Postcard tour: Fastastic Fenway

There have probably been more words written about Fenway Park than all the other current parks combined – many by authors more accomplished than me.

Like Will, for example, who is a contributor to the 2002 book “The Fenway Project,” edited by Bill Nowlin and Cecilia Tan, a magnificent compilation of New England lore and angst surrounding Red Sox Nation, which wears its oft-broken heart on its sleeve.

And Fenway is the center of the Sox universe and rightly treated as a Boston treasure alongside Old North Church and the U.S.S. Constitution.

Even advertising signs associated with the ballpark are legendary. Not signs located inside the stadium, mind you, but ones that you can see far beyond the outfield wall.

I've had adventures at Fenway. It’s almost impossible to attend a game at Fenway and not have an adventure.

The Mets certainly have had some adventures at Fenway, including the middle three games of the 1986 World Series, of which the team won the first two.

Since then, the Mets have gone 5 and 7 in Boston during interleague play.

And, of course, Fenway was Tom Seaver’s last home as an active player, though his final start was in Toronto.

I last visited Boston since 1991, and was able to pick up some fine postcards.

The fisheye lens card doesn’t seem to give a true feeling for the park, making it seem larger than it is. And the view from the air doesn’t quite show how well the ballpark blends into the neighborhood.

The shot at dusk shows just how beautiful the park is. But my favorite is the one with the red border that looks older than it is. A classic look at a classic park.



I also love the postcard showing the bullpen buggy. I’m an unabashed bullpen buggy fan, and that particular buggy was placed outside an old-school souvenir shop for all to enjoy before games. I have no idea if the old school store is still there, or whether it still rolls out the buggy before games.

But they’re still cool, and I’m surprised some tradition-minded team hasn’t brought them back. Of course, with the Mets’ luck, Bobby Parnell would fall out and get run over.

Postcard tour: Baltimore, a place for brief but memorable visits

We spent just one day at Memorial Stadium in Baltimore, but we had enough adventures to last an entire home stand – or beyond.

We attended a game in the stadium’s final season as part of a Flint Journal story about ballparks, and in the course of one afternoon we:

 Sort of played catch with Cal Ripken Sr.
 Watched Flint native Jim Abbott pitch seven strong innings.
 Ate crab cakes in the press box.
 Lounged around the Angels’ dugout
 Witnessed a full-fledged press box tantrum
 Sat in bleachers – in the upper deck.

All the detais are here. But as the postcard clearly shows, Memorial Stadium was a different-looking kind of ballpark, and a pretty awesome one, too.

The Mets spent just one more game than we did, splitting the first two games of the magical 1969 World Series in Baltimore. The Series never made a return trip, with the Mets completing the miracle in five games.

I have the one postcard of Memorial from that trip, but have managed to acquire more of the team’s new home, Oriole Park at Camden Yards, a bad name for a wonderful stadium.

We enjoyed an incredible hard hat tour of Camden Yards before the game at Memorial. Even then we could tell it was going to be a special place.

The Mets like going there, too, winning 11 of 17 interleague games, including a three-game sweep last season.



Two of the post cards are nice stadium and city shots, and one is an interior photo with team graphics that I was sent by the Orioles, who always added postcards and stickers to my annual request for a schedule.

The final one is my favorite, but not for the reasons you might suspect. Oh, the photo of the ballpark on the front is nice.

But check out the back:

The producers – identified as the Traub Company of Baltimore – have a fill-in-the-blank spot for the name of the ballpark, then a disclaimer: Fees for printing the trademarked name would increase the price of this card.

Seriously? And I don’t recall this postcard being sold in a special, less-expensive rack than the others. Why were these alleged savings not passed along to me, the consumer, who is even asked to complete the job by filling in the stadium name?

And despite being a photo of Baltimore produced by a Baltimore company, the cards proudly state they were printed in Canada.

Classic!

Postcard tour: Atlanta, home of Mets triumph and shame

Turner Field in Atlanta has, of course, been a graveyard for the Mets. But the fared fairly well in Fulton County Stadium, Braves’ first home.

According too the Ultimate Mets Database, the Mets won 90 games at “The Launching Pad” and lost 100. That’s not bad considering we’re talking about the 30 years between 1966 and 1996, the vast majority of which the Mets were not especially good.
But the two contests we care about the most were on Oct. 4 and 5, the first ever National League Championship Series games.

The Mets won the first 9-5, with Tom Seaver not particularly sharp but the Mets scoring five runs in the eighth. The next day the Mets won again, 11-6, before completing the sweep at Shea.

There was a home run of note hit in the ballpark in 1974.

The Braves moved to Turner Field after the Olympics, and it’s brought nothing but hurt and shame for the Mets, especially the night in 1999 when Kenny Rogers earned his “Bleeping” through is utter inability to throw a strike to a young Andruw Jones, who had no intentions of even swinging.

But I digress.

I’ve been to Atlanta many time, but always on the way to somewhere else, driving through on I-75 or changing flights.

That means postcard shopping has been limited to Hartsfield Airport. I’ve been able to snag one from the Fulton County days.

My favorite of the Turner bunch shows how the Braves chose to commemorate their old stomping grounds, with the outline of the field in the parking lot, with the spot of fence that No. 175 cleared preserved.

Another has goofy writing on it – missing comma and all -- but we get to see the plaza beyond the outfield that marks the original shape of the stadium from the Olympics.

The others are better. One has a nice view of the inside of the stadium from an Opening Day – note the logo behind home plate.

The other is an exterior shot. It must be a playoff game – note the empty seats. Heh. I do like the new trend of teams putting an historic ball on the backs of the scoreboard. I’m assuming that’s the ball from Aaron’s record-setting blast.

But knowing the Braves, it’s the ball that Kenny Rogers threw high and outside. Or any number of Chipper Jones’ pain inflicting homers.

Next we head to Baltimore, and more pleasant Mets memories.

Postcard tour: First The BOB, then Chase but forever the home of Fonzie's slam

Chase Field has only been around about a dozen years, yet it has already hosted two glorious events.

First, it was a scene of major Yankee weepage, when the Diamondbacks overcame the Evil Empire and its cyborg closer in the seventh game of the 2001 World Series.

Then, it was the host for this year’s All-Star Game, a lovely Jeter-less affair won by the National League for the second year in a row.

The ballpark is famous for being the first retractable roof stadium with real grass, and it has a neat pool just beyond the right field fence.

The yard, previously known as Bank One Ballpark – or “The BOB” – holds a place in Mets history. The Wild Card Mets played the Diamondbacks in the 1999 Division Series, with the first two games in Phoenix. It was the D-Backs first trip to the post season.

Masato Yoshii faced Randy Johnson, and the game was tied in the top of the ninth inning. Buck Showalter allowed The Unit to stay in the game, at least long enough to load the bases and allow a reliever to tee-up an Edgardo Alfonzo grand slam, propelling the Mets to victory.

Kenny Rogers blew the second game, which, of course, would become a trend.

Having never been to Phoenix, I’ve got but one postcard of the ballpark, a gift from a friend who traveled out west. This one is pretty neat, with the roof open so we can see the turf. The ballpark has one of those roof signs, and it looks like there was a lot of construction going on at the time this photo was snapped.

But so begins our tour of non-Met ballparks. Next stop is Atlanta, where there are not as many warm and fuzzy moments.

Shea still remains, at least on postcards.

Postcards are among the way-too-many things I collect, and I’ve had a lot of fun at work and on Facebook writing about the really bad ones.

Now that those are out of my system, I can focus on the other extreme – postcards showing baseball stadiums, especially those belonging to the Mets.

I’ve tried to collect stadium postcards from all the modern ballparks, and usually ask friends, relatives and co-workers to keep an eye out for the on their travels. Note, if you are on the go, I’m missing several.

But of course, all stadium postcard discussions start with Shea Stadium and Citi Field. Mostly Shea, that is, because I’ve struggled to find anything depicting the Mets new home and my glorious brick installed near the front door.

Actually, the selection for Shea is fairly slim, at least considering the bounty available in cities like S. Louis, where Busch Stadium postcards seem to rival those of the Arch.

I’ve come across two early Shea cards, both linked to the World’s Fair. Both are artist renderings, one showing the stadium and the whole waterfront and even part of the airport.


The second is more familiar, a painting that that was used in various team publications. I’ve not sure what’s casting the giant shadows in the parking lots.
The first postcard with an actual photo of Shea is again tied to the wonderful fair, with the stadium in the background and the spectacular Unisphere in front.

The first Shea-centric photo card I’ve found still has the World’s Fair logo, with a view looking into the horseshoe, but blocked by the back of the scoreboard. I’ve tried to figure out where the slightly elevated shot must have been snapped, and there are no postcards I’ve seen looking in unobstructed from beyond leftfield.

Another card uses the same photo, but with cartoon Mets and Jets players.

I’ve found two 1970s era postcards, a large one with a yellow border that just screams the decade. A second is probably the only Shea photo I’ve seen that allows us to see the New York skyline in the background – the real one, not the loveable plywood version that was atop the scoreboard for years. And the orange and blue panels are awesome.

I came across another Shea painting postcard, though it’s part of a tribute to the 1969 team, and there’s a card for every player, coach and even the broadcasters.
The 1980s were not kind to Shea postcards, and I’ve yet to find one with the deep blue paint job.

But there are two nice cards from the 2000s, both interior views, shot at night. One was part of a final season postcard set I found in the Mets gift shop.


The final Shea card – courtesty of Greg Prince – places the beloved ballpark in its proper place among treasured New York landmarks. It’s a general New York card, and we have a photo in the lower right showing the iconic spires of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building. Then the left side of the card is dominated by a view of the Manhattan skyline, taken, I think, from the south.

That left only room in the top right, and much of New York to represent. What image might be inserted to bring back warm memories of a trip to the Big Apple, or to tell a loved one, “Wish you were here” and really mean it? Lady Liberty might work, possibly Times Square. But are worthy, but why take a chance? The postcards producers wisely opted for a view of Shea.

With the arrival of the new ballpark and a hole in the collection, I spent part of my whirlwind New York trip in March searching high and low for a Citi Field postcard. Actually, I was confined to shops in and around Times Square , Penn Station and the Newark Airport. Denied.

So this artwork postcard will have to make do until I can make a return trip.

And, I suppose the spring training site at Port S. Lucie counts as a Mets home, and I have found one card showing what then was called Thomas White Stadium and the five practice fields.

Epic pursuit of 1971 Topps set comes down to Jon Matlack, Ted Martinez and Rick Folkers

Jon Matlack and Ted Martinez were players on the 1973 N.L. Champion Mets, and Rich Folkers was forever one of those players in the small photos in the back of the yearbooks on the “On the Way to Shea” page.

But together they played an important role in a milestone event in my card collecting career – completing the magnificent 1971 Topps baseball set.

Will and I headed to the National Sports Collectors Convention last weekend, an event we’ve attend and covered on and off since we joined forces and formed the cardboard crusaders in the early 1990s, dispensing our wisdom and generally annoying dealers in our weekly Flint Journal sports column.

We both long ago moved on to other jobs, but continued the hobby we embraced as kids, and an opportunity to cover the largest card show in the country as it appeared in Chicago was not to be missed.

And any epic journey must include adventures. We endured coming face-to-face with former Yankee and known Hall-of-Fame autograph ball abuser Reggie Jackson, rogue security guards, disorganized dealers, Diet Coke depravation and traumatic accidental iPhone separation. We barely lived to tell this tale.

We made out way to the convention center, located in the shadow of O'Hare Airport.

Anyway, the completing the 1971 set has been a collecting target since the mid-1990s. My goal is to complete a Topps base set run from 1970 through the present. I’ve had the 1973 issue – the first cards I started purchasing on my own as a kid -- in hand since the early 1990s. But I’ve been chipping away at the other three ever since.

They’re special sets. Topps went through dreadful design doldrums in the late 1960s, recycling design elements and even photos. But in 1970, someone at the company must have remembered that baseball cards are supposed to be really cool.

The 1970 set is a fine return to form, but the 1971 issue made it seem as if someone told the designers to throw away the rule book.

That concept was ratcheted up one more notch in 1972, a fantastic series of pure 1970s pop art. The Tom Seaver card from that set has been declared The Greatest Card Ever.

The 1971 issue was an important step to get there. With its black borders and back-of- the card photos, it was unlike any previous issue. And Topps for the first time made extensive use of action photos. Some are considered classics because they look like they were snapped from the stands, and I don’t mean the expensive seats, either.

Four players and an umpire are on this card, and we have to assume that one of them is Buddy Harrelson.


And it was a set that I needed to build entirely from scratch, having gathered none of the cards as a kid. The mission became more difficult as weekend mall shows became scarce and the remaining cards dwindled to harder-to-find high numbers and short prints. I’d pick up a card here or there, but the pace certainly slowed in the last decade.

So I headed to Chicago with my list of 13 cards needed to complete the 1971 set, along with the 48 1972s and many more 1970s. You bring such lists because you just never know when you might stumble upon a magical 10-cent bin.

Arriving Saturday afternoon, we made a quick pass of the show, which, while not the overwhelming experience it was at the height of the hobby’s popularity, is still pretty huge.

The challenge of a show this big is that you’ll see things you need, things you want and things that you never even knew existed. Focus is important for a budget-minded collector, like me.

We did find three cards on the list quickly, before finding some old friends who operate a family friendly card show back in our old stomping grounds of Grand Blanc. Catching up at his booth, we noticed a minor commotion across the aisle.

It seems that Reggie Jackson, the strikeout prone former Yankee, was admiring one of his old Oakland jerseys that was on display. I noticed that the people running the booth didn’t let Reggie touch anything there. We know from personal experience that Jackson can’t be trusted with prized artifacts. We kept our distance.

We returned extra early Sunday morning, battling misinformed and overzealous security personnel who did not appreciate the important role of the media in the collecting hobby, or, apparently, the rules of the show.

We already were on edge after realizing that the iPhone, the essential tether to the outside world, was accidently left charging on an end table at Will’s apartment. This was a crisis of unimaginable proportions. The previous record for iPhone separation was about 42 minutes, and that was a very, very long 42 minutes. It was a dark time, and I don’t want to dwell on it.

Now we were to be separated for most of the day, unable to call, tweet, email or otherwise connect with the outside world for almost the whole day. Unthinkable.

Starting the day under this dark cloud, we attacked the show. Will had already scouted out some potential tables for me, writing down their locations.

I scored three of the cards within the first 20 minutes, then bounced around to several more dealers, finding two here and three there, crossing off numbers and player names as I went along.

Finally, I was down to two cards. One was No. 559 is American League Rookies with Terry Cox, Bill Gogolewski and Gary Jones. Because the Yankees are always seeking to make life difficult for me, cards of their players are usually more expensive and a little harder to find. Jones, sadly for him, will always bear the stain of being a Yankee.

The other was far more enjoyable, but posed a greater problem. No. 648 is Mets Rookie Stars, featuring Matlack, Martinez and Folkers.

Matlack, of course, was part of the Mets fearsome mound trio that included Tom Seaver and Jerry Koosman. He was a future rookie of the year and a three-time All-Star, even sharing MVP honors in the 1975 game. Plus, his middle name is Trumpbour , which is cool.

Martinez was a nice-fielding utility player who played in five seasons for the Mets.

Folkers was a former first-round draft pick who had a cup of coffee with the Mets in in 1970, but spent all of 1971 in the minors and was traded to the Cardinals after the season with Jim Bibby, Charlie Hudson and Art Shamsky for Jim Beauchamp, Chuck Tayor, Harry Parker and Chip Coulter.

He is probably best remembered for a line by the Padres' malaprop-prone broadcaster Jerry Coleman: “Rich Folkers is throwing up in the bullpen."

And I felt a little like hurling when I could find the card a several tables, but all in the $18 to $25 price range, which is far more than my budget would permit.
I found a table near the back of the room with a table covered with binders of cards from the 1960s and 1970s. I flipped through the 1971 book, and chatted with the friendly gentlemen working there, telling them that I was two cards short of completing the awesome set.

“We’ll get you there,” one of them said confidently, looking at my list. They were nice guys from North Carolina. I know this because reporters are nosey and chatty and I ask questions.

One of the men pulled the Cox, Gogolewski and Jones from a box for a very agreeable price, and I flipped to the page where No. 648 was supposed to be.

There it was, and in very nice shape. The 1971 set is famous for its black borders that scuff easily, making it tough to find in mint shape for people who demand such a thing. I just like having the cards, so I’m not as demanding. When I saw how nice this one looked, I expected it to be in a budget-busting range.

The gentleman looked up the card in the price guide, then looked over at me. “This is the last one you need?”

I nodded.

“How about $5?”

A little pricy for me, but I knew this was the best deal I was going to get anywhere.This was a gift, and I knew it. I threw my fists in the air, a slightly more reserved version of the infamous “Yes! Yes!” dance.

I handed him the cash and he handed me cards in a plastic sleeve.

“Hey, this guy just completed the 1971 set,” the gentleman said to one of partners.
“Congratulations! That’s quite a milestone.”

And it is.

Motor City adventures with Manny Acosta, our new favorite Met,

So Manny Acosta is one of my favorite Mets now. Yeah, it surprised me, too.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Caroline and I made the trip to Detroit last week to see our Mets battle the Tigers at Comerica Park. Now, any opportunity to see the Mets is a great and glorious one, but my last two Motor City-Mets meetings have not gone well for our boys.

The first was a 14-0 bengal beatdown in the Mets' first-ever game in Detroit. The second adventure, this time at Comerica in 2007 was a little better, though the Mets still lost 15-7 with Tom Glavine being disappointed but not devastated.

But those games were during the Streak of Shame. Since that was snapped in Cincinnati, I'm a Mets good luck charm, with a 9-0 victory at Citi Field and even a pair of spring training wins.

Detroit fans are a pretty mellow and humble bunch, so I never fear abuse for wearing Mets gear. The Tom Seaver 1969 flannel gets taken out for only the most formal occasions, so with the assistance of the friends in the Crane Pool Forum I opted to wear the 1992 Eddie Murray home jersey. With racing stripes and buttons, it's very tasteful.

We arrived before the gates opened – of course – and stood in line with another Long Island transplant, he wearing a black David Wright road jersey. He said he was surprised that he wasn't getting any abuse, adding that Phillies fans start abusing him even before he gets to the ballpark.

I wasn't too surprised – Phillies fans can be rough, as Rob will confirm. But I was even less surprised when my new friend mentioned that a pre-game ritual is driving through the streets of Philly with a Chase Utley jersey dragging behind the car. That's hardcore.

We made our way to the first row alongside the Mets dugout to watch batting practice. I brought the glorious Mets book on the off-chance that a player would come by and sign autographs. The Mets are notorious non-signers, and I'm usually very happy to get just a wave.

But third base coach Chip Hale came along, then Scott Hairston. That's two signatures added to the hundreds in the book, and one more than the 2007 encounter, when only Jorge Sosa was willing to be included in the tome.

Brother-in-law Jeff's advice about StubHub was spot-on, so much so that a Comerica usher thought we were seat-crashing in out spots in the aisle 25 rows behind Mets dugout. He was apologetic after I produced the tickets, and our new friend, offering two Tigers pocket schedules with Justin Verlander and much discussion throughout the game. He thought Jose Reyes would look good in a Tigers uniform.

And, as if his ears were burning, Jose led off with a hit, moved to second and scored on Daniel Murphy's double. The Murphy scored on Angel Pagan's double. The team already was ahead of the 1997 game.

But the best was to come in the fourth inning. Josh Thole launched an absolute bomb into the right field bleachers. Then Reyes tripled and came around on a Willie Harris hit.

My daughter was keeping score, and we discussed strategy amid the glorious scoring. With men on third and second and first base open and two out, I explained that Angel Pagan would get nothing to hit and probably walk because the Tigers would rather pitch to Jason Bay, who, I explained, is a bum.

Daddy looked wise when Pagan did, in fact, walk. And he looked like a dunce when Bay ripped one down the left field line, just around the foul pole and into the stands for a grand slam.

The Mets had not him a grannie since 2009, and have given up 18 of them since, mostly to the Phillies. So this historic moment was appreciated and apologies extended to Mr. Bay.

The next inning the Mets loaded the bases again, this time with Carlos Beltran at the dish. Beltran, I explained, is not a bum. But it would be too much to ask for another grand slam from a team seemingly allergic to them. Nobody told that to Beltran, and he smacked one over the left-centerfield wall for the second slam in as many innings.

There was only mild concern when the Tigers' Austin Jackson cracked a two-run homer in the bottom of that inning and when Andy Dirks send one deep in the seventh.

The Mets tacked on one more to make it 14, sending most of the Tigers fans packing. Caroline and I moved down a little closer so we could get photos of the post-game celebration, rare as they might be with me in attendance.

Now, I confess. I have said some unkind things about Mets pitcher Manny Acosta in the past. I was not entirely thrilled to see him take the hill in the ninth inning, even with a 14-3 game seemingly in hand.

But Brennan Boesch popped out to left, Dirks made an out to second, and Don Kelly swung and missed for a strike three, ending the game.

It was fun to see the Mets celebrating the big win, and I knew Acosta had the ball that was used for final out. As he walked to the dugout steps, we called out, “Nice game, Manny!” He looked up and must have seen Caroline and I in our Mets finest, because he smiled and threw us the ball. I had my camera in one hand and grabbed the ball in another, clutching it to my body.

Some kid next to me started pawing me, trying to wrest the ball from my grip.

Then, I heard a voice I had never heard before – coming from me, nonetheless. It was deep and scary.

Get. Your. Hands. Off. My. Ball.

The kid pulled his hands away, knowing what was good for him. I promptly gave the ball to my own kid to enjoy.

Manny Acosta. How about that.

A different usher asked to see the ball – he promised to give it back – and then offered to take a photo of me and Caroline. He then directed us to guest services, where the staff members would present us with a certificate proclaiming that we, in fact, had an official ball from a Major League Game.

On the way out I apologized for any unkind things I might or might not have said about Mr. Bay and Mr. Acosta, and we slipped off into the Detroit night for the long trip home, rewarded by the Mets for our devotion.

Let me tell you about Dale

My future wife warned me as I was headed to meet her folks for the first time, during Easter weekend in 1986.

“Don't worry if my Dad doesn't talk to you much,” she said. “He's kind of quiet.”

That was an understatement. Dad could make Calvin Coolidge seem chatty. But it didn't take long for me to realize that his actions spoke volumes, revealing the wonderful person he was.

We lost Dad early Tuesday to pneumonia. He was 76.

I learned much about Dale Nelson from his friends and family over the years because he clearly was not one to boast.

Born to a family of Norwegian farmers, Dad was the youngest of four children and the first to head off, going to veterinary school at Iowa State University.

After serving in the U.S. Army, and short stays in New Orleans – where an elderly neighbor taught him how to make a perfect gin and tonic – Pennsylvania and Iowa, Dad went to the University of Illinois' College of Veterinary Medicine to teach and work with large animals.

Dad was humble. Covering schools for years, I've encountered many administrators with doctorates in education who insisted on being addressed as “doctor.” Dad was a gifted veterinary surgeon. A staff member told me Tuesday that one of his evaluations referenced "golden hands." But in the 26 years I knew Dad, never once did I hear him introduce himself as “doctor.”

He didn't need titles, and didn't seek out attention or credit. For years he resisted promotions, fearing they would mean more meetings and time away from what he enjoyed most, working with students and the animals.

He was a tough professor, requiring surgical students to write essay exams. Doctors, he believed, needed to learn how to communicate better. He also required that each of his children take a speech class in high school.

When working on big research projects, he insisted that younger doctors starting their careers got the credit, which he said they needed to advance in the “publish or perish” world of academia.

He was respected by his peers. Groups invited him around the world to help people in developing countries learn how to care for their livestock.

Dad enjoyed working with large animals, but had a soft spot for small creatures. It wasn't long after constructing an out building on the property in Monticello, two stray cats found their way inside to escape the cold. Dad soon created a shelf under windows with baskets, pillows and heat lamps so the two kitties could stay warm and still have a view.

Dad was a gentleman. I can't recall him saying an unkind word about anyone, except maybe University of Michigan football coach Bo Schembechler. I heard him swear only once, after we broke a chainsaw blade while cutting down a tree in my backyard. I don't know what scared me more, the sight of the sharp blade flying off or the sound of Dad cussing.

Dad was generous. If help was needed, it would arrive, quietly, of course – and without the beneficiary having to ask for it.

He loved his three grandchildren, taking delight in hearing about the latest school projects or activities. They were, perhaps, the subject of Dad's only boasting.

And he took great joy in family gatherings, always sitting on the fringe, peeking over the newspaper, listening to the banter as a smile peeked out from under his bushy mustache.

Dad loved a good book, the morning paper, Illini football, cowboy boots, tending to his apple trees, and most of all, his wife of 53 years, Alberta.

Dad was quiet, but after that first Easter weekend gathering, I quickly learned that when he had something to say, it was important. And I listened.

Whitecaps help look at autism a little differently

I used to lead my church's middle school youth group, and one of the kids in the group was diagnosed as autistic when he was a toddler.

You wouldn't have known it at first. He was just a little more challenging than the other middle school kids, which, of course, is saying something.

But I grew to understand – and appreciate – that he saw the world a little differently.

One night I planned a lesson to show that we can't see God, but we can see the effects of God. To illustrate the concept I set out on the table several scenes.

One had a apple with a bite taken out, another had a broken piece of glass and a opened Band-Aid wrapper, and another had my portable CD player next to an opened package of AA batteries with two missing.

The idea is that we didn't see someone take a bite of the apple, cut their finger or replace the batteries, but we can guess what happened based on what we found and what we know. And we don't have to see God to know what he has done.

I gave each of the students a reporters notebook and told them to write down what they thought occurred at each scene.

Most of them wrote down was you would expect. But my autistic member's explanations were a little different.

“Wasteful teenager leaves behind a perfectly good apple.”

“Careless person leaves his expensive CD player unattended.”


The middle-schooler, I realized, saw things just a little bit differently.

I thought of the boy Sunday when I attended Autism Awareness Day with the West Michigan Whitecaps, the Detroit Tigers' Midwest-A affiliate.

The team does a great job supporting some causes. We almost always attend Breast Cancer Awareness Day, when the Caps wear pink jerseys. They have special Star Wars jerseys, too, advocating for the defeat of the Evil Empire.

Sunday's special jerseys were covered in colorful puzzle pieces, intended to represent the ambiguity and mystery around the causes of the condition. Many early Autism Awareness campaigns used the slogan “Help Solve the Puzzle”

The Whitecaps had no problem solving the Cedar Rapids Kernels this day, a 10-3 pounding to complete a three-game sweep.

Like Crash Davis said, we were dealing with some heavy stuff

OK, it has been a busy six weeks since the last post, a long sabbatical from the blog.

Many things went on, preventing me from getting near the personal keyboard, all deserving comment.

In quick review:

I went to New Orleans for a work trip. New Orleans is a very odd place, but it was nicer than I expected. And of course there were adventures.

The Mets appear to be streaky and injury prone, so nothing has changed much.

I finished the semester. This was the first time I’ve tried teaching two classes in one semester, and both had more students than I’ve ever had. Grading writing assignments is time-intensive, and it was a challenging time.

I got a hard hat tour of a local federal building that was once a court house, post office and art museum. Now it’s going to become a college building after massive renovations. But in one of the rooms I discovered a plaque that revealed events transpired in that room that affected baseball for 50 years.

The Yankees are in turmoil. It looks like Jeter’s expensive new contract is going to be an anchor, and the catcher/designated hitter looks even more washed up than the rangeless one. This is good.

The Mets seem to think the games they do win, they win because they are wearing the black jerseys. This is a bad.

I had an opportunity to meet an Academy Award-winning actress and ask her just one question, which I extended to three. But I assumed she liked the Mets, so I left that particular question unasked.

And, most recently, I ran in a massive 5K race. While I arrived on time this time and didn’t have to jump over pets, I did have to try sprinting through a downpour. It’s been two days, and my shoes aren’t dry yet.

So, I was walking down Bourbon Street trying to stay out of trouble. And I’m sincere about that. Many people walk down Bourbon Street with the intention of finding trouble, and I saw a bunch of those people.

But that’s not me.

But I was walking down the street with my shopping bag wit souvenirs for my kids, and I felt something hit me on the arm. I looked down and saw white beads draped over the top of the bag and looked up.

And there, looking down from a Bourbon Street balcony, were two sweet, gray-haired grannies, smiling and waving.

It got stranger from there…but it won’t take six weeks to report back.