Rush R40 Countdown at No. 5: Power Windows and Roll the Bones transport us to special times, places

We're moving into the top quarter of our R40 Countdown and the epic Rush concert in Chicago is getting closer! Both Will and I are recalling how a particular Rush release instantly transports us to a special time and place.

No. 5 Power Windows

Released 1985

Highlights: “Grand Designs,” “Emotion Detector.”

Relatively least-glorious moment: “Territories.”

Cool Neil Peart lyrical moment:

“Like a righteous inspiration

Overlooked in haste

Like a teardrop in the ocean

A diamond in the waste

Some world-views are spacious –

And some are merely spaced”

--- Grand Designs

Power Windows always will bring back memories of my days at University of Missouri.

Going to school halfway across the country forced a great disruption in my music-listening habits. I flew back and forth to Columbia, meaning my extensive record collection wasn’t coming with me. 

I had a modest boom box with a cassette player, so I made greatest hits mix tapes of my favorite bands and brought the essential tapes of Twisted Sister concerts that were broadcast on the radio.

The sparsely decorated Room 4, Cramer Hall.

And speaking of radio, I was separated from the New York radio stations that made for the soundtrack for my daily routines, replaced with strangers with call letters starting with a "K."

We’re talking about a major cultural adjustment here. And that’s not even counting being surrounded by Cardinals fans at a time when the Mets were the team’s main rivals.

So, I learned about the Cardinals and the amazing Arch in St. Louis. I discovered culinary adventures like corn dogs and biscuits and gravy.  And I learned about new and different music, like Purple Rain-era Prince and the Pretenders.

I liked these new things – even some of the Prince stuff -- but never let go of my roots.

And Rush, of course, was one of the things I wasn’t letting go of. The dorm room had a Moving Pictures poster along with the New York skyline and Mets posters.

So Power Windows will forever remind me of an important time.

Playing the CD recently, I was struck that the keyboards certainly harken back to the 1980s – and I like 1980s music – but is still sounds fresh. These are good songs. There’s no denying the synths are there, but they augment instead of overwhelm.

And the band seems to like Power Windows, too, considering that all but one of the songs has been played live and a number of them are played often.

There was much rejoicing when I discovered “Grand Designs” – my fave cut – was dusted off for the last tour, which makes me hopeful that “Emotion Detector” – my second favorite – will finally get the concert airing it deserves.

"Grand Designs" is awesome live!

Since its Rush, we’re dealing with some big topics and the album’s theme is the use of power in its many manifestations, from the dawn of the atomic age to wielding financial clout.

Top to bottom, there’s not a bad song on the album. “Territories” was listed above as the least glorious moment, but it’s still a very good song.

I’m sure the album also benefits from coming out in the cassette era where each song was listened to and studied intently.  I know them all well.

So when “Big Money” or “Mystic Rhythms” come over the speakers, I’m instantly transported back to walking around campus with my Walkman.

And Will jumps in:

No. 5: Roll the Bones

Released 1991

Roll the Bones was released at a time when my Rush rediscovery was at a peak, and like with Dave and Power Windows, it definitely takes me back to a specific time--late 1991 to early 1992, when I saw Rush live three times. It was a time of baseball cards, baseball card columns, sports at the Flint Journal and when I made what at the time was a shocking discovery.

Unlike Dave, I grew up in a mid-market metroplex, and I couldn't wait to leave. Columbus in my youth was a city that rolled up the sidewalk at 5--even though it was a state capitol and had a major university at its hub. I wasn't an Ohio State fan, not like everyone else, and sometime just as I was entering my teens, OSU stopped holding concerts at St. John Arena, so no one who was big and current came to Columbus.

Unlike my friends, who all went to OSU, I went away to college. I was free. I discovered Chicago and wanted to live there at some point, but life got in the way, so I found myself in Flint, but I'd met Dave by this time and we were like a couple of 10-year-olds whose moms had given them the green light to ride their bikes to the pharmacy ... just so long as you're home by dinner!

I was loving working in sports; it was a good time, but ... I felt this longing, a longing that Rush was able to articulate all too well. I mean, "Dreamline," like "Subdivisions" a decade earlier, seemed to be written entirely for my benefit. Then there was "Bravado" and "Neurotica" and "Ghost of a Chance." All of these great songs were hitting me just at the right time.

In the fall of 1991, just after I saw Rush twice in the span of a week--once with Dave at the Palace, once in Cleveland with my father--I went home to Columbus for a number of reasons. Once was one of my best high-school friend's wedding. The next was for a vacation. I'd decided I didn't want to take another solo vacation, so what to do? Just go home and hang out with my old friends.

It was an eye-opening experience. Now that was an adult, well, of adult age, I found that Columbus held charms that hadn't been fully appreciated--mostly a far larger pool of prospective women than Flint could ever afford ... unless, of course, I wanted to grab one off the pole.

Columbus also had changed a bit since I'd been there. In the time since I'd been gone, it had turned into something of a burgeoning culinary town. German Village was thriving. And I had a big circle of friends there. I remember sitting at the table during a poker party thinking, you know ... I could move back here.

Like I said, that was a shocking development for someone who a decade earlier couldn't wait to get out and never look back. Things change. I began to make it my goal to get a job at the Columbus newspaper--a goal that eventually was achieved.

Becoming an OSU fan again? Well, that would take a little longer.

Your countdown so far:

No. 6: Test for Echo (Dave), Grace Under Pressure (Will)

No. 7: Signals (Dave), A Farewll to Kings (Will)

No. 8: Counterparts (Dave), Hemispheres (Will)

No. 9: Hemispheres (Dave), Test for Echo (Will)

No. 10: Presto (Dave), Power Windows (Will)

No. 11: 2112 (Both of us)

No. 12: Clockwork Angels (Dave), Fly by Night (Will)

No. 13: Grace Under Pressure (Dave), Clockwork Angels (Will)

No. 14: A Farewell to Kings (Dave), Snakes & Arrows (Will)

No. 15: Fly by Night (Dave) and Counterparts (Will)

No. 16: Vapor Trails (Both of us)

No. 17: Rush (Dave), Hold Your Fire (Will)

No. 18: Feedback (Dave), Rush (Will)

No. 19: Snakes & Arrows (Dave), Caress of Steel (Will)

No. 20: Caress of Steel (Dave), Feedback (Will)

March is Mostly Mets Reading Month: Mizzou, Mary Lou and the most tolerant roommate.

Once in a while, one must expand his horizons and explore topics outside of baseball and politics. Today’s March is Mostly Mets Reading Month takes us back to the mid-1980s, Mizzou and America’s sweetheart!

March 6: Mary Lou, Creating an Olympic Champion by Mary Lou Retton and Bela Karolyi and John Powers

Published in 1986

I had, unquestionably, the kindest and most patient college roommate ever.

Tony was not only a good friend and spiritual mentor, but he was extremely tolerant.

I was not easy to live with. I realize this now. 

Other people in the University of Missouri’s Floyd Cramer Hall were able to bring proper furnishings from their homes in and around the Show Me State.

I, on the other hand, could contribute stuff that I could pack in a suitcase or arrive in a box in the mail. These included a Twisted Sister “Stay Hungry” mirror that was a gift form a girlfriend the prior year, a rather glorious collection of snap-back baseball caps, a modest boom box and posters.

The posters were, of course, images of the New York skyline, the Mets, a life-sized Tom Seaver, Twisted Sister and Rush. Oh, and Mary Lou Retton.

Yup, I had the classic Wheaties cover poster of Mary Lou in her star-spangled leotard, fists raised triumphantly in the air and megawatt smile. I ate a lot of Wheaties to get that.

It was the 1980s and we all were swept up in national pride after the 1984 Olympics. I’m sure every young guy in America had a secret crush on perky and victorious Mary Lou. They just weren’t willing to eat enough Wheaties.

Well, maybe not everyone.

The Mary Lou crush was the source of playful teasing, and we determined that it was probably healthier than Becky’s crush on James Dean – who had not won a single gold medal.

Tony tolerated this and many other things, including my dependence on the snooze button on the alarm clock each morning. Only years later did I realize that the snooze feature must have awakened Tony, too, over and over.

It’s amazing I didn’t come back from class one day and find my bed and Twisted Sister mirror in the hallway with a new lock on the door.

And I'm glad that didn't happen, because I would have been completely lost without Tony. We're still good friends today.

A couple years after graduating, I came across this cool book at a discount book store. Not yet 20, Mary Lou didn’t have much to say. But coach Bela Karolyi had an interesting story.

I know you are curious. Mary Lou retired from gymnastics but went on to have role in one of my favorite movies – “Scrooged” – and now is a motivational speaker and mother of four.

When I son was heading off to his first dorm room, unearthed the poster box and allowed him to take his pick. He liked the Rush “Permanent Waves” promo poster – which I believe still hangs in his apartment. He politely declined Mary Lou. Actually, he recoiled in horror. 

Maybe some things are better left in the 1980s.

Here's your reading list for the month so far:

March 5: "Baseball Uniforms of the 20th Century" by Marc Okkenon
March 4: "Clemente! The Enduring Legacy" by Kal Wagenheim 
March 3: "Mets by the Numbers" by Jon Springer and Matthew Silverman
March 2: "Faith and Fear in Flushing" by Greg W. Prince

Bad postcard of the week: Albion, Sigma Chi and fraternity shenanigans

Albion shows its billboard, not its town.

Albion, Michigan might be a lovely place. I've not had the pleasure of visiting yet.

But it’s generally a bad sign when the postcard telling the world about your town is a photo of the billboard telling the world about your town, rather than actual scenes from the town.

The back reads: “Albion was first settled about 1825. It is located in the center of the State at the heart of Southern Michigan’s industrial belt. Albion is a residential, educational, retail, agricultural and industrial community. It is the home of Albion College which is recognized as one of the outstanding small, four-year, Christian liberal arts colleges in the nation.”

Albion is between Jackson and Battle Creek along the I-94 corridor. The billboard itself is perplexing. We see “Oil fields, industry, home of Albion College.” But wafting in the clouds is “’The Old Rugged Cross’ and ‘Sweetheart of Sigma Chi’ composed here.’”

OK, now I’m hooked. This might get me in trouble, but churches and fraternities don’t always go hand in hand and this town inspired songs about both.

Let’s investigate.

The often-accurate Wikipedia tells us that technically, only the first verse of “The Old Rugged Cross” was written in Albion. Add an asterisk to the billboard, please, or add “Part of…” before the song title.

Wikipedia tells us that Methodist evangelist George Bennard wrote the first verse of "The Old Rugged Cross" in Albion in the fall of 1912 “as a response to ridicule which he received at a revival meeting.”

So the scoreboard shows Bennard 1, Hecklers 0, since the completed song went on to be a standard that is still sung by choirs today. He wins!

“Sweetheart of Sigma Chi” is more complicated.

Again, Wikipedia tells us that the tune is one of the most beloved and popular college fraternity songs. Written in 1911 by students Byron D. Stokes and F. Dudleigh Vernor, the tune became a favorite of ballroom orchestras and was used in two movie musicals.

Hold on, because here’s where things get hinky.

“When asked about the song's inspiration, Stokes replied, ‘The “Sweetheart” is the symbol for the spiritual ingredient in brotherhood. It was the Sigma Chi Fraternity itself that inspired the song. I wrote the words not long after my initiation, and the magic of our Ritual with its poetic overtones and undertones was, I suppose, the source of my inspiration’.”

So, if I’m reading this correctly, the sweetheart is not a girl, but a bunch of guys and he was inspired the magic of their rituals.

I went to the University of Missouri in the 1980s, not Albion in the 1910s. But the frat rituals I saw seemed to involve beer, paddles, beer, public humiliation, beer and wearing sweatpants with Greek letters sewn across the butt. 

Yes, I proudly lived in the dorms where our rituals involved playing “Purple Rain” and finding any excuse to visit the girls’ floors above us. I did introduce many Midwesterners to Twisted Sister. There may have been public humiliation associated with all of that, too, but we didn't sing about it.

I know you’re curious, so here are the lyrics:

When the world goes wrong, as it's bound to do

And you've broken Dan Cupid's bow

And you long for the girl you used to love

the maid of the long ago

Wait. Dan Cupid? Who the heck is that? Cupid has a first name? Does his business card say “Daniel Cupid, archer/matchmaker?” But I digress.

Why light your pipe, bid sorrow avaunt,

Blow the smoke from your alter of dreams

And wreathe the face of your dream-girl there

The love that is just what it seems.

Not that I ever indulged in this but, the pipe-smoking in college frats of the 1980's was probably different, though dreams were no doubt altered.

The girl of my dreams is the sweetest girl

Of all the girls I know

Each sweet co-ed, like a rainbow trail

Fades in the after glow

“Each sweet co-ed like a rainbow trail?” I went to a frat party once. There was a lot of drinking. I didn't see any rainbow trails, but I did see Technicolor yawns.

The blue of her eyes and the gold of her hair

Are a blend of the western sky

Albion is west of Detroit, but I'm not sure I'd ever refer to it as being in the west.

And the moonlight beams

On the girl of my dreams

She's the Sweetheart of Sigma Chi.

The girl of my dreams is the sweetest girl

Of all the girls I know

Our sweet romance

Like a timeless dance

Dwells in my heart and soul

The love in her eyes and the warmth of her smile

Endure as the years go by

And the moon still beams

On the girl of my dreams

Like a bright shining star in the sky

My sweetheart of Sigma Chi.

Well, um, OK. Keep in mind, this is all about rituals and brotherhood. I still like Purple Rain better.

Bad postcard of the week: Mystery spots at Central Michigan University

What could possibly have created that mysterious stain?

I don’t think Dad was impressed with my University of Missouri dorm when he saw it for the first time.

“It looks like a condemned mental hospital,” he said.

Floyd Cramer Hall was not luxurious, it’s true. There was no air-conditioning and not much of a breeze, save for Tony’s “Wind Machine” fan to bring relief from Missouri’s humidity. And the radiator clanged loudly throughout the night when the weather was cold. We shared a bathroom with guys from about six other rooms.

So I get it when the folks at Central Michigan University in 1956 thought their sparking new dorm was state of the art college living.

The back reads: “Rachel Tate Hall, Central Michigan University, Mt. Pleasant, Michigan.  One of the newest and finest residence halls in the country. It accommodates 304 students, 4 to a suite. Each suite consisting of 2 bedrooms, a study room and complete bath. Each suite is furnished modern throughout with house phone included. Residents take their meals in Food Commons.”

I’m sure it’s a nice place and all. But there is one highly scary detail in the photo that the postcard copy writer omits. What the heck is that giant stain in the parking lot? What did they do, celebrate the dedication by detonating an elephant?

It’s unsettling, to be sure. Especially since the building has the architectural charm of a warehouse. A potential student would what to know what kind of devastation occurs in the parking lot before moving into such a charmless place.

And it was a pretty rowdy place, according to a CMU historical site:

“Its location next to the Carlin Alumni House, which was the university president's residence at the time, led to many dinner invitations to the president and his wife as apologies for excess noise. In 1958, the entire Homecoming court lived from Tate Hall. The building housed women from 1956 to 1972, and became coed until it was demolished, along with Barnard, in 1997. They had been closed due to low enrollment, structural problems, and general inefficiency. The decision to raze them was based on the high cost of remodeling.”  

We never did such wild things in Cramer Hall, but it has one thing in common with Tate Hall: it’s been demolished.

Floyd Cramer Hall has it was being demolished in 2010. It was home from 1984 to 1986.

I found some photos of its destruction on aaRoon’s Flickr site. Room 4 would have been the next window on the left if we could extend the photo a little.

Temperature issues aside, it was a neat place. While other campus dorms had painted cinder-block walls, Cramer and the four others in our cluster had tan, glazed brick walls. It was different.

It wasn’t carpeted, and “California Steve” and I celebrated our great purchase of a remnant that couldn’t have been bigger than three feet by four feet. We could barely fit on it on the same time. But that was our carpeting.

Tony and I upgraded the bunk beds with wooden lofts, hand-me-downs from Becky and Karen when they moved on. We were styling!

And Cramer was part of Mizzou’s grand experiment – the first coed door. I was there for its first year of mingling the genders. The first floor was for guys, the second and third for girls and top floor for guys. Lacking an elevator, the first floor was the place to be.

I had adventures, experienced new things and met new people. I learned about living from home and shared a room for the first time. I was blessed with patient roommates who tolerated Mets and Twisted Sister posters and all things New York.

Like Tate Hall here, it wasn't much to look at. But it was the setting for many transitions and good times.

Fortunately, there were no mysterious stains outside.

Baseball place No. 64: Nolan Ryan Center; Alternative Place No. 64A: The Astrodome -- and an unauthorized peek

I was hoping my trip to Texas would lead me some sites in Josh Pahigian’s “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out.”

I came close.

Josh leads us to the Nolan Ryan Center in Alvin, where the former Met grew up, for place No. 64. Located at Alvin Community College, the center posts exhibits about the hurler, and I’m confident there’s a whole wing dedicated to the 1969 World Series.

But I didn’t venture beyond Houston, where Ryan pitched for the Astros. I didn’t see too many references to The Express at Minute Maid Park, though there was a statue of him at a hotel across the street.

Fair enough, since Ryan didn’t play at Minute Maid, and maybe the fine folks of Houston are a little ticked that Ryan has become more attached to the Texas Rangers.

So I set out to find the place where Ryan actually pitched, which would be:

Alternate Place No 64A: The Astrodome

Yes, the Eighth Wonder of the World still stands, though it has seen better days.

The Astros moved downtown and the Texans football team have massive Reliant Stadium, which towers over the first-ever domed stadium.

There’s a lot of Mets history in that dome, including what one author called “The Greatest Game Ever Played,” Game 6 of the 1986 National League playoffs.

So I figured I’d head over and just walk around the outside, taking some photos. The Texans wanted $8 to park, even though there was nothing going on at either stadium. A friendly attendant suggested I could park in the shopping center across the street and walk over.

After grabbing a quick turkey sandwich at Subway – proving that I had an official reason to park in the lot – I strolled over to see the dome.

It was sad. The mighty Astrodome, which inspired the team to change its name and even create plastic grass, looks pretty unloved next to the new stadium.

It has a new name – the Reliant Astrodome – but it appears there has been no maintenance on the building since the move. It looked dirty, and there were missing pieces of siding here and there.

It was also surrounded by a series of cowboy statues – as opposed to Cowboys statues – since the dome hosted the Houston Rodeo for years.


I figured I’d make a lap, snapping photos near and afar.

Then, on the far side, I saw what appeared to be a truck ramp leading under the stadium. There were two swing-out garage doors, and one was open.

Hmm. I thought maybe I could walk down and an employee or kind security guard would allow me to poke my head in and snap photos.

So I slinked down the ramp, and as I got closer to the door I could see a little inside. It led not to some inner hallway, but to what was the centerfield gate. Off in the distance were the famous rainbow-striped seat sections, with light pouring though the panels of the roof.

I stood in the door. I looked to my left, and to my right. There were no employees to be found.

“Hello?”

Silence.

An adventure should have a little risk. If I had taken another step forward, I supposed it could be considered trespassing.

I pondered what would happen if caught. I was an obvious fan, with cap on head and camera in hand. No harm was intended. I figured I’d get a, “Hey! You’re not supposed to be in here!” and escorted to the door – or I’d run back to the car at the Subway before they could catch me.

After about 10 seconds of deep contemplation, I took a bold step into the Astrodome.

It was spectacular.

I started snapping photos, first with my camera then with the iPhone, quickly sending shots to Will and Greg Prince, figuring that I could be tossed out at any moment and knowing they'd like to share in the fun.

I stood were the outfield fence once was, heart racing and trying to absorb everything I could see.

I don’t remember if there were lights on, or whether the semi-transparent roof was allowing enough light in to illuminate the inside. But it was plenty bright.

The famed plastic grass was gone, the floor was hard concrete. The third base side was filled with those golf cart-like trams that I guess are used to drive fans in from the distant regions of the parking lots for football games.

The first base side was littered with folding chairs and other odds and ends. It struck me that the Astrodome was now the world’s largest storage shed.

After several minutes of not being discovered, I became a little bolder, and started walking into centerfield. Not too far, maybe 10 to 15 feet beyond where the warning track once was.

Turning around, I saw some old advertising signs, blank scoreboards and a sign reading “Home of the Houston Astros" with the orange and blue logo the team hasn’t used since the rainbow days, the design with the stadium in the middle and orbiting baseballs.

I looked at the light coming in the roof and wondered what it would be like for a player to stand in that very spot trying to track the flight of a fly ball.

I swear I could see Mike Scott and his scuffballs, the Toy Cannon launching bombs, Don Wilson and J.R. Richard and Jose Cruz and Cesar Cedeno and those magnificent rainbows.

I thought about Billy Jean King and Bobby Riggs playing tennis, the Bad News Bears with the crowd chanting “Let them play!” and the 1986 All-Star Game with Doc, Gary and Keith wearing their white cleats.

But mostly I thought about Oct. 15, 1986. The Mets needed to win that Game 6 or face Mike Scott in a deciding seventh game. Scott, a former Met, had our boys completely psyched out, beating them in two starts in the series.

I was at the University of Missouri at the time, watching the game on Tony's television in our off-campus apartment.

The Astros scored three runs off Bob Ojeda in the first inning, and neither team could score again until the top of the ninth, when the Mets got two two runs off a tired Bob Knepper, then drew two walks off Dave Smith before Ray Knight hit a sac fly to tie the game.

At that point, I had to go to class. I played the "I had to watch the Mets" card once before, for a 1985 trip to St. Louis to see Dwight Gooden in person. The professor was not impressed. I didn't want to try that again.

After class I pedaled back to the apartment as fast as I could and turned on the television, hoping some station would have the final score. And to my total shock, the game was still being played.

I missed Darryl Strawberry scoring a go-ahead run in the 14th inning, only to have Billy Hatcher tie the game again with a home run. And I arrived with the Mets batting in the top of the 16th, scoring three runs.

But we know the Mets do nothing easily, allowing the Astros score two runs. After Keith famously warned him to stop throwing fastballs for face the consequences, Jesse Orosco struck out Kevin Bass with the tying run on second and the winning run on first. We were going to the World Series for the first time since 1973.

The Astrodome matters.

The team came into the league with the Mets in 1962 as the Houston Colt .45s with assurances that an indoor stadium would protect fans from the sweltering Texas summers.

The first game came in 1965 one a field with real grass. But players complained they couldn’t see the ball against the Lucite roof. Once painted over, the grass died and the team played on dirt painted green.

That, of course, led to the invention of the plastic playing surface forever known as Astroturf.

Now, there are people who bemoan the existence of both domed stadiums and plastic grass. But you could not have had retractable roof masterpieces like Minute Maid Park and Miller Park – both with real grass – without that first step, the Astrodome.

Minute Maid opened in 2000, and Reliant Stadium opened for the Texans in 2002. The Houston Rodeo moved next door in 2003, leaving the Astrodome hosting only an occasional event.

It seems to me that it’s wrong to demolish history. I wish there was more left of Shea than plaques in the parking lot. But I don’t know if it is right to keep up an unused stadium.

So for now it stands -- a garage for trams and a storage shed.

I stood there in deep centerfield, looking for ghosts in rainbow jerseys and wondering if I could walk deeper or even up into the stands for more views.

There’s a difference between boldness and recklessness. I’d experienced what I came for and far beyond. Intentional or not, The Astrodome offered a wonderful gift and I didn’t want to abuse it. I took a long last look and headed back out into the sunshine.

Clearly there was a baseball statue out here at one point, but I have no idea what it was.

Vivian L. Smith was an Astros co-owner who played a big role in the the development of the Astrodome complex.
I thought it was funny at a fire hydrant across the street from the Astrodome was painted in Mets colors. A tribute to "The Greatest Game Ever Played," perhaps?

Baseball Place No. 41: Chappell's Restaurant and Museum; and 41A: Rusty Staub's on Fifth

Sports restaurants are pretty much the same, no matter which jock has his name on the door.

There are jerseys on the walls, helmets on shelves, televisions hanging from every column and chicken wings and fingers on the menu. You know the place.

But it sounds like Chappell’s Restaurant and Sports Museum in Kansas City, Mo. is a bit different. At least Josh Pahigian says so. He picked it as spot No. 41 in his “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out.

Josh said Chappell’s has more than 10,000 pieces of memorabilia. But it’s not all baseball stuff, though there are some pretty special treasures, like the 1974 World Series trophy.

I’ve been to Kansas City twice, but never to Chappell’s. But I have been to a sports bar and restaurant that also a little different than the others. That would be:

Alternative Place No. 41A) Rusty Staub’s on Fifth.

Rusty had several restaurants, but we went to his fancier, Fifth Avenue place twice.

I knew it would be more expensive than the typical place my wife and I went to at that stage in our young relationship. Of course, Pizza Hut was a big night out back then.

But I figured we owed Rusty.

Back in 1986, the year after he retired, Rusty had some kind of vague front office post with the Mets. We went to a game at Shea, and were standing at the window when an amazing thing happened. Rusty Staub walked through the ticket office.

I guess he was picking up tickets for friends or somebody, but there, on the other side of the glass talking to the attendant was the unmistakable Mr. Staub.

“Hey! There’s Rusty Staub!” I said aloud, excited to see a Met hero right there.

Then my fiancée uttered the phrase that brought shock, shame and pain. It’s an incident discussed only in hushed tones these days, some 20 years later.

“Who’s Rusty Staub?”

Yes, he heard it. The friendly smile went to a quick frown, and off he went.

So a year or so later we went to the restaurant, which was in a glass-walled building scanning two levels.

The entrance and bar shared a level with the Mets Clubhouse Shop, which seemed like an incredible place because it had real, game-used caps, jerseys and bats. We visited months later to pick up a game-used, cracked Barry Lyons bat.

We could have enjoyed snacks at the bar, but I was taking my wife out for a fancy meal. We were brought to a table in the lower level, up against a glass wall with a view of the atrium and escalator.

We opened a menu and were somewhat surprised to find entrees that cost more than what we used to paying on a total bill. That was the first time we had a dined at a place where the salad cost extra.

I ordered Rusty’s famous orange chicken – his grandmother’s recipe, I believe – and we at a lot of bread until our fancy meals arrived. It was delicious.

Our next visit capped off an amazing night in Manhattan. The University of Missouri School of Journalism hosted a reception in what was then the Pan Am Building for alumni to meet the new dean.

We were the youngest people there. The event was hosted by Good Housekeeping Editor John Mack Carter, who must have sensed we were uncomfortable because he came over and graciously spent a lot of time with us and pointed out the most expensive things in the food spread and told us to enjoy it all.

After the event we walked over to Rockefeller Center and had desert in the shadow of Prometheus on a spectacular New York evening.

Since we were in that part of town, we walked over to the Mets Clubhouse Shop. It was closing, but we went into the atrium to take a peek in Rusty’s. And there, through the glass in a corner booth, was Keith Hernandez and Ron Darling with a pair of ladies.

I knew better to interrupt that gathering. Keith looked up. I smiled and waved. He nodded and winked.

This time I was careful to whisper. “That’s Keith Hernandez and Ron Darling.”

This time, my wife knew who they were. We headed up the escalator and off into the night.

If it works for Obama, it works for the Mets Guy

This is all Greg’s fault.

No doubt inspired by this week’s inauguration, he introduced me to a cool Obamicon.me Facebook application — found here -- to show a nice photo of his pet cats.

His activity and all that followed kicks off this week’s Deezo Friday Five.

1) No doubt you saw Barack Obama’s iconic "Hope" campaign posters. The program allows you to use any photo and turn it into a mock Obama poster. You can even pick the word on the bottom, since "Hope" is now so ...cliché!

Being a presidential junkie, I quickly created one using my own photo, then created a special Mets Guy version.

My only regret is that I couldn't adjust the colors to use blue and orange.

Then I started exploring the possibilities — for both good and bad. Cousin Tim, a known bad ass, got one from our day at Shea.

Speaking of Shea, Greg offered a version that certainly would have garnered some votes.

Tom would win in a landslide, just as he did when he was up for the Hall of Fame.

My cat, Tug, would get more votes than Duncan Hunter. So would Gene.



Then, once you start speaking the truth, you can’t stop.

Sorry, Derek F. Jeter. But deep down you know it’s true.

So I figure now that I have a cool poster, I can start campaigning for president, or at least a spot on a local school board.

2) I’ve come full circle on the Citi Field Inaugural Season patch.

Clearly, this is a Mercury Mets moment.

For the unaware, most teams several years ago participated in a "Turn Ahead the Clock" promotion that featured playing a game in futuristic uniforms.

Some were pretty cool. But the Mets created an odd Mercury Mets persona that wasn’t just bad. It was shockingly awful.

And I was reminded that when the Mets screw something up, they don’t just do something that kinda sucks.

No. When the Mets mess up, they seek to define the bottom. Paul Lukas of Uniwatch fame called the patch the worst ever.

Of course it is.

There have been plenty of dull, lifeless patches that are quickly forgotten. But now, any time a bad patch is revealed, it will be compared to the Citi Field patch. And it will fall short.

We must embrace this. It is our destiny.


3) Speaking of destiny, when we kick ass on something, we aim right for the top.

Now I shall refer to the glorious new Home Run Apple.

No team in baseball shall ever attempt to hoist massive celebratory fruit once this new Citi Field Apple rises for the first time.

Published reports say the new, fiberglass Apple is 6 feet tall and 18 feet in diameter — far bigger than the 9-foot-tall original. When a Met hits a homer, the apple will rise 15 feet.

It’s being made in Minnesota and will be installed in the new park sometime in February.

And once it rises, every Phillies fan that used to be content with their bonging Liberty Bell outline will reflect upon their inferiority.


4) The McFarlane people turn out some sweet baseball figures, and I especially love the Cooperstown series, expect that it tends to have A) too many Yankees, and B) players who are not in Cooperstown.

Occasionally, they have C) players in the wrong uniform.

I saw the new figure of 1969 Met Nolan Ryan and wondered aloud why anyone would want him in a Rangers uniform when he could be depicted in his glorious Mets pinstripes.

Seriously, does anybody remember Ryan pitched for the Rangers, Astros or Angels?

Plus, the new figure has him all bloody. I thought this might be from the day when Nolan got a little snotty with future Met Robin Ventura, and Robin had to run to the mound and teach him a thing or two.

But no, Nolan apparently cut his lip because he had trouble fielding his position in a late-season game against Kansas City.

Would have been so much better to show him mowing down Orioles in the 1969 Series.

5) There’s a chance I was a bit of a wise guy in college. That leads us to the strange case of the Three-Pronged Adapter.

You need the background. I worked as a desk aide in the dorm while I was at the University of Missouri, a job that included handing out keys to people who lock themselves out of their rooms, calling maintenance and other tasks devoted to keeping Floyd Cramer Hall a happy place.

Part of this entailed writing in the daily log anything that happened that people in the following shifts needed to know about.

There were about six of us, and one was deemed "head desk aide" which was as important as it sounds.

Except that the person who held this post took it very seriously. And she spent much time developing policies and protocol that needed to be followed.

Then came the new vacuum.

It had a three-pronged plug, and all the outlets in the dorm had outlets with two slots, making it hard to use the vacuum.

This was not an issue for the two guy floors in our four-story building, since guys didn’t think about vacuuming their floors until the over-sized mice fed on Domino’s pizza droppings started to carry out what limited furniture we had.

But the residents of the two women’s floors cared about such things, and someone was dispatched to the hardware store to buy an adapter.

The HDA, as we shall now call the head desk aide, then distributed a long list of rules pertaining to the three-pronged adapter. Let’s just say no one was going to walk out the door with that thing without signing their life away. Closing on a house was easier.

The point was that the three-pronged adapter was too precious to let out of our sight, and we would be held responsible should be go missing. One would think that it would have been easier to just spend another couple bucks and buy about 10 of the tools, but that’s not how we did things.

Writers view an empty page as a challenge. And after reading this missive, I spent time I should have spent studying to create a whole back story for the three-pronged adapter, noting that it was too dangerous to be let out of our sight.

The people manning the desk on the following shifts only added to the story, and by the end of the next day, the three-pronged adapter had a prison jumpsuit, a Jason mask and a bloody knife extended from little paper arms.

The HDA, predictably, hit the roof. So did her boyfriend, who was a fellow desk aide, and, as far as we could tell, was the only one of us who actually read the policy manuals and was her chief defender.

The HDA’s calls for more order and respect for authority went unheeded, and the legend of the three-pronged adapter grew.

When I graduated in December, the remaining desk aides smuggled the three-pronged adapted out of the office without filling out the forms and presented it to me as a farewell gift.

And I’ve kept it these 22 years as a playful reminder of my Missouri years.

This year, we were setting up some Christmas decorations and, amazingly, needed a three-pronged adapter and pressed him into service.

I filled out none of the forms. Always fight The Man!