Lord have mercy, it is Friday and a Holiday weekend. The kids are all coming home so that means a trip to the all important KROGER for provisions. I called Wifey and asked her what I needed to pick up—“just the essentials”, said she. “Text me thy list, oh wise one” said I.
Somewhere on Aisle 2, which is the aisle before the greatest aisle ever (the CEREAL aisle)—I received my text message.
Milk
Bread
Italian/French bread for French toast
Blueberries (French toast)
Grapes for Pootie
Eggs
Cereal
Dog TREATS!!
Even though I am a novice grocery shopper (I normally push the buggy), I immediately thought of a few items that qualified as “essential” so I amended my list accordingly.
Besides the items listed above, here are the items I brought home. To me it is a “no-brainer” and I am puzzled as to why Wifey wouldn’t have thought of these as quickly as I did. Bless her heart, I know she is busy at work today. Please note for all you civilians that it is written in proper US Government format.
Donuts, Powdered, bag, Entenmanns (Pottamus can’t steal these, they are paid for
Wafers, Vanilla (did I mention JoeFish loves these?)
Sammiches, Ice Cream, Chocolate Chip ( precisely-how could you NOT?)
Drink, Chocolate, Yoo Hoo, box, 10 each (for any child that may be here this weekend under the age of 5—just in case)
Drink Mix, Powdered, Ovaltine, (fat free/vitamin fortified) Chocolate, family size (we are a Family--duh! hello?)
*Cereal, Swetened Corn w/ Crunch Berries, Cap’n Crunch, 1 each
*Cereal, Swetened Peanut Butter flavor, Cap’n Crunch, 1 each
* (with Proofs of Purchase for the Retro T-shirt as I know Wifey will steal mine)
Pistol, Revolver, Western Style, Die cast metal, 1 each (to accompany Western movies on TV in the man cave)
Caps, Bang, 250 count per box, 3 boxes (remember, without ammo, its just an argument)
Sauce, Spaghetti, RAGU, traditional 1 each 48 oz. (I do realize that this was a complete emotional and impulse purchase- Wifey, please forgive me this once…)
So there you have it. I think my natural talent as a “quick responder” is obvious. Certainly my Wifey will appreciate this, as will the rest of my crew. I can’t wait until she gets home to also see that I even put all the groceries away!
But that’s me--Always thinking about someone else.
Speaking of someone else, looks like its time to go slop the hog!
Happy Labor Day, Y’all….
Friday, September 2, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Wee, Wee, Wee, Woe is Me.....(The conclusion and beginning)
I had stated my case. I had fought the good fight early on and had been supported by good folks who sided with me in my plight.
Namely, my buddy Major James "Jaydawg" McNair.
He said that in order for me to secure victory in this debate that I ”should bring home charcoal, lighter fluid, and some (insert favorite brand name here) bbq sauce and have it on the kitchen counter when she gets there..... And while you are at it, cut her off this weekend. After all YOU have half the money and.........."ALL pigs, regardless of size or color were place here by the very Jesus she tried to guilt you with for ONE reason.....consumption. Mans only got one BFF-- AKA D O G. Besides, pig poop stinks. You stand tall, warrior."
Words to live by. I lived by them until I got home......
And so it came to pass, that while we awaited word about the possible acquisition of Wilbur the pig, one of my Facebook friends posted a notice (and a photo) of a teeny tiny baby pot bellied pig that a farmer in Milledgeville had for sale (amongst an entire litter of baby pigs).
"What say ye", Sayeth Sue? "When Pigs fly", says I.
I had mentioned to Wifey that perhaps if she considered two other animals in the equation ( brownchickenbrowncow) I might be easier to persuade.
What she said can't be restated.
The family had already gone crazy about the pig--any pig--Amanda sent word "I want the pig", Lyndsay said "Has Mom picked the pig up yet?" and Joe weighing in from College telling his Mom "Don't mess the pig thing up, Mom".....not to mention 80% of Howard High Schools Sophomore class, of which Lyndsay is a member...(see the first installment for where I rate in all of this).
Sunday morning. We drive to the farm over in Milledgeville and purchase a baby pot bellied piglet of a pig. We stopped back at Wal-Mart and bought a baby blanket and baby bottle so we can feed the new pig milk until she is able to eat regular pig food.
Her name is ....."Begonia".
Good grief. One more female in my house.
Spanky, my male dog, and I are presently in the Man cave.
His look says it all.
Namely, my buddy Major James "Jaydawg" McNair.
He said that in order for me to secure victory in this debate that I ”should bring home charcoal, lighter fluid, and some (insert favorite brand name here) bbq sauce and have it on the kitchen counter when she gets there..... And while you are at it, cut her off this weekend. After all YOU have half the money and.........."ALL pigs, regardless of size or color were place here by the very Jesus she tried to guilt you with for ONE reason.....consumption. Mans only got one BFF-- AKA D O G. Besides, pig poop stinks. You stand tall, warrior."
Words to live by. I lived by them until I got home......
And so it came to pass, that while we awaited word about the possible acquisition of Wilbur the pig, one of my Facebook friends posted a notice (and a photo) of a teeny tiny baby pot bellied pig that a farmer in Milledgeville had for sale (amongst an entire litter of baby pigs).
"What say ye", Sayeth Sue? "When Pigs fly", says I.
I had mentioned to Wifey that perhaps if she considered two other animals in the equation ( brownchickenbrowncow) I might be easier to persuade.
What she said can't be restated.
The family had already gone crazy about the pig--any pig--Amanda sent word "I want the pig", Lyndsay said "Has Mom picked the pig up yet?" and Joe weighing in from College telling his Mom "Don't mess the pig thing up, Mom".....not to mention 80% of Howard High Schools Sophomore class, of which Lyndsay is a member...(see the first installment for where I rate in all of this).
Sunday morning. We drive to the farm over in Milledgeville and purchase a baby pot bellied piglet of a pig. We stopped back at Wal-Mart and bought a baby blanket and baby bottle so we can feed the new pig milk until she is able to eat regular pig food.
Her name is ....."Begonia".
Good grief. One more female in my house.
Spanky, my male dog, and I are presently in the Man cave.
His look says it all.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Wee, Wee, Wee, all the way HOME?
ME:I got news for you..We shall call him SUPPER if you think we are getting a dang pig..
SHE: Him needs a home.
We have lots o land.
He is adorable. I want him
I always get what I want.
ME: NO! (as if...)
And I mean it like I ain't ever meant NO before.
SHE: NO means yes... isn't that what you always say?
ME: That only applies to Sex.
Not for pigs.
knucklehead---I'm mad with you--you have lost your mind- have you changed your tobacco habit for cannabis?
SHE: Why would you be mad at me?
How would a little miniature pig be a detriment to your life?
ME: Not less than 2 weeks ago both you and the Booger (Amanda) were about to have a s**t hemorrhage about Pottamus keeping the turtle, yet you turn around and somehow between bong tokes you have had your compassionate heart melted by a pig that needs adopting?
Do you not know what pigs would do to your yard?
Do you not understand we aren't ABOUT to have livestock or anything else that requires a "pen" out at our house?
Do you not understand that you have three worthless dogs already, 2 of whom aren't housebroken?
Do you NOT understand that pork is the OTHER white meat?
No, ma'am, a little pig, in and of itself, would not be a detriment to my life. However, a wife, evidently one who has started smoking crack, would be. She would also have hell to pay if she brought a young piglet to Beaver Oaks. Step away from the crack pipe, Ma'am.
SHE:
1. I didn't say anything about the turtle other than keeping a 9" turtle in an aquarium 1 foot by 3 foot was borderline abuse.
2. It’s not pigs it is WILBUR. And what it would do to what yard? I ain't putting him in the front yard. He will have a pen. He can tear up everything he wants in his pen. (JUST THINK... THAT MUCH LESS YOU HAVE TO CUT.)
3. It’s not LIVESTOCK. It’s Fisherstock and his name is WILBUR. Would you turn away Jesus if he came to you looking for a place to stay?
4. A pen, that YOU will build with your own hands from your heart.
5. The other white meat?? Did you not see the picture? he is of multi-ethnicity. Black and White. Ebony and Ivory. Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson. It’s what America is founded on.
You are delusional. I am not smoking crack. I want to spread love. You know like Sarah McLachlan sings about.
ME: Go get one of your urinalysis kits and test yourself for being positive for whatever the h--- it is you are smoking.You are delusional, impractical, fanatical, maniacal, and at this point, must have peed your pants; because if you think for one solitary nanosecond that we are adopting a swine pork pig, aka " Sus scrofa domesticus" then you are mistaken, aka "fullimus excrementus"...............
SHE: Whatever. Again, I didn't ask permission.
There is nothing wrong with having a pet pig.
And Pootie would LOVE it!
ME: There you go invoking the "P" word...
Pigs have been known to attack people. (this fact from being attacked myself Memorial day weekend, 2000)
SHE: They attack people who look at them like barbecue.
WILBUR is sweet. He just hangs out. Eats dog food.
I don't need your permission.
ME: No, and there's a lot of other things you don't need… (in one final act of defiance)
Bring that d--- pig home and you're going to find out what those are too.
WHAT WILL HAPPEN…….WILL LA CASA de PESCADOR become CASA de VIVR CERDOS, or WORSE? Will George stock up on Charcoal and barbeque sauce on the way home from work?
Stay tuned for tomorrows exciting installment….
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
As it happens, we were in the Man cave watching the movie Batman and Robin when I heard Wifey sniffing. She was crying.“Is the movie that bad? I inquired.
“Joe”, was her only reply.
Joe heads off for College tomorrow. It’s hard enough on me as it is but now that my “tough as nails” Wifey has turned into a basket case I have no option but to “Man up” about the whole thing. She has certainly earned the privilege to be a basket case just by being married to me, but especially at this particular junction.
This is, after all, her Joe.
“Joey”, as she calls him. She is the only one on the planet that calls him Joey. Her Joey.
Of course he has been my source of male companionship for quite some time. As a bonus, he’s the only other male member of our house that is housebroken.
Yes, here we are, like so many of our kind, about to kick another one from the nest.
For Joe—well, it was just the other day he was waiting for me in the yard (with glove, bat and ball) to arrive from work so we could play ball. And, too, he just got the tubes in his ears from all those ear infections he has had—he has been coughing and had the “snots” since Thanksgiving, for crying out loud. No doubt having picked it up from some other kid at Kindergarten…..wait---was that really that long ago? Tempis fugit, as they say in Latin. That means “time flies”. We have the same saying here in Georgia-“just damn”---roughly translated it means “Lordhavemercywhereinheavensnamedidthetimego?”
Lets see, now….there is Joe the infant, his Mom the only soul who could soothe his lactose intolerant self. Then Joe the infant, part 2, who liked to throw up on his Dads shirts. There’s Joe the infant, part 3, whose first words were “Ball”. There’s Joe the medical patient, taking his Tony the Tiger baseball into the operating room to get those ear tubes. Joe the kid whose Christmas was made perfect from the cowboy boots. Joe the Batman, Joe the Robin, Joe the regular Joe. But always Joey to his Mom. Joe the worldly old man, sitting in the barber chair getting his first haircut and acting like he had done it his entire life. Joe the Hunter, who first came running thru the door with two freshly assassinated squirrels and a few years later a deer. “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll provide”, he said. Joe the Fisherman, who spent most of his fishing time with Dad fixing the “birds nest” from those infernal bass reels. And forever Joe the ball player, my personal favorite since 1996.
Joe the middle schooler, Joe the Guitar player, and Dapper Joe in his Prom Tux.
The one I recall the most is “GI Joe”, the little boy who ran back down the escalator to tell his Soldier Dad bye one last time before he left for war. I waited at the escalator, only to grab him up and put him back in the arms of his Momma. I promised I would never make my boy or myself cry like that again.
It’s August, 2011. There’s another Joe about to bloom. Joe the College kid. Good luck, buddy.
I will be waiting for you at the escalator.
Love,
Dad
Saturday, May 7, 2011
A SENIOR MOMENT
There’s no crying in baseball.
Tom Hanks said it in that movie, and every Dad has told his ball playing son that a million times.
Play hard. Play Hurt. Play your guts out. Most of all, Play ball. Play ball until you can’t play it anymore.
Base Ball, people will most definitely come, point to the fence, don’t step on the chalk , bring it, take two, lets play two, infield fly rule, pickle, resin bag, pine tar, and even the most feared piece of gear known to sportdom, the jockstrap.
For three years solid the Howard Huskies ball team has occupied a high priority in these young men and their parents. For some of us, the ties that bind take us back to when our boys were 7-8 years old, playing recreational ball. We have seen each others boys grow into fine young men and they have become our other surrogate children in the process—OUR boys.
For three years us Parents had quite the time of it, cheering, jeering, using our “bad words” from time to time, loving “blue”, hating “blue”, wanting to burn “blue” in effigy, driving all over the state, dining on concession stand fare, even second, third and fourth guessing the Coach—but ever supporting our boys. We rocked with Mr. Finklesteins’ between inning and walk out music, and heard Kerrell Goolsbys’ colorful play by play commentary….
Our Boys… Stewart “Stewie” Bowers, Brandon “B-leigh” Leigh, Matthew “Fitzy” Fitzgibbons, Kyle “KK” Kelley, Mike “Big Mike” Atkinson, and my one and only Joe “Joefish” Fisher.
And so it came to pass on that wonderful spring night at the Huskies “home field” (one day maybe), our boys--- the six seniors of the original Howard Huskies—played their last baseball game together.
We lost two out of three. And it still sucks to lose.
It matters not. They had played their guts out and that’s what matters. They were a unified group of kids that had a common goal, and that’s what matters. They backed each other up, cheered each other on, and took it like men when the end came.
But there’s no crying in baseball.
And we never saw it coming.
Perhaps it was the Coaches post game huddle. Perhaps it was Fitzy who started it all. Then Stewart. Then Joe. Followed quickly by Mike and B-Leigh-- Kyle would be next. However or whoever, it doesn’t matter. It snuck up on everyone. It was the bottom of the ninth for High school Baseball for the Original Huskies.
Our boys.
They remained on the field. The field where they spent the last three years playing together. Now they hugged and cried together.
They were having their senior moment. The entire team huddled on the field. The Seniors gave their parting guidance to the underclassmen, had some more laughs, tears, and hugs, all the while remaining on the field. Coach came out and said “The Seniors are having a moment with the rest of the team; they’ll be through in a few minutes.” That was ok by me—if they wanted to stay all night I was fine with it. At that moment I would have taken every one of em for a beer.
On the other side of the fence, the Parents saw this and spoke in whispers in much the same manner as when we go to funerals to mourn the death of someone.
Reverence.
Some of us Dads went to the dugout gate to receive our boys. One by one they came out and the same thing that happened on the field happened in the arms of Dads and Moms.
Then we had our Senior moment. I broke the rules. I cried in Baseball. That makes me a hypocrite. I’m not the only one, thank goodness.
It was the end of an era. A turning point for all of us. A bittersweet night as these fine young men realize the end of what has been a part of their life for a decade and a half.
For us Dads, we were losing our youth for the second time. We had been reliving it thru our boys all these years. Not only were our sons baseball days were coming to an end but the sobering realization that there wasn’t a damn thing we could do about it. It hurt. It hurt a lot. It still hurts. It hurts too much to cuss and I’m too old to cry.
But then again, there’s no crying in baseball.
Tom Hanks said it in that movie, and every Dad has told his ball playing son that a million times.
Play hard. Play Hurt. Play your guts out. Most of all, Play ball. Play ball until you can’t play it anymore.
Base Ball, people will most definitely come, point to the fence, don’t step on the chalk , bring it, take two, lets play two, infield fly rule, pickle, resin bag, pine tar, and even the most feared piece of gear known to sportdom, the jockstrap.
For three years solid the Howard Huskies ball team has occupied a high priority in these young men and their parents. For some of us, the ties that bind take us back to when our boys were 7-8 years old, playing recreational ball. We have seen each others boys grow into fine young men and they have become our other surrogate children in the process—OUR boys.
For three years us Parents had quite the time of it, cheering, jeering, using our “bad words” from time to time, loving “blue”, hating “blue”, wanting to burn “blue” in effigy, driving all over the state, dining on concession stand fare, even second, third and fourth guessing the Coach—but ever supporting our boys. We rocked with Mr. Finklesteins’ between inning and walk out music, and heard Kerrell Goolsbys’ colorful play by play commentary….
Our Boys… Stewart “Stewie” Bowers, Brandon “B-leigh” Leigh, Matthew “Fitzy” Fitzgibbons, Kyle “KK” Kelley, Mike “Big Mike” Atkinson, and my one and only Joe “Joefish” Fisher.
And so it came to pass on that wonderful spring night at the Huskies “home field” (one day maybe), our boys--- the six seniors of the original Howard Huskies—played their last baseball game together.
We lost two out of three. And it still sucks to lose.
It matters not. They had played their guts out and that’s what matters. They were a unified group of kids that had a common goal, and that’s what matters. They backed each other up, cheered each other on, and took it like men when the end came.
But there’s no crying in baseball.
And we never saw it coming.
Perhaps it was the Coaches post game huddle. Perhaps it was Fitzy who started it all. Then Stewart. Then Joe. Followed quickly by Mike and B-Leigh-- Kyle would be next. However or whoever, it doesn’t matter. It snuck up on everyone. It was the bottom of the ninth for High school Baseball for the Original Huskies.
Our boys.
They remained on the field. The field where they spent the last three years playing together. Now they hugged and cried together.
They were having their senior moment. The entire team huddled on the field. The Seniors gave their parting guidance to the underclassmen, had some more laughs, tears, and hugs, all the while remaining on the field. Coach came out and said “The Seniors are having a moment with the rest of the team; they’ll be through in a few minutes.” That was ok by me—if they wanted to stay all night I was fine with it. At that moment I would have taken every one of em for a beer.
On the other side of the fence, the Parents saw this and spoke in whispers in much the same manner as when we go to funerals to mourn the death of someone.
Reverence.
Some of us Dads went to the dugout gate to receive our boys. One by one they came out and the same thing that happened on the field happened in the arms of Dads and Moms.
Then we had our Senior moment. I broke the rules. I cried in Baseball. That makes me a hypocrite. I’m not the only one, thank goodness.
It was the end of an era. A turning point for all of us. A bittersweet night as these fine young men realize the end of what has been a part of their life for a decade and a half.
For us Dads, we were losing our youth for the second time. We had been reliving it thru our boys all these years. Not only were our sons baseball days were coming to an end but the sobering realization that there wasn’t a damn thing we could do about it. It hurt. It hurt a lot. It still hurts. It hurts too much to cuss and I’m too old to cry.
But then again, there’s no crying in baseball.
Monday, March 21, 2011
POTTAMUS SAYS, PART II
Pootie said : mama what time is it? Me: time for you to get a watch Bud!
Pootie: no really mom! Me: it's 0830. Pootie: alright it is time to go to
George's house then.
Pootie said if I don't stop being mean to him then he is going home....to
George's house.
Pottamus says: (on being reminded to share his toys with the little girl
Amanda watches during the day) "I AM sharing them, Mama--I'm sharing them
with MYSELF!"
Pootie: Mama, my eye is bothering me.
Me: well what's wrong with it?
Pootie: it keeps watering
Me: Let me see it, are you OK?
Pootie: Yea, it's because I was crying for Tah.
(In the parking lot at Applebees Pootie and me both crying....here's the text
a few minutes later between Amanda and me).
Tah: Pootie ok now?
Boogs: hes better, he keeps saying its all gunna be ok.. bless his heart he
loves tah-
Tah: Tah is a big fat crybaby..
He loves his pottamus though.
Boogs: we just pulled in the kmart parkin lot ; daniel said cmon buddy lets
go shoppin.pootie said i like shoppin but i love george....
Daniel was dancing & being silly and Itold Pootie his Daddy was nuts. Pootie
said "yea, im gunna kick him in the nuts."
Pootie was eating his dinner; he said-
"Mama are you proud of me for eating
my food?"
Me: "yes I am, you did a good job!"
Pootie: "Does it make your heart happy?"
Me: "My heart happy?? Well yes it does!"
Pootie: "gimme a hug mama!"
...Best hug in the world....; then he says "My biceps are getting bigger."
Pootie is watching twilight ; he said "whew! those 'wolfus' (wolves) are
fat!"
.. last night I tried to get him to eat squash and he held the fork to his
mouth and looked at me and said "are you sure about this?"
Pootie says mommy I don't feel good, I think I'm sick. so I asked him what was
wrong; he said "my tummy is hurting, I think it needs chocolate milk."
Pottamus: "Want a tissue?"
Tah: "No thanks, pal."
Pottamus: "You got snots?"
Tah: "No buddy, I don't."
Pottamus: (Blows nose in tissue-then hands it to me)
"Here go-I don't want it anymore"
I caught pootie dozing off; i asked him if he was ready for bed and he said
no. I then asked him if he wanted to go lay down he said no. A few minutes
later he said "mama are you tired?" i said "yea." He said "Well do you wanna go
chill out & watch the grinch with our shoes off?"
Pootie to Tah on the phone:
"Are you in the Army?"
Tah: "Yes I am, Pottamus...what are you in? The Army or Marine Corps"?
(Pause)....
Pootie: no really mom! Me: it's 0830. Pootie: alright it is time to go to
George's house then.
Pootie said if I don't stop being mean to him then he is going home....to
George's house.
Pottamus says: (on being reminded to share his toys with the little girl
Amanda watches during the day) "I AM sharing them, Mama--I'm sharing them
with MYSELF!"
Pootie: Mama, my eye is bothering me.
Me: well what's wrong with it?
Pootie: it keeps watering
Me: Let me see it, are you OK?
Pootie: Yea, it's because I was crying for Tah.
(In the parking lot at Applebees Pootie and me both crying....here's the text
a few minutes later between Amanda and me).
Tah: Pootie ok now?
Boogs: hes better, he keeps saying its all gunna be ok.. bless his heart he
loves tah-
Tah: Tah is a big fat crybaby..
He loves his pottamus though.
Boogs: we just pulled in the kmart parkin lot ; daniel said cmon buddy lets
go shoppin.pootie said i like shoppin but i love george....
Daniel was dancing & being silly and Itold Pootie his Daddy was nuts. Pootie
said "yea, im gunna kick him in the nuts."
Pootie was eating his dinner; he said-
"Mama are you proud of me for eating
my food?"
Me: "yes I am, you did a good job!"
Pootie: "Does it make your heart happy?"
Me: "My heart happy?? Well yes it does!"
Pootie: "gimme a hug mama!"
...Best hug in the world....; then he says "My biceps are getting bigger."
Pootie is watching twilight ; he said "whew! those 'wolfus' (wolves) are
fat!"
.. last night I tried to get him to eat squash and he held the fork to his
mouth and looked at me and said "are you sure about this?"
Pootie says mommy I don't feel good, I think I'm sick. so I asked him what was
wrong; he said "my tummy is hurting, I think it needs chocolate milk."
Pottamus: "Want a tissue?"
Tah: "No thanks, pal."
Pottamus: "You got snots?"
Tah: "No buddy, I don't."
Pottamus: (Blows nose in tissue-then hands it to me)
"Here go-I don't want it anymore"
I caught pootie dozing off; i asked him if he was ready for bed and he said
no. I then asked him if he wanted to go lay down he said no. A few minutes
later he said "mama are you tired?" i said "yea." He said "Well do you wanna go
chill out & watch the grinch with our shoes off?"
Pootie to Tah on the phone:
"Are you in the Army?"
Tah: "Yes I am, Pottamus...what are you in? The Army or Marine Corps"?
(Pause)....
I'm in the house..."
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Field of Dreams, Macon, Georgia Style….
Yes, I arrived there nearly 3 hours early. Yes, I “adjusted” my itinerary so I could make it back in time. Yes, it was selfish, self centered, but maybe in a few minutes you will understand why.
But first, I need to digress.
Our next door neighbor was a former minor league ball player named Jack Gilbert. Mr. Jack had once played ball at Luther Williams field for the Macon Peaches. His son Ronnie was 4 years older than me but invited me into his backyard at the age of about 4 to play baseball. I was immediately hooked even if I didn’t have a glove, a problem rectified by Santa Claus the following Christmas. In my tutelage as an up and coming major leaguer (I was to be the left handed version of Phil Niekro), it was a common occurrence that “Mr. Jack” would arrive home from work only to be handed a ball and bat and “coerced” to hit pepper to us kids. The pepper game would go on until an uncontrollable force of nature (supper or sunset) caused its end.
Let me digress further.
Luther Williams Field (named after the Mayor at the time, circa 1929), is hallowed ground for the baseball enthusiast, and in the summer of 1968 it was no different. It became-- in my mind anyway-- THE place where my “love of baseball roots” are planted. Mr. Jack played there. Ronnie was the son of Mr. Jack and introduced me to the game which was then enhanced on a daily basis with the aforementioned pepper game. Easy math.
***************************
One Day I would get married and have a son and hope he would love baseball as much as I did--and perhaps he would get a chance to play baseball in Luther Williams Field in my hometown on a beautiful spring night with a full moon and it would be Norman Rockwellesque…
***************************
Someone did the right thing and scheduled 3 of the Howard Huskies ball games at this grand historic venue. The second oldest minor league ballpark in the nation. Where my next door neighbor and Macon Peach Jack Gilbert, as well as some others— Henry Aaron, Pete Rose, Tony Perez, Chipper Jones--and even a barnstorming guy named George Herman Ruth.
****************************
I have a photograph. It is of little Joe Fisher, my son, AKA “Mans Best Friend” when he played youth ball. He is maybe 8 years old. Our team was the one that got to go on the field with the “then and since moved to Rome, Georgia” Macon Braves. Little Joe is standing on the field next to the "Real" Macon Brave. He tells me years later that he thought he would get to actually play that night rather than to just run out on the field and hear the Star Spangled Banner. Regardless, on that hot summer night all those years ago a Dad saw his son run out onto the field and thought it was awesome. Maybe one day the prophecy would be fulfilled.
*****************************
Little Joe Fisher is now big Joe Fisher, sometimes referred to as “JoeFish” by his teammates and Coaches. His Mother and sisters are the only human beings in the universe that call him “Joey”. I have always thought the name “Joe” is a good baseball player name.
****************************
The Howard Huskies play Jones County in about an hour. I have walked around the ball park taking photographs, inhaling as much ambience as I can and to get my “baseball on”. It matters not who wins the game. I just want to watch the kids play. The other parents feel the same way. The sky is blue, the weather is better than perfect.
My son and his teammates are about to play BASE BALL in Luther Williams Field.
Babe. Hank. Chipper. And now a kid with a good baseball name-- Joe.
Yes, I'm about to pee my britches.
Huskies outpace Greyhounds 3-2
By Kerrell Goolsby
"In the first meeting between Howard and Jones County, it was a one-sided affair that favored the Greyhounds 11-3 March 1st in Gray. Fast forward to St. Patricks Day in Macon at Luther Williams Field and the Huskies held Jones County in check offensively and got the go-ahead and winning run on a fielding error by third baseman Eric Coleman to take a 3-2 win Thursday evening.
Brandon Spivey of Jones County (5-3, 2-1 in Region 3A-AAAA) took the complete game loss, going 6 1/2 innings with eight strikeouts and a pair of walks. Howard's Brandon Leigh took the complete game win, giving up only one earned run in the contest.
The Greyhounds took a 2-0 lead in the fourth on a single by Coleman, who drove in Sam Kent with one out in the frame. Jones would add their second and final run of the game when Coleman scored on a Dylan Holmes error. A double by Holmes scored Matthew Fitzgibbons in the bottom of the inning after Fitzgibbbons reached on a double with one out in the fourth. Howard would tie the score in the bottom of the fifth on a pair of singles by Joe Fisher and Davey King and a sac fly by Matt Mahoney.
Howard managed to hold Jones County in check in the seventh inning after the Greyhounds had a scoring threat in their half of the frame when Fisher reached on a single with one out. After King struck out, Atkinson singled Fisher over to second and Mahoney's grounder to third was mishandled, allowing the winning run to cross the plate.
Fisher led all Husky hitters, going 3 for 4 with a pair of runs scored. Fitzgibbons went 2 for 3 with a run scored while Holmes was also 2 for 3 with an RBI. Kent was Jones County's top hitter, going 3 for 3 with a run scored....."
********************
At home, Joe came up and we went over the game like we have done a hundred times previous-- I told him it looked like he went out on the field like he had been playing on it his whole life. “Dad, I told Coach Slaughter, I’m so FREAKED out I have goose bumps!”, and Coach said “I do too.” Then Joe said “I saw his arm, Dad-- he really did!”
To cap off one hellaciously wonderful night, I posted my Facebook status before I went to bed:
Dear Joe;
Great time tonight buddy. I've been waiting since you were born to watch you play ball in that park--it was everything it was supposed to be..hope you boys enjoyed it as much as your parents did
Love, Dad
Before I placed the Blackberry on the nightstand, I just “happened” to check Joes’ Facebook status—this is what I found:
“Luther Williams-- no words can describe the feeling or the mood the park lays upon you as you walk on to the field.”
Joe, you said it better than I ever could.
********************************
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
