I got a buddy, eh ...

I don’t care much for self-proclaimed experts.

For all that I have met, there is one guy who sits at the top of my list.

When I was a younger man, still living in London, I played on a fastpitch softball team with some friends and we were a pretty good team.

The guy who coached us was a bum of sorts. And we dismissed him and usually coached our team by committee. If we all agreed we did it. And this guy would always say that it was his leadership that brought us to our conclusion.

Anytime this bum needed to sound authoritative on any subject, he would always preface his next statement by saying “I got a buddy eh, …” and he would go on to tell us what this expert buddy told him.

And for every subject there seemed to be a different buddy.

This guy was not so likeable that he would have that many buddies. Or that they would all be so incredibly knowledgeable, and more so to be so generous with their knowledge to share it with this bum of a coach guy.

It drove me nuts, and the tripe that spewed  out of his mouth after declaring his buddy status was usually quite useless.

So I have never really held much credence to those who start to impose their wisdoms with the sentence “I got a buddy, eh …”

Until now, because you see …

I got a buddy, eh …  a fellow I work with who over the last two years who is a coach of a much older team than my girls play on. His daughter plays on this team and he has always described her as very good. And we would talk about softball, usually with me asking questions and he giving answers. His answers have always been very good ones.

One day this spring I was telling him about our upcoming trip to a tournament in Toledo. Let me first say that the level of play in Toledo is fantastic, with clubs that that recruit players from up to a hundred miles away. Their coaches are paid instructors – not the volunteer parents and neighbors our leagues here offer. Not coaches like me, who try to work with the basic knowledge of a fan.

So I was telling him about our Toledo trip and he told me to try to get the girls ready to be beaten badly – mercied  if you will –  every game.  Then he told me “spend the remaining part of your time teaching your girls how to defend against the bunt. These teams will test you early, and if you can’t make the right plays, they will spend the whole game simply bunting on you and taking your defense apart.  Train them every scenario with runners in every combination – runner on first. Runner on third, runner on first and third – bunting up and down the first and third baselines – teach them all of those until they know it cold.”

So I shared this knowledge with our team manager, but I prefaced it by saying “I don’t know what level of authority this is coming from … but here is what he told me …”

Our next practice was devoted entirely to bunting – just as my buddy Len had suggested. And it paid off. While we did get beaten badly every game - losing by ten runs easily as we entered the third inning of each – the other teams only tried bunting on us once or twice, maybe three times a game, and our girls handled most well enough that the other teams just resorted to hitting home runs and line drives to every open spot they could find on the field. And when batting, we only had one base runner that entire tournament.

The next week, when I saw Len, he asked how we made out. I told him how humbling the experience was, but that his advice about bunting was great advice that worked, and even though we got completely annihilated, it wasn’t because they bunted us to death,

Our second tournament in Toledo we won a game from a Toledo team, and played close in a couple others, but annihilated by the best teams.

He smiled and told me that was great progress.

This week, I ran into Len in the hallway again, and he told me with beaming pride about how his team actually won that weekend’s tournament in Toledo.

“Really?!, That’s fantastic!”, I said.

“Yes, but we have a lot to work on still he replied”.

That struck me.

Thursday, our coach mentioned that we were going to have one of the other clubs coaches come to one of our practices. I was curious, so I looked at the other clubs website to find out about this other coach. As I was weaving my way through the teams on their site, I tripped over their under 18 girls team. And there was my buddy Len as the coach.

And below in the list of players – his daughters name was listed. And above that list there was another list of accomplishments.

Ontario Provincial Woman’s Softball Association Silver Medalists

Len’s daughter was listed as the PWSA Top Batter from two seasons before, and the PWSA  most valuable player last year.

And I realized the true quality of advice that I was getting.

And I felt kind of silly in my boasting of my own two girls, who are both doing very well and I am very proud of, but not anything like Len’s daughter.  We are truly just beginning.

All of Len’s advice had been excellent advice, and I did take and followed it when given. But I did not realize the level of authority that my buddy held when he told me.

But now I have this conflict. I really don’t want to sound like that bum of a coach that we all dismissed on that team from long ago.

But I’m afraid I probably will now.

I can just hear me during our next practice, standing at the fence with the coaches, and saying ….

“I got a buddy, eh …”

Spring Cleaning

Spring indeed has sprung.

And this year, spring has inspired a little change in me.

Perhaps when you popped on this morning, you thought to yourself "hey … I'm in the wrong place? This doesn't look like head stuffing?"

It is indeed.

Welcome to the new look of head stuffing.

The old look was just getting … well … old.

Call it spring cleaning.

Call it not being satisfied with a layout that worked.

Call it the result of a masterful three years of procrastinating exalted to a new high.

Call it whatever you think appropriate.

But this new layout gives me the opportunity to do more with head stuffing as time goes on.

Like show off the friends of head stuffing a little better. You can get your facebook picture in there too if you like. Just become of a friend or fan of head stuffing on facebook by clicking the link at the top of the fan box.

Like show off my tweets on twitter a little clearer further down the right side.

Like spread things out a little neater.

Like making things a little bigger, and easier to read.

I am getting older you know.

But the tools are the same. They still work the same.

The archive tree on the left still unfolds by clicking the little arrows beside the month and year.

The links on the right still get you to Pat Caputo's best Detroit Sports Blog – and Open Book, and Ian Aspin's ReallyGoodThinking.

And all the old stories are still here.

But now it's just easier to see.

And hopefully easier to read.

But I did change the logo. Believe it or not, I have had this new version of the logo that you see above sitting in my clip art for the last two years.

It just never fit the old layout of head stuffing.

So what's next?

Well, as you can see across the top and bottom of the page, there are now links to let you jump quickly to my other two writing venues – Detroit Tiger Outsider and ProjecTalk. Currently these are completely separate blog venues – but I hope one day to make them tabs within head stuffing.

As well, there is a book I am working on. And for the last while, I have been very tempted to post excerpts of it here on head stuffing – just to get some feedback.

But that idea is a little more risky.

I might get my feelings hurt.

Who knows – as the internet is changing as fast as the movies in the theatre – head stuffing just might go 3D – Real 3D.

The hard part will be getting you the glasses before you get to the web page.

Who in their right mind wouldn't want to sit on my back veranda by the pool with me and my faithful black lab Suzy and read the latest head stuffing post with a warm cup of coffee and watch Suzy chase down Fluffy the rogue squirrel.

Okay, that one might be a ways off.

But odder things have come to fruition.

Spring is indeed a time for change.

And head stuffing really needed some change.

So we opened up the windows and the doors – and we left the stagnant old layout blow out with the rest of the dust and stale air.

And as a result, we have a squeaky clean new place to hang out.

I really hope you like it.

And thanks again so much for coming by.

Since you're here, could you grab me another cup of coffee … and maybe a dog-treat for Suzy?

Baseball and Cricket - Both Are Confusing

This morning before work, before the girls got up and things got hectic, I was sipping a coffee and reading the sports page of the Windsor Star.

A little side bar item caught my eye. It seems that England beat Sri Lanka in a single day Cricket match.

I read further.

“Sri Lanka were floundering at 24 for three after 12 overs by the time Stuart Broad came into the attack. They rebuilt, slowly and cagily, through a 126-run stand between Kumar Sangakkara and Chamara Silva. But on a day of punishing heat and humidity, both men were gasping by the time they passed 60, and Broad was able to bounce them out in consecutive overs.”

“I wonder what that means?” I thought to myself. “It sounds like England won?”

What an odd game.

Then I remembered a few weeks back, while our Satellite provider gave us a free preview of a European all sports network – watch a hurling match from Dublin, Ireland. And that was as confusing. I could appreciate the skills of the players catching what looked like a baseball on the end of what looked like a spatula on a bat, flip it up and hit what would be a baseball line drive – only as a pass to another player who caught it on his spatula and batted through some uprights for points – while below a goalkeeper tended the nets.

And I thought “What an odd game. It looks like Harry Potter’s Quiddich – without the brooms or golden snitch.”

Then I remembered when the Irish came to Windsor for a visit.

Our two very great dear friends, Ray and Shell, flew to Canada for a vacation, and in the duration of their stay, spent two of their weeks with us.

On their second full day with us, we took them across the river to see a Major League Baseball Game. The Detroit Tigers played the Arizona Diamond Backs.

This was in June of 2004. The Tigers were not great.

This was our way to introduce Ray and Shell to North America.

A baseball game.

Hotdogs.

Warm beer in large plastic cups.

Vendors tossing peanuts at you behind their back.

You know, baseball.

Ray has a strong Irish lilt to his speech. And it took my North American ear a few days to tune into it. And neither Ray nor Shell had ever seen baseball. Oh, they knew the New York Yankees symbol, as the hats and jersey’s are big-sellers world wide. But they had never seen a baseball game.

I tried, over the roar of the crowd, to explain.

“The pitcher throws the ball and the batter tries to hit it.” I started.

The batter swung for strike one.

“He’s not very good, the batter, is he?” observed Ray.

I then tried to explain how they hit the ball and go to first, then second, then third. And they score a run when they get home.

“Like Rounders?” asked Ray.

“I don’t know”, I said. “I guess so.”

The game went on, and a home run was hit. I explained the home run.

“ahh I see … “ said Ray, who thought better now to enjoy the experience and see that the rules or the game were inconsequential. Insignificant. Why spoil the day trying to learn all this rubbish?

But I kept on, naïve as I often can be.

And Ray was great. He patiently listened to me explain, and said things like “I see”, and “right”. And he smiled and enjoyed the day in spite of my educational insistences.

Meanwhile Shell was gabbing away to Darlene about the great stuff in the gift shops. They were both on the same level of understanding. In fact they bought matching bracelets that you hook in little bobbles and mementos on.

In the bottom of the ninth, the Tigers were down 3-1. The bases loaded, and Carlos Penia knocked the ball into the right field bleachers for a walk-off grand slam. It flew right over top of us. And I stood up and raised my arms up and screamed “YEAH!!!!!!” – and Ray was clapping and waving his fist.

“By jove, I think he’s got it.” I thought.

And the game was over.

So as I sat and read the article about the English Cricket team beating Sri-Lanka – all I could think of was Ray – putting up with my explanations, and enjoying the game.

I have a dream that one day my family can go to Ireland for a visit with Ray and Shell. I pray one day I can make it come true. And if we do, besides playing a lot of golf (Ray is an excellent golfer), I hope to see some sports there.

I am a big soccer – er – I mean football fan. I would love to go sing in the stands at a Manchester United match, I would also want to see hurling, and cricket – if the Irish indulge or not I don’t know.

And if we did, I would let Ray know that no explanation is necessary, I will just drink the beer, eat some food, and sing and yell when everyone else does.

Although he may want to get me back for the baseball game.

The Summers in Lawrenceville Georgia

What a beautiful day it is today.

It is the first day of September, but you would not know it by stepping out on our back deck.

The sky is pure blue. The sun is working its way across the morning sky. Soon it will be above the pool and we can go swimming.

But September is here.

On Tuesday, Alannah will start first grade at her new school. On Wednesday, Ashley-Rae will start Senior Kindergarten.

Both are anxious. Both are excited and apprehensive. Both are absolutely normal.

I remember being a kid, and the last few days of summer were left to those last three days that made up the Labor Day weekend. The fact that it was a three day weekend meant nothing to me as I had just had nearly 3 months off for summer holidays. And I counted down the minutes – those precious final minutes – until school would once again commence.

I didn’t hate school. I just really loved summer.

Baseball, swimming, and gathering up the friends in the neighborhood for pick up games of basketball, football, and baseball.

I really loved summer best when we lived in Georgia. We lived in a suburb of Atlanta between two rural towns of Lilburn and Lawrenceville. Around the corner and down the hill was our community club – Plantation Swim and Racquet club. It had a great pool, and two tennis courts. We would hang out at that pool all day with all our buds in the neighborhood. My brother Paul learned to play tennis there and rose to the top five in the state – on those very courts.

Back then, my best friends were Robby Irby, Steve Stillwell and his brother Ken. John Bartles and the LaFlevbre brothers lived further down on one side. And further down the other side of our house lived Bill Huseby, Stuart Franklin, and Mark Lane.

Directly across from our house was the Tomblins. And next door to them were the Livesays.

On the street behind us – behind my house – lived Donna Rice. A year younger than me – she was the first girl I ever had a crush on.

All the friends we had then seemed to be athletes. Very good athletes. At one time, we had four starting players for our high school basketball team in our neighborhood. And the pick up basketball games were really great.

These are the guys I drank my first beer with. And yes – smoked my first cigarette with – but it didn’t stick back then. It stunk actually. I didn’t start smoking until University.

One of the Livesay’s was Ken. He wound up going to Auburn on a football scholarship in my senior year of high school. He was a legend at our school. And I wish I knew how he made out at Clemson.

Even though Ken never hung out in our little circle of friends, we all looked up to him. His little sister Amy was in our circle of friends. And she was – and most likely still is – one of the nicest human beings you could meet.

Summer was pretty sacred to me. It is funny now to realize those most special summers there with those friends only counted up to five. It seemed like so many more.

I often wonder what happened to some of my friends. Some I have seen on our high school alumni website. Bill Huseby runs a car dealership, Tracey Tomblin has married and raised a nice family. Donna Rice married some very lucky fellow and they own a restaurant somewhere around the Greater Atlanta Area. John Bartles works for one of the school boards in the area.

But I have seen no sign of Robby Irby. And Robby was my best friend of those days.

Last year I downloaded the Google Earth program. I spent many winter weekend mornings using Google Earth to find the homes of all the people that we know and love. If you click on the Satellite view, it actually shows you the satellite photographs from as low as about 500 feet.

View Larger Map

When I found my old neighborhood in Lawrenceville, I zoomed in real close – and I went visiting. I first found our house on Plantation Court. I went around the corner and down the hill to the club. They had added two more tennis courts – and after thirty years – the swimming pool was still there. Nothing had changed – except there were two more tennis courts. I went back up the street and visited the Bartles', the Stillwell's, the Irby’s, and over to the Tomblin's and the Huseby's. Up to the Lanes’s and the Franklin's.

All the while I was looking for any sign that they might still be there. But there was no such sign. “It was 30 years ago you know” I said to myself. “Do you think they will still be there being 13-16 years old still?”

“Maybe some twilight-zone effect? No … don’t be silly”.

I like to call my daughters over to the computer sometimes. And I take them for a walk through my old neighborhood. I show them the house Paul and I lived in. I walk them down to the club to the pool. And I show them all the great driveways where we played basketball, and the backyards we played football in.

And I tell them all about my friends. And they sit in listen. I can see them imagining us playing in those yards. And I tell them some of our funny stories – but only those that you can tell five and six year old girls.

“Do you miss your friends, Daddy?” asked Alannah.

“Yes, I guess I do honey”.

“Why don’t you call them?” asked Ashley-Rae.

I guess we out grew each other I thought to myself without answering. But I sure did love those guys back then.

I think I’ll load up Google Earth and take another walk through the old neighborhood.