’t even get a budget passed. He hasn’t had a budget passed his entire time. Good grief! He may be the first president who never gets a budget passed. He is still a first term senator that is clueless. When one of his constituents complained to him about high gas prices, he told her to get a more fuel efficient car. We are going to be like a third world country with everyone driving around on a motor scooter.
I am not opposed to universal health care. After all, we are presently paying for the medical care bill of the poor. I believe we are capable of working something out. But the way the Democrats went about the health care bill was unconscionable. Something as significant as universal health care needs to be vetted and debated and bought into by both sides of the isle. I remember the Civil Rights Act during the Johnson Administration. Congress butted heads, but worked together on some equally difficult issues and found solutions. This time, however, we had midnight raiders who pushed through Obamacare, saying things like “you can read it after it is passed.” The president who said he would insist on transparency in government and no more pork was just lying to us because it was expedient.
I’m satisfied that the Supreme Court will declare Obamacare unconstitutional and then we can start over. But, will we? I doubt it. Obama missed his chance, but that is consistent with being clueless. I generally try to put some humor in these blogs, but it’s hard to do when you are ranting. I am definitely ranting.
Let’s move on to Congress. I think most of them are pretty smart. There are a few Weiners, but on the whole they are conscientious people. But members of the House run for reelection every two years and so they are constantly running for reelection. The best way (unfortunately) to get reelected is to attack your opponent. It doesn’t even have to be 100% true. It just has to pass the smell test. With everyone attacking everyone, nothing gets done. The word “statesman” has disappeared from the Washington vocabulary.
Obama has been in office for the better part of three years and his answer to everything on the economy is it’s Bush’s fault. Where is the “change” he kept talking about? I am convinced that Obama plans on putting out an economic recovery plan in September that he knows will be unacceptable to the Republicans. Then, when the Republicans reject it, he will use it as a key point in his reelection campaign. “I had a great plan to get the economy moving, but the Republicans shot it down. They are to blame.” How does that help the American people?
I would like to keep ranting, but I have a ping pong match followed by high tea and dinner.
Written by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com
Baseball Stats Gone Wild
Computers are wonderful. You can dump in a bunch of numbers and crunch them until you’re dizzy. That is what is happening with baseball. I know the commentators need to fill dead air, but shouldn’t there be some kind of regulator on the spigot.
“Bob, this is the 36th time that Wiffowitz has come to the plate with a man on first base and less than two outs. And, he has only advanced the runner seven times.” I quickly grabbed my calculator and determined that good old Wiffo has only advanced the runner 22% of the time. What does that mean? Who cares? If Wiffo had bunted everytime, he would have advanced the runner probably over 80% and would be headed for Triple A ball.
I was watching a commercial for a smart phone and they were telling about how you could take all these photos and put them right on Facebook. Thankfully they ended the commercial by saying that just because the smart phone gives you the power to do things doesn’t mean its a good idea. Unfortunately the commercial came too late for Anthony Weiner. But the message is not too late for baseball announcers. Fine, you have all these idiotic stats, but is it a good idea to numb us with them? “Jones is batting .317 in his last seven games” (I guarantee that he isn’t hitting .317 in his last eight games, or for that matter, the season).
Every player has a batting average. That’s nice to know. And it might be helpful to know his average against left handed pitchers and right handed pitchers. I would also like to know if his average goes up or down when runners are in scoring position. But please don’t tell me what his batting average is when the count is two balls and one strike. Enough already!
I was listening to a commentator talk about our local team. He mentioned that if the team only walked three or less batters, their earned run average (ERA) was 2.9. But if the team walked four or more (9 is more than 4), then the ERA jumps to over 4.5. I thought about that. By the use of statistics, he had discovered that putting more men on base resulted in more men scoring. Heavy stuff.
They now keep track of a player’s home run ratio. It tells us whether a player hits a home run every 15th time at bat (on average) or, perhaps, every 32nd time. I guess if Sluggo hits a home run every 15th time and he hasn’t hit a home run in his last 27 times, then the announcer can let us know, “He’s due.” The truth is that Sluggo is probably in a slump. But home team announcers are reticent to say that. They will probably say, “He’s due.”
They have recently come up with a new stat. OPS stands for On Base plus Slugging. If you just think of a players on-base percentage (hits, walks, hit by pitch) divided by times at bat, you have half the formula. The slugging percentage is total bases divided by times at bat. You add the two stats together and you get OPS. It must be significant because the all time OPS leader is Babe Ruth. And they named a candy bar after him.
I’m for coming up with one more stat. Let’s select the warning track power leader. This would go to the guy who hits the most balls that are caught on the warning track (OK, we need to count the balls that hit on the track and are not caught). To select the player with the best warning track power, we will have to deduct home runs from his total. A player with true warning track power doesn’t hit home runs. This is a work in progress. I haven’t ironed out all the issues. So far, I only have the abbreviation – WTP.
Written by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com
The Branson Reunion
Branson, Missouri? Sure, I know Branson. My parents took me there on vacation when I was a kid. It was 1948, 49 & 50. Sure, I know Branson.
The downtown area was one block long. It was just on one side of the street, because there was a miniature golf course on the other side of the street. What was really neat was that there were large speakers on the two end buildings and they broadcasted the St. Louis Cardinal baseball games. So you could be putting on the putt-putt course and listening to Harry Carey and Gabby Street. “Holy Cow, Gabby!”
It’s all gone – the putt-putt course and, of course, Harry and Gabby. The Sammy Lane Resort where we stayed has vanished. They used to drain the pool every Monday and then fill it with ice cold spring water. You couldn’t get in the pool until Wednesday. I’m sure that today there are health codes that prohibit water that cold.
Well, the woman at the Visitor’s Center that said I didn’t know Branson was correct. Nothing looked familiar. I had suggested Branson for our family reunion because it was centrally located. Everybody had to drive forever to get there!
Our three children, son-in-law and four grandchildren joined us. Two other grandchildren were tied up with college summer courses. What a different world we now live in. First, we found the place we stayed at on line. You say “Duh,” but it was a first for us. It was a big house in a gated community that slept 16. So the 10 of us did well. Next, the house had to have Wi-Fi. Say what? I don’t understand, but fortunately the house did have Wi-Fi and the kids and grandkids were busy on their computers and smart phones. Cowboys and indians have been captured by Angry Birds.
We were there over the 4th of July, so my son, Paul and grandson, Jack, ran in Branson’s Firecracker 5000. I held the camera. Jack is not quite 12 years old and seemed to finish 1st or 2nd among kids his size. When the results were posed, he finished 8th in his group. It turned out that his group was ages 14 and under. And some of the 14 year olds were bigger than most adults. This was a good life lesson for Jack. What lesson you ask? That life is not always fair. Paul and Jack both had good times for them and Paul finished third in his age group (he didn’t have to compete with those 14 year olds). I finished first in the grandpa bragging competition.
Silver Dollar City was right outside our gate. Most of the clan enjoyed the ruckus – many for two days. That is where the Flying Wallendas were performing; at least the ones who are still around. I’ll bet they have trouble getting life insurance. “And what do you do for a living Mr. Wallenda?” “Did you say, no net?”
Paul, Terry and I played golf on the Ledgestone Country Club course. I may have been only 12 when I was last in the Ozarks, but it didn’t take long to remember that nothing is flat. Well, Legdestone is in the Ozarks. Ergo, the damn course was hilly! We had the option of using golf carts or mountain goats. The goats were cheaper, but they didn’t come with GPS. The course was beautiful and exciting and a good time was (eventually) had by all.
Paul and I spent two hours looking for a Super WalMart that was 15 minutes from our house. My MapQuest had sent me in the wrong direction and Paul’s TomTom wasn’t sending up the right smoke signals. Being two macho male guys, we refused to ask for directions. The only good thing that MapQuest did was provide me with was a phone number. I must not have been the first who couldn’t find them. The little gal on the phone gave me great directions. After we found it, we realized it was visible from the main drag. Not our brightest hour.
The reunion served its purpose. It got the family together. When families are spread out over many far reaching states, it’s a little bit of a struggle to all of a sudden becoming one again – probably impossible. When the clock struck twelve and the reunion was over, we all eagerly headed home to return to our normal lives. But, as time passes, the fond memories will be there.
Writted by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com
A Summer on the Road
I’m too old for this. This is the summer from Hell. Everytime we turn around we are packing or unpacking. The retirement years are supposed to be relaxing. But it seems like all the good times are somewhere we have to travel to.
Early this month we went to Myrtle Beach so I could participate in the Retired Military Golf Classic. This was my first time. It’s been going on for many years and limits itself to 800 men and 200 women. That constitutes a gaggle. Four days of golf on a different course each day with three new partners.
Before I started I distinctly marked four balls; one for each day (Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday). On my first shot on my first day, I hit Wednesday’s ball into a lake on the 8th hole at Long Bay (Shotgun start). Thursday’s ball only lasted for about six more holes. As a matter of principle, I refused to play Friday’s ball on Wednesday. I dug out an old, well-used ball and played the rest of the day with it. In fact, I started the next day with the same old ball.
In a scramble, once the team decides which ball they are playing, we pick up the rest of the balls. Consequently, my team mates would pick up my ball. Because of its shabby condition and 18 carefully located black dots, the ball became known as “Black Death.” I refused to take a hint. But halfway through the round, Black Death took a bath. One of my partners, Tom, offered to fish it out of the lake, but I told him to forget about it.
Shortly after that, Tom came up to me and handed me a ball marked just like mine. Same brand, same style and markings. It was my ball! Finally I said, “Tom, this is my ball. Where did you find it?” He told me he had fished it out of the lake on the 8th hole at Long Bay yesterday. Wednesday’s ball had arisen from its watery grave.
The tournament gave out prizes to the top 50 in each flight, but my total score was quite a bit short of being unremarkable.
We got home from Myrtle Beach, unpacked, picked up our dog, Nikki, and washed our clothes. Then we packed, dropped off Nikki and headed for Charlottesville, Virginia. The Retired Army Judge Advocates were holding their annual reunion in Charlottesville, “The Home of the Army Lawyer.” Our JAG School is located on the grounds of the University of Virginia.
What a crowd. We had about 250 people attending. That’s 100 more than we have ever had before. And the Rice theory on RAJA is that once we get JAGs to attend the reunion, they will have such a great time, they will return. So if my theory is correct, we should have a big crowd next year in Fort Worth, Texas. Howdy partner.
Every living former Army Judge Advocate General was in attendance. We actually held our business meeting in one of the School’s classrooms. Then, after the meeting, they took a picture of all the TJAGs. Tim Naccarato called their names for the picture, just in case, because of their senior age they might have forgotten they were the TJAG. They also took a picture of all the former Commandants of the School. There were 11 of us.
We got home, unpacked, picked up Nikki and now we are packing for a family reunion in Branson, Missouri. Nikki is standing around staring at us. She gets that look every time the suitcases come out. This summer, they never get put away. I am getting tired just writing about this.
After Branson comes a 14 day cruise to Kodiak, Alaska with Ron and Judy Holdaway. We have been trying to get together for about four years. This year it worked out.
Then, my double-nickel (55th) high school class reunion get pushed from September to the end of August. We can do it, but it is going to be tight. We may just leave Nikki in the kennel. But don’t tell her. She’s just getting over Charlottesville.
In June, July and August, we will be traveling 45 days. That’s cruel and unusual. My golf team is putting me on probation. The only good news is I don’t have to buy camera film and there’s no luau.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Golf – Mind vs. Mindless
I’ve always loved golf and for the first 50 years of my life, I was clueless and horrible. I was a fairly good athlete in baseball, football, soccer, volleyball, ping pong – you name it. But the things that made me good in those sports didn’t seem to help in golf. Being a ball of aggressive energy ready to attack doesn’t help the golf swing.
About 10 years ago, I started going to golf schools in Florida, and little by little, I have learned about the golf swing. On many occasions, I can actually make it work. I no longer feel hopelessly frightened standing over the ball. That’s important!
I am still grasping to find the “secret” to improve my game. I subscribe to golf magazines. They have articles that promise 20 extra yards on my drive and that I will never three putt again (that can be accomplished by always missing the third putt). I have a closet full of swing devices that are supposed to solve all my problems. The only one I don’t have is the club with the hinge in the middle of the shaft. A pro told me not to buy it, because he was afraid I would hurt myself.
I also have a wide range of how-to-play-golf books. I know some of them are really good, but you can’t learn to play the violin by reading a book. When Carole and I go to our favorite used book store, I migrate over to the sports/golf section. Two weeks ago, I found a book that I thought might help. It was entitled, “Golf – The Mind Factor.” It was written by Darren Clarke and a sport’s psychologist, Dr. Karl Morris.
Clarke is from Northern Ireland and the first two chapters seemed devoted to how great it was for the Europeans to beat the Americans in the Ryder Cup. If I had been smart I would have stopped right there. But I was looking for that little gem that would help my game. There was a chapter entitled, “The master key: Correct breathing.” The next time I went out, I took a deep breath before each shot. I must not have been doing it right. At the very end of the book, they mentioned that taking a couple deep breaths to get rid of negativity and reduce the emotional charge “is completely ineffective.” It’s not the breathing in that’s important, it’s the breathing out. I thought they kind of went together.
This book was written in 2005 before Tiger Woods wrecked any SUVs. They thought Tiger personified confidence. They liked the way he walked down the fairway. The message was if I walked down the fairway like Tiger Woods, then I would play better. I’m not buying it. Of course, I watched the press conference.
They asked me to reflect on my most embarrassing experience on a golf course. The message was to forget the bad experiences and remember the good ones. Most people do exactly the opposite. My most embarrassing was down at Walt Disney World many years back. I took a lesson right before I played. The pro noticed I was dipping my front knee on my back swing. This lead to a reverse pivot and to me falling backwards as I was hitting the ball. To solve the problem, the pro had me start my swing with most of my weight on my back foot. When I got to the golf course, I tried his approach with a fairway wood. I swung over the ball and smacked it with the bottom of the club. The ball went straight up into the air. I had to step smartly out of the way to keep from being hit. After that, I decided to forget about the lesson until I had a chance to practice.
I’m giving the book one star out of five. I’d have given it a star and a half if they hadn’t slammed the American Ryder Cup team. The only thing about the book that excites me is that I am pretty sure that I can sell it back to the used book store for half price.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Addendums, Corrections and Modifications
I have written a couple of articles that need to be corrected, modified or just added on to. No, it’s not about Tiger Woods not winning a major this year. That is written in stone and won’t need modification. And, it won’t be about Chad Ochocinco’s $10,000 bull riding experience. That was over as soon as it started. Ochocinco, the premier self promoter, stayed on a bull named Deja Blu for 1.5 seconds. It would have been shorter, but he flew in the air for a little while before he hit the ground.
I need to update you on my Infiniti with the dead battery. The one that had my golf clubs imprisoned in the trunk. I talked to my service guy (the one who had previously talked me into using $12 a quart oil – I’m an idiot) and he told me that he thought the back seat folded down. Well, I got out my owner’s manual and discovered that that little trick only works with the coupe, not my sedan. So much for that plan.
I had decided to jerry-rig my trunk so that a dead battery and no key would not stop me. I knew that the government (NHTSA) required all new cars to have a trunk release inside the trunk. This will help little Johnny when he locks himself in the trunk. The interest in saving lives outweighed the cost to all of us car buyers and the argument about upgrading the gene pool.
I figured out that I could tie a cord to the trunk release handle (which glows in the dark!) and slide the other end out through the hatch leading to my back seat. Then, if the battery went dead, I could slide into the back seat, pop open the hatch and yank on the cord opening the trunk. I wasn’t sure how the cord would look in the back seat, but I was committed to function over appearance.
I popped the trunk to locate the release handle. It was in the center of the lid towards the back of the trunk. I studied the location. If I got in the back seat and stuck my arm through the hole, could I reach the handle? I knew that Plastic Man and even Spider Man could reach it, but I wasn’t sure about myself. Only one thing to do and that was try.
I got in the back seat, popped open the hatch and stuck in my left arm. I couldn’t feel anything. I have a foot-long back scratcher with a little plastic hand on the end. If my real hand couldn’t reach it, I’ll bet my little plastic hand could. Then, my hand came to the end of something. It was underneath the back window. I hadn’t gotten to the trunk lid yet. So I stretched deeper and there it was, the handle. I popped the trunk. No need for an unsightly cord. No need to swap my sedan for a coupe. There may be another problem out there, but I don’t want to think about it.
On another matter, a while back I compared Gillette razors. I compared the new Fusion Proglide Power with the Mach3 Turbo and the existing Fusion Power. I stated that the Proglide was the only one with a light. I was wrong.
I still use all three razors (constantly comparing). The other day while shaving with the Fusion Power, I noticed a light on the handle blinking. I have had that razor for four years and this is the first time I had seen it blinking. How could I have missed it? As I am growing older, are my skills of observation growing stronger?
Pleased with myself, I tried to finish shaving. But, the battery went dead. I put a new triple A battery in the handle of my Fusion Power and guess what, the blinking light disappeared. I am going to give this matter some additional thought (using my enhanced skills of observation) and report back
Writter by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com