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
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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
The Judge Says – Judge Seeks ‘Respect’
Below is another article written while I was the Staff Judge Advocate at Fort Riley, Kansas in the early 1980’s.
May 2, 1982.
Rodney Dangerfield (I wonder if that is his real name. I would never name a child Rodney) says he don’t get no respect. The way he throws a bowling ball, he don’t deserve no respect. If he thinks things are bad now, he should try being a JAG Officer.
I went over to the Officers Club last Friday night for Happy Hour. The place was so empty there was an echo. Come back. There is no truth that there are MP’s roaming the halls with breathalyzers.
You don’t have to get drunk to have a good time and Friday night, after a long week, is a good time to relax. They also have free chow on Friday night. It’s a little overpriced, but the heartburn is also free. You have to eat the meatballs with a toothpick, because the sauce had been dissolving the plastic forks.
Again, back to the plight of the poor JAG. I’m standing in the chow line with my last two Tums clutched tightly in my left fist. There are two officers in the front of the line and one of them has a black lunch pail. After they fill up their plates and the pail, they head out of the club. One officer in line said, “I didn’t know we were providing carry out.” Then a lieutenant behind me in line announces in a loud voice, “they are probably JAGs.”
It didn’t take the lieutenant long to find out that they weren’t, but that I was. I think he also lost his appetite. The whole thing really gets me. It was a cheap shot. So, if we seem a little defensive at times, humor us.
Once in a while we do good work. My legal assistance attorneys are really hotshots when it comes to protecting the consumer rights of our soldiers. They have a zeal that is really exciting.
They found out about a gas station downtown which was charging $10 per bad check, plus $1 per day until the check is redeemed. Now nobody wants the GI bouncing a bad check, but fair is fair and that ain’t.
One GI bounced three checks for a total of 28 bucks and he ended up paying $70 in service charges. The Soldier didn’t have the money for the service charge so he had to wait till payday, and each day cost him another buck.
We took our best shot at the gas station trying to convince them to change their policy. They seemed concerned and were willing to make some token offer in this one case, but they refused to change their policy.
So my legal assistance office has now brought in the horsepower of the Consumer Protection Division of the Attorney General’s Office. And we have every reason to believe that the gas station policy will be struck down because it is unconscionable (that’s a fifty-cent word meaning it stinks).
Written by PJ Rice on www.ricequips.com
My Day Stunk, But It Was Better Than Tiger’s
Thursdays are match days. We at Fort Belvoir are members of the Northern Virginia Retired Mens Golf Association. So almost every Thursday starting in late March and running through September, we play a golf match with one of the Northern Virginia country clubs.
I start getting ready on Wednesday. I assemble all my gear (clubs, bag, shoes, etc.) and put it in the trunk of my car. Two years ago, I arrived at the golf club without my clubs. So now, I do it on Wednesday.
This Wednesday was out of sync. We had a crew spring cleaning our yard. I had both cars parked in the street so they could dump mulch in the driveway. The clean up went well, but as they were leaving, I went down the back steps to make sure the gates were closed. I didn’t make it. I was pretty close to the bottom when I started falling. This may sound stupid, but I believe there is an art in falling and not getting hurt. I consider myself a master.
On this occasion, I was out of control. But still I was twisting and turning. When I finally bottomed out, I had scraped my head, shoulder, elbow, knee and butt; not necessarily in that order. I lay there for about a minute gathering myself. When I finally got up, I assumed my golfing stance and took a practice swing. I may have been hurting, but if I could swing a club, then all was well. All was well. Another bullet had been dodged. Following orders, I dutifully sprayed Bactine all over my body.
The next morning at 7:30, I marched out of my house for my 9:00 match. My car would not start. The battery was dead as a door nail. I raced back upstairs. Carole was getting a permanent at noon time, but she told me I could take her car. She would hitch a ride with a neighbor. I went back to the garage to move my clubs from my car to hers. Then I realized that with my keyless 2009 Infiniti, if the battery is dead, you can’t open the trunk. My clubs, my shoes, my golfing glasses were locked in the trunk. I climbed into the backseat with a flashlight. I knew there was a hole about the center arm rest. I found the hole, but could do nothing with it.
Carole suggested finding my starter cables and jump starting the car. Great idea. After searching for ten minutes, I concluded that my starter cables were in the trunk with my golf clubs.
Carole then reminded me that I had a lot of extra clubs in the basement. Another great idea. I called my team Captain, Peter Huhn, and told him I would miss the 8:00 check in time, but I would be there for the match.
In the basement I found my Ping G-2 driver and my Ping nickel ISI irons. I was happy with those clubs. The grips were a little slick, but who cares. I had three putters and selected two of them. Then, I decided to take only one so as to be decisive. I selected an old reliable Acushnet Bulls-Eye putter. My problem was fairway woods. As I bought new fairway woods, I gave my old ones to my son, Paul. The only clubs I had were 1970 vintage. These were not metal woods, but wood woods with persimmon heads. The 3 and 5 wood heads looked tiny and the shafts were stiff as iron rods. But that was my fate.
I made it to the club with 35 minutes to spare. I saved time by not putting on golf shoes, or changing glasses because I had none. I raced out to the driving range to get accustomed to the clubs. The driver worked. Nothing else was comfortable. Then I went to the putting green and nothing worked. My regular putter is a Scotty Cameron mallet head and has some weight in it. The old Bulls-Eye was exactly the opposite. What a dummy!
I don’t think you are up to a hole by hole accounting of my round. I would love to tell you I had a great round, but I didn’t. I would have had a decent round if it hadn’t have been for the putter. I missed at least six three to five foot putts. Toward the end, on a par 3, I had a straight three-foot putt for a par. I tried hitting it cross handed (I was desperate). I was on line, but left the three-foot putt short.
When the dust settled, Fort Belvoir had beaten the previously undefeated International Country Club 27-9. My partner, Art Brill, thanks to his great play, and I, defeated our opponents 2-1.
When you have a bad round, it is important to have an excuse. I had many. But if it hadn’t been for this experience, I might never have learned how to hit a knock-down driver shot.
When I got home, I found out that Tiger Woods shot a 42 on the first nine of the Players Championship and then withdrew citing knee and Achilles injuries. Karma’s a bitch.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Baseball’s Enigma (The Nats)
Yes, I’m a Washington National fan. Hey, I live here. I grew up in the St. Louis area, so the Cardinals are numero uno, but when the Nats are not playing the Cards, I’m a big time Nats fan.
I thought about entitling this article, “Nats Hit Like Gnats.” But gnats can be pesky so I threw out that line. There may be a team in the league that hits worse than the Nats, but I’m too lazy to look it up. OK. OK. I looked it up and the Nats are the second worst. As a Team they are hitting .225 and the lowly San Diego Padres are hitting .217.
I wonder if San Diego has three starters batting below the Mendoza line? In last night’s line up, we started Adam La Roche (.181) at first base, Jerry Hairston (.190) in centerfield and Brian Bixler (.100) at third base. Egads. Hairston was playing for Rick Ankiel (.221). Ankiel is a former Cardinal and a great centerfielder. I said that last night each time the Phillies hit the ball over Hairston’s head.
In the outfield with Hairston were Jayson Werth (.226) and Mike Morse (.234). Morse strikes out 31% of the time. Sometimes he swings, sometimes he watches the last strike. Well, at 31%, he is well above the Adam Dunn line. Dunn struck out 199 times last season. I wonder if he was going for 200 and the ball got in the way of his bat. Dunn’s on a 40% pace this year, so if he stays healthy, he should rocket past 200.
Who have I left out of the starting line up? Danny Espinosa (.219) at second base, Ian Desmond (.235) at shortstop and Pudge Rodriguez (.234) behind the plate. Opposing pitchers must love to see the Nats come to town.
The question I had is do the Nats have a batting coach? And, shouldn’t somebody put him on a suicide watch? I looked him up and his name is Rick Eckstein. He never played big league ball, but his brother, David, did. So much for nepotism.
The announcers for the Nats never say anything bad about the team. Last year the color commentator, Ron Dibble, complained about some of the players and their bonehead moves and Dibble was fired. So now, when Morse takes a third strike, the announcer will say, “I think he had something in his eye.”
Here is where the egnima comes in. The Nats have won about half of their games! I can’t explain it. Timely hitting? Good base running? Great pitching? Smart defensive play? Getting rid of Nyger Morgan? Just lucky? Take your pick. But, somehow they have scratched out a number of wins.
Do the Nats have any good hitters? Yes, Ryan Zimmerman was hitting .357 before he tore an abdominal muscle sliding into a base and requiring surgery. Don’t get me started on head-first slides. If God had wanted us to slide head first, he would have put spikes on our caps.
Then there is a super young catcher named Wilson Ramos (.351). He divides up the catching duties with Pudge. I don’t blame Manager Jim Riggleman for playing both of them. Pudge is a future Hall of Famer and great for the morale of the team. It is just that Ramos is out hitting Pudge by 120 points and he is a hell of a player.
You want to know the up tick? Almost all our players have higher career batting averages than what they are hitting this year. Things have got to get better. LaRoche (.181) and Werth (.226) both have lifetime batting averages of .270. Maybe, just maybe, we are a warm weather team. I got that gem from our announcers.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com