Rotten Roots

The wife graciously gathered up some enthusiasm to attend a frigid baseball game with me last night, even blowing off a potential party with friends to freeze to death so I could enjoy $1 hot dog night. I'm not joking about the weather, after the sun went down in the third inning, it was about 34 degrees with 20mph winds. We had tickets to sit at the top of the upper deck, but settled about 40 rows back on the first level, under the roof in case of rain.

We were impressed by Kauffman Stadium's new addition, the largest HD screen in the world (at least until another park builds a bigger one). I was thoroughly excited to see a good young Royals squad take on a good young Twins squad, despite the rash of construction debris around the park. The atmosphere was great and even with the cold it felt like baseball season.

Now Kansas City has great fans and they're loyal, so this is not so much a knock on them as it is a knock on the state of fan-dom altogether these days. Bill Simmons noted last week that the incredibly knowledgeable, deft crowd at Golden State Warriors games has been so infiltrated by rich front-runners that they successfully executed the wave last week. FYI - the wave should be done only at pop concerts and political rallies; stay away from my sporting events!

So Gil Meche allowed five runs early in the game before settling down for a solid outing. In the fifth inning the Royals loaded the bases with only one out. Up to the plate comes Jose Guillen. Guillen was signed in the off-season for a KC-max deal of $55 million dollars. He was hired to hit Home Runs. Despite a .158 batting average early, there was a sense that this was the moment for which he was brought in.

As I prepared to stand and make some noise so as to cheer on our struggling newcomer, I looked around and no one seemed to care. An idiot could tell that Guillen needed some crowd love to overcome the cold and make something happen; even a base hit would be timely. The crowd remained indifferent and Guillen whiffed on an 0-2 curveball.* Two outs.

Next up, the wunderkind, 22-year old Billy Butler, the savior of the franchise and owner of a nine game hit streak (the Royals had only played nine games to this point). The guy came into the game batting .400 and he's built like Babe Ruth. If any situation could get the Royals faithful (and you have to be faithful to come out on a night like this) hopping, nothing would (we'll see the horrible truth of how wrong I was in a moment). Indeed, there were a few more cheers, but nothing noticeable, even as Billy refused to swing at a borderline pitch on a 2-2 count. Only after the outfield scoreboard said "noise" nine times did any sort of emotion come out. Still no one stood and Billy grounded out to the pitcher.

I was about to chalk this all up to the cold and the fact that people just don't know baseball like they used to, when a 90 foot HD Garth Brooks appeared on the outfield screen and invited us to "stand up and sing," which all 16,000 people around us proceeded to do, carrying on with the second verse of "I've Got Friends in Low Places" even after Garth left the screen, drowning out the announcer's call of the next inning.

I've never been in a situation like that before. I really thought my head would explode, not from anger, but from sheer surprise. I've had the luxury of seeing baseball games at a lot of places. Nothing will ever top the camaraderie of singing along with the crowd at Fenway Park (which needs no visual prompts, by the way) to Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline in the late innings. However, that crowd also stands and cheers with ungodly volume when any Red Sox pitcher gets two strikes on a hitter.

There's a lot of reason why living in Kansas City has rubbed me the wrong way, but after that display, the next 14 months cannot come quickly enough.

For Shame!


*Guillen took two hard rips and fouled the first two pitches back to the media booth above home plate. He then proceeded to swing about fifteen seconds too early on the third pitch. I quit playing baseball in fifth grade due mostly to embarrassment, but even I know that if you're down 0-2 with the bases loaded, you better expect a breaking ball way off the plate. $55 million well spent, guys.

Outcast

I've been mulling this over for most of the week. As much as I don't want this blog to be overly political, I also don't want it to come off too preachy. With that in mind, I still have to reflect on a troubling experience from the past week.

Nothing happened to me or anyone I know. In fact the injured party has long since sought closure. I was listening to the radio (something I've been doing a lot with the new job) and one of my coworkers had left the radio tuned to [insert conservative Christian talk radio program here]. I don't even know the name of the program, but you can imagine, I suppose.

The guest on the show was reflecting back on a situation in which he and his wife had neglected to show their son the necessary amount of love and acceptance. I believe the topic began with tattoos. He was saying how their son had been raised to understand that tattoos were unacceptable. He never used the word sinful or immoral, but the implication was there.

This particular story was about the son's first real job, in which he worked with a group of "other people." The father, in his reflection, acknowledged that the family had been more demanding than accepting and seemed to be truly repentant of such, however the attitude with which he told the rest of the story broke me up inside and I've remained "off" since.

He said that his son began to get piercings and talked about tattoos. The father attributed this entirely to an insecure and spiritually weak boy trying to fit in with his new friends who were showing him love and acceptance (the tone of voice indicated that this unconditional acceptance was one of those evil things that "the world" does). One day his son came home and the father spotted a tattoo under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

As the son revealed the crown of thorns imprinted on his biceps, the father recalled, in a tone of ridicule, how his son broke down in tears telling him, "I just needed to make a commitment to God; I got this done to remember what he went through for me." The father followed this part of the story up with a laugh as if to say, "silly boy, why bother with such foolishness." He clearly thought that his son was stupid for believing God could be honored by this vile artwork.

The son continued and asked for his father to help him pick out a scripture verse to have tattooed underneath. At this point the host chimed in with equal incredulity, "He did not? What did he expect you to do?" The father replied, "I gave him the Leviticus verse that says, 'do not tattoo your bodies; thus sayeth the Lord."

I turned the radio off and let out a loud string of unintelligible expressions of frustration and anger. This whole story was meant to illustrate how foolish this kid had been at 22 years old. How silly he was to think he could mix his faith and his culture without angering almighty God. All I could think was how easy it is to hate Christians. This man, some sort of authority (although I never caught his qualifications to be a guest) doesn't understand the most basic concept of the gospel.

Love.

It's all about love. It doesn't take and expert, heck, it doesn't even take a Christian to figure out what this situation was really all about. Here was a kid, adjusting to life as an adult but lacking in real, loving relationship to his parents seeking to reach out, not only to them, but to the faith they spent his whole life professing, only to be shot down and sent off to those sinners who don't care about how well he conforms to their norms.

Now, this story was prefaced by the fact that this son is now "back in the fold" and an upstanding Christian. I am overjoyed that the love of God overcame the callousness of God's self-proclaimed representatives, but I struggle with this story. I am a Christian who got a tattoo symbolic of my faith before I had any real faith of my own. I look back now and understand that I wouldn't do things the same way now, but that doesn't lessen the absolute correctness of the action in its time. I've been saying simple prayers for this unnamed son, that his forgiveness, his understanding of faith could transcend the experiences of his past. I think we all need those prayers now and then.

Into the Sunset

I can see a national identity crisis looming for the United States. Well, there may be a number of ways that sentence could be interpreted, but I'm going for one that isn't entirely obvious. In case you haven't noticed, we're not an agrarian society anymore. Oh growing and selling plant crops is still a big business with lots of money to be made, but only 4% of the US workforce is employed in farming. It can be said that we take our bounty for granted, and many citizens of the United States do just that, but in the long run, we've got a very secure system set up that should be in good shape for the years to come.

So what?

Well this topic began rumbling around in my head because of NBC's announcement that it will forgo the traditional television schedule and run new programming year round. This could be a result of the recent writer's strike leaving them with an off-kilter production schedule, but recent trends seem to be heading in the year-round television direction, anyway. If people are watching and advertisers are willing to pay for time on these channels, why not make some extra money? That's what this world is all about anyway, right?

How does this relate to farming?

Why did we have the summer off from new TV in the first place? At network television's inception, the United States economy (not to mention most of its populace) ran on agriculture. People were in the fields from before sun-up to after sun-down and sleeping whenever they weren't working. There was no time for the frivolities of television (with the possible exception of men walking on the moon and Monday Night Football). At the time there were also less advertising revenues and it was actually cheaper not to produce new shows. It seems that the major TV networks are finally waking up to the reality of culture and embracing our post-agrarian society.

That's great and all, but it's not exactly an identity crisis, is it?

Not really, but it does portend what will undoubtedly be a wave of similar adjustments. Why did we all get three months off every summer to torment our parents? We had the time off so we could work on the farm without falling behind in our schooling. Even in places where agriculture is still vital to the local economy, the time required of minors to help on the farm is usually reduced to a couple of weeks in the fall. If you add in the drastic failure of US children to keep up with the intellectual prowess of the rest of the world, it's only a matter of time until our nation decides, "our education system is working right, so let's do even more of the same," and gives us truly year-round schooling.

We've seen Daylight Savings Time expand three extra weeks this year. This would be the reverse result. Initially DST was introduced to give farmers more time with sunlight to work the fields, but now we've come to realize that everybody likes more sunlight, no matter what they do to supply their livelihood (that sentence was intentionally awkward so as to include one of my favorite words to type, but I'll let you guess which one it is).

The point is that, in a nation that has always associated itself with hard work and self-reliance, we're just too interdependent to live like farmers anymore. We have to change, adapt, align ourselves with a new reality. Who knows where else this shift might rear its frightening head? Just don't be surprised when you see it.

Highway Robbery

It's been a little while since I last posted so it seems an appropriate time to bring out what has become the most ongoing rant of my life.

I'll just come out and say it: I hate the greeting card industry. I can't imagine a more vile waste of time and space than an industry devoted to laziness and stupidity. How many times a year does one feel obligated to spend between $.99 and five dollars on a stupid little card with some pithy remarks about "congratulations on the new lake house" or "happy valentine's day to my brother and his wife?" (Only one of those was made up.)

It seems to me that if you don't care enough to write your own thoughts down on paper, then perhaps you don't care enough to send a card at all. Culture has conditioned us to think, "my, what a nice gesture" when receiving a card, when really the person is saying, "I spent three dollars on this and I mildly agree with the cheesy words this total stranger wrote."

I vowed at a young age not to support this vile laziness with my hard-earned cash. I have come to a bit of a compromise since vowing my love and fidelity to the wife. Whenever possible, I locate and procure a greeting card with nothing written on it so as to enable me to put my own thoughts down on paper and thus give a truly sincere token of respect or care. (In the interest of full disclosure, I do search for and occasionally purchase humorous cards, but only for the comedic value, not the sentiment; it's my version of the annoying email forward from Uncle Stu, et al).

Without getting into my utter (although quite related) disgust with the evil Free Market Economy holiday that happens to fall tomorrow, I was out searching for a card this evening. I scoured a full, two-sided aisle at the local grocery story in search of the elusive (blank inside) label, which is becoming as difficult to find as a polar bear with a bright outlook on life. I was forced to settle on a plain white Thank You card in the second row from the bottom at the far end of the aisle.

As I looked down the row, at the crowded section of bewildered men hovering in front of a very red section of cards, I couldn't help but smile. Even though their labor will result in a perfectly appropriate card, mine will have a truly unique representation of my feelings and will also look decidedly better than an index card.

Picture Perfect

My wife bought Stranger than Fiction over the holidays. We rented this wonderful movie last year and knew it deserved another viewing. We sat down to watch it over the weekend. In case you’re unfamiliar, Stranger than Fiction is the story of a man named Harold Crick who suddenly finds himself in the middle of a very real novel. The ultimate conclusion is something other than the main character would have chosen for himself. Assured by the local literature expert that the ending is a work of majestic genius, he decides to proceed with the determined course of life.

The kicker comes unexpectedly at the end. While the ending of the book becomes tragic for Harold Crick, it is universally accepted as the poetic, proper, and beautiful conclusion. However the author decides that the perfect dénouement is not worth the misery of an altogether real man.

There are a number of deep thoughts and provocative connotations running throughout this brilliant film. The ending, however, made me appreciate a unique aspect of life on the Earth. My personality tends towards the grandiose; I have an incredible craving for poetic justice. Rarely does an ending live up to the grand expectations that I place upon it. This applies to books and movies as well as the everyday events of my life. Stories ought to have grand and moving conclusions. It just seems the right thing to do.

Stranger than Fiction presents another vision of the end. Perhaps the conclusion of our stories is not about beauty and perfect timing. Perhaps the beauty of an ending is eclipsed by the beauty of reality. Are we willing to sacrifice the ghostly excellence of the possible future for the awkward delicate beauty of the mundane? Do we spend so much time focusing on the perfect conclusion to our story that we fail to do justice to the elements of plot?

The closing line of the movie echoes in my thoughts: “And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties which we assume only accessorize our days are, in fact here for a much larger and nobler cause: They are here to save our lives.”

So be it.