Friday, April 24, 2015
Two Weeks Until Opening Day
We still wait for the official permit, but we will be somewhere this weekend. On dirt, on the mound, in the batter's box. At 9:15am - the "one more minute and you're late" arrival time for games this Spring.
Monday, April 20, 2015
Two Years Later ...
Revelry, Bravery, and
the Cowardly by DC - April 16, 2013 6:20am
Except for a period of years when my work involved the Marathon, whenever I talked to people from outside of the Boston area, I invariably had to educate them as to why I was partying in public on an April Monday. Patriot’s Day was a holiday commemorating the legendary, but was little known outside of Massachusetts and, as a former part of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, in Maine. For the most reprehensible of reasons, all the world now knows.
Except for a period of years when my work involved the Marathon, whenever I talked to people from outside of the Boston area, I invariably had to educate them as to why I was partying in public on an April Monday. Patriot’s Day was a holiday commemorating the legendary, but was little known outside of Massachusetts and, as a former part of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, in Maine. For the most reprehensible of reasons, all the world now knows.
For all but a few years of my life, I’ve lived within a mile
or so of the marathon route, always near the check points that are 8 to 10
miles from Hopkinton, in Natick and Framingham. An aunt lived
on the route for about 15 years. A friend had a Natick home on the route. There, in that
driveway, by 10 o’clock on a Monday morning in April, we would gather before
the roads closed and fire up the BBQ. We’d hook up an extension cord and find a
rock radio station that was playing a marathon of songs about running. We’d
simultaneously switch on the TV to watch the 11am Red Sox game and to monitor
the runner’s traditional noon start. But we didn’t need the TV to know when the
athletes were nearing us. Serving as notice would be the approaching
helicopters.
Near noon, the wheelchair athletes were zipping past and we
marveled at how on this day they could reach Boston faster than we could typically get
there in our cars. By 1pm, the elite runners had passed and we’d start to pass
out beers and burgers to the enthusiastic among the throng that was beginning
to clog the street. Quickly, and for as far as the eye could see, the street
filled with a mass of humanity, a brilliantly-colored river that bobbed and
babbled with more energy than the Charles.
We, the sidewalk revelers, would clap and shout out in
excited recognition when friends, family, and the familiar were spotted for the
few seconds that it took for the crowded current to flow onward. We would clap
and shout out personal encouragement to strangers who had their names or causes
on their signs or shirts or skin. We’d laughingly point out to each other and share
the joy with those runners who had rigged a decorated Christmas tree up their
back or were dressed like Groucho Marx, Spiderman, Snow White, or a pair of
Minnesota Twins.
Away from the street to flip a burger, we flipped TV
channels to simultaneously catch the end of the Sox game as the elite were completing
their day’s journey. Bill Rogers. Joan Benoit. Ibrahim Hussein. Jean Driscoll.
Uta Pippig. Ernst van Dyk. Historic names in historic region on a historic day.
As the torrent trickled (“Did anyone see Johnny Kelley or
the Hoyts?”) those trailing were often visibly gassed and overheated on even
the chilliest of April days. For them, we’d call out our most earnest
encouragement, as if our words could possibly lift them but a little farther
on, perhaps through downtown Natick and even on to
where the welcoming women of Wellesley
College would be waving
“Kiss Me” signs. But they couldn’t possibly reach Boston. Could they??
The final scene is always that of the street sweeper. Long
before nightfall, they leave the course in such a pristine state - with nary a
trace of orange peel or water cup - that it is as if it never happened but was
all a joyous mirage.
For spectators, it was a rare carefree day. Taxes were mailed
or benevolently extended for an extra day. The streets were fully alive, if
ever so briefly. Spring had finally come. We marveled as so many athletes
publicly undertook their ultimate challenge, often running in support of those
who were even more bravely taking on private and personal challenges each and
every day.
Long before another 52 weeks pass, we will undoubtedly have
resolved to again take to the streets, to again revel and marvel. With tempered
spirits. With heavier hearts. But revel and marvel we will.
Today, as too many brave men and women are facing their
toughest battle - survival - others are braving unknown dangers to sweep the
streets as the first act in hunting down and bringing to justice whoever it was
that perpetrated upon us this act of cowardice. May the wind be at their backs.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
The Opt-In is Out
The mailing list is wiped clean each season. Specifics like the schedule aren't posted here. So getting onto the mailing list is the only way to be in the know. If you haven't received the opt-in email to get onto this year's mailing list, get in touch. If you haven't responded, get off the bench!
Friday, April 10, 2015
Hello, We Must Be Going
A long 5 months away. We made it!
Re:
the permit: word is that - when the residency requirement is met and when the field work has been done - to "expect the
usual." But, the first Sunday in April has passed. It's time to go!
This weekend, Mother Nature graciously relents. As of last Friday there wasn't even an accessible, snow-melted tennis court or basketball court - a space to just to throw and do pepper. "The usual" still had frozen piles and sloppy melt. Tennis court gates were chained, others piled with snow. Forecasts called for start time temps near 39. And the secretary must have quit before sending out the opt-in. But, it's time to go!
This weekend, Mother Nature graciously relents. As of last Friday there wasn't even an accessible, snow-melted tennis court or basketball court - a space to just to throw and do pepper. "The usual" still had frozen piles and sloppy melt. Tennis court gates were chained, others piled with snow. Forecasts called for start time temps near 39. And the secretary must have quit before sending out the opt-in. But, it's time to go!
The permit may not come for another couple of weeks. We won't be on the dirt anywhere - to start mound work and hitting from a batter's
box - but there has been enough melt ... somewhere. This Sunday at 9:30am, likely near our Fall "usual", let's throw / pepper, and see. It's time to play ... catch.
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