Recently, I received an email from a reader asking why I haven’t written anything about sports this year. He pointed out that in the past, I’ve devoted columns each summer to topics such as my favorite team, the Red Sox, or my adventures on the golf course.
Well, there’s certainly a good reason why I haven’t written about the Red Sox. This year the team is so amazingly blah. If you look up the word “mediocre” in the dictionary, you’ll see a team photo of the Sox. Right now they’re fighting it out with the Yankees to see who will finish in last place in the division. (The only solace this year is that the Yankees stink, too.) It’s simply been a pathetic season and not worth commenting on.
Well, there’s certainly a good reason why I haven’t written about the Red Sox. This year the team is so amazingly blah. If you look up the word “mediocre” in the dictionary, you’ll see a team photo of the Sox. Right now they’re fighting it out with the Yankees to see who will finish in last place in the division. (The only solace this year is that the Yankees stink, too.) It’s simply been a pathetic season and not worth commenting on.
Regarding golf, I have spent the last 40-plus years wanting to become competent at the sport. That is, every time I’ve played, I honestly expected to hit only good shots that day and finally break 80 — even though I’ve never shot better than a 94, which happened only once more than a decade ago. I believe that is the classic definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
Anyway, it finally dawned on me that golf and I go together about as well as mustard and ice cream. So, a few summers ago, I just stopped. No more golf. To be clear, I still play in some fund-raiser scramble tournaments each year because of work obligations. But I haven’t played a regular round, where you play your own ball and keep score, since before Covid. And guess what? I haven’t missed it at all. As a result, there has been no reason to write a snarky column about the frustrations of that exasperating sport.
There is one sports-related topic that I would like to mention. I can’t think of any way to say this without sounding like a total braggart, so I’ll just say it: recently I was voted into the Clinton (Conn.) Athletic Hall of Fame.
Anyway, it finally dawned on me that golf and I go together about as well as mustard and ice cream. So, a few summers ago, I just stopped. No more golf. To be clear, I still play in some fund-raiser scramble tournaments each year because of work obligations. But I haven’t played a regular round, where you play your own ball and keep score, since before Covid. And guess what? I haven’t missed it at all. As a result, there has been no reason to write a snarky column about the frustrations of that exasperating sport.
There is one sports-related topic that I would like to mention. I can’t think of any way to say this without sounding like a total braggart, so I’ll just say it: recently I was voted into the Clinton (Conn.) Athletic Hall of Fame.
It is quite an honor, and to be honest, my high school playing days were so long ago I can barely remember them. When I think back, it seems like it was someone else who was running around those fields and courts of the old Shoreline Conference. But we had some good teams, and I put up some decent stats, and the folks on the Hall of Fame committee decided I was worthy of this special recognition, along with 11 other inductees this year.
Whoo, that last paragraph was rather awkward and uncomfortable for me to type. So, despite the good things I did on the playing field a long, long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away?), I need to mention that one of my most vivid memories is the time I set a school record, which I believe still stands. It was my sophomore year, and the baseball coach bluntly said to me, “You’re tall and left-handed. You must be a pitcher.”
I replied, “No, I have a chicken wing for an arm. I must be a first baseman.” He ignored me and had me start a varsity game early in the season. And that’s when I set a school record by walking eight batters. In. One. Inning.
Yup, that’s right. Eight bases on balls in one inning. When the coach finally called for a relief pitcher, I slinked away and muttered, “Told ya I had a chicken wing.”
Whoo, that last paragraph was rather awkward and uncomfortable for me to type. So, despite the good things I did on the playing field a long, long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away?), I need to mention that one of my most vivid memories is the time I set a school record, which I believe still stands. It was my sophomore year, and the baseball coach bluntly said to me, “You’re tall and left-handed. You must be a pitcher.”
I replied, “No, I have a chicken wing for an arm. I must be a first baseman.” He ignored me and had me start a varsity game early in the season. And that’s when I set a school record by walking eight batters. In. One. Inning.
Yup, that’s right. Eight bases on balls in one inning. When the coach finally called for a relief pitcher, I slinked away and muttered, “Told ya I had a chicken wing.”
So, if you notice that my head is getting really big because of the Hall of Fame thing, just remind me about the chicken wing incident. Or better yet, ask me about my golf game.
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