Coke Isn't It

I've had plenty of opportunities to do drugs in my life.

Plenty.

After all, I went to high school in LA.

And college in LA.

But thankfully I was able to just say no.

Don't worry, this is not going to be a blog about how I am better than you.

Because I’m not.

For example, I guarantee I've consumed more calories than you.

GUARANTEED!

And that's nothing to be proud of.

But when it comes to drugs, there’s one definite reason why I passed whenever my friends would offer.

My dad.

Actually a close friend of my dad.

He had three sons.

Had.

The first son died of a heroin overdose.

Then the third son died of a heroin overdose.

Leaving him with one.

The loneliest number that you’ll ever do. 

Those tragedies happened before I was born.

But from the time I was yay high my dad told me that story.

And it obviously... thankfully... scared the hell out of me.

Now if guilt by association was a crime, I'd be in jail right now.

I seemed to hang around plenty of people who traveled down that dangerous road.

They would offer.

I would say no.

And we would move on.

But there was this one time.

In college.

Of course.

A bunch of us took a road-trip to a nearby college for a wild weekend away.

We were at our hotel on a Saturday afternoon.

Most of my friends were doing things my dad would not approve of.

I wasn't.

Well sorta.

While my boys were being boys.

I decided to put a little pinch between my cheek and gum.

Tobacco.

The smokeless kind.

Now if you've never done it.

Try it.

I DARE YOU!

Once.

You won't do it again.

Hopefully.

In one word, it is the most disgusting horrendously gross awful thing.

Ever.

Unfortunately I learned the hard way.

At first the flavor was kinda ok.

But within minutes I was spinning more than the tea cups at Disneyland.

Within minutes of spinning, I was throwing up.

All while my friends were “just chillin”.

How funny is that.

I'm blowing chunks from something you can buy... legally...  at a convenience store.

While my friends were totally relaxed from doing something they bought on the street corner outside the convenience store.

I must admit, I always wanted to try mushrooms.

“Those” mushrooms.

But I never did.

The idea of hallucinating always seemed really cool to me.

I heard that if you put M&Ms in your palm while you were high on “shrooms”.

The M&Ms actually looked like they were jumping up and down on their own.

Beat that Pixar.

Here's the thing with drugs.

They are addicting.

This just in.

Even though my one-time dipping experiment didn't end so well.

The fact that I tried it once was the bad part.

No upside there.

Len Bias tried cocaine once.

On the early morning of June 19, 1986.

At 8:55am he was pronounced dead.

None of us know for sure if that was really the only time that Bias tried cocaine.

But that's what his mom believes.

And that's good enough for me.

She lost more than anyone.

More than the Boston Celtics.

The team that selected Bias with the second pick in the NBA Rookie Draft just two days earlier.

Ron Washington only tried cocaine once too.

At least that’s what he says.

It was the first week of July 2009.

Washington was in Anaheim.

Near Disneyland.

With his team, the Texas Rangers.

Washington was the manager of the Rangers.

The 57-year-old manager.

But for one night he lost his way.

And what made it worse.

Just a few weeks later Washington was told he was on “the list”.

The list of players and coaches to be randomly tested by Major League Baseball.

Washington knew the outcome of the test before the cup was wet.

Fortunately for him the story didn’t leak to the public for nearly nine months.

No pun intended.

But even though the baseball world didn’t know what was going on.

His bosses were told right away. 

Washington offered to resign.

They said no.

Instead his team had him attend counseling.

He went through the MLB drug program.

And came out the other side.

Safe.

It would’ve been easy for the Rangers to accept that resignation.

Or find another way to get Washington out.

Even with just one strike.

But instead they stuck it out with the man they entrusted with leading this team of young men.

And his team responded last year.

By winning their division.

And winning the American League.

And reaching their first World Series.

Ever.

And now, a year later.

More than two years removed from Washington’s momentary lapse of reason.

His team is knocking on the door again.

Four wins away from reaching the World Series again.

Eight wins away from being a World Champion.

Although it’s pretty easy to say that Washington has already won his toughest game.

2 Places, 1 Time

Jason Bay is a major league baseball player.

A highly paid major league baseball player.

Last year he signed a four-year deal with the New York Mets for a guaranteed $66 million.  (Could be up to $80 mil for five years.)

Jason Bay is also a dad.

Three times.

He became a dad for the third time just a few weeks ago.

I know this because it made the news.

Not so much the birth part.

But the... “Jason Bay, the New York Mets’ starting left fielder, has gone on paternity leave and will miss at least Tuesday night’s game against the San Francisco Giants” part.

It turned out that he missed two games.

Two of 162.

But this was an excused absence.

He was on “paternity leave”.

That’s a new policy where a major league dad can get up to three days of “guilt free” leave.   The team can replace the player’s roster position for those days.

So everyone wins.

Except the team.

The Mets lost both games while Bay was gone.

Mets Manager Terry Collins doesn’t sound like a big fan of the new policy.

“Twenty-five years ago nobody left,” according to Collins. “Yada yada yada, blah blah blah... I’m sure the wives are happier.”

Well he didn’t say the yada part.

Or the blah part.

But it was pretty clear to this cub journalist where Collins sits on the new school vs old school fence.

Now as someone who was at the birth of all three of my children.

And wouldn’t trade it for anything.

I can understand where Bay was coming from.

And Texas pitcher Colby Lewis.

And Washington shortstop Ian Desmond.

And any of the future players who will take advantage of this new policy.

But as someone who can’t afford for any of my fantasy baseball players to miss any more games, I can understand where Collins is coming from too.

The bottom line is, as hard as you try, you can’t be in two places at once.

It doesn’t work.

I’ve tried.

And so have my kids.

A few weeks ago my daughter had tryouts for her high school dance team.

High school dance!

Is there anything bigger than that to a 14-year old incoming freshman?

Apparently there is.

On the same day as those tryouts my daughter had qualified for the State Championships of her Science Olympiad.

That’s a competition with categories like “Disease Detectives” and “Microbe Mission” and “Ornithology”.

Words I can’t even pronounce.

Or spell without spell check.

But my daughter can.

And she qualified in three different events.

And as much as she LOVES dance, she said the decision was easy.

It was her responsibility to help her team.

And in doing so, she ended up winning a gold medal.

And in doing so she missed her second day of tryouts for dance.

And in doing so she made the freshman dance team.

Instead of the JV or maybe even Varsity.

Now sometimes you can use a little creativity to be in two places at one time.

For example, last week my son had his first middle school dance.

A big deal.

Even if he wouldn’t admit it.

On that same night, someone had given us tickets to see our local major league baseball team.

Also a big deal.

So I quickly did the math and figured out that we could get to the stadium when it opened up.

See about an hour of batting practice.

Grab a hot dog.

Or two.

Watch an inning.

Or two.

And then get down to school for the last hour of the dance.

Which is exactly what we did.

Best of both worlds.

It probably helped the cause that my son caught a ball during that batting practice.

But these two places/one time dilemmas are not unique.

In fact, we’ve got a big one coming up next week.

You see Wednesday is my daughter’s graduation from middle school.

Bring your kleenex box.

Our schedule was set up perfectly so we could all attend.

Enter Mother Nature.

You see my son’s baseball team was supposed to play eight games last week, including a major tournament.

But rain washed away five of those games.

Well the first of those rain outs has been rescheduled.

For... Wednesday. 

Of course.

The same day as my daughter’s graduation.

Take a guess where my 12-year old son wants to be ... his sister’s middle school graduation or hitting third in his baseball game?

If you said graduation.

You are wrong!

I asked my daughter how she felt about this.

And the girl who picked helping her science team over helping her dance career.

Said he should go play.

“It’s not like it’s my high school graduation.”

Fair point, I think.

So after some thinking and a couple of Bud Lights Limes.

The plan is now in place.

And it's the perfect plan.

For now.

Batter up.

Feeting Frenzy

I am old.

Officially.

How do I know that?

Well let me give you a couple of examples.

A few months ago my kids and I went to Einstein Bagels.

I had a coupon for a free “Chocolate Covered Strawberry Latte.”

I took one sip and threw it in the trash.

Really.

It was too sweet.

TOO SWEET?

When did that happen to me?

Exhibit B.

I won my first fantasy baseball league in 1990 thanks to Doug Drabek and his 22 wins for the Pittsburgh Pirates.

Two weeks ago his 22-year old son, Kyle, made his Major League Debut.

Doug Drabek has a 22-year old son?

Wow, I am old.

Example 3.

One of my best friends in the world is visiting me this weekend in New York with his wife.

We had a blast today, walking the entire city, doing a little window shopping.

It was perfect.

When the day came to an end, we went to go grab a bite to eat in the Little Italy/Chinatown area.

Now back in the day, the first stop after dinner would have been a club.

Or a pub.

Or a karaoke bar.

Um, not anymore.

On our way back from dinner, where oh by the way, we got wasted on diet soda and tap water, we stopped for.......

a Chinese foot massage.

A foot massage!

A FOOT MASSAGE?

Your honor, I rest my case.

I am officially old.

For $30, we each spent the next hour somewhere between heaven and hell.

We were informed that there are 365 pressure points in the human body, “one for every day of the year.”

We were also told that 200 and something are in the feet.

I don’t know the exact number, but I felt them all.

And these were some pros doing the work too.

They didn’t speak much English, but Tony, David and Hansen let their fingers do the talking.

I wonder if those were their real names?

Who cares.

David was a doctor back in China, so he knew what he was doing and the other guys were following his lead.

It took about.... 1-2-3.... three seconds to feel the pain.

I don’t know if you’ve ever had a foot massage before -- and I had not -- but let me tell you, it was awesome.

Did I say awesome, I meant awful.

Did I say awful, I meant incredible.

One second, my body was shaking.  

The next second, I was crying.   

The next second, my friend and I were laughing.

Uncontrollably.

Thanks to the unreal pain we were both feeling... and loving.

Our feet were getting more relief than the Yankees bullpen.

I’ve had many a massage before.   

Good ones, bad ones, hard ones, weak ones.

But a foot massage by someone who could clearly break my foot with one finger.

Never.

At one point, Dr. David was beating on my friend’s foot so hard, it looked more like a sparring session than a massage.

My guy, Hansen, was not nearly as experienced, but he was just as strong.

He kept a close eye on Dr. David to see what move was next.

When I heard my friend in a full giggle-scream mode, I pulled a Meg Ryan and asked for what he was having.

Bad move!

Or good move!

I’m not sure.

The pain he brought on was so excruciating and so fantastic and so painful and so relaxing.  


All at the same time.

I don’t know if I loved it or hated it, but I can’t wait to go back.

Literally around the block, there were hundreds of people at dozens of bars spending way more than $30 to lower their blood pressure.

But there is no way their Red Bull and whatever could match what we were feeling.

For this old man, my drink of choice was a foot rub.

Like any good massage, it came with a happy ending.

And that happy ending was, the ending.

Sixty minutes in, after moving from the feet to the shoulders and arms, the alarm went off and he stopped.

Finally.

I’ve never been so happy.

I think.

It took me about three minutes to wake up from the daze and catch my breath and when I did, I felt like a new person.

Still an old person, but with new circulation.