As the Snow Melts

I just stepped outside at lunch time here at the office. The temperature was easily 13 Celsius, or 55 Fahrenheit. The sun was shining warmly on my skin. The birds were singing.

And the snow was melting.

As I stood there enjoying the warmth, I couldn't help but start to make a list of all chores about to come due:

• Clean the brush out of the gardens
• Overhaul the lawnmower
• Sand and paint the decks
• Get the patio furniture out
• Clean out the garage
• And one day even open the pool
  

And I started to think about my long lost summer routine: coming home from work each night, throwing on a bathing suit, grabbing a beer, and sitting out on the back deck listening to my beloved Detroit Tigers on the radio.

And I started to think about baseball. I started to think about my Detroit Tigers heading home in a few more weeks to open the season at Comerica Park. I started to imagine what our team will look like after our block buster trade in the fall where we acquired an all star third baseman in Miguel Cabrera and an all star starting pitcher in Dontrelle Willis.

Our former shortstop Carlos Guillen, easily one of the most under-rated players in the league will move this year to first base. Edgar Renteria was also acquired from the Atlanta Braves and will join our infield as well.

So these three new players will join our already strong roster of Pudge Rodriguez, Gary Sheffield, Maglio Ordonez, Placido Palanco, and Curtis Granderson.

To a person who knows major league baseball this sounds pretty strong.

Our starting pitching rotation got stronger as Willis joins Justin Verlander, Jeremy Bonderman, Kenny Rogers, and Nate Robertson.

To a person who knows baseball – this sounds like an indestructible team.

But we have an Achilles heel. Our bullpen.

For years past, we relied heavily on our closer Todd Jones. Two years ago we got our hands on a young rocket – fireball thrower Joel Zumaya, who filled our short relief role. Fernando Rodney had always been strong in the long relief role, as did Jason Grilli. These four guys did an incredible job in 2006 by being rock solid and helping the Tigers get to the World Series.

But alas, last year was a different story. Our bullpen let us down. Bad. Joel Zumaya injured his finger on his pitching hand playing "air-guitar". Fernando Rodney had something wrong because his pitch speed dropped from the mid 90s to the mid to high 80's and was getting blasted all over the park. Jason Grilli just plain lost it, as did Todd Jones, who had trouble getting anybody out.

There were so many games that we should have won last year, but lost because the bullpen let five run leads slip away and lose. We were leading the American League Central at the All Star break. Everyone was talking about the Tigers coming back to the World Series in 2008. But we didn't even make the playoffs.

That same bullpen is in spring training. And from everything I can read and hear on the radio – it sounds like the same bunch of problems. Zumaya is still hurt. Rodney and Jones are still not right.

As Yogi Berra would say, "it's deja vous all over again."

It would be a shame to see such an amazing batting line up go to waste. Getting eight to ten runs in a game only to lose in the closing innings. It would be a shame to see Verlander, Willis, Rogers, Bonderman, and Robertson pitch 6 innings of shutout ball, only to see the remaining three be a slug-fest for the opposition.

It could easily be a year of frustration. Not only for the Tigers, but the fans as well. Knowing full well the bullpen issue has been visible for the last ten months. But nothing change.

Or the bullpen boys could turn it around. Get the job done. Hold 'em off.

But that's not what we are seeing in spring training.

I better make sure I get those decks sanded and painted first. That'll give me a place to put the radio and set my beer down so I can listen to the games each night.

Minus Four and Medium Rare

My cousin Sarah sent me an email the other day. It was a play on Jeff Foxworthy’s “You know you’re a redneck when…” jokes.

My favorite “You know you’re a redneck when” joke has always been “you have more tires on your home than you do on the vehicles parked on your front lawn”.

That one paints the picture.

But this version had a Canadian bent. “You know you’re Canadian when…”

If you've worn shorts and a parka at the same time, you may live in Canada

If you've had a lengthy telephone conversation with someone who dialed a
wrong number, you may live in Canada

If you measure distance in hours, you may live in Canada

If you can drive 90 kms/hr through 2 feet of snow during a raging blizzard without flinching, you may live in Canada

If you install security lights on your house and garage, but leave both unlocked, you may live in Canada

I do not know if Jeff Foxworthy has even read these jokes, let alone written them, but please let it be known that I did not write them.

But I was thinking about them just this evening.

You see, the evening was slipping away on Darlene and I when we realized we needed to do something for ourselves for dinner. The girls had already eaten given the unique circumstances of the night.

But we were starving.

Darlene went upstairs to fry up some bacon and cut up some tomato. A BLT sounded like a great idea. But then I stopped and said, “Do we have anymore of those frozen hamburger patties you made the other night?”

“Yes”, Dar replied. “But you’re not stinking up the house frying burgers in the kitchen!”

“No”, I retorted, being the natural retort-er that I am. “I will BBQ them, sound good?”

“It’s 4 below outside and its snow squalling”

“So?”

And outside I went in my favorite winter work jacket, and a beer. Out to the back patio. I brushed the mound of falling snow off the BBQ, opened up the hood, twisted on the propane tank valve, and flicked the starter switch.

“Booosch” when the flame as it lit the flood of propane on the first attempt.

As the BBQ heated up, I was cleaning the grill. And I started to think of the email Sarah sent me. “You know you’re Canadian when…” I thought.

Then it dawned on me.

“You know you’re Canadian when you have to brush the snow off the BBQ to make dinner.”

That’s a good one.

Then I heard the splash. And I heard the giggles. And then the whispers.

The neighbors behind us were in the hot tub. In a snow squall. Glasses of wine were clinking. And they were giggling at the idea that I had caught them.

And that’s when I realized what truly Canadian meant.

“You know you’re Canadian when you can have a couple of wines and fool around with the missus in the hot tub during a blizzard.”

And then I swear I heard Ann Murray sing “Snowbird”.

Don't Be Scared Of A Little Snow

It snowed last night.

And this morning. And now this afternoon. In total we got nearly a foot. It is supposed to snow more tonight.

The radio says the roads are very bad. The expressway is like an ice rink. The authorities are asking us not to drive.

I was outside shoveling the driveway when Darlene came out with the phone.

My co-worker Julia called to tell me that she and the other Staff Association members think we should cancel the Children’s Christmas party.

I looked out the window. A pickup truck went sliding sideways by our house. He straightened himself out and slid the other way.

“I agree”, I replied. After hanging up I called our major AM radio station. Everyone in Windsor knows this is the station to listen to for local news and snow cancellations. While I tried to get through the busy line – Darlene submitted the cancellation notice request through their news tips website.

Shortly afterwards I heard our cancellation announcement crackle over the radio.

I went back out to finish shoveling.

And I started thinking about my Uncle Fred.

I had lived with Uncle Fred’s family when I moved back to Canada.

I was twenty-three and the year was 1985. I was living in an apartment with my brother Paul in Baton Rouge. I had decided that summer that I was going to move back to Canada.

I gave my notice at work. I was a night manager at a grocery store – and the store was closing down. It seemed to be a better idea to move to Canada and go back to school, rather than live a Janice Joplin song and be “busted flat in Baton Rouge”. So as Christmas approached, I packed up what I owned and stuffed it into my Mazda 626.

Paul and I spent Christmas at my Mom and Dads that year. The understanding was that I would go back to Canada – get this degree – and move back down south – this time to Pensacola – and start a real career.

I remember that Christmas morning because Paul and I woke up and played our traditional round of golf before we opened presents. We started on the 13th tee outside their back door, and played around to number twelve – where we came in for breakfast and opened our presents.

Two mornings later – my car still loaded with all my possessions and clubs squeezed back into my inventory – I kissed my Mom and Dad good bye and started my Drive up I-65 through Alabama – then I-64 across Kentucky and Tennessee, over to I-75 that would take me up into Michigan.

The first day was a breeze. I had the windows down, and the tapes in my cassette player blaring loud. I made it to Dayton, Ohio. It was raining and dark – so I decided to pull over for the night.

The next morning I stepped out of my motel room, and nearly broke my neck on the ice. The rain had frozen. It was cold.

I had crossed the Mason-Dixon line.

I filled my car up with gas and started out onto I-75. About 45 minutes up the road, a gust of wind grabbed my car, and slid me across 4 lanes of expressway, into a deep ditch – just missing a cement drain pipe.

I spent the rest of the morning hiking to a gas station to get a guy with a tow truck to haul me out of the ditch and put me back on the road. As he did – he tried to sell me some winter tires. I declined.

I did not cross the border into Canada in Detroit. I did not enter into Canada in Windsor. Instead I rode I-94 north of Detroit to a little town called Port Huron. I arrived at the empty border crossing expecting to be searched and have my car taken apart.

I crossed the Bridge and reached the Canadian customs booth in Sarnia.

“Citizenship?” asked the customs officer.

I held up my green card. A plastic card that had a picture of me at the age of three. “Canadian” I answered.

“How long are you staying?” he asked.

“Until I’m done school” I replied and briefly explained my educational plans and agenda.

He smiled and replied “Welcome home”.

That has always stuck with me.

I looked at the road ahead. I saw none. It was all white. I looked back at the officer “One thing please, where is the road?”

“See those little white posts?” he asked in reply, “the road is about 3 meters to the left of those:,

“Oh”, I replied. “Welcome to Canada, Fred” I thought to myself.

It got easier as I drove on. In my little Mazda 626 with everything I owned in the car. I could see other tire tracks, and I could see the edge of the road. But I drove very slowly.

It was really snowing and the roads were being closed behind me. My perception of what “bad” meant kept expanding as the day progressed – and now I felt I understood what “bad” meant.

Every twenty yards or so, a one or two foot high snow drift would appear. And now I felt comfortable to just blast through them. I did this for about an hour. And now I was getting close. I had made my way to Perth County Road 11. I was simply trying to find the concession Uncle Fred’s farm was on.

I thought I saw it, and pulled into the snow drift that fronted the concession gravel road – Boosh – I smashed through and drove up the gravel road – only to really see the farm on the next concession up – looking across the fields. I turned around, and blasted through the drift again. Back on the road, I traveled up to the next concession.

Boosh – I blasted through the drift at the front of the concession.

But this was different. I didn’t come through the other side. Instead I drove to the top of it, and my car sunk down into the drift – which was not a drift. The snow was easily five feet deep all the way down the concession.

I sat there in my little Mazda 626 – with Louisiana license plates on the front and back. I sat there and wondered how I would get down the concession to the farmhouse I could see all lit up about half a mile down the road.

I almost made it.

I flashed my headlights – and turned my car off. I was just about to get out of the car and literally swim the snow to the farmhouse. That’s when I saw the two snowmobiles – and they were coming straight at me.

“How’s goin eh?” said the first – a kid I would later know to be Jim.

“I’m stuck” I smiled.

“Yer stuck alright. Where yer goin?” asked the toque (tuke) and parka clad Jim.

“To the Brill’s farm” I replied, “and I almost made it”.

“I’ll go tell Fred yer here, wait here” said Jim. “Who do I say’s coming?”

“Fred Brill”, I said. “He looked at me. My Uncle Fred and I do have the same name.

“Okay den”, and hopped back on his snowmobile and away he sped.

Shortly after, Fred appeared with the John Deere tractor with the snow blower attachment on front. He came blowing right at me. He climbed out of the cab and waded over to me.

He was smiling as happy as could be to see something funny like me and my southern car stuck in the snow.

“Jimmy says Fred Brill’s comin to visit me” he laughed – those big old teeth grinning like he couldn’t be happier.

“It’s snowing” I said.

“Tis, tis so” said Fred. “Stay put lets get you in the barn”.

Uncle Fred hooked me up to the tractor – lifted the front of the car right up with the rear of the tractor while the front of the tractor was still pretending to be a snow blower.

The girls, my cousins Sarah, Ellyn and Jenny, all took pictures of their southern cousin – the bumpkin – being towed down the farm laneway. I have to see those pictures every Christmas.

I almost made it. 1,200 miles, and I got stuck in the last half mile.

But Uncle Fred never let a little snow scare him off.

I miss Uncle Fred.

But today – during our foot of snow blizzard – after cancelling our Children’s Christmas party - I can hear his voice loud and clear.

“It’s just a little snow, Freddy. Don’t be scared of a little snow.”