My Farewell to the 2013 San Francisco Giants.

It has been a helluva ride the last 4 years for us diehard San Francisco Giants fans.  As disappointed as I am that my beloved professional baseball team’s season ended today, it is not without hope I look toward next year.  After all, the Giants have won 2 out of the last 3 World Series after 58 years of disappointment.   So, how can I not be optimistic about next year?  I have to write about what I think are the strengths of the team and what they need to do next year to win it all again.

Today’s walk off victory in the last game of the season will no doubt send off our boys to a happy winter looking forward to spending the next few months with family and friends and getting ready for next season.  Sadly, there just were too many games where the team didn’t play up to its capabilities and are going home early.  That fact, plus a few injuries most assuredly led to more losses than wins this year.  Next year, we’ll need better hitting with men in scoring position, fewer errors, and less injuries.

Looking toward next year, the strengths of the team are most assuredly at Catcher (Buster Posey), Center Field (Angel Pagan), Right Field (Hunter Pence), 2nd Base (Marco Scataro) and Shortstop (Brandon Crawford).  When these 5 guys are on the field, the Giants are simply an outstanding team.  Losing Pagan was arguably the biggest loss because the Giants had a winning record when he was on the field.  These 5 all hit in the clutch, play great defense, inspire their teammates with unselfish hustle and provide clutch hitting.  I would be remiss, if I didn’t also give a shout out to the bullpen.  Sergio Romo, Santiago Casilla, Javier Lopez, Jeremy Affeldt, Jean Machi and crew were mostly lights out all year.  A tip of the cap to this outstanding crew.  I’d make it even better in 2014 by adding Heath Hembree.  That kid is a gamer.

For next year, the question marks are Left Field, 3rd Base, 1st Base and the starting pitching (with the exception of Madison Bumgarner, Matt Cain and Chad Gaudin, who at times were mostly brilliant, especially MadBum).  Gregor Blanco is at best a super sub.  He’s not a starter in my book and the team desperately needs an upgrade to a power hitter who can play left field.  If I were Brett Pill, I’d spend every single day in the off season (starting tomorrow) shagging fly balls.  If given an every day job, I think Pill can become an incredible player for the Giants.  He’s proved he can hit at all minor league levels, so I’d get him in the 2014 lineup every day as my starter in Left.  What more can be said about Pablo Sandoval and his weight?  At times brilliant (see 2012 World Series) and at times an absolute buffoon.  He’s better than the .279 hitter he was this year.  He needs to go back on a diet and see a psychologist about why he continues to swing at pitches in the dirt.  If he literally can’t get his head out of his ass, I’d look for another 3rd baseman.  He’s a loveable guy, but when he’s pushing 300 lbs. he’s an almost automatic out in the clutch.  Which brings me to the curious case of Brandon Belt.  He had a breakout campaign in 2013.  Was it a fluke or can he build on this for next year?  He’s got MVP-like talent, but he too needs his cranium removed from his butt hole.  All he needed was a new grip.  Seriously?  I think he simply shit his pants when they called Brett Pill up because he knew he’d get cut or traded if he didn’t start hitting.  Thank God he responded.  We’ll need him to stay hot next year for the whole year.  Finally, the starting pitching.  Zito and probably Timmy are gone.  Who do you backfill them with?  I’d like to see the Giants give Yusmeiro Petit a shot over a full season and see what he does with it.  Ryan Vogelsong when healthy looked average this year and hittable.  He’s got to come back stronger than ever next year or else I’d move him to the bullpen.  I think Mike Kickham has a future starting spot in my rotation for 2014.  He has a wicked slider and simply needs more big league experience to improve his confidence and contribute.  I’d make him my 5th starter.

So there you have it Giants fans.  The greatest fans in all of professional sports watching our favorite team in the greatest ballpark in all of major league baseball in the greatest city in the world.  My heart is and always will be in San Francisco.

I have absolutely nothing to write about.  Nada.  Nothing.  I’ve been staring at my computer screen for 20 minutes.  I started writing a story and got to about a paragraph and just drew a blank.  I couldn’t write another worthwhile thing, so I deleted it all.  Just as I’m about to give it a rest for tonight, my wife walks by and drops her sweatpants.  That is just the inspiration I need.  In fact, it’s the only inspiration I’ve needed since I reached puberty.  Chasing the booty is as worthwhile a topic of literary excellence as anything.

My pursuit of female ass began at about the age of 12 when I became infatuated by a young hottie named Barbara.  I will not divulge her family name until next of kin have been informed.  She was my first brown eyed girl and just when I think she started to like me too, we finished the 6th grade and my dad moved us from Santa Cruz to Montara, CA.  Love lost.  Thanks Dad.

In Junior High in the hot butt capital of Half Moon Bay there were a series of loves from Carol to Marcia who I couldn’t bear the thought of speaking to directly.  I wasn’t cool and smooth talking like I am now.  I was nerdy and stupid and walked around with greasy hair and clothes made by my mom.  I played Pop Warner football, basketball and Pony League baseball.

High School was no better.  Gia, Susan, Barbara (different Barbara), Marcia (again) found their way at various times into my heart.  I was the kind of boy who excelled in sports, did my average best in the classroom, and was a total loser when it came to attracting women.  Still, I never gave up.  The pursuit to make ’em laugh and get them to like me were the only skills I had as staring at a white man’s afro didn’t have the same appeal to young women as feathered hair and clear, clean skin.  I perfected my wit but still had difficulty finding the courage to ask anyone out for a date.  Tongue tied and zit faced meant I spent a lot of Friday night’s playing by myself.  I didn’t give up.  I just wasn’t any good.  Deep in my soul, I knew that it would take me moving away to find and rightfully pursue the love of my life.

It didn’t take as long as I expected.  My wife and I met randomly in college during my Freshman, her Sophomore, year after my football practice and her swim practice on a hot Redding fall day.  We connected, or so I like to think, even though she already had a boyfriend.  I didn’t let up.  I stayed in touch.  I kept trying to worm my way into her heart and I eventually won at my birthday party with the absolute best line of my life.  I noticed she was wearing a sweater as dark as a moonless night and I told her my favorite color was black.  We’ve been married 27 years now.  I thank God each day that I didn’t tilt and that somehow over the years I earned a few extra games.

I amaze myself what I’m able to produce once I get a little ass.  Tough to explain how, my friends, you’re going to like or hate this post.  I’m a guy, for God’s sake, and I’ve always been a little bit of an ass man.  Maybe someday, I’ll even be able to call myself a writer.

It's Time to Stop Thanking God, Superstar!.

With the release of Tim Tebow by the New England Patriots, I believe it is finally time to stop thanking God for achievement on the athletic field.  I mean, for God’s sake, do superstars have to point to the sky every time they score a touchdown, drill a trey, or hit a home run?  It’s like they’re flipping the bird to the defense because God favored them over another athlete.  Let me tell you, God doesn’t work that way. Tebowing may finally be a thing of the past.

I will indeed buy into the concept of God-given talent, height, speed, strength, and by God, Tebow is a helluva football player but I will not believe the Almighty favors one team or one player over another.  Success in sport comes from the words of Fort Minor, “This is 10% luck, 20% skill, 15% concentrated power of will, 5% pleasure, 50% pain, and 100% reason to remember the name!”

The true meaning of sport is to give your best and to be humble in victory and gracious in defeat.  The thrill of victory and agony of defeat is enough to drive men and women to drink, but is God in Heaven really choosing the winners and losers?

I don’t buy it.  We all have our superpowers but in the end it’s how we use them or not use them that determine success or failure on the athletic field, in the gym, in the classroom, in the workplace or at home.  This proclamation isn’t about belief in God, it’s about belief in the human spirit.  I believe in the power of human will.  That man/woman can and will overachieve if he/she wants to.  Winning isn’t just about talent, it’s also about wanting to win and mentally overcoming all adversity real or imagined.

I don’t know what sparked this position.  Perhaps it’s the thought of Tebow right now, in his living room on bended knee praying to God for another chance to be a QB in the NFL when what he should be doing is learning how to read defenses, improve the speed of his release, and recognizing perhaps being a QB in the NFL isn’t in the cards.  He could be a helluva Tight End or Fullback.  Quit praying and start working TT like I know and God knows you can.

Our story begins about 6 or 7 years ago when the sighting of the White Flash was first reported.  Wild eyed observers explain being blinded for about an hour by a light whiter than fresh milk.  The piercing vision, appearing only on the 3rd Friday and Saturday in August, shone brightly exactly 3 times within a 28-hour period.  The only evidence of it’s presence, a trail of road kill.

Today, the practice of “whiteflashgazing” includes gazing at the light for nourishment or as a spiritual practice.  Proponents of whiteflashgazing claim increased energy levels and decreased appetite.  Whiteflashgazing is also an alternative therapy to improve eyesight, increase testosterone and cure erectile dysfunction.

The White Flash has earned his reputation through the odor of his musk.  The repugnant odor lingers for days and can be nauseating.  Women report a strong, Honey Bucket-like odor.   While men afraid of getting called out (he who smelt it, dealt it) often question if there’s a sulphur plant nearby.

People detect a very wide range of White Flash sounds, from whooping to whooping cough.  From hoot to howl, whine to whistle, slap to slurp.

No one has ever tasted the White Flash but witnesses report a Halibut taste in their mouths.

The White Flash cannot be touched as evidenced by the numerous dead animals who cross his path and cry out to their van mates for help as this incredible foul-smelling, loud, dead fish passes them by.

#HTC13

I’ll be the first to admit, I’m not the handiest guy around.  It’s not like I’m a complete tool  around the house, but I’m far from being a do-it-yourselfer.  In fact, I’m usually quite lame which often results in procrastination, a query, a fight with the better half, and then a call to a professional.  So, I’ve been thinking about some of the other value added services I might bring to the home.  I’m coming up with a pretty short list.

I’m an outstanding check writer.  Oh boy, when I finally get around to calling a plumber, electrician, landscaper, kitchen remodeler, about the best thing I do is write out a check.  My cursive is an art form.  Legible, perfectly laid out on the line, and a signature worth a million bucks.  Oh yeah, my checkbook is even balanced.

Since we don’t really believe in killing any of God’s creatures unless we’re going to eat it, another great benefit by having me around is to capture and release bugs.  Flies, bees, spiders, all get a 2nd chance with me around.  I’ve even snared and let out into the wild, a mouse – 3 times in one day.  I’m not kidding.  The bastard kept coming back until I realized I needed to go further than a city block.

I’m somewhat of a master barbecuer.  I don’t go for the quick and easy gas grill.  Oh no, I’m a charcoal or mesquite man through and through.  I don’t care about ashes or  the length of time it takes to get the coals just right.  I just think the food tastes better using ebony cinders presoaked in lighter fluid.  Primary specialities include steaks, chicken, sausages and corn on the cob.  I’m still vegetables challenged.

Mastermind of the retirement plan is not usually something my wife calls me but she should.  I’m a saver and it’s something I learned from my Uncle many moons ago.  He taught me the value of paying yourself first, then the bills, and then enjoy whatever is left over.  No regrets.  But, if we live to retirement age, we’ll be able to do what we want, see what we want, and enjoy the fruits of our years of labor.

I enjoy being the IT Help Desk for the house.  I can usually solve the problems by turning on the monitor, or opening the 2nd window, or simply restarting the computer.  These are challenging times for the not so tech savvy person.  Fortunately, I’m not afraid of technology.  I embrace it like I do my lame ass.

So, that’s it.  Not much there when you compare all of the things my wife does.  It’s a good thing she keeps me around.  I’m guessing it’s probably time for me to quit writing and call someone to stain the deck.

With apologies to John Lennon, given the events of the last 24 hours, I couldn’t help but restate the obvious.  All we need is love.  Is loving one another regardless or race, color, national origin, sexual orientation or creed really that difficult? 

I’ll never understand hatred.  It is one of the most despicable of all human traits.  And yet since Cain killed Abel, homo sapiens have killed their own kind.  Why?  If there is a heaven, it will be one of the first questions I ask the Almighty.  What is the point of killing another human being?

Whether you were for George Zimmerman or for Trayvon Martin is not relevant to me.  Black or white is not the issue.  The issue is someone’s son has been killed and he will never live the life he could have.  Shouldn’t this be the core at what we as a society should prevent from happening ever again no matter what the circumstances?

Who knows what Trayvon may have done with his life.  He could’ve been the person to cure cancer, end poverty, save the planet.  Now, we’ll never know.  It is tragedy beyond words.  Why did this have to happen?  Why?

Hatred of others was not born in America.  I’ve read from a PBS article on race where the identification of the Jews with the devil and witchcraft in the popular mind of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries was perhaps the first sign of a racist view of the world. Official sanction for such attitudes came in sixteenth century Spain when Jews who had converted to Christianity and their descendents became the victims of a pattern of discrimination and exclusion.  Was this really the origin or simply the first recorded act of hatred.  Rodney King did say it best, why can’t we all just get along?

Why do some people think they are superior to others?  I can’t help but feel angry, ashamed, frustrated, defensive, ignorant, confused over the actions of others especially white people against people of color.  Is it so wrong to truly love your fellow man, woman or child?  When did being nice to others become such a bad thing?

Christianity is often built off of this foundation of love, yet the more Christians I meet, the more I realize this foundation is built on a house of cards.  Often, these so called Christians are the most hateful, judgemental people of all.  Some heartless Christians create such heinous acts like protesting at veterans funerals or killing other human beings all in the name of God.  Really?  Do you really think God would condone such behavior?

Love is universal.  Love is pure.  Love is an emotion that only dogs seem to get.  I’ve raised dogs.  I’ve trained dogs.  I’ve volunteered at pet shelters.  I know love at its most pure level and it is the love a canine has for a human being.  Black, White, Gay, Straight, Christian, Atheist, it doesn’t matter.  A dog’s love is a love we should all emulate.

I’m not here to spout pollyanic drival.  I’ve not been nice to people.  I’ve been mean.  Every act, every word, has after careful reflection, filled me with incredible regret.  But, I would never, ever, take the life of someone unless they threatened my life or the life of my loved ones.  Did Zimmerman truly feel threatened?  Not one of us will ever really know but there is one superior being who will judge him when his spirit has left this earth.  He had better hope that God has as much of a forgiving heart as the jury did in this case.

And in the end the love we take is equal to the love we make.

I have an obsession with sports.  I don’t deny it.  Sports saved my life, is my life, my being, my work and my love.  But, where did it all begin?  What sports have I played?  At what levels did I participate in sports during my life?  What professional sports teams do I follow?  How do I stay in shape?  These questions and more.  Tonight, in Charlie’s Amusing Journal.

My 1st year of organized team athletics was tee ball when I was a mere 8 years old.  We played our games at Harvey West Park ball field in Santa Cruz.  I don’t remember much about how my team did but I do remember hitting the baseball over the head of an outfielder for the 1st time.  I liked it.  I sometimes hit the tee and would get out.  I hated that.  I also learned I hated to lose.  I still do.

The list of sports I’ve participated in is nearly endless.  Badminton.  Baseball (still playing).  Basketball.  Bocce Ball.  Bowling.  Boxing.  Camping (considering how long it takes me to put up a tent, I consider this an endurance sport).  Cricket.  (American) Football – flag and tackle.  Cross country skiing.  (Modern and ballroom) Dancing.  Darts.  Downhill skiing.  Fishing.  Golf.  Hiking.  Horseshoes.  Hunting.  Ping Pong (table tennis).  Racquetball.  Rollerskating.  Running.  Sailing (though Bonnie and I needed to be rescued because I didn’t know how to tack).  Snow shoeing. Soccer (football).  Softball.  Swimming.  Tennis. Trapshooting.  Volleyball.

And I’ve played at all amateur levels.  City League Basketball, Flag Football and Softball.  Little League.  Pony League.  American Legion.  Jr. High School.  Pop Warner.  High School.  Junior College.  University.  Amateur Leagues.  I only wish I would’ve had the talent to play professionally.

I credit my Grandmother for taking me to my first professional sporting event.  It was a baseball game between ironically the Los Angeles Dodgers vs. Montreal Expos.  It was the 1st year the Expos were in Major League baseball and the Dodgers won handily.  Ironic, because I hate the Dodgers.  When we moved to the San Francisco Bay Area,  the Giants became my team.  Then came the San Francisco 49ers and a decade of losing that was only cured by my father’s obsession that one day they would be winners and he was right.  The Golden State Warriors won their only NBA title and it didn’t take me long to get hooked.  Even the 1st year of the San Jose Sharks made me feel like I had to root for a 4th team.  I’ve watched these teams on television, listened on the radio, read their results and their stories on the Internet or in the newspaper.  These are my teams.  I live and die based on whether they win or lose.  I can’t understand a sports fan who can’t commit to their hometown team or any team for that matter.  If you can’t commit to a favorite team, you can’t make a commitment.

Never will I live a sedentary life.  Sure, I’m not as strong as I used to be, not as fast as I used to be.  I don’t see as well.  I’m heavier and not as flexible.  But, in order to continue to play sports, I have to exercise regularly and I do.  Running, stretching and weight lifting are as much a part of my daily routine as eating and sleeping.

I don’t know where I would’ve ended up without sports.  I certainly wouldn’t have ended up here in Portland working for NIKE.  My dream job.  Working with some incredibly smart, dedicated, sports nuts like me.  Say what you will about one of the greatest brands in the world, but the employees are amazing.  Perhaps one of my favorite NIKE quotes aptly describes us, “We’re a bunch of ordinary people doing extraordinary things.”  I like that.