Pool Play

This morning I dropped the kids off at the pool.

Just like I do every morning.

The community pool that is.

I'm very regular.

My kids are part of a local program where they swim.

Every weekday morning.

For an hour.

It gives my kids some exercise.

It gives my wife and I.

A break.

My youngest child, the seven-year old girl, has been swimming since she was one.

But she's been swimming without those cute adorable floaties for far less time than that.

In fact, signing her up for the swim team was quite a bold move.

The first day of practice she had some serious concerns.

"Do you think I will be the worst one out there?"

She asked me.

Now that set up one of those parental moments.

A moment when you better do a very quick search of your cranial hard drive for the perfect answer.

The clock is ticking.

One one thousand.

Two one thousand.

Bingo.

"Come on," I said.

With an encouraging voice.

"There's as much of a chance of you being the worst one out there as there is of you being the best one out there."

Ok -- Tony Robbins I am not.

But I had to say something.

And quick.

But did it work?

*** Pause ***

Cutaway of my daughter.... smiling.

Wow.

I guess I got that one right.

The eavesdropper dad next to me agreed.

"Good answer," the stranger said.

Patting me on the shoulder.   

Unfortunately it took me three kids to figure out how to answer that question.

But my answer seemed to work.

This time.

And this time it got my daughter into the pool.

But from the start she was quite defiant.

Not listening to a word the coach said.

“Elizabeth you are next.”

Nothing.

“Elizabeth, start swimming.”

Nothing.

“ELIZABETH, GET GOING!”

I could see the coach was getting frustrated.

But what my daughter and I didn’t realize.

Is that he was calling for her.

You see her name is not Elizabeth.

Oh, maybe that’s why she wasn’t listening.

Well, eventually he got the message.

And everyone got a laugh.

Moments later she started swimming.

Um- -- tried swimming.

Out of the nine or so kids in her group.

She ranked 17th.

You could say some of it was a skill deficiency.

But most of it was a lack of confidence.

Fortunately they had an unpaid volunteer local high school teenage swimmer in the pool with her the entire time.

So what could possibly go wrong.

The good news is she’s gone back every morning.

With only a small helping of kicking and screaming.

But there was a carrot dangling at the end of lane 7.

That carrot was the fact that this team of ours competes in swim meets.

Every weekend.

Now we made it clear from the beginning that we were not looking for her to be the next Michaela Phelps.

But if she could learn how to do laps on her own.

That would be the victory.

Well after a few weeks of practice, she had met that challenge.

And the coaches noticed.

And they determined it was time for another challenge.

An actual swim meet.

Against other real swimmers.

So they taught her how to dive in from the board.

Ok, fall in.

And they taught her how to swim freestyle.

Or some kind of style.

But the bottom line is she did it.

Not me.

Not the unpaid volunteer.

Not Elizabeth.

Her.

And she made it through the entire race.

On her own.

Sure, she finished last.

But as my wife put it.

“She was almost second to last.”

Hey, let’s not aim to high.

It’s a long season.

All About the Benjamins

We don’t live far from our local Sam’s Club.

You know Sam’s Club.

The younger shorter stepbrother of Costco.

Not so fast.

Believe it or not, Sam’s is actually older than Costco.

By five months.

And Sam’s is actually bigger.

With more warehouses...    more warehomes?...

... more locations than its better known rival.

Well either way, we love them both.

And we are just a hop, skip and a couple of freeway exits away from either place.

And that’s not necessarily good news.

Since nearly every time we go there, our bill is all about the Benjamins.

Benjamin Franklin.

The face on the $100 bill.

But membership does have some privileges.

Today we entered Sam’s Club as a hungry family of five.

We left VERY full.

After a well-balanced 13-course sample platter.

There were chicken wings.

And chicken salad.

And chicken sausage.

And polish sausage.

And pastrami wrap.

And pesto hummus.

And fresh fruit.

And chocolate chip cookies.

And chocolate chocolate chip cookies.

And Snapple tea.

And carrot juice.

And guava nectar.

Whatever nectar is.

Oh and the Yoplait yogurt.

Mixed with Cheerios.

And granola.

They also had one-a-day vitamins for us to sample.

But we passed.

Figured we got all the supplements we needed with the other stuff.

Now before you think we were acting like Minnie the Moochers.

Think again.

We didn’t quite reach Benjamin Franklin status.

This time.

But we did give up a few Andrew Jacksons.

He’s the face on the $20 bill.

Did you know that?

Can you tell me who is on the dime?

The quarter?

The Susan B. Anthony Dollar?

You better get that one.

Somehow we started talking about who’s on what on our ride home.

The quick ride home.

It started with the $20.

For years I thought Peter Gammons was the face on the twenty.

Turns out I was wrong.

It’s really Andrew Jackson.

My wife knew that one.

My real guess was Alexander Hamilton.

That would make me 0-for-2.

Then we jumped to the hundy.

From my many trips to Vegas, I was sure of this one.

Big Ben.

Someone in the car blurted out....

“He wasn’t a President!”

Correct.

That revelation spun the conversation in another direction.

Who was the 13th President of the United States?

Do you know that one?

Hmmm....

Me neither.

I knew George was 1.

And Abe was 16.

And Obama is 44.

But 13?

That would take a lucky guess.

Or an iPhone.

Fortunately I had the latter.

So I searched.

And found the answer.

The car asked for the first initial in his last name.

F.

Then the first initial in his first name.

M.

My 12-year old son thought it was hysterical that his initials were M.F.

But he still didn’t have a guess.

They asked for the first name.

Now I thought that would give it away.

But I said it anyway.

Millard.

Pause.

Crickets.

Not a guess.

Which surprised me.

Considering there was an incoming high school freshman in the car.

And a 17-year elementary school teacher.

Now I’m not being critical.

I’m just sayin.

But after I announced that Millard Fillmore was the correct answer.

We moved on to President #19.

Do you know that one?

Me neither.

My wife knew that Andrew Jackson followed Abe.

But nobody knew Ulysses S. Grant was followed by Rutherford Hayes, the 19th President of the United States.

To her credit, my 14-year old daughter knew the answer 1.6 seconds after I said his first name was Rutherford.

The final Presidential challenge of the trip was #31.

To me #31 was an easy one.

Greg Maddux.

But Greg was never elected President.

Although he could’ve been the Mayor of Chicago.

The car figured out the 31st President came early in the 20th Century.

Correct.

1929.

The guesses were plenty.

And they were all good.

F.D.R.

Coolidge.

Wilson.

And that was before I announced that the first initial of his first name.

And first initial of his last name.

Were the same.

And since Woodrow W. and Calvin C. were not the correct answer.

The right answer came seconds later.

From the back of the car.

Herbert Hoover.

The 31st President of the United States.

Good answer.

Good stuff.

The type of quality family stuff you just can’t buy.

Not even at Sam’s Club.

The Longest All-Star Game

The 2002 MLB All-Star Game was one to remember.

It was the 73rd Game of Stars.

The one that changed it all.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

July 9.

A 7-7 tie at the end of 11 innings.

Game over.

No winner.

But plenty of losers.

Including the Commissioner of Baseball.

Who called this a “very regrettable situation.”

If a tie is like kissing your sister.

This was like kissing your sister.

In the middle of town square.

With a spotlight on your face.

At high noon.

On national television.

In primetime.

The two managers tried to tell us... 

“Both teams are winners.”

and 

“The show was good for the fans.”

Sure.

If you would’ve preferred a draw between Rocky and Apollo Creed.

Or if you enjoyed the cut to black at the end of The Sopranos.

Baseball got ripped.

Endlessly.

And they pretty much deserved it.

How in the world did the game that has no clock.

Run out of time.

And end in a tie.

That game held special meaning for me.

Not because of the game.

That was not my first midsummer classic.

Not my fourth.

Or fifth.

If my math is right, it was the ninth All-Star Game that I attended.

But the first without my dad.

A massive heart attack took him 10 days earlier.

But whose counting.

Yes, 10 days after my dad died.

Suddenly.

I’m flying cross country.

To go to a baseball game.

Really?

Really!

Of course, “he would’ve wanted it that way.”

Right.

Actually, he would’ve wanted it that way.

Truth be told, he would’ve wanted to be there himself.

But instead he got to watch the game from the clouds.

With the stars.

Babe Ruth.

Lou Gehrig.

It’s hard to believe that was just nine years ago.

It feels like a billion.

In July of 2002 I was working.

In TV.

My job was to cover big sporting events.

And in the second week of July.

On a Tuesday night.

There is no bigger sporting event than the Major League Baseball All-Star Game.

So I got on that plane and went.

2,057 miles.

Give or take.

I remember riding on the bus to get my rental car.

When my phone rang.

I flipped open the phone to see who was calling.

Because that’s what we did before iPhones.

And the caller ID almost made me pass out.

The name that came up on my screen.

Was my dad.

I guess I forgot to change his name in my contact list.

Or maybe he forgot to tell me something before he left.

Actually it was his wife calling.

From their home.

But seeing his name gave me quite the jolt.

My dad was well known in the baseball world.

He worked in the sport for many years.

So being at the All-Star Game.

10 days after he died.

Was kinda like a memorial service.

That wouldn’t end.

Don’t get me wrong.

I certainly appreciated hearing kind words.

From everybody.

But if I was looking for a place to clear my head.

This wasn’t it.

The night before the big game I stopped by the hotel bar.

To get a drink.

Or two.

Well, those drinks took me deep into the AM.

We actually closed down the place.

Or so we thought.

Through a friend of a friend we ended up sitting at the bar with a big time baseball exec.

Who didn’t know me.

And didn’t know my dad.

When everyone was ushered out at 2am.

Or was it 3?

We were ushered in.

To another room.

Where we stayed hydrated.

Until 6 in the morning.

I’m not sure if that’s exactly what I needed.

Or exactly what I didn’t need.

But it seemed to work.

Taking my mind away from where it had lived for the previous ten days.

Once the sun started peering through the closed blinds.

We knew it was time to go.

So we headed out into the lobby.

Where within seconds.

I ran into a former player.

Who knew my dad.

Very well.

And it started all over again.