brewers baseball and things


the brewers are 15-27

I feel like an obese person conveniently preaching that beauty is only skin deep. The Brewers lost last night, to the Braves, 10-1, but it’s gonna be ok. It always was ok.

The Middle East and Southeast Asia were carved up by drunk colonizers in the aftermath of World War II or maybe it happened decades earlier? Wasn’t the world once Austria Hungarian Ottoman Persian Assyrian Babylonian Etruscan Hebrew? I should keep my day job, but over there, in some anonymous Idaho stream maybe  there is extra terrestrial dust from long long even longer ago?

Makes me wonder why the Houston Colt .45s included a decimal point before their name and why there was no apostrophe between 45 and s. Was there some drunk grammar colonizing crew that decided exception to the rule or maybe it’s  me who doesn’t know the rules?  Should there be a decimal point before 45?

Apparently there is supposed to be one before .45 but why no apostrophe between 5 and s as in Colt .45s? I guess for the same reason there is no apostrophe between the r and s of Brewers as in Milwaukee Brewers. English is complicated.

The Colt 45s, excuse me the Colt .45s  played in Colt Stadium from 1962-64 before moving into the 8th wonder of the world Astrodome. Colt Stadium apparently featured rattle snakes on the field, horrific heat and humidity and  nasty swarms of mosquitos. Some called it a barn which was maybe generous because barns have hay for rolling around in and smooching and I suspect there was a baby or two conceived at Colt Stadium.

These mosquitos remind me of the black flies of quebec north which apparently drove the native americans on summer vacation to the Atlantic coast. Smart people. They fished for lobster and returned home after the flies were done doing there thing.

Some people think because the Brewers are playing so bad this year, they too should go on vacation, especially since summer hasn’t even started, plenty of time to make a casual escape as opposed to a secret Baltimore Colts sneak out of dodge situation. All the proper disguises could be put in place with minor league brewers replacing major league ones, but the uniform name backs would remain the same name. A little face make up her and there and no one would know the difference. And who would fill minor league rosters? Anyone. Local kids with nothing else to do for the summer. What a thrill for everyone involved. And current Brewer players would be happy as well, catching those lobsters along the eastern seaboard in anonymity.

Early on in the 2014 season way back when there was concern over Carlos Gomez’s swing so hard his helmet fell off or even worse-he dropped down on one knee, but not to pray. It was to keep from falling or maybe both serve the same purpose? But the concern went deeper than Gomez. It stretched up and down the roster. This was a team that didn’t take too many pitches and hardly ever walked.

I was late to OB%, but ode to my strat-o-matic baseball guru. Thank you.  He was the one who ordered Bill James pamphlets from the backs of baseball digests. It took me a long while, but I caught on.  OB% matters.

So April-May-June of last year was an enjoyable drinking binge with all that getting on base and timely hitting. We spiked our next morning coffees with whisky to prolong the feeling,  but we knew it wouldn’t last or the good pitching did, but there were no more ducks on the pond and as a result-no more runs in July-August-September and even fewer this year.

And so home runs are my best friends and that’s OK.  I love the Brewers. Win or lose is beside the point and excuse me while I sound like a fortune cookie cliche, but the journey is what matters and there’s a game almost every damn day and I can watch it if I feel like it and if I had a porch, I’d paint it and listen to a game on the radio and pop a top on a pabst.



as more stuff makes its way down the digestive track and out the door

There’s a ravine behind a big house. We’re probably not supposed to be there and that’s why we’re there and why we stay. People make a circle around the periphery of the house. They look like a chastity belt or a picture frame. They’re sucking on vapor guns and looking cool, looking for an audience. We’re tucked under the lip of the ravine’s edge.

There’s no fence to separate the back yards, but the grass is taller in the next yard; kind of perfect as a home run boundary, but no one really wants to play baseball there. We don’t know if the lawn was neglected or it’s just fashion.

The owner used to be Mr. Spore. He never showed his face, but we could always see him or believed we saw him in the upstairs window that looked over the ravine. It was just his silhouette, but enough to know he was sitting in the lotus position with a scarf or feathers jetting from his head.

It looked like a giant paper clip stabbed into a piece of cardboard on most days, but there were days; other days when it looked like a sailboat moving across dark waters; a bright white sail; probably just the headlights of a truck passing in the distance; but it was a sailboat to us and no longer chained and bound to that house.

We stopped paying attention to the vapor fashion police surrounding the house and when forced to sneak a peak, they became smaller and smaller and then disappeared… poof.

That sail boat sailing was maybe just the moon’s reflection colliding with the truck’s headlights, but no….we knew better. And so the sailboat hitched a ride with some passing grey clouds and then it was gone and so was Mr. Spore and so were we.

We let go the lip and fell into the ravine and then up and over the trestle. That’s what we called any obstacle; natural or otherwise that separated yesterday from today; before from now and what not. Up ahead, we climbed atop a garbage heap and took a last view. Nothing but exhaust. We couldn’t remember a damn thing. We turned 180 degrees and slipped away.

I like when things slip away. The Brewers Matt Garza was in the game and then gone yesterday; ejected in the 5th inning after beaning Andrew McCutchen for the second time.

I wanted to care, but I was thinking about how to grow beans inside; white beans to make my own bean soup.  The Brewers won the game anyway; 1-0; staying sort of wild card alive; 3 and half games behind those Pirates with 7 games to go.

P20-09-14_08.17That lemon meringue pie I made yesterday was really two separate beings; the hot sugar body and the snow drift top but all together–one big sugar freak show. Some people call it lemon in snow pie and that makes sense.

Egg whites need an electric whipping if you want that full snow drift effect on the meringue top.

The Brewers are 80-75 .


generators on behalf of slap stick during apocalypses

To lose 100 games for three consecutive seasons…achh, it probably doesn’t matter to a peanut vendor. A job is a job for anyone; dizzy depressing sad days lingering for us all. Lady luck. Shadows slip away. A beer tastes good again. Sun then moon. Normal shifting I guess. Nothing worse than being a perennial winner. How boring!

I always liked the Houston Astros; initially as a superficial attraction to orange sunkist splash uniforms and Astrodome monster; outer space scoreboard theme; the name Enos Cabell and Texas being so strange, exotic and far away with armadillos I seen on Rock the Casbah video, cowboy hats, Jose Cruz.

The Astros became rivals to Brewers in NL Central; a team to despise featuring  Roger Clemens, but then those 100 loss seasons kicked in and gotta love em again. Contagious losers with no expectations. 11th time in baseball history a team has lost 100 games at least three years in a row.

What the hell does a manager or managers say to his players? Marketing road maps?

“well, everyone knows we suck. Hell, we know we suck so don’t worry about nothing. you’re gonna get paid either way, so have some fun.

The Astros are on pace to not lose 100 games this year. Heck, they don’t even have the worst record. The other Texans-the Rangers are 43-68; one game behind the Cubs for reverse crown. The Astros are 47-65; need to go 15-35 the rest of the way to reach 100 losses. Not out of the question, but unlikely.

There are advantages to being so bad; far away from pennant fire fever, never getting burned; no regrets. I wonder how it feels to be a Blue Jay these days. Joey Bats Bautista is maybe the most prolific power hitters in all of baseball over the last 4 years. He took a pay cut to stay in Toronto and he was pissed when the Blue Jays did nothing before the trade deadline.

Bautista is from the Dominican Republic, middle class; mom and dad raised him in wealthy surroundings; sent him to private english school. He speaks and behaves the way MLB likes it’s resources to speak and behave; “ambassador professional”

But Bautista let it fly when the Jays made no trades. Gotta figure the team followed with a screw it all attitude. They just lost 3 out of 4 to the Astros.

I wonder how it feels to be a Brewer these days; especially a reliever in the bullpen. They were tired as all hell and everyoneknew it and yet, the team did nothing to relieve the relievers.

The Cardinals were down in the 7th inning Sunday afternoon; just the way I like em. Shove em three feet further into ash. It was 2-0 and Matt Garza was pitching like Cy Young again. That makes like four or five starts in a row; total domination. I was thinking complete game when out walks Zack Duke to the mound to start the 7th inning.

Garza wasn’t injured; pitch count not too bad and anyway, this was the guy we paid 50 million dollars so he could beat the Cardinals; not play catch in the backyard for 60 minutes 6 innings and then eat donuts in the dugout; rubbing his gotee. What the fudge is going on !

Duke joined his lefty counterpart Will Smith and suffered an implosion. So did Jeremy Jeffress. It must be contagious. Cardinals scored three runs and made a winner out of newbee Cardinal John Lackey. The right handed heavy Brewer bats against the right handed heavy Cardinal pitchers. Ah screw it.

I’m watching Young Frankenstein with Gene Wilder again; see some dead monster come back to life.

The Brewers are 61-51.

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where’d that water fountain go?

A kid loses his blanket and cries. A real loss as chemically potent as the greatest loss in human history. But the blanket is replaced……with toys, ding dongs, a bottle with a nipple and later in life, a bottle with booze, cigarettes, tv, work.

A squirrel, on the other hand is lodged in a v-neck branch canopy high above sea level ready for tonight’s ambush; dismount to the clothes line, swing to the sidewalk, sprint to that golden garbage treasure when all of a sudden the squirrel’s purpose is amputated.

There’s no more spring in its step. Castration, loss, a destiny and purpose hijacked. The squirrel becomes a statue staring at those strange eye shapes plastered to the sides of trees; tired elephant eyes, dark seductive mascara eyes, portal eyes into a better world, but it’s a trick right back into today the horizon is still a flat line.

The Stewart Copeland drum rolls and hi-hats can only be seen, not heard and meanwhile the 162 show must go on; first pitch Tropicana Field nears; Brewers Rays.

Will Smith wonders what the hell happened to his slider; the one that turned major league hitters into grave diggers; burying themselves in holes and taking one more desperate swing at an 0-2 pitch slipping away, down in the dirt;…strike 3… yer out.

Smith came to the Brewers on December 5, 2013 in exchange for popular lead off hitter Norichika Aoki. No one made a stink about it. Brewer fans trusted General Manager Melvin’s aim; to improve the bullpen.

Will Smith stood on the mound last night staring into a place called nowhere; 10 earned runs in 8 plus innings this July. Catcher Jonathan Lucroy patted him on the back; tried to gain eye contact; reassure him that these things happen, but Smith needed more than reassurance. He needed a shoulder, a hug, some kleenex, a vacation, amnesia.

He lost his blanket; his bread and butter, the thing that defines who he is. He lost his slider. It’s not sliding anymore and batters aren’t swinging . Has to be the loneliest feeling in the world.

Smith relieved Matt Garza who pitched 7 excellent innings; holding his former team-the sizzling Tampa Bay Rays to one run and five hits. Garza has been pitching like a July ace, but the Brewers bullpen has not. Smith served up a towering home run to Ben Zobrist and could only record one out in the 8th inning. A 1-1 tie turned into a 5-1 deficit.

The Rays’ Alex Cobb was almost perfect; 8 innings; 3 hits allowed and 12 strikeouts. He throws a split fingered change-up that drops off the earth. This is the same guy who was struck in the head by a screaming line drive last year. He sat motionless on the ground flat on his back as both teams waited in horror. But he returned a few weeks later as the Ray’s best pitcher; even better this season. Totally unfazed.

The Rays are on fire; winning 22 of 27 games. They are now one game under .500 and maybe no longer interested in trading David Price for future prospects. The Rays are suddenly interested in winning right now and why wouldn’t they be? Next to the Yankees, they have the best winning percentage of any team in baseball since 2008.

The trading deadline is Thursday and in many ways, the sky has dropped a billboard in Doug Melvin’s lap. The Brewers bullpen is very tired. Will Smith has never pitched this many innings in a season. And Zach Duke’s transformation from a mediocre over the top starter into an elite three-quarter delivery reliever has been a godsend, but Duke can’t carry the entire load.

This couldn’t be any easier for Melvin. The Brewers need some bullpen help and they can get some without depleting a farm system that isn’t the strongest to begin with. The starting pitchers have kept the team in games and that’s saying a lot. The Brewers have scored 2 runs in the last 27 innings. Time for some sweat lodge ceremony. The Brewers face David Price Wednesday and Adam Wainright Friday.

The Brewers are 59-49.


game 103

It was already the 6th inning last night, the Brewers shutting out the Mets at Miller Park 6-0. I shut the game off, hoping to fall asleep before my upstairs neighbor’s air conditioner turned on. I didn’t. I never do. I prefer winter.

Temperatures have been September like mild the last few days. I don’t get why an air conditioner is necessary, but then again this is an apartment complex, not an apartment simple, so no finger pointing simple solutions to complicated problems. Back to the ear plugs and rhythmic breathing.

The final score was 9-1 Brewers. In that 6th inning, Davis hit his team leading 17th home run. He’s also hit the third most home runs in all of baseball since July 24th of last season. He also appeared to drop his one flap down during the 6th inning home run trot at least it looked that way on the morning high light reel.

Davis is smaller than the original one flap down Jeffrey Leonard. They were born in different months and in different states. This will hopefully be determined at the next Khris Davis home run event.

Braun also hit a home run, padding the already big enough lead. It seems like Matt Garza has turned into an ace. Or maybe July is always his best month. Lucky guess. A quick look up at baseball reference under Garza career splits and his ERA and WHIP are indeed by far better in the month of July.

And August for Garza ain’t bad either, but September is a huge drop off with the ERA spiking to 4.87, but these numbers are like horror scopes, are to be hurdled; a cross to do more than bear; to turn into a flying t and soar through a portal into momentum; a never before enjoyed momentum; the good kind. 

Jonathan Lucroy hit another home run. The Brewers win when they hit home runs. Four on Wednesday and three more on Thursday. Sends Bernie Brewer down the chute and fans another excuse to pop up a top on a Pabst.

The Brewers are 58-45.

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concrete picnic

Did someone sneak into my apartment and slip something into the tefillin prayer boxes I put on arm and head? Did someone replace the little prayers carefully written on parchment inside the boxes with who knows what? I know it’s not possible. I had the teffilin checked and all was ok.

This should feel like a dream come true. The shtetl life; that living in a Jewish ghetto with bread makers and water carriers is more than a memory trapped between the covers of a Yiddish fiction. It’s real.

The itinerant preacher greets me as I walk outside the hospital  for a 15 minute work break. I know he’s a Maagid. I think that’s what they were called in Chasidic legends; wandering from town to town talking Torah with everyone.  He asks me if I speak hebrew. I tell him in English, only read Hebrew.

He opens the chumash-torah-old testament he’s holding in his hand. We crouch down on a cement ledge under a tree. I know he’s an itinerant preacher because he talks of nothing but torah flipping to the portion about spies entering Israel to check out the agriculture and people; the general scene.. I read in slow Hebrew and he repeats certain words back to me; emphasizing what Rashi says in the comments section below the reading. Rashi is the preferred authority on Torah interpretation.

He sounds out the name Issachar slower than the other chieftain names; slower than the other 12 tribal chieftains sent to Israel. Only two returned with favorable reports; the others filled with doubt and lacking faith.

I don’t know what to make of it other than Ephraim; that was the name of this guy-this maagid-this itinerant preacher…appearing at a funny time because I was thinking about the spies earlier that same morning. Funny, but not a coincidence. Coincidence is the enemy; not the people who believe in coincidence, but the debate over the two is the enemy; useless, a complete waste of time.

You either believe in the miracle or you don’t. I was somewhere in New Jersey looking over the ledge of a bridge into a small pond with rocks and water trickling. I saw a rat and a dove side by side; dead as can be. I wasn’t sure what to make of it at the time and I’m still not sure; a symbol, nothing at all, both.

There was a rabbi in some Brooklyn synagogue. We were standing beside an elevator waiting.  He emphasized the up and down buttons without saying a word; as if that was all; that was everything.

This is the long summer now. Baseball begins to fade for me. I barely catch an inning of Brewer games. It’s the same pattern every year for as far back as I can remember. Makes the life of a baseball player and anyone involved with the game on a daily basis more amazing to me. They find a way to stay fresh. They return every day and find a way to see with new eyes.

Matt Garza gave up five runs in the first inning Saturday. The Nationals scored three more times…cruise control. Final score; Nationals 8, Brewers 3. There are many utility projects to be completed today; install oven filter, flourescent light bulb ballast, and bathroom sink. Rabbi Nachman said “When a person knows that everything that happens to him is for the best, this is a taste of the world to come. ”

The Brewers are 54-44.


game number 88

Matt Garza is not mentioned in Ecclesiastes. Neither is Babe Ruth or Spike Owen, but then again everyone and everything thing seems to be; from the most powerful to the weakest; the bad ass to the wise; the clever to the dull, annoying to the pleasant and so on. “All is vain.” All as in without limit.

Thanks to Koheleth-the author who claimed to the be the son of King David; maybe pretending to be Solomon. A good marketing scheme? Self image on a pedestal? Who cares. Message in a bottle or byline. It’s the words that matter…..”all is vain.”



Garza tossed a two hit shutout against Cincinnati in their home park Saturday afternoon; didn’t allow a baserunner until the 5th inning. The Brewer’s four game losing streak died and so did the doubts and panic to make a trade right now.

Garza out dueled Homer Bailey who allowed only a first inning RBI single to Aramis Ramirez. Final score; Brewers 1, Reds 0. Strange to see only one reliever in the box score. Jumbo Diaz pitched the 9th for the Reds. Strange to see a game blinked out in 2 hours and 47 minutes.

The Brewers are 52-36, but really they’re 0-0 heading into life begins again Sunday; the 162 game grind and so is every team and so is everybody; the players, peanut vendors, and fans immersed; killing time with some sort of om.

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staring at japanese gardens and what not

The Los Angeles Dodgers and Milwaukee Brewers  have not been swept in a series. I don’t know if any team has ever avoided a sweep for an entire season?

There seems to be a great deal of luck or good fortune in winning on a regular basis. There are an incredible number of extra inning and one run games in which a critical play could go either way deciding a game’s outcome. But baseball is more than a lottery and each team designs a concept to increase the odds of winning. Solid pitching is the consensus place to start.

Unfortunately, draft picks don’t always develop. Trades turn to duds. Injuries happen. There are financial considerations, bad bounces and arms that sometimes weaken and lose their oomph.

The Brewers have been fortunate. Their starting staff features four pitchers expected to keep the game close and there have been no injuries, so far anyway. Prolonged losing streaks have been avoided.

Jean Segura at shortstop and Carlos Gomez in centerfield have incredible instinct and range; fighting forest fire rallies. The effect is not as obvious as a three run homer, but the result is the same. Pitchers are not afraid to throw strikes with Segura and Gomez behind them.

And on offense, no one wants to strike out with runners in scoring position. The winning atmosphere seems to be the same as a losing one, some sort of psychological virus.  The Brewers have four different players with 40 or more RBI’s.

Catcher Jonathan Lucroy, second baseman Scooter Gennett, and right fielder Ryan Braun have the numbers; either a high average or those RBI totals. It comes as no surprise. The three have always been hitters; probably all the way back to little league.  The numbers are impressive, but their approach at the plate is maybe what spreads to others. They hit what the pitcher gives them. They don’t force the issue; don’t try to be heroes.

In contrast, Carlos Gomez swings like there is no tomorrow. The Brewers let him be and overlook the wild swings. I think it’s part faith and patience in him as a player and part trust in him seeing teammates work a count, fouling off the opponent’s best stuff, and going with the pitch. The timing and balance will return. Gennett, Braun and Lucroy are the example. The objective becomes collective; get on base-send the pitcher to the shower.

Gomez hadn’t hit a home run since June 5th. He took some extra batting practice; discussed the situation with hitting coach Johnny Narron. I imagine the conversation was Gomez expressing himself like a party balloon squeeking out air and Narron listening. Gomez is delicate despite the loud and aggressive play. He’s been given the keys to the city. There is no threat of platoon or being pulled out of the lineup if he slumps.

Earlier this season, he was inserted into the clean up position. He follows Gennett, Braun, and Lucroy who were also bumped up higher in the batting order. Gomez stands in the on deck circle and watches their approach. On Saturday, he watched Braun and Lucroy go with the pitch; two consecutive solid singles. Gomez followed with a three run homer.

On the mound, Matt Garza faced the minimum through the first five innings. He’s finding his groove after a rough April and May.  The Rockies mounted a rally with bloop hits in the 6th and 7th, but it wasn’t enough. Braun had already driven in two more Brewer runs with a triple. Final score; Brewers 7, Rockies 4.

Gomez left the game after colliding with Braun; a mild neck strain. He’s listed as day-to-day. Segura also left the game with leg cramps.  The Brewers played previously this season without Braun and Aramis Ramirez and they won because of  solid starting pitching and an incredibly consistent bullpen.

Kyle Lohse stands composed in the middle of an imaginary wild storm. The bases are loaded, but you wouldn’t know it looking at him, He looks the same with the bases empty in the seventh inning of a 2-hit shutout. Lohse earned his stripes. He stumbled around the major leagues for a decade as a mediocre pitcher.

Only recently did his mind and arm sync. Lohse is like any other pitcher. He often doesn’t have command of his best pitches. Lohse learned to adjust to the circumstances of the day; maybe a Lucroy’s equivalent of going with the pitch, something for teammates to see and they do.

The Brewers are 51-32.


to lose is to win

The Brewers are 40-27, and they could reel off seven wins against a team of intergalactic all stars and it still wouldn’t mean squat because the Cincinnati Reds and St. Louis Cardinals are waiting behind them in the NL Central for the window to open.

The Brewers rolled into Milwaukee at 3AM Friday morning after that 13 inning game in New York, but there is no rest during the 162 grind and it’s the same for every player and broadcaster of every team. Life is easy as a fan. Three game series with the Reds Friday night.

The Brewers unveiled their wall of honor before the game; 58 players from over 40 years of Brew Crew history; “2,000 or more plate appearances, 1,000 or more innings pitched, etc.” 

Criteria aside, it was cool or hot seeing em all together on the same field wearing the uniforms of their day; Cecil Coooooper, Teddy Higuera, Ben Sheets, Sal Bando, Yount, Molitor,  Bill Castro, Greg Vaughn, Sixto Lezcano, Richie Sexson, Gorman Thomas. and on and on.

Meanwhile, back in today, the Cincinnati Reds were performing pre-game sprints in the outfield. There was irony or something in the Brewers committing four errors in front of all those legends, none more entertaining than starter Matt Garza. He wears the crown passed on from Steve Sax and Chuck Knoblauch.

All three suffer from can’t throw to a base-itis. Knoblauch and Sax would field easy ground balls at second base and then throw wildly over the first baseman’s head. Garza is the same, only from the pitcher’s mound. Total brain and body freeze and last night had the additional spice of Friday the 13th and a full moon.

In the top of the first, the Red’s Todd Frazier broke to second base attempting to steal. Garza calmly stepped off the rubber,but then his feet locked and he threw an ice cream cone splat in the dirt rolling into center field. Frazier to third, later scoring on a Votto single.

In the fifth, Red’s Pitcher Homer Bailey dropped down a decent sacrifice bunt. First baseman Mark Reynolds came charging in to save Garza, but I guess Garza had something to prove. He picked up the ball with plenty of time, turned and threw the ball into the 10th row of the lower box. That kind of throw has a definite appeal as Uecker says; “just a bit outside.”

Garza gave up five runs, but only one was earned. Khris Davis launched an opposite field bomb in teh 7th innig and the hits kept coming. Four runs. Score tied 5-5 only to surrender a run in the ninth inning and lose 6-5, but there is no losing when Garza throws so wild and wonderful and endless other ways teams lose or win it’s all the same; another game tomorrow.

sheffWall of honor night. Beautiful Garza mistake night.What about Gary Sheffield night? Oh yeh, Sheff doesn’t fit the criteria; short of 2,000 plate appearances in Milwaukee. But he was drafted and developed by the Brewers and he loved to run his mouth.

Milwaukee has a history of socialist mayors, but it’s a conservative place. Think yourself too big and they’ll run you out of town. Sheffield made damn sure of that. His legend is of wild throw Garza proportions, only far more intentional.

Sheff would field a ground ball at shortstop and then pick a vendor to nail in the lower box behind first base. That’s what he claimed anyway; probably a ruse to get traded and he was; to San Diego, then Florida, L.A., Atlanta, signed by the New York Yankees, traded to Detroit, signed with the New York Mets.

And what a freaking career; over 500 homeruns and .393 career OB%, but nothing more memorable than picking off vendors in the lower box. He never caused any harm to Milwaukee Brewer employees. In fact, each of his wild throws are probably enshrined on a shelf somewhere inside a Milwaukee home.

The Brewers are 40-28.



waiting in lawn chairs beside the lost and found



An abandoned shoe under an overpass. Where’s the other shoe? And what about the human being? I think of Enoch “walked with God: and he was no more; for God took him,” sucked into a tubular light; an extra terrestrial fly by never making it to the nightly news.

There must be more. I see these shoes and piles of clothes where a destiny suddenly stops like a highway never completed; the coils jetting skyward. See them all the time.

There must be more. Matilda wore snake-skin boots. We met on Halloween in a midwest bar on a university campus; me with an empty 12 pack of coke on my head; a coke head and she waiting at the rail; watching with omniscient eyes already knowing six years down the road. She bought me a jigsaw puzzle of baseball geography USA; 30 cities and 30 teams portrayed in stadium architecture and landscapes.

They took her too; strapped lie detector wires to her temples; synthetic nodules to study her vital signs and serotonin. She was found guilty of performing high under duress. In baseball, we call that clutch. She was charged with being in the moment; of singing intimate and effusive one minute and lighthearted and playful with someone else the next. They hung a hoe and a bitch and a prostitute on her forehead. She carried on.

The Extra terrestrial who took Enoch took Matilda because they knew of her beauty and her senses being aligned with the wind. They knew of her patience and faith.

The truth was never something to declare; not with Matilda.  It was felt in a drug fused state or high atop a sudden mountain peak in the raw belly of a city bar. It never lasted and that was the gift; the Methuselah of our existence; to recapture the ruins of ecstasy and shove middle ground back to the council of Nicaea.

Matilda at a bar rail; sweet wicked Matilda is still everywhere; under a car changing oil with grease monkey gurus, in faces morphing under the sheets as light and dark join our carnal twister. We own nothing. There is no Motown my girl possession; just  joy and suffering and the law of averages and waiting and dancing and making it happen and even that comes from somewhere else.

The truth has invaded baseball and it feels like a plague and a lie detector disguised as instant replay playing electric god and our faith in the wind and Murphy’s Law suffers.

There’s a zeitgeist in this instant replay. It didn’t happen overnight. It fell slowly like a construction crane bringing planks in herky jerky waves or like a stork dropping an orphan on us. I hear Richie Havens reminding Woodstock that the world…if you can dig the world will be watching you tomorrow enjoying today…grooving and having a good time and there’s no rhyme or reason in that; only joy.

God bless Richie Havens 10,000 times. Murphy’s law is rusty. It needs a cyborg war.  The sun dance in the cold of a san francisco homeless night needs a boost. Imperfection is a seed.

Woodstock suffers a convenient rubber stamp; a flowers in their hair. Hell yeh! and guts too; wicked guts in Canned Heat and MC5, Jimmi Hendrix is our star spangled banner and the busted strings of Richie Havens strumming more rhythm than a thousand horse gallops. God bless Richie Havens 10,000 more times.

The Haven strings turning motherless child’s negro spiritual into spontaneous song as Woodstock waits for other musicians to arrive by helicopter, a sudden bummer scene accepted and nurtured and transformed into a dimension and a universe. God Bless Richie Havens 10,000 more Handsome Johnny times.



Two friends from Seville Spain came to visit me and  America almost 20 years ago and we boarded a Greyhound in Chicago and headed east to New York . Francisco and Pepino had never left Seville; drunk on big village life. They brought a camera and enlisted big city smart me to load the film.

We didn’t discover my screw up until landing at  the lions guarding the 42nd street Manhattan library and they broke out in spontaneous song; drumming on the pavement and a capella-ing lyrics of our trip with a chorus of “big city Steve loaded blanks into our camera.” The film never caught the reel. We were drunk on the imperfection.

The Brewers were shipwrecked Friday night after losing 15-5, but tuned to the octopus of 8 men and a good night’s sleep. Brothers squirming onward. And so Kyle Lohse uncharacteristically lost control Friday night; only walking one, but missing almost all his spots; surrendering 9 hits and 8 earned runs. Possessed by the unsavory. So what!

And Lohse handed the baton to Tyler Thornburg who suffered more unsavory; in the throws of  a nervous breakdown; gagging for saliva on the burial mound; cotton mouthed from the intense failure; allowing three hits and walking 4 including 2 with the bases loaded. It was a lonely feeling out there and so it goes and so what!

We pray for rain; get that ship a new river.

And the massacre in Pittsburgh Friday become the Enoch of Saturday; airlifted into amnesia. Matt Garza felt the possession in the third inning, but slipped into mach 7 warp speed Houdini and escaped; cruising beyond; into the 7th inning. Brewer bats were collective. Nine hits and RBI’s by seven different players. Octopus.

Final Score; Brewers 9, Pirates 3. The Brewers are 37-26 and instant replays are not listed in box scores and I hope it stays that way.