Riley Time

After writing about Cal's baseball exploits, it occurred to me that I should give Riley equal time, not just in order to treat both boys the same, but because Riley also has a compelling story with a happy ending. Riley has had a really impressive season in Little League this year, and it almost didn't happen.

Back in March, when registration time for Ypsilanti American Little League (YALL) rolled around, Riley declared that he didn't want to play baseball this year. He had expressed a similar sentiment at the end of last season, but he and I spent six Sundays in January and February at an indoor pitching/hitting camp, and he really enjoyed himself so I assumed he would be eagerly anticipating the upcoming season. Not so. I tried several times to get him to explain why he didn't want to play baseball, and the reasons included things like "too tired" and "too busy", with the excuse changing every time I asked him. Finally, Cathy and I decided to stage an intervention. Riley loves baseball more than anything in the world, so for him not to play would be a tragedy. I suspected that the real reason he didn't want to play was a bad taste left over from last year's final tournament game, where all of the adults behaved badly (for details of the event, read "Yankees Win, Parents Lose". Riley is the kind of person who will let the bad behavior of others bother him, simply because it's "not right". When I suggested to him why I thought he didn't want to play, he conceded that I was correct. He didn't want to have to go through a game like that again. I tried to get him to understand that things like that are a rare occurrence by asking him how many games like that he had been part of. "One", he admitted. Then I asked how many games total he had played in his life, and he said it was too many to count.He started to see that if, out of all the games he had played, this had only happened once, the chances of it happening again (at least right away), weren't that high. I also explained to him that I had joined the YALL executive board in order to try and prevent incidents like that from happening again. Finally, Cathy and I made a proposal; we asked him to agree to play Little League this year, with the understanding that if, after two games, he was still unhappy, we would let him quit. He readily agreed, and we registered him soon after.

Of course, as soon as he was on the field again with his buddies, all of the bad feelings instantly evaporated, and we haven't looked back. The two-game deadline came and went without mention. Equally gratifying was that he continued to play the game with passion and joy, and he seemed to get better with every game. He spent most of his time at his usual position of first base, but this year got called upon to pitch more regularly. He began the season as one of the two relief pitchers (YALL teams, because of the games per week and pitch count rules, typically have two starters and two main relievers, with others filling in as necessary). He did well with his pitching, although his velocity and consistency weren't as good as I would have liked. Still he was able to get results, and that's what really counts. After a couple of weeks, though, he really started to show improvement. His accuracy got better and he started throwing more strikes than balls. One of the other fathers pointed out to me (I had been completely unaware) that over two consecutive pitching appearances, Riley pitched a total of 4 2/3 innings, and every one of the fourteen outs recorded during that time was a strikeout. With the improved performance, his confidence grew as well. About this time he was promoted to become one of the regular starters. He was far from perfect - every once in a while he still needed to be reminded to throw the ball rather than trying to place it - but these reminders were required less and less often.

When it got late in the season, games started piling up due to the number of weather-related cancellations earlier in the season. At one point, Riley's team was facing four games in one week, including two on back-to-back nights. This kind of schedule is really hard on a team's pitchers, who are required to have a prescribed number of days' rest after throwing a set number of pitches. To get around this, the coach decided to pitch everybody in the first game of the back-to-back, but each pitcher was to throw 20 pitches or fewer (which requires no subsequent rest), allowing each pitcher to be available for the following game. Riley started the game, and had his most dominant performance of the season. He threw only 20 pitches over two innings and retired 6 of the 7 batters he faced (5 by strikeout, the sixth was a groundout to Riley), allowing only one hit. In contrast, no other pitcher on the team lasted more than one inning - they hit their 20-pitch limit in one inning or less. It was a shame when he got pulled, because he was throwing so well. If you do the math, at least 15 of his 20 pitches were strikes (the 5 strikeouts), and two others were good enough to hit (the groundout and the hit). If memory serves me, he only threw one ball that day.

In some ways, that performance was just a preview of last night's, however. Last night was the first game of the post-season tournament, the same post-season tournament that caused us trouble last year (even though the Yankees won). This year, because of our impending trip to Calgary for my 50th birthday, we knew that we would only be around for the first game of the tournament (this fact caused us little concern). Because it was Riley's last game of the YALL season, and in order to preserve the rest of his pitchers for future games, Riley's coach decided to start him at pitcher, and said he would let Riley throw until his arm gave out. All season, Riley seemed to peter out after about 50 pitches; he never got close to the league-mandated maximum of 75 pitches for a 9-year-old. Therefore, I expected him to last about 50 pitches, which could be anywhere from 2 to 4 innings, depending on how many walks and hits were given up.

It would up being a masterful performance. He wasn't quite the strike-throwing machine he had been in the previously mentioned game, but he was in control the whole time. Every time he needed a strike, he threw a strike. To me that was impressive, because often those pressure situations make it harder to focus and throw strikes, but he did it time and time again. The composure he showed throughout was amazing. As I predicted, he seemed to tire a bit around 50 pitches, but he said he felt good, and he just pitched through it. By the last inning, he had given up only two hits and a couple of walks, had eight strikeouts and three put-out assists (fielding grounders and throwing the runner out at first). Suddenly, something almost unheard of in minors baseball seemed possible - a complete game. These rarely happen (at least in the YALL) because pitchers, even on a good day, typically hit their maximum pitch count before the end of the game. You have to average about 12 pitches per inning to finish a 6-inning game without hitting the max of 75. Riley was getting close to the max, but three quick outs would allow him to finish. He struck out the first two batters, but he threw too many pitches to do it, and the coach had to pull him with one out left in the game. The next pitcher came in and threw one pitch - the batter swung at the first pitch and grounded out to end the game. It was kind of frustrating - Riley was one pitch away from throwing a complete-game, two-hit shutout - but in no way did it detract from how well he pitched that night. I was immeasurably proud of him, especially looking back on how much he had improved since the start of the year and even more so because he might not have played at all. It was a tremendous way to cap the season.

Of course, it turns out that the season isn't quite over yet. Both boys have been chosen to play for their respective all-star teams - Cal for the U12 team, and Riley for the U10 team. When we return from Calgary, they'll spend the month of July playing in a series of tournaments, including the district tournament, which leads to the state championships. Hopefully, I'll have more exploits to write about then.

The Long Ball

Cal hit his first ever home run last night. This was a real home run, not one of those hits to the outfield that should be a double or a triple, but with a fast runner and a couple of throwing errors mixed in, the batter is able to score. I'm talking about an over-the-fence, out-of-the-park, home-run-trot-around-the-bases home run.

You may wonder what all the fuss is about; after all, home runs happen every day. The truth is, though, at local little league level, they're kind of a rarity. All this season, before last night, there were two home runs that I am aware of (and news like that gets around) so Cal's would be the third. Plus, this one was special (at least to me) for a couple of reasons: first, it was completely unexpected; and second, it was a gift.

Back at the beginning of May, Cal asked Cathy what she would like for her birthday. She told him she would like a home run. I thought that was asking for a bit much, but it was all in fun, so I said nothing. Thankfully, he didn't spend every at bat trying to hit a home run, because that would have been disastrous. In my experience, when kids try to hit a home run, their batting averages go into the toilet. Cal continued to bat the way he always did, which is why I didn't have high hopes for Cathy's birthday present. Not that he does anything wrong; it's just that he has a quick, compact, level swing designed to hit singles. He's big and strong - physically he looks the part of a home run hitter - but he has always been about just getting hits rather than swinging for the fences, and that's a good thing in my opinion.

Later in May, Riley got himself a home run. It was of the inside-the-park variety (I don't think most 9-year-olds are physically capable of hitting the ball over the fence), but it was legitimate - he wasn't assisted by any errors. It was his best hit of the year - right to the fence, if not over - and with his speed on the bases, he crossed home as the throw was coming in to the catcher. Cathy was at that game, and when she went to congratulate him, he wished her a happy birthday.

Cal, as I suspected, wasn't quite so lucky in fulfilling the birthday wish. He's been having a mixed year - some really good games, and some so-so games. He's had some nice hits, but more strikeouts than he would like. As I said, I didn't have high hopes for a home run, but that was okay.

Which brings us to last night. First game of the playoffs, against the number one seed. Down 3-2 in the top of the fourth inning, with two outs and Cal coming up to bat. He fouled one off, and then on the second pitch he connected. Beautiful swing, perfect contact. As the ball leaped off the bat, my initial reaction was, "That's a good solid hit." My second reaction was, "I hope the center fielder isn't standing right underneath it." I looked to see where the center fielder was, and I saw him turn and start to run back for the fence, so I thought it might be a safe hit. Just about that time, a little voice at the back of my head started thinking, "Could it be?", and a big voice at the front of my head coming out of my mouth started saying to the ball, "Go! Get out!" as I did the Carlton Fisk thing. Then I saw the ball drop behind the center field advertising banner and land in the grass about six feet past the fence. Cal pumped his fist in the air as he rounded first base and the dugout went wild. After that, everything was a blur. I don't remember him rounding the bases, but do remember him being mobbed by his teammates, who all rushed out of the dugout as he crossed home. I went to the fence by the dugout to give him a high five, and he practically had to fight his way through his teammates to get to me. I almost had tears in my eyes when I saw the beaming smile on his face as he fought to get back into the dugout.

The only disappointment was Cathy wasn't there to see it. She was at a workshop and couldn't be at the game. I got out my phone to call her, but Cal made me promise not to call and tell her; he wanted to be the one to surprise her, and rightly so. I settled for sending her a cryptic text message - "Happy Birthday".

I keep replaying the hit in my head. It was a sublime moment, almost like capturing one split second of perfection in a bottle. The phrase that keeps occurring to me is "pure, beautiful simplicity" - just a bat and a ball making contact, and the ball obeying the laws of physics as it sails through the air. It may never happen again, but it happened this time, and it's something Cal will always remember and treasure.

Fergus - A Life

I've been thinking a lot about Fergus (naturally), and there has been a flood of memories that I want to record before they fade away. I've decided to do it by chronicling the life of Fergus, for posterity (at least as much as I can remember; there will probably be updates to come).

We got Fergus from the Ann Arbor Cat Clinic. Cathy felt that Gizmo was lonely and needed another cat for company, so we went to check out kittens to adopt. I was assigned the task of sitting in a room with a bunch of kittens and picking one. There was one who instantly stood out. He was on top of me in an instant, almost aggressively interactive. He kept licking me, presumably trying to groom me (or seeing if I tasted okay). This was Fergus. He was a funny looking thing, all skin and bones, with huge feet and a triangular head. We didn't know much about him. He had been found on the street, so his history was unknown, although the vets estimated his age at about 3 months, very close to Gizmo's.

We brought him home, where he instantly DIDN'T hit it off with Gizmo. We had to keep the two of them apart for several days until they got used to each other. What I forgot until Cathy reminded me recently, was how flatulent Fergus was. He stank up the house for about the first week we had him. He also proved to be very needy, demanding attention all the time, we assumed because of his hard, lonely early life on the streets. This was something about him that never really changed.

There always seemed to be more dog than cat about Fergus. Far from aloof, he was always seeking attention and loved having people around. He would purr continuously if there was anyone in the same room with him. He acted like he ran the place, and in some ways he did, except when I was around. I established myself early on as the alpha male, and he generally acceded to my authority.

Every morning when I came downstairs, he would follow me around seeking attention. If I didn't dote on him to his satisfaction, he would dart in front of me to get in my way so I would notice him. I noticed him, but usually it ticked me off enough that I didn't give him what he wanted, so invariably he would play the "cute" card, laying on the ground and rolling over on his back with his paws in the air. That one usually worked.

One way Fergus expressed his neediness was a need for body contact. Whenever I would work at the dining room table on my computer, he would climb on the table and try to lay down on top of my left arm, making it impossible for me to move my arm, and therefore type. I would chase him off, and he would lie down about a foot away. Then, over the course of the next 10 minutes, he would gradually inch his way back toward me, rolling and stretching and shifting, anything he could do to get closer without tipping me off. When he got close enough, he would casually put out one paw to touch me, hoping I wouldn't chase him away again. It was so funny to watch, because he was so predictable, but I usually didn't have the heart to chase him away a second time.

Fergus was the most vocal cat I've ever known. I have read that cats are capable of 124 different vocalizations, and Fergus had mastered them all. He was always yapping about something. I learned to tell his moods and needs based on the different sounds coming from him. My favorite was his happy sound - it was a very short meow that sounded more like the quack of a duck.

Without question, dinner time was his favorite time of day. Dinner time was typically around 5:00 pm, and if we were home, he would start whining for dinner about 3:00. He always got so excited when it finally was dinner time, that he would get all twitchy and run around not knowing what to do with himself. When the food was finally presented, he would dig in to his dish for a while, then go over and chase Gizmo off and eat her food. I worked hard to break him of that latter habit, but the best I could do was training him to wait until Gizmo was finished eating before he ate the rest of her food.

Fergus had a knack for laying down in the perfect place to get in the way of whatever we were trying to do. Over the years, we became convinced that this was intentional, because it got him attention, and he loved any attention, even if it was negative.

I used to tell him he was the most annoying cat in the world, and he could be because he was always in your face, but he was also really lovable, because he was much more personable than your average cat. Everyone who knew Fergus loved him. He didn't really give you much of a choice.

Fergus, RIP

We lost Fergus today. It came out of the blue, and was so sudden that right now we're all in shock, trying to come to terms with it.

I came home from work at the usual time, and Fergus wasn't waiting at the door to greet me as he usually did. When I got inside, I heard him howling from the basement. He was at the bottom of the steps, just lying there. I harangued him for being too lazy to even come up the steps, but something felt wrong. I went down the steps to check, and he tried to get up to come to me, but he could only drag his hind legs behind him. I felt sick inside, thinking he had broken his back or a leg.

I had to get him to a vet, so I put a towel in an old postal bin, placed Fergus inside, and loaded him in the car. I didn't dare put him in the cat carrier in case I hurt him further. He wasn't happy in the box, but I tried to keep him calm as I rushed to the animal emergency. I took him inside and they rushed him back to have the vet look at him. About that time, Cathy arrived. Before long, the vet came out to tell us the news. Fergus hadn't broken anything; instead, he had hypertrophic cardiomyopathy (the most common heart disease in cats), and had thrown a blood clot that lodged in his aorta near the branch point of the iliac arteries, effectively cutting off the blood supply to his legs and tail. We don't know how long he had been lying there like that, but it was long enough that he was paralyzed from the waist down. The doctor said there was a minimal chance Fergus could recover from the clot, and even if he did, there would still be the cardiomyopathy, which is eventually fatal. As the vet described the situation, it became clear that euthanasia was the only option; anything else would be cruel.

They took us to a room to wait while they prepared Fergus. I turned to Cathy, and as tears flowed, I said, "Now we'll never know when it's dinner time." Fergus always let us know in no uncertain terms when it was time for him to be fed. After a few minutes, they brought Fergus in, and Cathy and I petted him while the vet gave him the injection. Fergus, being the persistent little cuss that he was, required a second shot; the first one wasn't enough. True to form, because he was receiving attention, he was purring up a storm until the anesthetic took effect and he quietly laid down and became still.

The boys were distraught when we told them. Riley was especially inconsolable, because he had really bonded with Fergus over the past year or so. Even Gizmo seems a little out of sorts; as I was getting her dinner, she kept looking around for Fergus and he was nowhere to be seen. Not that it's been easy so far, but I think it will really hit me over the next few days, when Fergus isn't crawling between my legs as I put my shoes on in the morning or getting in my way as I try to take my shoes off in the evening. I used to complain at times (only to him, mind you) about how annoying Fergus could be, but that was just because he was such a big presence in the house. Now that presence is gone, and we're going to find out just what a big hole is left without him.

August 3 - Melbourne to Ypsilanti

Our flight this morning was scheduled for 10:10, so we wanted to be at the airport by 8:00. That meant catching a taxi by around 7:10, because we were told to allow 50 minutes drive to the airport. We had inquired about an airport shuttle, but for 4 of us, it would have cost the same as a cab ride, so we stuck with the taxi. Cathy and I got up around 5:30 to get ready, and woke the boys up at 6:15. We were pretty efficient, and headed down to the lobby at 6:50. We checked out, and caught a cab in front of the hotel. We were on our way by 7:00, exactly according to plan. The run to the airport took less time than expected, and we were there about 7:25. We got checked in pretty quickly, and managed to check our bags through to Detroit (we would have to retrieve them in LA and get them passed through customs, but it would make it easier to move them on afterward - we didn't want to have to haul our bags from terminal to terminal in LA). We grabbed some breakfast for the boys, then headed for security screening. They do it really well in Melbourne - there was a guy in a sequined red vest with a microphone who managed to convey all of the information about the process while being funny and entertaining; he even provided small zip-loc bags for anyone who needed them. It greatly relieved the tension that often accompanies security screening. We managed to run afoul of security - the boys' rugby balls were fully inflated and ran the risk of exploding at the reduced pressure in an airplane - but instead of getting upset and snarky with us, the officials managed to procure an inflating needle and deflated the balls for us, and did so graciously and with good humor. Having survived security, we checked out the duty-free shops (stocking up on Tim-Tams!) and proceeded to the gate. At the gate, there was more security. Four police officers were present, one with a police dog who was taken around to check everyone's carry-on bags. There was also a section of the gate to which access was restricted. Our flight was a bit delayed (for 'engineering reasons', although I was suspicious), but eventually boarding was initiated. As we tried to board, Cathy and Riley were 'randomly selected' for further security screening; Cal and I were allowed to proceed. When we tried to get our boarding passes scanned, however, they wouldn't register, and we were sent back for additional screening as well. We were frisked, and our bags were searched and tested for chemical residues. We passed (surprise!) and were allowed to proceed.

The flight itself was unremarkable; we got fed twice and I watched four movies, but it was long (more than 13 hours) and boring. Cal managed to sleep a bit, and Riley did toward the end, but Cathy and I slept little. We arrived in LA at 7:45, not long after our scheduled arrival. We progressed through immigration quickly (surprise!), then collected our bags and headed for customs. That was smooth too, except that the customs official wanted to confiscate our Tim-Tams (not because they were illegal, but because her really liked them). We were then able to get our bags moved on to the next flight, and we proceeded to wander two terminals over to get checked in for our flight to Detroit. Check-in was easy, but we had to pass security again, and this time the line was much longer than in Melbourne (there was no humor to break the tension either. We passed security without issue (for a change), got some muffins for breakfast (cereal for Riley), picked up a few items for lunch on the plane (what a comedown after three consecutive flights on Qantas, having to provide our own food on Delta!), and settled in at our gate. The boys quickly fell asleep, and Cathy and I just hung out. The second flight was also unremarkable, but almost more boring than the first, because even though it was shorter, there was less to do. The boys, luckily, slept through it. We finally arrived back in Detroit, our trip over. I have to admit, this was the first vacation I've had in years, where I'm actually sorry to be home. Now all there is left to look forward to is the jet lag....

August 2 - Melbourne

I went for my now usual early morning workout in the gym, then as the boys struggled toward consciousness, I popped out and down the street to get breakfast. I got Riley his muffin from 7-11, and I got croissants for the rest of us at the French café. While I was in the gym, I could tell that it was raining, but by the time I went out, it was clear and pleasant. After breakfast, we headed out for the day. We started by catching a tram south toward St. Kilda. The area was pretty quiet (we bad hopes to go Sunday, when there is an open air market, but Monday, there wasn't much going on), and it was really windy. We walked out along the St. Kilda pier to the kiosk, where we got the boys a drink and Cathy and I had Devonshire tea (complete with scones and clotted cream). We wandered along the beach for a while, briefly checked out the rest of the neighborhood, then caught a tram back north toward downtown. We rode as far as Federation Square, because we had plans to see the Tim Burton Exhibition at the Australian Centre of the Moving Image (ACMI). The exhibition was amazing; they has lots of artifacts from his various movies, but the highlight for mr was seeing all of his original drawings for movies, both produced and unproduced. He has an amazing talent and a really subversive wit. There were numerous clips from his films, both famous and obscure, tied to many of the drawings presented. We all really enjoyed the exhibit. Then we went in search of lunch. We walked along the south bank of the Yarra River and found a bunch of interesting restaurants, but nothing with food that Riley would eat. We solved that little problem by getting Riley a sandwich at Subway, then going to a nice Asian noodle restaurant for us. While we were inside, a heavy rainstorm hit. By the time we were done, however, it was nice and sunny again. We made a couple of quick stops to pick up items for dinner (we decided to have the rest of our cheeses and dips, supplemented with some other goodies and a bottle of wine, of course), then made our way back to the hotel. While Cathy organized our bags for the trip home, I took the boys over to the park to kick the ball around, but the rainstorm had left a few major mud puddles, and within about a minute, Riley was wearing a substantial amount of park, due to a slip while chasing the ball. When we were tired of kicking, I took the boys back to the room and went to get a couple of shared items for dinner. At a place called Burger Edge, I finally found the condiment combination I'd been looking for for a month - bacon, egg, beetroot, and pineapple - in addition to the usual lettuce and tomato. They called it "the Okker". I took one back to the hotel, along with a beef curry baked potato, and we all shared them along with the cheese etc. We had an early night, because an early trip to the airport awaited us in the morning.

August 1 - Melbourne

I got up at 6 am to work out again this morning. The gym is in an atrium on the roof that gives a nice view toward downtown. As soon as I got up there, I noticed it was raining. At least the game we were going to (AFL: Western Bulldogs vs North Melbourne Kangaroos) was in an indoor stadium. I had my workout, then went back to the room and showered. The boys were still unconscious. Cathy, suffering through the cold she'd caught from me, hadn't slept well, and was trying to rest. I was hungry, so I decided to pop out and get breakfast for all of us. That way we could avoid the specter of having to eat a big breakfast in a restaurant. I walked a couple if blocks in the rain and picked up some croissants from a café (and a muffin from 7-11 for Riley). As I headed back, the rain began to lighten. Back at the room we eventually all got fed and ready - Cal was very resistant to getting up and getting moving, so by the time we were out the door it was pushing 11:00. That meant a lineup at the desk of people checking out, which delayed my purchase of transit cards. We had planned to go downtown St. Kilda Esplanade (by the water) to check out shops and another quaint market and enjoy the atmosphere. The morning had turned sunny (but slightly cool),which buoyed our spirits). We stood at the tram station for 10 minutes waiting for a southbound team before we realized that we wouldn't have enough time to do anything before we'd have to leave for the game, which started at 2:00 pm. We decided that our only real option was to head for the Docklands (site of the stadium) and check out the other sights of the area. We wandered around a shopping centre, had lunch at a cafe, then made our way to the game. I wore one of my Bulldogs jerseys, and fit right in with the rest of the crowd. We entered the stadium and found our seats - in the second row, near one 50m line. This was a mixed bag; we were very close to the action on our side of the field, but we were so low it was hard to tell what was happening on the other side of the field. It was fun to be there and enjoy the atmosphere, and the doggies turned a close game into a rout in the second half. During the third quarter, a chill blew through the stadium (even though it was indoors, they had gates open for smokers to go outside. The chill was due to a hailstorm that blew in suddenly, although we were unaware of it at the time. In the fourth quarter, Julia Gillard, the Aussie Prime Minister (embroiled in a tough election campaign) and longtime Bulldogs season ticket holder, stopped by the game, creating a bit of a ruckus. After the game, we popped across the street to a place called the Woolshed Pub for dinner. I had my first decent beer in Australia (a microbrewed dark lager) and we all ate too much food. We got a bit chilled on the way home (we had to wait about 15 minutes for a tram, and it had gotten quite cold), and by the time we reached the hotel, we were all pooped. We watched a little cricket (a rout for England over Pakistan) and then retired for the night.