For the Love of the Game

by Kim Michael

Copyright May 2015

(Pictures by Leslee Mitchell-Marilou Woods )

       

        There was a time in America when life was different.  Kinder.  Gentler.  When the world didn’t revolve around the latest craze, or the healthiest bottom line.  When companies bore with pride the names of their creators proudly: Ford.  Rockefeller.  Disney; instead of being orphaned behind a nameless, faceless, board of investors--and wall street and main street, were the same street.   

And it was a time when sports were different.  When players weren’t driven by multi-million dollar contracts and market shares and TV ratings, but somewhere along the way the world changed.  We, as a nation, forgot the joy of playing sports simply for the love of playing sports, and in many ways, we lost a part of our innocence in the process.  Winning at any cost became the mantra; we learned about steroids and cheating and getting ahead at any cost; and it became the means to an end, rather than about sportsmanship and competing with pride.    

The great baseball strike of 1981, driven mostly by greed of the owners and players alike, did it for me.  I never recovered my love of the game, something I never thought could happen.  I grew up with baseball.  Back then it was the national sport and people would stop everything to watch the games.  I remember growing up in a two room school on the backroads of Illinois where the teacher brought in a portable TV and on a warm summer’s day, with the windows open and the fans humming; we stopped everything to watch the World Series, and on those days life was perfect. Now those days are gone.  Or are they?

    There are parks in Tennessee where a group of middle aged men still play the game as it was played in 1864, and it's called the Vintage Baseball League.    They wear bib-overhauls, and old denim shirts and newsboy hats from days long past.  And they play without fancy gloves and spiffy uniforms and metal bats.  There are no million dollar contracts, no owners, no bottom lines to be met; just the the love of the game and reliving a part of our past that was the best of what we were.  

        These men live for the thrill of the game, to hit away, a  stinger or daisy cutter; and run the bases, stretch a double into a triple; and slam into home base "stringing your stumps" as the arbiter looks on.  And though the game is played somewhat tongue-in-cheek, in many ways it is more real than the games we see see today.  And when they play, the field they play on is nothing less than a field of dreams; where people come on a warm Sunday afternoon to sit on hard park bleachers in short sleeve shirts and summer dresses, and sip glasses of sweet iced tea as they watch game.  And for those few hours they are transported back to another time and another place; when baseball was magic... and it is "magic" once more.     

And when the game is over, there are no castles or yachts or high performance sports cars to go back to, no crowds or fanfare; just the sound of an empty park as they gather up their belongings and drive away in Fords and Buicks and Toyotas.  But when they leave, they leave with much more than they came, something infinitely more valuable, something that professional sports lost a long time ago...the love of the game.

Visit the http://tennesseevintagebaseball.com

The World's Greatest "Real Life" Sorcerer



       By Kim Michael 
          Copyright April 2015

Retlaw Yensid was born to emigrant parents in a suburb of Chicago at the outset of the great depression.  In the first years following his birth his family moved to Kansas where he grew up.  To most people that knew him, young Retlaw appeared to be no different than any other kid, and like many of the boys born before the great depression he dropped out of school early, not making it past his freshman year in high school.  

But what most people did not know, even his parents, was that young Retlaw was a real life Sorcerer.  Even as a child it was not long before his skills began to manifest themselves.  The power of his magic was in his amazing ability to envision his dreams so completely that he could will them into reality. 

He found that he had only to touch something for it to come to life.  In his presence animals were suddenly able to talk and sing and dance.  Worlds and other realms of reality opened their doors to him, and he saw both the past and future as easily as we see the present. 

And yet, of all his amazing powers, the most incredible was his ability to make whatever he envisioned possible for millions to see and experience, transporting them to far away places, beyond anything they could have ever imagined; a world and a reality in which anything was, and is, possible.

His magic knew no boundaries, no class or age distinction, and no matter how cynical the world became, his vision of who we are, and what we could be, always remained the same. 

He was great not because of his amazing powers, but by using his magic he taught us all to see the wonder that is in all things, and more importantly… the wonder in ourselves. 

Even after his death in 1962, Retlaw Yensid lives on and there are those (including me) who believe he will live forever. 

And though you may not recognize the name Retlaw Yensid which was the penname that he sometimes used, appearing in the credits of at least four movies, you probably would recognize his real name, which is actually his pen name… spelled backwards. 

Walter or “Walt” Disney. 

        

I Hate Spiders...

by Kim Michael Copyright April 2015

Argiope aurantia is the technical name for them.  They are large spiders that live in gardens.  I personally don’t like spiders.  I’m not alone.  On the list of human phobias Wikipedia lists arachnophobia (fear of spiders) is prevalent in nearly 90% of all females and 18% of all males, of which I am one, which is what makes this story even more unlikely.     

         I have an herb garden in my backyard.  I have never been an avid gardener, but I like fresh herbs.  To my dismay one day I found a huge web stretched between the only rosemary bush I had planted and a dill plant that I had let grow to long. 

         In the center of the web was a huge black spider with yellow spots on its back.  I remember it being slightly smaller than half the size of my hand, but in retrospect it was probably smaller, but still large enough to be intimidating.

My first thought was to get a stick and destroy the web, but when I finally found something I could use, I found myself curiously interested in the spider, not an uncommon phenomenon, to be drawn to something that you fear. 

When I got closer to look at it, it scurried for cover.  I had already decided not to get rid of the web or kill the spider, but of course, the spider didn’t know that. 

My first thought was, if I was actually going to try to cohabitate with this creature, I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t poisonous.  I looked it up on the Internet and found out that the spider wasn’t dangerous like a Brown Recluse or a Black Widow, and that it was actually beneficial for my garden, killing the bugs that would ultimately hurt my plants.  I also discovered that it was female.  Probably the strangest of all was that spiders only have two basic emotions, fear and anger.  They don’t become tame regardless of what people who have pet Tarantulas may think.  At best they are only lethargic.

At any rate that is where my relationship (so to speak) with an Argiope Aurantia began.  Because she was in my rosemary bush, I called her Rosie.  In the days that followed when I worked in the garden I would occasionally talk to her, and as time progressed my tongue-in-cheek, one-sided conversations became more frequent. 

As weeks passed, I found myself actually bonding with the spider, not in the way that dogs or cats bond with humans, spiders do not have that capacity, but Rosie seemed to become less timid of me.  She got to a point where I could get very close to her and she would not run away. 

As I lost my fear of her, I began to see the beauty in her, her glistening black body, brilliant yellow spots.  I found her stunning.  For a brief period I even toyed with the idea of trying to touch her and I came close a couple of times, but in the end I realized that she was a creature of the wild and some things are not meant for human interaction. 

Then one day I noticed that she seemed to be growing larger.  At first I thought Rosie was thriving in her new home, but then I realized the truth.  Rosie was pregnant and about to lay her eggs. 

Over the next few days I made it a point to go out every day and look in on her, not that I know anything about pregnant spiders, but I was becoming protective of her.  Then one day I went out to see her… and she was gone.  The web looked conspicuously empty and so did my herb garden.  After another day had passed the sad realization started to dawn on me that I would probably never see Rosie again.  The truth was I missed her.  For several days more I looked for her, but she never reappeared.  That weekend as I weeded the herb box I found her body, no longer thick and beautiful, she lay curled up, shriveled and still.  Rosie was dead.

For a moment I sat back on my knees looking at her, eyes misting with emotion, a grown man feeling strangely sad for the loss of all things, a “spider”.  It was an odd feeling, but one I still remember.  Yet as I looked at her I felt my spirits lift.  I realized that Rosie had become what nature had intended her to become and that she achieved what she was meant to do.  How many of us can claim such a legacy?    

That day, I buried her remains at the base of the rosemary bush where her web had been and silently thanked her.  Rosie was gone, but the memory of Rosie, and what she had taught me, continues on.  And as I sat there I suddenly had to smile, in her place Rosie had left me a virtual swarm of “little” Rosies crawling up and down the dill and rosemary plants. 

Since those days there have been a number of Rosies in my herb patch, and I have always made room for them, and though none has ever been as beautiful as Rosie, each became unique and different in its own way and each became what nature had intended.  Rosie, a spider, had opened my eyes to possibilities that I had not considered before. 

I still don’t care for spiders, but I appreciate them, I understand them, and the fear I once had of them has changed to something else…perhaps wonder.    Rosie in her own way had an impact on my life and made an unlikely friend along the way. 

The “Gift” In Each of Us.  By Kim Michael  Copyright April 2015

We all have “gifts”: talents and abilities that are uniquely our own.  Some we know.  Some we don’t.  Some we don’t even realize are talents.

If there is one person in the world who should be an expert on “you”, you would think it would be you, but how many of us really don’t know ourselves?  The reason why is because self discovery can be uncomfortable.  Often we have to force ourselves out of our comfort zones to find out who we are, but it doesn’t have to be.

Sometimes just making little changes that takes out of the mindless routines that we all fall into can make a huge difference: removing the blank spots on the piano roll of life where we lived, but didn’t, that’s all it really takes.

Sometimes getting free of them is as simple as taking a different way to work: going right when you would normally have gone left; maybe even doing something you always wanted to do, but never tried.  Making little changes that remove us from the normal routines and forces to live in the moment instead of just passing through it, and in the end, we become different.

This is a story I heard years ago, told to me by a back stage guy at the Frontier in Las Vegas.  I don’t know how much of it is true, but it serves a point.

Phillip (not sure of his real name), was a traveling salesman around the turn of the century.  He traveled around the world and truth be known, as a salesman, he really wasn’t very good, but he had one unique talent, considered by almost everyone he knew, to be interesting, but useless.  Phillip could run on his knees.  In fact, he could run faster on his knees than most people could on their feet. 

At parties he would show off his unique talent by pulling the weight of several people along with him, and though everyone was impressed, none thought it was of any value… yet Phillip practiced.  He got even faster and stronger. 

But fate and destiny sometimes have a way of colliding. One day flying back to the United States from a trip overseas, disaster struck.  It was 1937, Lakehurst New Jersey, and as the aircraft came in for a landing, a fire broke out, but this was no ordinary aircraft and the fire was no ordinary fire.

Phillip was aboard the Hindenburg, and as it touched the mooring tower an explosion rocked the ship.  Fire swept through the giant aircraft in a matter of minutes, and people began jumping from the broken windows and portals just to escape.  When Phillip jumped he hit the ground so hard that both of his ankles were broken.

Two passengers landed on either side of him, knocked unconscious by the fall.  

Of the 97 people on board (36 passengers and 61 crewmen), there were 35 fatalities (13 passengers and 22 crewmen).  Phillip survived, as did the two people that landed next him, and the only reason they did, was because they were just lucky enough to fall next to a little man who could drag them to safety, because he had the worthless talent of being able to run on his knees.    

No talent is without value, even those that others may think are worthless, and they are given to us for a reason.

SLOPPY JOES: SANDWICH OF DREAMS (Parody from Field of Dreams starring Kevin Costner and James Earl Jones) Best Ever Sloppy Joe Recipe

Sandwich of Dreams: 

A Field of Dreams Parody and Best Sloppy Joe Recipe Ever-Rachel Ray

Written by Kim Michael March 2015

"People will come Ray.  They'll come for reasons they can't even fathom.

They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, you'll say. We have Sloppy Joe Sandwiches. 

And you will pass over the mustard, and the pickles, and bun, overrun with Sloppy Joe filling; and they will take it without even thinking about it: for it is hunger they have and food from the past they lack.

And they'll walk out in the yard.  Sit in tee-shirts and sweatshirts under a soft summer moon, and find they have reserved seats somewhere by an open fire where they sat as children, cooking smores; And they’ll eat their Sloppy Joe sandwiches and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces.

People will eat Sloppy Joes, Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been Sloppy Joe sandwiches. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers; erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But Sloppy Joes have marked the time.

This sandwich, this filling Ray: it's a part of our past.  It reminds of us of what was once good--and it could be again.

Oh... people will eat Sloppy Joes, Ray. People will most definitely eat. "

BEST EVER SLOPPY JOE RECIPE:  Courtesy Rachel Ray

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, 2 turn of the pan
• 2 ½ pounds ground Turkey or Beef (if you use turkey be sure to cook out extra moisture before combining ingredients).
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 2 tablespoon steak seasoning blend, such as McCormick brand Montreal Seasoning
• 2 medium onion, chopped
• 2 small red bell pepper, chopped
• 2 tablespoon red wine vinegar
• 2 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
• 4 cups tomato sauce (32 oz)
• 4 tablespoons tomato paste
• 4 crusty rolls, split, toasted, and lightly buttered
• Garnish: sliced ripe tomatoes, pickles, Deviled Potato Salad, recipe follows

Directions

Heat a large skillet over medium high heat. Add oil and meat to the pan. Spread the meat around the pan and begin to break it up. Combine brown sugar and steak seasoning. Add sugar and spice mixture to the skillet and combine. When the meat has browned, add onion and red peppers to the skillet. Reduce heat to medium and cook onions, peppers, red wine vinegar and Worcestershire sauce with meat for 5 minutes. Add tomato sauce and paste to pan. Stir to combine. Reduce heat to simmer and cook Sloppy Joe mixture 5 minutes longer. Using a large spoon or ice cream scoop, pile sloppy meat onto toasted, buttered bun bottoms and cover with bun tops. Serve with your favorite sides or sliced tomatoes seasoned with salt and pepper, dill pickles and Deviled Potato Salad. Have plenty of napkins on hand!

NOTE:  I like to prepare the ingredients in a skillet then put it in a Crock pot on high for several hours.  When using the crockpot always leave the lid off the last hour stirring, the flavor is significantly better.

ENJOY