Hands, feet and personal theme songs

I was kind of kind of surprised to hear the Shea Stadium PA system blare out a heavy metal song when new Met Jeff Conine strode to the plate Sunday night. Not that we know Conine very well yet, but it just didn’t strike me as something he would select.

And since the mind wanders when the Mets are incapable of getting a hit off Dodger relievers, I wondered what it would be like if we all had to pick a theme song for when we entered the room at work, which is essentially what Conine is doing when he carries a bat into the box.

What kind of statement do you want to make?

For me, it would be an easy choice: “Hands and Feet” by Audio Adrenaline.

The band’s final CD -- "Live from Hawaii, the Farewell Concert" -- was released today. Audio A is disbanding because lead singer Mark Stuart’s already raspy voice is shot from years of touring and the members want to go out while still on top.

I had heard of the band, but not necessarily heard much of its music until Sept. 15, 2001 when Audio appeared in Grand Rapids headlining first Festival Con Dios.

“Hands and Feet” was one of the last songs played at the daylong event, and I remember Stuart stepping back and letting the crowd sing the refrain several times, then letting people sing it without the band playing.

“I want to be your hands
I want to be your feet
I’ll go where you send me
I’ll go where you send me
And I try, yeah I try
To touch the world
Like You touched my life
And I’ll find my way
To be your hands”

And as the sound of several thousand people singing this filled the air, I had one of those magic moments of clarity. I got it. I understood what we are supposed to do.

And without getting all preachy here, I understood that we are supposed to do more than just show up at church every Sunday, and then forget everything we are supposed to have learned – until the next Sunday.

I understood that we are in fact, supposed to do His work all the time, and that he might take us places that are uncomfortable and put us into challenging or even scary situations to reach the people who are not easily reached and might need to hear His message. The Lord has touched my life and made it better, and part of our job is to spread his word and do his work.

Which is not to say that I do this well. More times than I care to admit, I fail miserably – like when I wrote mean-spirited things about Derek Jeter in the since-deleted previous post.

But after that night at the concert, I’ve thought about those lyrics a lot. And I’ve tried to think about ways to do his work in uncomfortable places.

One opportunity came up the next year when my church needed someone to lead a middle school youth group and was having trouble finding someone because, well, they’re middle-schoolers.

I gave it a shot, and based the first lesson and activity around “Hands and Feet.” And there are times when working with young people is uncomfortable and scary – and unbelievably rewarding. And you’ve read about some of those adventures in this space before.

This year will be the sixth year that I’ve worked with middle- and high-school students – but not at the same church.

Churches can be messy places, especially when a lot of strong-willed people think they are all doing God’s work and sometimes their ideas contradict. And the one we were attending was getting messier – I’ll spare you the details -- and we were wondering if we should be worshiping elsewhere.

Leaving a church is a tough decision to make. We started checking out another church and it seemed like a great fit, especially with a baseball-loving pastor. But I still felt pulled in both directions. I wanted some kind of sign that we were doing the right thing.

One of the weeks we attended was the new church’s youth Sunday. You want to guess what song the kids performed? My wife said, “What kind of a sign are you waiting for, a burning bush?”

We’ve been there ever since and it’s a wonderful place. And each time I have a new group of kids I share the song with them and we talk about how we can apply it to situations we encounter every day.

I’ve meet the guys in Audio A several times since then, and each time I thought about telling them about the impact “Hands and Feet” has had on me then chickened out. They probably hear such things a lot.

But, in the unlikely event that the Mets call on me once the rosters expand this week, you’ll know what to expect as I head to the plate.

In other words:

I’m a bit of a uniform nut, so I’m an avid reader of Paul Lukas’s http://www.uniwatchblog.com/

But Paul has a column on ESPN, too. Head to the section about he Detroit Tigers and check out who he quoted.

Cleaning up yet another Tom Verducci mess

Amazingly, Tom Verducci didn't think any of these guys were worthy of his "best players of today team."

I suppose the only thing more predictable than an outrageous Yankee-lovin’ column from Sports Illustrated hack Tom Verducci is a post from me expressing outrage over Yankee-lovin’ Verducci columns.

So for the sake of consistentcy, let’s dissect Verducci’s recent column where he picks today’s very best players at each position. He also picks the best of all-time and of the next five years and those are equally bad. But we only have so much time and energy to spend on Yankee-hacks.

Let’s get the obvious ones out of the way:

SS: Derek Jeter, Yankees. And Verducci’s rationalization: “His defense is slipping, but he is a consistent offensive force who will march well beyond 3,000 hits.”

His defense is slipping? The wax dummy of Jeter at Madam Tussauds has as much — if not more — range as the real Jeter. And the wax version can at least claim it didn’t (allegedly) give herpes to Jessica Alba, as the L.A. Rag Mag celebrity gossip site reported.

Heck, Jeter couldn’t claim five tools if he walked through Lowe’s with a gift card.

Let’s look at some facts:

Player A: .327 ave., 8 HR, 57 RBI, 75 runs, 12 steals
Player B: .303 ave., 9 HR, 47 RBI, 86 runs, 56 steals

Player A, of course, is the object of Verducci’s man-crush. Player B is our own Jose Reyes, who is clearly the better player. Yes, Jeter has more runs batted in, but he’s the DH league and has an actual batter getting on base ahead of him to drive home, as opposed to the pitcher.

Plus, Reyes is an excellent defender and appears to be disease-free.

Player Verducci should have picked: Reyes, of course.

3B: Alex Rodriguez, Yankees; “Best ever among a rare breed: a game-changing infielder.”

What Verducci is leaving out is that ARod has tried to change games by slapping the ball out of a first-baseman’s glove and shouting to distract at a third-baseman so he’d drop a pop-up, a move even his manager criticized.

I won’t deny that Arod hits an occasional homer. But the dude has accumulated enough baggage that the Skanks need a cargo jet to follow the team charter on road trips. This season alone we’ve had photos of him leaving adult establishments with ladies who did not appear to be his wife (Stray-Rod), and then his wife wearing t-shirts to Yankee Stadium emblazoned with an F-bomb (F-Rod). Jose Canseco has recently hinted that the source of Arod’s power might not be totally natural (A-Roid).

Then you have the on-going feud with the Blue Jays that led to bench-clearing brawls in a recent series and Roger Clemens getting suspended for throwing at a batter.

Player Verducci should have picked: David Wright. Wright hits for power, hits for average, is fast, is getting better in the field and is squeaky clean.

Closer: Marino Rivera, Yankees “His cutter is among the greatest pitches in history. When he's on, he's a one-pitch pitcher, but hitters still can't hit what they know is coming.”

Maybe, just maybe, this might have been justifiable in, say, 1998. But once people like Marco Scutaro start taking you deep, you can no longer make such claims. But Verducci also listed Rivera as the greatest closer of all time, which makes me think he has never heard of Dennis Eckersley and Rollie Fingers, closers who actually have things like Cy Young and MVP awards.

Player Verducci should have selected: Billy Wagner. Imagine, a closer who actually closes games.

C: Joe Mauer, Twins “Only 24, with a .316 lifetime average and .396 on-base percentage.”

You know it just killed Verducci not to pick Jorge Posada. I bet the SI editors forced him to throw some token non-Yankees on there so he could at least pretend he’s not biased. Mauer’s a nice player who probably should have won the AL MVP last year, which went to his teammate. But he seems to lack that fire a team needs in the on-field captain.

Who Verducci should have picked: Paul Lo Duca. Talk about fire! Did you see the absolutely crazed look in Paulie’s eyes when he got tossed back in July!

1B: Albert Pujols, Cardinals “Maybe the greatest start to a career in history: six straight seasons hitting .300 or better, with at least 30 homers, 100 RBIs, 100 runs and a top-four MVP finish.”

Greatest start to a career? Did he forget about Mike Vail’s 23-game hitting streak? All I know is that when the All-Star Game was on the line, Pujols’ own manager sent Aaron Rowland to the plate instead of Albert.

Who Verducci should have picked: Carlos Delgado. You know that if LaRussa had Delgado on the bench at the All-Star Game he would have called Rowland back. Carlos doesn’t even need to swing the bat to win a game. Remember his walk-off walk? That’s how good he is!


2B: Chase Utley, Phillies. “He's clearly the best second baseman in the game and getting better. His batting average has gone up four consecutive years.”

First of all, the dude’s name sounds like he would be in Neidermier’s frat in “Animal House,” and the last thing we need on the best-of-today team is some uptight preppy with easily breakable hands.

Who Verducci should have picked: Luis Castillo. How good is Castillo? In 2003, a Cubs fan had to make a choice. He could let Moises Alou catch a ball and send his beloved team to the World Series. Or, he could have a glorious piece of memorabilia, a foul ball hit by Luis Castillo. As we know, Mr. Bartman wanted that ball. And that speaks volumes about Luis Castillo.

OF: Manny Ramirez, Red Sox: “His power numbers may be down slightly this year, but he's still as pure a hitter as they come.”

Hey, we all know Manny is a hitting savant. But the guy is just plain nuts – look at the hair! – and fields even worse than Jeter. If the guy is so good, why did the Sox try to dump him to anyone who would pay his salary a few years ago. And take note, no one took him!

Who Verducci should have picked: Moises Alou. I’m not saying Alou isn’t somewhat injury prone. He misses a game or two or 30. But dude’s been a monster since returning from the DL.

OF: Ichiro Suzuki, Mariners: “A hit machine, his graceful, gliding style at bat, and in the field, is a pleasure to watch.”

Ichiro might be the luckiest All-Star Game MVP in history, reaping the rewards of the ball taking a funky hop off the outfield wall and rolling away from Ken Griffey Jr.

Who Verducci should have picked: Carlos Beltran. Beltran, when he does swing, also is a hit machine with a graceful, gliding style and is a pleasure to watch on the field. But unlike Ichiro, Beltran actually hits homers, setting the Mets franchise record last year.

OF: Vlad Guerrero, Angels: “He's the most dangerous offensive force in the game because he can hit absolutely anything and hit it hard. Guerrero is a great combination of power and hand-eye coordination.”

I guess Vlad is OK, But there must be a reason the Mets passed on him when he was a free agent.

Who Verducci should have picked: Matt Holliday, Rockies. You thought I was going to pick Shawn Green, didn’t you? Not a chance! Blindly picking players from my favorite team would make me no better than Verducci!

Rotation: Johan Santana, Twins; Roy Hallady, Blue Jays; Roy Oswalt, Astros; Jake Peavy, Padres; Justin Verlander, Tigers.

The Yankees rotation is so horrible that not even Verducci could justify picking one, though I bet his first draft had Clemens in the mix. Some of those guys are decent.

Who Verducci should have picked: I’ll grant him Santana as a decent pick. But he forgot Tom Glavine – you don’t pile up 300 wins stinking up the field – John Maine, Oliver Perez and El Duque.

Now that’s the best team of today! How Verducci draws a paycheck is a total mystery.

Mets should learn from the Reds' Hall of Fame

Do not believe stories that I misbehaved near the Tom Seaver jersey hanging in the Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame when the Baseballtruth.com Executive Board visited a couple weeks ago.

OK, there was an icy glare shot in the direction of a Reds fan who was not, shall we say, showing the proper reverence to the artifact.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Executive Game 7 – we save Roman numerals for the NFL – at the Great American Ballpark was a great success.

The park itself was a lot better than I expected. The yard is still a notch below PNC, but better than Citizens Bank Park in Philly and light years above Comerica Park in Detroit.

It’s not a retro park, like Camden Yards, but similar to Jacobs Field in Cleveland, with lots of white steel. The park overlooks the Ohio River and it was neat to see the paddle boats passing by, as well as the faux boat in centerfield that houses the party suites.

But the absolute jewel of Great America is the Hall of Fame that opened this year. It’s in a free-standing building next to the stadium, and admission is free with your ticket.

A tour should be mandatory for anyone who has a say in planning a Mets museum expected to be in Citi Field when it opens in 2008.

The first thing I saw upon entering is the massive 1976 World Series pennant. If you listened closely, you could still hear the Yankees weeping from the four-game spanking the Big Red Machine dropped on the Bronx that year.

That’s a pretty good start. And then things got better.

The hall’s first temporary exhibit is called “PETE!” and my companions openly speculated it will still be the temporary exhibit when they bring their grand kids to games years from now.

The Queen City appears to be obsessed with Pete Rose, which is something considering he’s not allowed to enter the ballpark without buying a ticket.

And that’s OK with me. We all have our heroes, and sometimes they are flawed.

There was a nice collection of Rose jerseys, bats and balls and his story filled the whole lower level before walking you down a corridor to windows that show the Rose Garden. A white rose bush shows where his record-breaking hit landed.

Then we moved upstairs where things got exciting. Turning a corner we came to a section of outfield wall with a bin of baseball gloves. And not just modern gloves – you could try on a glove from just about any era, even some sweet fingerless models.

The idea, of course, is to pose for photos making spectacular Endy catches, which we did many times over. A few more steps revealed a batting cage, then a pitchers mound where people threw toward a wall with a painting of an umpire.

Embedded in the wall was an umpire’s mask, and from the other side you could look through and decided whether pitches were balls or strikes. I took one off the mask, and it was pretty scary.

And, appropriately, near the pitching cage was the tribute to some of the greatest Reds hurlers. Shining like a beacon to all that is good in life was the glorious Seaver jersey.

We were standing in awe – well, I was standing in awe and my friends humored me by standing by – and a Reds fan walked past, looked at the jersey and said, “Look, it’s a ‘onesy’ like a baby wears.”

“What?”

“Look at the way it’s in the frame. It looks like it has leg holes like a onesy.”

If someone wants to have a little fun at the Rob Dibble display, I’m all for it. But disparaging remarks about the No. 41 hanging there was just unacceptable. He got “the look” then moved along.

After a period of recovery and extended reverence, we moved along to a dugout display, where there was a section of the bench from Riverfront Stadium and a statue of Sparky Anderson leaning on the rail.

Even more life-sized statues were a few feet away, depicting “The Great Eight” celebrating a win, with the three most recent Reds World Series trophies.

There were also displays to assorted Reds greats – like Johnny Bench – and individual achievements – like Tom Browning’s perfect game. A broadcast both allowed fans to make the call on a number of moments in Reds history.

Then came the actual Hall of Fame plaques, which was anticlimactic compared to the rest of the vibrant museum. There were just plaques suspended on wires from floor to ceiling.

Naturally, Seaver is a member. I’m still waiting for the White Sox and Red Sox to extend the honor.

The Hall leads you down a stairway into a gift shop dominated by a massive World Series trophy.

The whole time I walked through I imagined how the Mets could do something like this.

I’m holding out for a spot to make Ron Swoboda catches!

Adventures in the air: The flight of the B-17 bomber and a rough landing

You'll have to excuse the quality of the photos, which were taken with a cell-phone camera and sometimes include my thumb.


I suppose it wasn’t technically a crash landing. But it was rough and brought the plane to a complete stop at the intersection of two main runways, closing the airport for a little while.

I’m blessed that my job is fun most days, and once in a while we get to do something that leads to an adventure.

One assignment last week was to fly in a World War II-era bomber. The B-17 Flying Fortress was lovingly restored by a group called Experimental Aircraft Association and members take turns bringing it to airports around the country and selling flights into the past.

I was pretty excited because I think old airplanes are pretty neat. And while I’ve been in several at museums, I’ve never been with one up in the air.

This plane, the "Aluminum Overcast," was definitely not built for comfort. Then again, I thought the same thing on my last couple commercial flights, too.

The folks in our party — two World War II veterans, an aviation museum volunteer and some media types — climbed into a hatch that seemed to be two-thirds the size of a typical airplane door.

Inside, it was dark and hot. There were maybe six canvas seats that one of the veterans told me weren’t in the planes during the war. I walked toward the front and settled into a seat that was used by the person who worked the radio.

To get there, I had to climb around what looked like a large ball that was half inside the plane with the other half sticking out the bottom. Back in the day, a machine gunner would crawl through a hatch that looked to be only about a foot wide.

One of the veterans said the gunner would pretty much be in the fetal position in the ball, with his feet working pedals that moved the bubble while his hands worked gun. I couldn’t imagine squeezing in there, much less firing a hot gun while people were shooting back at me.

Once in my seat, I noticed that a hatch overhead was removed. I’ve never been in an unpressurized plane before.

The plane’s four large propeller engines belched smoke and roared as they started up. The crew passed out earplugs, but it wasn’t oppressively loud.

We were allowed to move around once we were up in the air. It was hard to walk. You know the feeling in your belly as a rollercoaster goes down a hill? It felt like that a lot. I went nowhere without holding on something.

You have to walk over the bomb bay to get up to the nose section. It seemed like a 10-foot stretch on a walkway the size of a balance beam, but with the benefit of having rails to cling on to.

One of the crew told us to make sure we held on to cameras and anything else as we crossed, and to not even think about stepping into the bay. Those doors, he said, would open with as little as 100 pounds of pressure and we’d become the first bomb dropped from the plane in decades.

The cockpit area was brighter and roomier than the rest of the plane. There was a glass bubble on top, and the crew member gesture for me to stand on a seat — I presume it was for the navigator — and stick my head into the bubble, where I could get a spectacular 360-degree view of Grand Rapids from 1,000 feet in the air.

The front section was like a split-level house. The pilot and co-pilot had to climb up into their seats, and people going into the front gunner’s posts had to crawl through a space before emerging into another glass bubble that had spots for three gunners.

I took my turn in the lead gunner’s spot as we flew over downtown. The view, of course, was fantastic. But I touched the handles of the gun and wondered what it must have been like to be the soldier in that seat. It felt vulnerable. One of the veterans told me that 94 percent of the damage the planes incurred came from anti-aircraft guns fired from the ground. "There’s no foxhole to dive into when you’re in the air," he said.

At that point we had to turn back. This was the first flight of any kind for one of the other reporters, and he was hurling his lunch into a plastic garbage bag. Several of us contemplated using him to test the bomb bay doors.

I moved to the middle section of the plane and sat in one of the canvas chairs with one of the veterans. We touched down, then heard a rumbling as the plane bounced around a little and started smelling the stench of burning rubber.

The veteran implied that wasn’t supposed to happen, and we came to a quick and complete stop out on the runway, nowhere near a terminal.

The crew members opened the hatch and jumped out to inspect the damage. Apparently the tube inside the tire blew, and pulled the tire off the rim. It could have been dangerous, but the pilot did a great job.

But apparently our little problem was closing the Ford Airport runways. After helping the veterans through the hatch and into a police vehicle to bring them back, the pilot restarted the plan and moved it down — bad tire and all — to a spot further down where it blocked only one of the two runways.

I can only imagine what passengers of departing jets thought as they looked out their windows.

The radio guys hopped in a van sent to retrieve us, but I wanted to see how they changed a tire on a bomber.

The crew member told me they travel with a spare, but that they weigh about 1,000 pounds inflated and on the rim. A procession of a weighed-down pick-up truck and a forklift came out. One of the crew said the tire rolls easily, but they don’t dare lay it on its side or they’d never get it up again.

They started with jack not much bigger than the one in your trunk — though much stronger — and when that didn’t work they towed out a much bigger one that raises the plane from point under the wing.

Curiosity settled and photos taken, we headed back to the terminal in a van as the volunteers worked on the tire.

It was an absolutely amazing day, and gave me yet more appreciation for our servicemen and women who risk everything to protect us.

Streak continues, but it was still a glorious day at Wrigley

I can’t prove that Tom Glavine sent word that I would not be welcome at Wrigley Field on Sunday.

But after the streak-extending debacle on Saturday, I can’t say I’d blame him.

Will surprised my on my birthday last April with a glorious present – a ticket to see the Mets play the Cubs at Wrigley Field. Laurie, his girlfriend, is a member of a group that has season tickets, and she was able to snag the Mets tickets, and was even able to grab seats for the game against the Reds, who are Will’s favorites.

He did warn me that the Cubs are something like 8 and 1 when he is in the Friendly Confines. And that’s not even counting the game in Cincinnati last weekend when we saw the Cubs pound the Reds.

And he knows of my painful streak of not seeing the Mets win in person since 1991, a trail of tears that was of course extended in June when the Tigers remembered they were good and slammed us 15-7.

So clearly, the odds were not in our favor. But any opportunity to see the Mets in person is to be treasured, and to see them with my best friend in a fabled yard is just extra special.

I haven’t seen a game at Wrigley in years, and Will warned me that things had changed a little.

Not the yard itself, but rather the people in the seats. It used to be that the bleachers were the trendy place to be. But now the ballpark sells out for the season, and is packed with people Will calls “Trixies and Tylers,” who are there to see and be seen.

They’re part of the overflow crowd at Murphy’s before the game, show up around the middle of the second inning, then depart after seeing which celebrity sings “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”

And make no mistake; the streets around the ballpark were jam-packed even 2.5 hours before the game. It’s neat to see all the Cubs-themed shops, bars and even street vendors.

Even the billboards were cool. Absolut has an ad reading “In an Absolut world,” and showing the famed billy goat getting a seat in the park, eliminating the curse.

Some people were knowledgeable. Naturally, I was wearing my Faith and Fear in Flushing t-shirt, and the owner of one of the souvenir stores said “OK, I know what the shirt means, but who is No. 14?” I explained it was Hodges, and gave him credit for knowing Casey, Tom and Jackie.

Inside, two ushers – two nice older ladies – also asked me about the numbers then insisted they take my photo with Wrigley in the background.

We picked up our cool Ryne Sandberg freebie caps, squished pennies for my daughter and enjoyed the Mets stretching and taking BP. The Wrigley bullpens are near the stands, and we were able to watch Oliver Perez getting in some work.

The Cubs do something else neat, they sell food and soda for 25-percent off for the hour after the gates open, so we snagged some fine brats and settled into our seats in the upper deck along the third-base line.

As for the game, I thought innings 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and 9 were great. Third inning sucked.

Will was dead-on about the Trixies. A pair in their late 30s came and sat next to us in the second inning. The following is the extent of the baseball conversation they had with us, themselves for anyone else.

Trixie: Are you guys season-ticket holders?

Me: I’m not, but by friend is part of a season-ticket group.

Trixie: Oh. We bought these from a guy who is a season-ticket holder.

Me: So, are you a Mets fan?

Trixie: No (with disgust.)

And that’s it. As Will said, “They’re here for a game, but it ain’t baseball.”

They walked around for a while, came back to their seats and the Trixie who had the short conversation before asked if she could eat some of my peanuts. Never had that happen before.

And of course, they departed after Chris Chelios sang during the seventh-inning stretch.

Of course, the Mets lost. My (now extended) streak of shame:

8/4/2007 Cubs 6, Mets 2
6/10/2007 Tigers 15, Mets 7
4/5/1999 Marlins 6, Mets 2
6/30/1997 Tigers 14, Mets 0
9/24/1995 Marlins 4, Mets 3
7/26/1995 Cardinals 3, Mets 2
7/21/1991 Mets 9, Dodgers 4

After the game we headed over to the Northwestern University campus, where Will showed me his old stomping grounds and we dined at the appropriately named Dave’s Italian Kitchen for an amazing meal.

We then caught up with Laurie and finished the night at an ancient, eight-lane bowling alley for some glow-in-the-dark bowling. Timber Lanes had a juke box with like a gazillion songs.

A pretty fantastic day, save for the third inning.

Tiger Stadium? Kiss it goodbye

Tough weekend for a couple legends.

First, the Detroit City Council finally agreed to demolish Tiger Stadium, which has been sitting neglected since the last game in 1999.

Then, Kiss co-founder Paul Stanley had what his is calling a "cardiac event" prior to a concert in California, forcing the band to play as a trio for only the second time.

Naturally, I have a story about both. I’ve spent many a night at Tiger Stadium, but the strangest had to be when Kiss kicked off its reunion tour there on June 28, 1996.

You know I’m loyal to a fault, and that extends to bands in addition to baseball teams. So I’ve been a Kiss fan since junior high school. Co-workers think this is odd.

The Journal’s music writer knew of my devotion and brought me along as a "consultant" since they throw you out of the critics club if you know too much about Kiss. That, and I might have begged for a week.

I had a feeling that things could get a little out of control. This was confirmed as we were walking across the dirt parking lot and a female concert-goer decided that would be a good place to stop walking, drop her pants and relieve herself. I think she might have been drinking.

Inside was your typical stadium concert set-up, with the stage running from centerfield into right, with the huge inflatable figures of Paul, Gene, Peter and Ace. The outfield was filled with what I thought were rather flimsy folding chairs, with the first 40 or so rows separated from the rest of the chairs on the field.

We watched opening acts Sponge and Alice in Chains from the press box while Doug filed the first part of his story, then made our way to our seats: Dead center, row 27.

It seemed that security on the field was lax, and perhaps people who did not have field seats were getting onto the field. Thousands of them.

The infield started filling as it closer to show time. I looked back once and saw security guards standing arm-in-arm trying to make a human chain to keep people back, and they were already straining.

Doug, on crutches because of a softball injury, took a look at this and said he was heading back to the safety of the press box, but said I was welcome to stay. I started to go with him, then thought "I’m a big boy. What’s the worst thing that can happen? I’m not going to let a couple, well, a couple thousand, drunks ruin my chance to see the first show of the Kiss reunion tour from the 27th row."

Doug had no sooner escaped when the security line broke and waves of people rushed into the close seats toward the stage.

I looked behind me and saw a guy in a denim jacket and thigh-high Gene Simmons Destroyer-era dragon head boots, red eyes and all. I have no idea where someone can acquire such things.

I told the guy I was impressed. He made it clear that he was going to be closer to the stage, and that I was going to get out of his way. Quickly. Which I did, because you don’t mess with people wearing thigh-high Gene Simmons Destroyer-era dragon head boots, red eyes and all.

Finally, the lights went down, the curtain dropped and Kiss burst on stage playing "Deuce," then "King of the Night Time World."

I last saw the boys in full face-painted glory at my first concert, the 1979 Dynasty tour at Madison Square Garden. So this was like a rock and roll dream come true.

There was a lot of pushing and shoving, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Everyone was standing on the flimsy folding chairs, which had plastic seats and backrests. I could see heads bopping up and down, then they’d shoot down under the line of heads — after their seats broke.

These chairs were light, and somebody got the idea to throw their broken chair up in the air. Then, a lot of people seemed to think this was a good idea. You’d see chairs spinning up in their air like Frisbees, landing on hapless concert attendees several rows away.

This made me a little more concerned. But again, I was a big boy and had the advantage of not being drunk or stoned. Most of these people were too spaced to throw the chairs all that hard.

Occasionally, a person pushing through to get closer tried to camp in our row. One guy, there’s a chance he was drunk, pushed his way into the row in front of me, shoved someone off their chair, stood on it and began flailing his arms wildly, a strange response to "Firehouse" to be sure.

As you can imagine, this was ticking people off. He nearly hit me a couple times. And, he was blocking my view of Ace.

Then, I did something terrible, totally out of character. I gave the guy a one-handed shove right between the shoulder blades, knocking him off his chair. He stood up in a daze — well, he had probably been in a daze since noon — and wandered off into another row.

I was terrible, stunned at my own behavior. Shoving people! I was filled with guilt and remorse. But then Ace roared into "Shock Me" and I felt better.

The historic concert finally ended in a storm of fireworks as the final power chords of "Rock and Roll All Nite" hung in the air. I made it intact.

Dodging chairs, dodging drunks...that’s rock and roll. And it’s one of the reasons I prefer going to see Christian rock bands these days. But it’s also one of the reasons I’ll be sad to see the wrecking ball taken to Tiger Stadium.

Stories about Mets and Muggles

Mr. Met warns students about books by Tom Verducci and Bob Klapisch.

The Mets have never had a Harry Potter, but they did have Harry Parker.

Parker displayed no magical abilities during his three-year stint with the team. Arriving in a deal with the Cardinals for Art Shamsky in 1973, he went 14-19 with 11 saves and a 3.77 ERA before we sold him back to Azkerban, err, the Cardinals in 1975.

But I spent the weekend immersed in the world of the teen-age wizard, finishing the book before accidentally stumbling on any spoilers in the media, be they articles or co-workers. We saw the movie on Saturday, too. You can read more about my adventures in obtaining the book at my work blog, Head of the Class

My wife is often amazed that I just don’t read fiction. I figure I’ve read 9 works of fiction in the last decade, seven of which are the Potter books. Ironically, I read one of the other two — “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time” by Mark Haddon — earlier this month after a discussion about autism at work.

I’m not sure why I stick to non-fiction. Maybe it’s a reporter thing, because we like to stick to the facts. Maybe it’s because truth is sometimes even stranger than stuff anyone can make up. More likely it’s because I stick to my two main areas of interest — presidents and the Mets.

I haven’t read all the Mets books, but certainly a bunch of them. Here are some notables:

Best example of an author without a clue: “Amazin': The Miraculous History of New York's Most Beloved Baseball Team” by Peter Golenbock.

Golenbock’s MO is that he finds a couple old players, lets the tape recorder run and calls it an “oral history.” And indeed, some of the anecdotes in this book are interesting and amusing.

But I nearly tossed the tome when he got to 1967 and referred to someone called “Thomas George Seaver.” I have no idea who the hell that could be, because everyone knows that the only guy in Cooperstown with a Mets cap on his plaque is George Thomas Seaver, better known to all as Tom.

When kids ask me about my job, I tell them about the importance of getting things right. Because if one thing is incorrect, it makes people wonder what else in a story is inaccurate.

And frankly, if Golenbock can’t even get the name of the team’s all-time hero and best player right, well, it makes me take everything else with a grain of salt. After seeing this, I was looking for other screw-ups — and there were others — the rest of the way through.

Plus, there’s the subtitle. “New York’s Most Beloved Baseball Team” is a shameless attempt to lure us in by a guy who had previously published two fawning oral histories about the Dodgers and Yankees. I'm sure he got Derek Jeter's name right.

Most special book: “New York Mets, The First Quarter Century,” by Donald Honig

The writing here is nothing special — unless you count the parts that were added by hand. A Christmas gift from my folks in 1986, this book has accompanied me to nearly two decades of spring trainings, major and minor league stadiums and baseball card shows.

Whenever I meet a Met past or present, I ask him to sign the book. I think I’m up to about 200 signatures, from Hall of Famers Tom Seaver, Warren Spahn, Gary Carter and Richie Ashburn to short-timers Brent Mayne and Eric Cammack, from phenoms like Gregg Jefferies to flops like Marvelous Marv they’re all a part of our Mets history and in the book.

Jorge Sosa was the most recent signer, obtained at Comerica Park last month.

Personal glory aside, this is still a good book packed with photos from 1962 through 1986.

Best book with a bad cover: “New York Mets: The Whole Story,” by Leonard Koppett.

I have a soft spot in my heart for this tome — my first Mets history book! I knew every photo caption by heart. "McGraw arrives, McGraw delivers."

Koppett is a member of Baseball's Hall of Fame's Writers Wing and the book was written after the 1969 championship. I had the updated version that came out in 1974 after the World Series. And here’s where things get strange. The Mets team colors, as we know, are blue and orange. Don’t get me started on the addition of black. The team that beat them in the World Series was the Oakland Athletics, who wore green and yellow.

The cover of this book? That would be green and yellow.

Did this not strike anyone at the Macmillan Publishing Company back in 1974 as even a little odd? Had Yankee fans infiltrated?

This is proof that you can’t judge a book by its cover.

Best cover: “The Game of Baseball,” by Gil Hodges

Not sure about the book, but the cover is a classic old-school baseball photo of Gil — bow heads reverently — kneeling as if in the on-deck circle, with batting helmets posed neatly on either side.

It’s exactly the kind of old-school photo I used to hang on the bedroom wall. And speaking of old school, when was the last time you saw a player kneeling in the on-deck circle. I guess the idea was to not block the view of the paying customers. Now guys just stand there swinging.

Book most likely never read by its alleged author: “Nails,” by Lenny Dykstra.
Look, we all love Lenny. And he’s a successful businessman so he certainly isn’t a dummy.
But I just don’t see him being the kind of guy willing to seriously sit down and put pen to paper.

Best book about a single Mets game: “The Greatest Game Ever Played,” by Jerry Izenberg

Izenberg, then a columnist for the Newark Star-Ledger, gets points just for pissing off Yankee fans who no doubt erupt at the very idea that their pinstriped blowhards didn’t appear in something billed “the greatest game ever played.”

The book is a quick read and a fine look at Game 6 of the NLCS between the Mets and the Astros. Sure, he looks at the game in great detail, but also the personalities on both sides.

The game was on Oct. 15, 1986, and I was at the University of Missouri. I remember being glued to the TV, frustrated that I had to head off to class during the game. I rushed back to our apartment hoping to catch the score – this was before we could follow along on the Internet – and was amazed -- and thrilled -- that the game was still on.

The sixth game of that World Series gets a lot of the attention, but Izenberg wasn’t too far off. This was a game for the ages.

Book for Mets-haters by a Mets-hater: “The Worst Team Money Could Buy: The Collapse of the New York Mets” by Bob Klapisch

This is like me writing a book about Derek Jeter, Chipper Jones, Roger Clemens and everyone else whose middle initial has been replaced with an F.

Klapisch is known to despise all things Met and you can no-doubt hear him cackling with glee as he types every word about Bobby Bonilla, Vince Coleman and the other participants of what might be our darkest hour.

Then again, I have to assume that you can hear the Klap cackle, because I have never held this book in my hands, much less read it.

I'm not one of those book-burners, but this might be an exception. Heck, had Ray Bradbury not penned "Farenheit 451" prior to 1993, he would have had characters saying things like, "People, we can't go burning books. OK, you can burn that crap frm Klapisch. But nothing else!"

There you go! I'd love to hear what Mets books you've liked over years.

Unlike me, Ortiz is welcome in Hallmark.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy — or unwelcome — in a Hallmark.

The greeting card company unveiled its 2007 Christmas ornaments on Saturday, and I slipped into the store after snagging my wife’s Starbucks, worried that I’d find David Wright or Jose Reyes in boxes along with the other ornaments.

Because, as you know, there is a Hallmark Curse. Ask ARod.

So I was looking through the display and saw a football player, Ben Roethlisberger of the Steelers. Yes, that’s the guy who was in the motorcycle accident last year, making me wonder if the curse is expanding to other sports.

But there were no baseball players to be found.

It was actually hard to squeeze in to get close. There were people with checklists filling baskets with the ornaments, which I have to say are not cheap. The days of me spending $14.95 to hang Luke Skywaker on my son’s little Christmas tree have long passed.

But I digress.

Sometimes the baseball guys aren’t out early because Hallmark tends to release them in the fall. But there’s usually a photo of the player-to-be-cursed hanging in the spot where the ornament will go.

Finally a clerk came over and asked if I was looking for some thing in particular. I told her that I saw the football player, but couldn’t find the baseball player. She pulled out a catalog intended for people who take this very seriously.

Another customer, who was kind of a busy body, was listening to our conversation and paused from filling her basket.

"There’s one in there, I saw a picture," she said.

"But do you know who it is?" I asked.

"Beats me," she said. I don’t think she likes the sports ornaments.

Finally the clerk found the page, and showed me a photo of a chubby Red Sox player.

"Here it is, some guy named David Ortiz," she said. "But it won’t go on sale until October."

"Yes!" I said, pumping my fist.

"You like him?" she asked.

"Oh, he’s OK," I replied, truthfully.

"If you give them your name and address, they’ll put you on a list and call you when they come in," the nosy shopper said.

"Oh no, that’s OK," I replied nicely.

"You might not remember, and it’s good to have that little call to let you know to come in," she said, persistently.

Now, I’m in that strip mall just about every day — especially since the Starbucks opened — and I’m in that Hallmark frequently as my daughter looks for the elusive back kitty Webkinz.

But truth be told, I have no intention of buying a David Ortiz ornament since I’m rapidly running out of tree-space and limit new acquisitions to Mets items.

But I didn’t want to get into this in the middle of Hallmark with a busy body and a clerk who has no doubt suffered greatly already on Ornament Premiere Day even thought it was only 9:30 a.m.

"You’re not going to remember, let her put you on the list," the shopper again insisted.

Finally, I let the cat out of the bag.

"Ma’am, I just wanted to make sure the baseball ornament wasn’t a Met because who ever Hallmark picks is cursed and I want the Mets to win and I don’t want David Wright, Jose Reyes or Carlos Beltran dealing with a curse. They’re having enough issues right now."

At this point all activity surrounding the ornaments stopped and I noticed heads turned my way.

"A curse?" the clerk said, trying not to look alarmed.

"Yup. Something bad happens to every baseball player you guys pick. Look at Ortiz, it’s not even out yet, and he announced last night he has a torn meniscus. It’s not good."

"Well, if that gets out, nobody will want to be on an ornament," the clerk said, matter-of-factly.

"If they want to make Yankee ornaments, that’s OK with me," I said.

The nosy lady was too horrified to speak. It got pretty uncomfortable.

"Hey, is that a new Webkinz?" I said, then quickly made my way to the door.

Sometimes people don’t need to know the truth.

Mets magic, Yankee shame -- and other All-Star thoughts

The National League has not won an All-Star Game in my daughter’s lifetime. She’s going into fifth grade this fall.

My son, a high school sophomore, was 4 when the NL last won, back in 1996 in Philadelphia.

Sigh. We didn’t want home field advantage in the World Series anyway.

Nevertheless, I love the All-Star Game. It’s my favorite game of the year. And there were some pretty sweet moments during this year’s festivities in San Francisco.

Highlights:

The Jose Reyes coming out party! First he gets to catch the first pitch from Willie Mays. Then he goes 3 for 4 with a double and a run scored and a stolen base. I think he was the only player to stay in the entire game. Jose was denied his chance to play last year after getting spiked on the hand. I’d say he made up for lost time.

Carlos Beltran. Met-hater Tim McCarver was recounting Beltran’s unfortunate non-swing to end NLCS Game Seven just as our man Carlos launched a triple! Hush, Tim.

David Wright went one-for-three and had a great diving stop to send ARod weeping back to the dugout.

Note that the Mets wore their traditional – and beautiful – pinstripes and blue caps in the game for the first time in years.

Yankee suckage. The stench of Yankee shame was all over the game, from Jeter’s slapping into a double play to ARod’s fielding lapses.

ARod’s no Pete Rose. ARod can’t score from second on a single to deep right? Junior had him thrown out by about five feet. Now, Pete Rose has out by that much, too, but he wanted to win and slammed into Ray Fosse. But ARod’s no Charlie Hustle, stopping and nearly curling into the fetal position as Russ Martin tagged him. Oh, and you just know what was running through ARod’s mind: “Should I try to slap the ball out of his glove?” It’s not like dude doesn’t have a history of doing that.

Willie Mays tribute. It was obvious that MLB was looking to recreate the warm and fuzzy moment with Ted Williams at Fenway in 1999 by asking Willie to walk in from centerfield fence with much fanfare. It worked.

Lowlights:

Taco Bell competition. What the heck was that? The West Michigan Whitecaps offer better contests between innings.

Jeanne Zelasko. Seriously, how does she stay employed? She says stupid things, flubs her lines and is pretty much an embarrassment to all of humanity.

Billy Wagner, who pretended he was Aaron Heilman and coughed up a two-run blast to Victor Martinez, which ended up being the difference in the game.

Steroids discussion. Tim McCarver, Joe Buck and Ken Rosenthal spent a half inning rationalizing away the black cloud that hovers over the National Pastime.

Jeter interviewing Willie Mays. My wife has a theory that Fox assigned Jeter to “interview” Mays, and that Mays, a good former Met, knows the face of evil when he sees it and refused to participate unless Junior Griffey joined him.

Bonds’ cheap shot at Hank Aaron. Bonds went on about how if ARod breaks the home run record, he’ll show up to watch. Obviously that was a blast to Hank, who has told all that he has no interest being part of the Bonds circus as he approaches the Hammer’s mark.

Paula Cole singing “God Bless America.” Talk about drama. Coles is famous for not shaving her armpits. When she came out in that off-the-shoulder blue dress, I was wondering if Fox was going to force a furry view our way. Pits were in view for just one close-up, and apparently Paula now shaves.

McCovey Cove. The graphics for the game and AT&T Park were based around balls splashing into the Cove. Yet the only ball to get wet was the one Eric Byrne tossed in so his swimming dog could retrieve it. The dog, sensing the shame of it all, swam away in the other direction. And can you blame him.

Next year the spectacle heads to the Bronx where there will be no kayaks and swimming dogs.

Enduring the Home Run Derby

Ryan Howard hit a bunch of homers last year to beat David Wright last year.

The Home Run Derby is the spectacular car crash of professional sports. It’s truly cringe-worthy, but you just have to watch.

Here are some observations and I endured this event with my daughter Monday night.

-- Counting Crows? Two years ago we had Alter Bridge playing with Mike Piazza and the traitor Damon running around the stage. Now we get the Counting Crows with enough pyro to make Kiss feel at home. And I can guess this is the first time Crows, flannel shirt types for sure, have played with columns of fire blasting up from behind the drum riser. How is baseball supposed to appear hip in 2007 when it hauls out a 1990s-era band playing a song from the Shrek 2 soundtrack?

-- I’m only a novice on the kayak. But even I could tell that Kenny Mayne was in trouble when they showed him floating out in McCovey Cove. Dude had so much gear on board – like his helmet cam -- that he was riding pretty low in the water. He looked like he was exceeding the kayak weight limit. Not that I’d know anything about that. I’m sure the smug people in canoes refused to wave to him.

-- All-Star jerseys are often ugly and easy to make fun of. But this year’s models are just brutal! Why do they show one bridge tower in the designs? I’m no architect or engineer, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a suspension bridge that hangs from one tower in the middle. Horrid! And this was the first year they made the players wear bad caps to go with the bad jerseys. Kudos to Vlad Guerrero for refusing to wear his.

-- I know some people like Chris Berman’s nicknames. But when he introduced Albert Pujols as Winnie-the-Pooh-jols, even my 10-year-old daughter looked over and made a face. “Why did he call him that?” she asked. I had no good answer. Some things just can’t be justified or explained.

-- Peter Gammons has to turn in his credentials as a journalist/Red Sox homer. I’m not saying I wanted to see him go all Jim Gray on Barry Bonds. But gee whiz. Don’t pretend to ask tough questions about steroids, then let him get away with comments like, “If people want to believe third-party statements” or something like that. Pretty weak. And then Bonds got loose with a line like “I don’t know what the commissioner does,” which was both lame and insulting, especially since the commissioner spends a lot of time cleaning up messes created by players like Bonds.

-- Thank goodness David Ortiz knows not to take this thing too seriously. Bringing out a special bat for Guerrero was the first sign of somebody actually having fun.

-- Prince Fielder knew it was supposed to be a home run competition, right? Watching him it, I thought his goal was to see if he could get the pre-teens roaming the outfield to trample each other chasing one of his weak-assed 10-bouncers.

-- Ryan Howard’s performance has to be the worst by a defending champion. And shame on him for not getting six homers and forcing us to add “swing off” to our lexicon!

-- What’s with all those glad-handers and free-loaders roaming the around the sidelines? What do they think it is, an NFL game? And who was that guy in the flea market air-brushed barber shop t-shirt running up to all the players?

-- Looks like the kayakers got bored and took off after the first round. How many balls even got wet? One? And it looked like people were standing there in the water. I didn’t realize McCovey Cove was only waist-deep.

-- I liked the ad with the guy getting all weepy talking about Aaron’s record-breaker and thinking about his Dad. I can’t imagine anybody feeling that way about Bonds when he breaks that record in the next couple weeks. But the All-Star Game ad with David Wright, Carlos Beltran and Jose Reyes on the cable car was the best.

-- Pretty anticlimactic final round. When Alex Rios ran out of gas and popped just two in the stands, was there anybody who didn’t know Guerrero had it wrapped up?

And so much for the pile o’ Buffalo wings of sporting events. Some fun moments, but a lot of work, zero nutritional value and the guilt of knowing that you probably should have been eating something else.

But on the bright side, David Wright’s second half won’t be ruined!

Tough times for Yanks? Take this quiz and find out!

A decade ago, Queen Elizabeth closed the year by recalling the assorted misdeeds of her children and their spouses and declared it an annis horribilis, which I believe is Latin for “crappy year.”

As the baseball season rolls into its mid-year celebration, we can only assume Yankees owner George Steinbrenner is preparing to make a similar declaration.

Not that that’s a bad thing.

I won’t say that we here at Mets Guy openly rejoice when the tormentors in the Bronx stumble on hard times. But we do take of note of them – to reflect upon on those days when Kaz Bleeping Matsui goes 5-for-5 against his former team.

Now it is your turn to show how much you’ve been paying attention. Here is your Mid-Year Yankee Turmoil Quiz, and we can only hope it becomes an annual event.

1) The Yankees have spent the last decade or so declaring centerfielder Bernie Williams to be the second coming of Joe DiMaggio. Williams, known as “The Classy Yankee, if there can be such a thing,” appeared to have lost a step or two or five in the last couple seasons. The Yankees:

A) Told Williams they always have a place for their legends and welcomed him back with open arms and allow him to leave the game on his own terms.
B) Announced plans for “Bernie Williams Day” where they would unveil his plaque for Memorial Park and retire No. 51.
C) Announced his return in a dramatic seventh-inning appearance, where homer/announcer Suzyn Waldman shrieked “BERNIE WILLIAMS IS IN GEORGE STEINBRENNER’S BOX!!!”
D) Informed their legend that he was welcome to report to spring training -- but only with a minor league contract as a non-roster invitee and no guaranteed spot on the team.

2) Yankee captain/hype machine Derek F. Jeter was mum last year when fans were riding star/rival Alex Rodriguez, and when Jeter’s leadership was questioned he said, "The only thing I'm not going to do is tell the fans what to do. ... I don't think it's my job to tell fans to boo or not to boo." ARod in spring training gathered reporters together to say:

A) He respects Jeter's quiet leadership.
B) He’s sure Jeter supports him, but has trouble showing it.
C) Thinks Jeter is absolutely as wonderful as Tom Verducci says he is. Every day.
D) Announced that he and Jeter are no longer friends but will get along on the field.

3) Losing to the rival Red Sox in the sweepstakes for Japanese sensation Daisuke Matsuzaka, the Yankees signed a Japanese pitcher of their own, Kei Igawa, to a 5-year, $20 million contract. Six weeks into the season, the Yankees:

A) Praised their scouts for plucking an unknown star from the Japan League.
B) Declared Igawa the team’s best signing since Carl Pavano
C) Shipped his greasy butt down to play for the Tampa Yankees for putrid performance, where Igawa became the highest-paid player in the history of Single-A baseball.

4) Back to ARod. Family man Mr. Rodriguez was captured by New York Post photographers in Totonto:

A) Stopping his limo by the side of the road to help an old lady change a flat tire, prompting the Post to declare him “Good SamRod.”
B) Stopping into Toronto Memorial Hospital to see if there was anyone in need of a kidney transplant because, gosh, he’s got two and Derek won’t be needing it, prompting the Post to declare him “SaintRod.”
C) Rushing to the Phanages Theater when he heard that both the lead and the understudy had called in sick, yelling “The show must go on!” and landing on stage just in time to sing “Music of the Night,” prompting the Post to declare him “Phantom of the OpRod.”
D) Appearing with a blonde who did not seem to be Mrs. Rodriguez entering an establishment where ladies seem to have a hard time staying dressed, prompting the Post to declare him “StrayRod.”

5) Slugger Jason Giambi, whose power numbers seem to decline after he lost a lot of weight and was the subject of leaked grand jury testimony in the infamous BALCO performance-enhancing drug case, decided to cleanse his soul to USA Today, where he said:

A) “I take full responsibility for my actions. I’m deeply sorry that I didn’t have more respect for the game and the fans."
B) "I don’t deserve the 7-year, $120 million contract the Yankees gave me because of my inflated statistics. I intend to use some of that money to help former players who have fallen on hard times and perhaps were squeezed from the game because they refused to use performance-enhancing drugs. And I will fully cooperate with Major League Baseball’s investigation into steroid use.”
C) "That stuff didn't help me hit home runs. I don't care what people say, nothing is going to give you that gift of hitting a baseball."

6) The Yankees lured Roger Clemens away from Houston with a $28 million contact and a strange announcement that as sullied the aforementioned Ms. Waldman’s reputation. “The Rocket” since returning:

A) Has generated nothing but warmth and compassion from fans in both Houston and Boston, the two teams with sentimental connections to Clemens.
B) Performed so well that the team doesn’t want to wait for his eventual retirement to add his plaque to Memorial Park in the spot once reserved for Bernie Williams.
C) Produced an unspectacular 2-3 record with a 4.26 ERA -- and a loss to the Mets -- becoming the most expensive middle-reliever ever and was ridiculed by people at the typically Yankee-loving Sports Illustrated by being branded one of the year’s “high-priced busts.”

7) Speaking of middle relievers, Scott Proctor decides to cleanse the team of its struggles by burning his equipment on the gravel near the field. Such equipment is often in demand from baseball card companies that slice it into pieces and attach them onto cards that are inserted into packs. In this case, card companies likely said:

A) What a shame. Yankee fans are denied a chance to own a slice of game-used memorabilia.
B) Too bad. Many teams auction game-used memorabilia and give the proceeds to charity.
C) Who is Scott Proctor?

8) Back to ARod again! Cynthia Rodriguez shows up in the section of the stands reserved for players’ wives, wear a shirt that says:
A) “I love Alex,” prompting the New York Post to declare him “Snuggle BunnyRod.”
B) “37 14 41 42” on the front and www.faithandfear.blogharbor.com on the back, prompting the Post to declare him “Well-ReadRod” and praising his wife for her fine taste in blogs and T-shirts.
C) “F--- You,” only without the dashes, apparently violating a Yankee Stadium policy about profanity, prompting the Post to declare him “F-Rod.”

Naturally, you realize that the final answer in each question is the correct one.

Wow. So it’s been a pretty eventual year in the Bronx. And the most beautiful thing? The season is only half-over!

In other words:

If you like funny baseball quizes, the friends at Yes, Joe. It's Toasted are the masters! Give them a read!

Congrats to Frank Thomas, a glorious non-Met

Frank Thomas is my favorite player never to wear a Mets uniform. So naturally I've been closely watching his march to 500 career home runs.

That milestone was obtained this afternoon against the Twins -- and without any of the suspicion that surrounds certain other sluggers.

Here's an early post about an encounter with Frank at Tiger Stadium. It's one of my favorite stories. Enjoy!

Of course, we mean no slight to the original Frank Thomas, a fine Met who held the team's home run record for years.

They built it, we came

I’m not a movie guy by any stretch. I go to the theater two or three times a year, and that’s typically to bring the kids to something they want to see.

So you wouldn’t think I’d be excited about checking out a movie set, much less one from a film shot nearly 20 years ago.

But I got weepy stepping on to the baseball field carved from the cornfields outside of Dyersville, Iowa last weekend.

“Field of Dreams” is more than brilliant. In my mind, it’s perfect.

I love the story, I love the cast, I love the music and I love the message. I don’t just get choked up watching the DVD, I get teary watching the special features.

It’s the rare movie that improves on the book, and W.P. Kinsella’s “Shoeless Joe” is excellent.

It’s not that I can relate totally to farmer Ray Kinsella, other than the love of baseball. My dad lives far away but we’re still close and he’s the first person I call for advice on anything and everything. And we always played catch.

I love how W.P. Kinsella weaves fact and fiction. A lot of people know that Archibald "Moonlight" Graham was a real player who played in one game and never got to bat.

But I only recently learned that all the things said about him in the movie, that he was a doctor who quietly made sure children had shoes and glasses, also was true. The obituary they read in the movie was the actual story that ran when he died. The only thing they fudged was the year he died.

And I love that when the younger Archie arrived at the field and saw the ghost players, he didn’t just find Hall of Famers, but Gil Hodges and Smoky Joe Wood, a pitcher who was fantastic until blowing out his arm.

My mother-in-law, who spoils me wildly, knows I feel this way about the movie and included a stop at the movie site as part of our adventures in Northeast Iowa with our extended family.

My football-loving brother-in-law watched the film for the first time just before the trip, and my 5-year-old nephew set the mood by whispering “If you build it, he will come” behind me throughout early legs of our trip.

Dyersville is about 25 miles outside of Dubuque, and the field is about three miles northeast of the small town. As we got close I could anticipate the turns in the road based on the trail of headlights in the final scene.


“Ray, people will come, Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway, not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. "Of course, we won't mind if you have a look around," you'll say. "It's only twenty dollars per person." They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it; for it is money they have and peace they lack.”


I had a lump in my throat when the white farmhouse came into view and we turned into the driveway.

Actually, we turned into the second driveway. There are two. The ballfield straddles two properties, and I’ve read that the neighbors don’t get along.

So the family that has the house and most of the field has a souvenir stand off to the side. And the family that owns left and centerfield operates a small store on the other side.

You’d think sensible people would be able to work this out. Not wanting to take sides, I bought things from both stands, including a vial of dirt from the field, proving I am a total sucker.

After posing for photos in the classic Faith and Fear in Flushing t-shirt, we ran out to the field. I stood in shallow centerfield turning slowly to absorb as much as I could.

It’s all there, like in the movie. The small set of bleachers, the backstop, the white house with the wraparound porch and hanging swing.

The only thing that struck me as being very different was that a utility wire hung low over the field. I don’t know if that was removed for the film or whether they just shot around it.

Another group of pilgrims was there, and a guy was lying on his back in centerfield moving like he was making snow angels. We all experience things in different ways.

My relatives said corn should be knee high by the Fourth of July This being Father’s Day, I knew it would be nowhere near as tall as in the movie. But we still marched the entire group out there for some photos.

Another visitor offered to snap a shot of our entire family on the bleachers, then took another one from a different angle as if we were looking out to the field. It was nice that other people were enjoying the adventure, too.

"Not everyone can see them."

“And they'll walk out to the bleachers, and sit in shirt-sleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game, and it'll be as if they'd dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick, they'll have to brush them away from their faces.”


We then recreated some of the scene’s from the movie. My daughter pretended to be Karen, the daughter who fell from the bleachers and was choking on her hot dog until Doc Graham crossed over.

"She'll be turning handsprings before you know it."

My 15-year-old reluctantly had to break out the “Hey Dad, Do you want to have a catch?” line.

We then had all sorts of fun throwing the ball around, hitting and running the bases. For some reason, first and second base were concrete and third was a traditional bag.

Being Father’s Day, I stepped on the mound and left a message for Dad with my cell phone.

We stocked up on t-shirts, bobble heads, mugs, post cards and other necessary items before heading back to Dubuque.

I’ve stood in centerfield at Tiger Stadium, Wrigley Field and Comerica Park, and wandered around foul territory at several other yards, including Shea.

And I realize that unlike those other cathedrals, no real baseball was ever played in Dyersville. But it was still special. In fact, it was…perfect.

"Hey rookie...you were good!"

“The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again. Ohhhhhhhh, people will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.”


In other words...

If you'd like to read our other adventures in Iowa, you can check out my work blog at Head of the Class. We also toured Galena, Ill. which stood in for Chisolm, Minn. in the movie.