For those inquiring minds who want to know and need a life…
This is another one of those “update” postings I’ve done in the past. It’s always good to follow-up on things every now then…though I’m not really sure why. As many of you know, I decided to become a baseball fan this year, something I’ve never been. My chosen team is the Chicago Cubs and I have watched about 90% of their games so far. I did report last time on the news that spitting has been greatly reduced since I last watched a game a few years ago. I’ve only caught two baseball players spitting since I last reported in on this ancient phenom over two weeks ago. I am happy to say neither player who spat was a Cub. So I think I can fairly say that spitting in baseball is a thing of the past even though I thought it would never go away. Well, shut my mouth.
My new observation, however, is that there is a lot of butt slapping going on in the game of baseball. I’m not sure where or when one guy slapping the other on the butt got its start, but it is definitely the gesture of choice on the mound when there is a pitching change. The manager will slap the departing pitcher on the butt as he dismisses him and the incoming replacement gets his welcoming slap, usually from a team-mate, upon arrival on the mound.
Meanwhile, there is also a lot of crotch grabbing that’s a regular part of viewing baseball, especially by those at bat. I don’t know if there is team-issued underwear or if every player wears his own personal briefs or boxers—but, regardless, something is causing some kind of rearrangement of items that the players find uncomfortable while playing the game. They have no inhibitions about reaching in or grabbing from the outside in order to make the necessary adjustments.
So, I have come to the conclusion that there is this preoccupation with the section of anatomy below the waistline and above the thighs, either front or back, that has become part of the baseball environment. It’s a bit peculiar seeing men publicly grabbing their crotch on national television. I’ve seen rock stars do the same. I think if I were to do it in the middle of the cereal aisle in the supermarket I would get some weird looks.
Moving right along, my diet, for those interested, has pretty much disintegrated after several months. I did lose some weight, but not where I wanted. My face is a lot thinner making my cheeks sink in a bit. My good old fat belly—the target of this diet–is still there sticking out. While I have not stuck to the menu, I am more conscious of what and how much I am eating and there seems to be slooowwwww progress as a result. I am still going to the gym regularly and have even added some new elements to my routine. So to sum up, I plan to continue the effort to lose some girth but it may take me a long time to do it. I just have to control the ice cream, cakes and cookies and bread and rolls and pastries and all those kinds of things that the devil places before me everywhere I go. As Flip Wilson’s Geraldine used to say, “The devil made me do it!”
And finally, have you ever noticed that when we count, we are obsessed with tens. We like to celebrate decades and any time some event or occurrence reaches a “tens” mark, it is so noted. In fact, to show the longevity of things, we like to point out how many decades they’ve been around. 25 and 75 are two exceptions of non-tens anniversaries that we consider noteworthy. Today, my birthday hits one of those tens benchmarks. My mind denies it, my body reinforces it. I have no choice but to accept it as much as I wish not to. Regardless, I am not ready to give in to it. I shall slow down a little and begin to pace myself. From now on I will live one decade at a time. Oh, I knew you might ask that …it’s 70. Egads!
My thanks to the following nice people who stopped by my last posting… Ron Carmean, Antoinette Prato Shreffey, Myke Motus, John Tugano, Ellen Rothstein Weiner, Peter Bolger, and Camie Dunbar.