Counting our many blessings -- and the turkeys, too

I just finished preparing the mashed sweet potatoes and the steps that will lead to my turkey’s stuffing, events that can only signify that my favorite holiday is approaching.

I love Thanksgiving because I have so much to be thankful for, and I appreciate them all. I’m blessed, and I realize it.

So let’s launch into the annual list of all that is good – and the accounting of the turkeys who try to spoil all the fun.

I’m thankful that I have a job that I love. One and a half, actually. I don’t take this lightly, because Michigan is hurting bad. It’s been a rough year in my state and in my profession. We’re hanging on, and don’t think there isn’t a day when I don’t thank the Lord for this blessing. And I’m glad that I can continue my adjunct teaching job in the spring semester. Working with such wonderful students tells me there are still talented young people who are dedicated to journalism and have hope for the future.

Turkey! Hallmark. People mocked in the past when I bemoaned the Hallmark Christmas Ornament Curse. But I was distraught when I learned that Johan Santana was this year’s decoration. Of course, he had season-ending surgery just after the ornament was released. And he took most of the team with him, leaving us with an especially dreary season.

I’m thankful that I was able to see our beloved Mets three times this season, twice in the spring and on Aug. 5 in our Citi Field debut. And amazingly – considering my past -- the Mets won all three. The 9-0 destruction of the Cardinals in August was viewed from spectacular seats provided by my parents – awesome – and was marred only by Jon Neise being carried off the field to join the DL party. But my son was able to see his first Mets game in New York, and I got all weepy seeing my glorious FanWalk brick, provided by Cousin Tim, who was there to join the celebration. And we all caught up with blogging buddy Greg Prince at the game, too. It was a very, very good day.

Turkeys! The ESPN Sunday Night Baseball crew of Jon Miller and Joe Morgan. Look, I like Miller, one of the best voices in the game. But Morgan is killing me, and he’s an anchor around Miller. When Morgan is not reminding us that he “played the game,” he’s praising Derek F. Jeter. Jeter doesn’t even have to be playing at the time. But it’s darn near embarrassing when he is. How many times have you heard this scenario: A weak, routine five-bouncer to short, which Jeter gets only because it’s hit right at him, then promptly throws to first base, bouncing twice along the way. “Look at Jeter get to that ball,” Morgan will exclaim. “He makes that play look easy. Derek just brings that something special every time he steps on the field. He makes everyone around him better. I know how players do that, because I played the game.” Gag.

I’m thankful for my iPhone, which is very close to surpassing my iPod as the greatest device ever. It is life-altering. The apps are incredible for both work and home. I’m especially thankful for the “Lose it” app. All I’m saying is that I installed it on July 7 and now I’m 50 pounds lighter. Really. And there’s the app that tracks how far and fast I can run, with the pause button so I can flick over to the maps app so I can get unlost while running in Texas and find my way back to Aunt Darlene’s house. Yes, this happened.

I’m thankful for lax security in the Astrodome and tour guides who don’t mind giving individual tours of Minute Maid Park. That trip to Texas offered all kinds of adventures.

I’m thankful that the Baseball Hall of Fame is taking the task of adding executives and pioneers more seriously by adding a keen and brilliant mind to the selection committee. That would be Tom Seaver, who is being lured from the vineyards next week to make sure these knuckleheads don’t mess things up again.

Turkeys! Sadly, the Hall still managed to goof things up. The committee to consider managers and umpires includes Tom Verducci, the infamous Yankee hack who actually declared that cyborg/reliever Mariano Rivera should start the 2008 All-Star Game so applause could fall on him like soft rain. I almost gagged on the turkey just typing that again. But seriously, this is a bad idea. Is there any doubt that “The Duce” will start the meeting by protesting that there are non-Yankees on the ballot? Do we not believe that Verducci will, with a straight face, make a case that Billy Martin should have a spot in Cooperstown, then try to slip in Ralph Houk and Joe Girardi and goodness knows how many once and future Yankee managers into the Hall? Then he'll move along to Yankee coaches and bullpen catchers and the grounds crew and Derek F. Jeter's parents for their role in making the world a better place. I, for one, hope that they don’t put Verducci in charge of counting the ballots.

I’m thankful that the Mets are not totally screwing up the new uniforms all the way. We love the team. You know that. But sometimes it makes questionable decisions when it comes to tinkering with the astonishingly great uniforms the Mets were blessed with. This week the team announced it would feature cream-colored pinstripes intended to honor the 1969 champs. I’m down with that, even though the typical Mets pinstripes are the best uniforms in baseball. But for reasons I can not figure out, they are leaving the black drop shadow on there. Help me figure this out. If you are going to recreate a uniform from 1969, why exactly are you keeping the feature from the past decade? We know the Mets. The team makes progress in increments. That’s why we’re getting a Mets Hall of Fame a year after the ballpark opens. As long as we’re headed in the right direction, it’s all good.

I'm thankful that I was allowed to coach the greatest church coed softball team ever. One a communication-forced forfeit prevented us from smashing through the playoffs. We settled for the consolation championship -- excellent -- and lots of wonderful fellowship. And now I can start planning and plotting for next year.

I'm thankful that I was able to hear Audio Adrenaline's Mark Stuart and Will McGinnis one more time. One of my favorite bands, Audio A called it quits a couple years ago when Stuart started losing his voice. Now he and Will tour as Audio Unplugged, and share their stories as they play a few songs, which is easier on Mark's voice. I had the chance to meet them after a recent concert, and share how much their music inspired me, especially when I was looking for ways to connect with the middle school youth groups. They probably hear that kind of thing all the time, but maybe not. I didn't want the opportunity to say "thank you" slip by.

I hope this holiday finds you happy and healthy and in appreciation of the blessings the Lord has given us. Even in the toughest of years on and off the field, may we never forget what is special about our lives, and the people we get to share them with.

Candlesticks, canned Willie, Crenshaw and the rest of the Friday Five

Now that every baseball writer in the country has vented his spleen over the way the Mets fired Willie Randolph, can we move on?

Seriously, it’s like they were having a contest to out-outrage each other. And the main beefs didn’t have to do with whether Willie should have been booted. No. Their undies were in a bunch over the time of night and the distance from home.

Excuse me, sportswriters. Can you please tell me what is the acceptable time of day and distance from home to fire a manager?

I can deduce from the rantings that 3 a.m. East Coast time and 3,000 miles from New York is bad. So are we talking noon in Denver? Or 2 p.m. at a Sonic Burger in North Carolina? Maybe 10 a.m. at the White Castle near the Sunrise Mall?

Seriously, somebody out there deliver the guidelines because Mike Greenberg of ESPN radio is still worked up.

Two other managers got canned this week, but apparently the time and place of those firings met with the approval of the media, since spleens were left unvented.

Despite being distracted by the dismissal and the dissing, I am able to deliver a Deezo Friday Five in a relatively timely fashion.

1) So far, I like the Jerry Manuel era. He already has called Jose Reyes “she” because of his tantrum and said he’s like a “gangsta” threatening to “cut” players who don’t behave.

That means in two days, he’s delivered two interesting quotes, which is two more than what we heard from Willie during his 3.5 years on the job.



2) This week marks the 20th anniversary of “Bull Durham,” which, when you think about it, is a dumb title for a great movie. It’s like saying “Met New York” or “Empire Evil.”

SI.com interviewed director Ron Shelton about his favorite scene.

“Like most of the general public, I liked the meeting on the mound because I had to fight to keep it in the movie,” he said. “The studio kept saying the scene did not advance the plot. I said: 'There is no plot. It doesn't matter.' When we screened it for audiences, it was always the audience's favorite scene.”

Here’s the dialog:

(Larry jogs out to the mound to break up a players' conference)

Larry: Excuse me, but what the hell's going on out here?

Crash: Well, Nuke's scared because his eyelids are jammed and his old man's here. We need a live... is it a live rooster?

(Jose nods)

Crash: We need a live rooster to take the curse off Jose's glove and nobody seems to know what to get Millie or Jimmy for their wedding present.

Crash: Is that about right? [the players nod] We're dealing with a lot of shit.

Larry: Okay, well, uh... candlesticks always make a nice gift, and uh, maybe you could find out where she's registered and maybe a place-setting or maybe a silverware pattern. Okay, let's get two! Go get 'em.

Brilliant! But I would have asked him about the title.


3) Sidewalk chalk. My daughter likes rules. She’s destined to be a dorm R.A., if not the person overseeing the R.A. program, running it with an iron fist.

She was understandably outraged when someone in our neighborhood decided to walk their dog and allowed them to make a No. 2 deposit on our grass without scooping it up.

She proceeded to take a break from drawing otters on my driveway to offer on the sidewalk what we shall call “constructive criticism” to dog walkers, in graphic detail.

And the big block party is this weekend, when most of the neighborhood will be setting their folding chairs near that sidewalk.

Could be worse. There were no drawings of dead baby barn swallows. But we now have new rules about acceptable uses of sidewalk chalk.



4) My favorite part of the block party is the “extreme” bocce game.

The equipment is the same, but this isn’t the kind of thing you see in the parks with old guys gently rolling balls on small, flat courts.

In those games, someone rolls a small white ball called a jack. Then players roll larger balls at it, getting points for coming close to the jack.

In extreme bocce, you throw the jack overhand in any direction, with the entire neighborhood serving as the court. Backyards, front yards, across streets — it’s all in play. Someone’s flowerbed usually gets a little mussed up, but as long as nobody breaks a window, it’s all good. We praise each other for our difficult placements and yell "extreme!" whenever someone's petitunas are endangered.



5) This week’s Hidden iPod Gem harkens back to my days as a desk aide in the Nassau Community College Student Union.

Typically, my duties including wearing a gray smock-like shirt, answering an occasional question and helping with whatever events were scheduled for that evening. Some day I’ll tell you the story about helping Dr. Ruth with her projector.

But one fun part was being around when bands came in for their soundchecks. Marshall Crenshaw was in during his “Field Day” tour, warmed up by playing “Someday, Someway,” which was neat, and “Whenever You’re on My Mind,” which was and is one of my favorite songs.

Crenshaw fans bemoan the “Field Day” mix, saying the drums are too high, vocal too low and everything else too muddy. That may be. But I still love “Whenever...”

Here's a clip of him singing it recently in a place that looks like the Student Ballroom look like a career highpoint.

Jimmy John's, Bonnie Blair and other stars of Champaign

We spent the weekend in Illinois, helping my in-laws move into their new condo in Champaign.

It’s a nice place, close to the University of Illinois campus where they both worked, and there’s a bookstore nearby with free wi-fi that allows me to check on the progress of the Mets as they played the Rangers – or not, in the case of Saturday’s rainout.

Alas, all this activity kept me from filing the usual Deezo Friday Five. But here is a special Champaign version, delivered slightly late, making it a Sunday Six.


1) Among the famous people to grow up in Champaign is speed skater Bonnie Blair , the most decorated U.S. woman athlete in the history of the Winter Olympics.

She attended Jefferson Middle School along with my wife, and I can prove it, too! Here’s her yearbook photo.

I think that’s really impressive, but my wife doesn’t get too excited about it. It trumps my most famous classmate at Berner High in Massapequa, actor Stephen Baldwin.


2) The Fighting Illini football team struggled for a time, but made it all the way to the Rose Bowl last season.

Folks were pretty excited about this. But after getting pounded by USC 49-17, it’s not considered polite to discuss the game. But you can get Rose Bowl caps, t-shirts and hoodies for half-off in the campus bookstore.


3) Barn swallows. Right above the front door of the new condo was the huge mud and straw thing that I thought was some kind of hornets’ hive.

But my father-in-law said it was a barn swallow’s nest, and that Mom would really like to see it out of there.

Removing a nest seemed like an easier job than moving more boxes around, so I took a broom and hose and offered to heroically evict the flying squatters.

Well, I knocked the thing down with the broom and four baby birds tumbled out. I swear I didn’t know they were in there. This sent my daughter into the house hysterically crying. My wife says she’ll write sad poems about this moment when she’s a teen-ager.

I felt really horrible, even went to Wal Mart and bought a little hand shovel to give them a proper burial.

Then I read this in the Cornell Lab of Ornithology's “All About Birds” Web site:

“An unmated male Barn Swallow may kill the nestlings of a nesting pair. His actions often succeed in breaking up the pair and afford him the opportunity to mate with the female.”

I don’t feel as bad now, knowing that some bachelor barn swallow was probably prowling around ready to do the job anyway, and would do so without burying them. And I found an AC/DC CD I wanted for $6 at Wal Mart, so, except for the expected bad poetry, it’s OK now.


4) The founder of the Jimmy John’s sandwich shops lives in Champaign, and we were always told that the store at 809 S. Lincoln in neighboring Urbana was the franchise’s first.

This is like year three of my Jimmy John’s phase, so a pilgrimage was in order. With Jeff, my brother-in-law, and my daughter in tow, we made the short trip and took turns posing in front of the store, especially the sing reading “the original” in the window.

We went inside, and a chatty crew member told us that the real Jimmy John still lives in town, visits the store and can be seen tooling around in his bright red sports car.

Savoring the moment, I said, “And this is the first store. Pretty cool.”

And the employee said, “Nope. That’s in Charleston, near the campus of Eastern Illinois University.”

Say what?

“We’re the eighth store. We’re not even the busiest in Champaign-Urbana. That would be the one on campus.”

Deflated, we ordered a Slim 5, a pickle cut in quarters and a large Diet Coke, and decided that being in the eighth Jimmy Johns is still a neat thing.

“Yup,” my daughter said. “Better than being in No. 9 – but not as good as being in No. 7.”


5) The University of Illinois has a beautiful campus, and we enjoyed strolling around on a perfect day.

One of the landmarks is a statue called “Alma Mater” and there are three women standing with a fancy chair.

I went through a phase after college where I climbed on statues, attempted to climb the “Alma Mater” and sit in the chair, but chickened out.

My 11-year-old showed no such fear, trusting her father and uncle, who assured her that all kids do it. There might be poems about this, too.




6) We’ll even turn to Champaign for the Hidden iPod Gem. REO Speedwagon was founded by two U of I students. The band’s “Hi Infidelity” disc was a monster hit when I was in high school, and sounds only somewhat dated today. “Can’t Fight This Feeling” still makes me gag, but the under-appreciated “Don’t Let Him Go” still rocks – in an early 1980s corporate rock kind of way.

Pedro Martinez, Kim Richards and Lord Stanley have something in common

High school seniors get to march wearing cap and gown, but fifth-graders here leave elementary school by running through a gauntlet of parents and vengeful siblings armed with water balloons, Super-Soakers and Silly String.

My youngest made this adventurous trek today, which means I am old, with children in middle and high school.

But it also disrupted my attempt at a morning posting of the Deezo Friday Five.

1) Don Zimmer beware, because Pedro is back!

We don’t know for how long, but I was pretty happy when he made it into the fourth inning, which is better than his first start this season.

And the Mets even scored 9 runs for him, which they pretty much have to do since Pedro have up three runs before he left and the bully allowed the Giants to start tacking on runs in the ninth.

If another couple batters have circled the bases, you know Pedro would have thrown Scott Schoenweis right to the ground. And we know he’s good at it.

2) My son is about to turn 16, and we’ve been trying to prepare him culturally, at least in the ways of the cinema. My wife is responsible for the high-brow stuff, and the extreme low-brow, which usually involves bad dubbing and plastic monster costumes.

I’m in charge of classic guy movies, like "Caddyshack," that guys must be able to recite or risk becoming social outcasts.

So far we’ve watched "Major League," "Animal House" — don’t worry, I made him cover his eyes during that part — and most recently "This is Spinal Tap."

I knew this important information was sinking in after church last week. We have two praise bands. One of younger folks, and one of, well, folks who are not. The band of people with, um, more life experiences played last week and thought they were rocking out, to at least the extent that they do rock out.

In the middle of this praising and mild rocking, the son leaned over and said, "They’ve got them turned up to 11."

I was so proud.

3) Lord Stanley is back! Hockey is a worthy off-season diversion, but I lose interest the moment spring training starts. I don’t pay much attention in the spring unless the Islanders are in the playoffs, which means I haven’t paid attention for a long time.

But the locals are all excited about the Red Wings winning the Stanley Cup again.

I have to say I was worried about them after the Penguins tied Game 5 with 34 seconds left and winning in triple overtime. I told a co-worker the goal that tied the game was their "Buckner Moment."

He was not amused. And I have to tread lightly because they are already distraught over the Tigers, who I suspect were printing up World Series tickets in March.

4) Kim Richards is back! Like every guy who grew up in the 1970s, I had a crush on actress Kim Richards, star of seemingly any Disney live action movie that didn’t have Dean Jones in it.

Dean = comedy, Kim Richards = serious.

It doesn’t appear that Kim has worked much in recent years -- the dreaded "Hello Larry" curse -- so I was pretty excited to see that she was signed to appear in the "reimagining" of the Witch Mountain movies. Apparently Ike Eisenmann is coming back, too. But I don’t care about him.

I don’t hold out much hope for the rest of the movie, which has Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson and Cheech Marin among the stars.

5) This week’s hidden iPod gem is another song that took me years to track down, largely because I didn’t know that it’s actual title was "Bird’s Fly" or that it was performed by Icicle Works. The only lyrics I could understand was "We are, we are, we are" and "Whisper to a scream," which sounds really cool. The glories of the Internet allowed me to Google those words and "lyrics" and finally had enough information to track it down.

The video is better than the recent hidden gems. But note that the lead singer is strumming his guitar when there are only drums in the song

Lincoln's hair, Rachael Ray's scarf and the Friday Five

Another crazy week. But the softball team won again — beating our friendly rivals — and the Mets are proving that Willie should be threatened with a pink slip more often.

So let’s waste no further time and get right to the Deezo Friday Five.


1) I fear for the future of baseball cards. Upper Deck apparently got bored slicing up historic baseball jerseys and bats because it’s now moved on to historical documents — and worse.

Actually Topps has been pasting cut autographs onto cards for several years. But Upper Deck has gone one step further: a strand of hair.

A "Hair Cuts" cards insert set is planned for 2008 SP Legendary Cuts Baseball boxes that will include a cut autograph and strand of the celebrity’s hair.

Included in the mix are locks from George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Geronimo, Andrew Jackson and Babe Ruth.

Frightening as it is, I think this could get worse. I fully expect this to leap from historical figures to current players.

It’s bad enough that I might pull a Derek F. Jeter card out of a pack, much less a card with a piece of a jersey allegedly worn by Capt. Intangibles. But to hold in my hands something plucked from Jeter’s head — and I hope it’s just his head — is just creepy, creepy, creepy.

A David Wright card would be pretty cool, though.


2) If that wasn’t bad enough, the company also has a "Presidential Predictor" card showing Hillary Clinton lifting Barack Obama in victory. You know what would be cool? If my baseball card sets had cards of baseball players. Seriously, I guy like Fernando Tatis can’t get on a card, but we have silly drawings of politicians.


3) There’s a slight chance I have a long-distance crush on Rachael Ray. I’m sure a lot of guys also subscribe to her magazine for the articles.

Rachael apparently likes to make herself available for us all to view her by appearing in many, many commercials.

But Dunkin’ Donuts pulled an ad featuring Ms. Yum-O after columnist Michelle Malkin said Ray was wearing a scarf that appears to be similar to a traditional Arab headdress called a keffiyeh. Malkin said the scarf makes Rachael appear sympathetic to jihadists. As if. She just wants them to buy Ritz crackers.

Now, if she were wearing a Yankees cap, I’d boycott.

Trust me on this, no one was happier that Malkin went off the deep end than Dunkin’ Donuts. Why would the company pull the ads? So newspapers and cable stations would write stories about the company pulling the ads, giving it all kinds of free publicity.

But Dunkin’ will get no such compliance from this blog. Oh, wait.


4) Baseball hasn’t really been the same since bullpen buggies disappeared. They were like our sport’s version of the Zamboni. And maybe our relief pitchers would have been less tired at the end of last season if they didn’t have to trek all the way across the outfield on their way to the mound.



5) I learned a lot of things researching this week’s lost iPod classic, "Hey, St. Peter" by Flash and the Pan. It’s another song where all kinds of things are going on, with unusual vocals and instruments that don’t seem to fit — but somehow do. And the lyrics mention New York, which always helps.

I always thought Flash was a one-hit wonder, but then I found out it was a side project from the songwriting team of Vanda and Young. They were in a band called the Easybeats that scored a hit with "Friday on My Mind" in the late 1960s, then settled into a career of writing and producing songs for a whole bunch of bands. Most notably, they worked with a metal band that included Young’s little brothers, Angus and Malcom. Maybe you’ve heard of AC/DC.

Now for a word of caution. The video is atrocious, even for something from the 1970s. I’d say it looks like something produced by high school kids, but I wouldn’t want to insult teen-agers. It might forever ruin whatever nice feelings you have for the song. It’s that bad.

New Nitro has me starry eyed

I was pretty excited after the Mets dispatched the vile ones last weekend, even if it meant sitting through Joe Morgan on ESPN. Then, with rest of us, I was plunged into depression after the bleeping Braves slapped us around, sweeping four. Been that kind of week.

Luckily we have a special Memorial Day Deezo Friday Five to carry is through.


1) I’m blaming my bat for my hitting woes of last year.

It routinely failed me in clutch situations. I was fine with the bases empty. But several times I came up with the bases loaded — one time down by a run with two outs in the bottom of the last inning — and hit weak-assed infield pop-ups.

But in our second game this year I came up with the bases loaded, two outs and the game tied. So I borrowed a friend’s brand new bat and promptly hit a triple over the center-fielder’s head that gave us the victory. I was thrown out at the plate trying to stretch it into a grand slam, but I can’t blame the bat for bad base-running.

So off I went to the local sporting goods store for a new weapon to call my own. Shockingly, there are bats that cost $400. I can’t imagine what a $400 bat could possibly do, except inflict serious pain upon my noggin if my wife thought I bought one.

Needless to say, I was looking in the much, much, much cheaper section, and took advantage of a half-off sale.

Picking out a new bat is difficult. It’s not like you can take cuts there in the store, and they all have assorted mean and dangerous-sounding names.

Then, like Excalibur, I pulled a DeMarini "Nitro" from the Dunham’s sale rack and knew that life would be different form here on out.

I boldly strode to the plate and promptly walked in my first at-bat. The pitcher obviously feared the Nitro, its painted red flames glistening as it waved above my head. Then hit a sweet double in my second time in the box.

Finally, in the bottom of the last inning, we were down by three runs and had two outs when I stepped up with runners on second and third. Normally, the person keeping score would just start writing "pop-up to short" in the book while I was still on deck.

But with the mighty Nitro in my hands, I had no fear. On the second pitch I launched another double, and scored the tying run when our next batter drove a walk-off blast.


2) Someone at Sports Illustrated is going to be fired this week. The latest edition to land in my box features an article by Yankee-hack Tom Verducci talking about how this is a bizarro season because the Rays are at or near the top of the standings and his lowly Yankees are bouncing around the bottom, where they belong.

The cover is a comic-book style painting, with Bizarro Superman, who we know exists in a backward universe, watching as an unnamed Rays player is casting Derek F. Jeter over his head.
The first problem is that they painted Jeter’s name on the back of his jersey, and we know the Yankees think they are above such things. Whatever.

The second issue is that we don’t quite know where the Rays’ player has his hand. It looks like it’s in kind of an icky place.

You just know that Verducci got one look at the cover and flipped out.

It’s one thing to show Robinson Cano or Melky Cabrera or some other fringe Yankee getting tossed around like a piece of Mike Piazza’s broken bat.

But St. Derek the Intangible is off-limits. I’m still recovering from the obscene fawning that Joe Morgan bestowed on Jeter during last Sunday’s broadcast.

I imagine that ‘Ducci was in there arguing that even in bizarro world, players stand in awe at Jeter and his amazing abilities because he’s Just. That. Good.



3) I found an amazing baseball card blog — The Ugly Baseball Card Blog — that both celebrates and pokes fun at glorious cards of the past. I was all sad when I saw the 1980 O-Pee-Chee card of Freddie Patek and saw the writing on the photo. I didn’t even know he died.

Oh, the California Angels. Nevermind.

4) We all know that Mike Piazza retired this week, two days shy of the 10th anniversary of his trade to the Mets, otherwise known as the Best Day Steve Phillips’ Career as GM.

I saw a column by Ray McNulty saying that Piazza should go into the Hall of Fame as a Dodger. I’m assuming that Verducci is preparing one saying Piazza should go in as a Yankee, "Because that’s the way Mike probably wants to be remembered." But then, he’s still distraught over the who bizarro Jeter thing.

To me, it’s a no-brainer. Of course he wears a Mets logo on his plaque. And the Mets should hastily arrange a "Mike Piazza Day" where they induct him into the Mets Hall of Fame and rise No. 31 to the outfield wall so he can forever be linked with Casey, Gil, Tom, and Jackie.



5) This week’s hidden iPod gem almost didn’t even make it to the iPod. I bought a 45 of "Starry Eyes" by The Records back in 1979 and always thought it was a great song. It’s British power pop at its finest, though I can’t figure out what’s going on in the lyrics. It almost sounds like they’re singing about a bandmate who is too busy goofing off at the beach when the rest of them are taking care of business. Doesn’t matter, the song is fun and the chorus sticks in your head. And it remained in my head when I moved on to the CD era and couldn’t find the song anywhere. Then one day I was flipping through the discs in the Grand Rapids Public Library, and came across a compilation called "Poptopia" and saw some off-beat selections like Bram Tchaikovsky’s "Girl of My Dreams." Then I started doing the trademarked "Yes-Yes" dance when I saw that track 11 was the lost-lost "Starry Eyes." Enjoy.

Willie Randolph, the tribe as spoken.

This past season of Survivor was the best in years even though Parvati pretty much flirted her way to $1 million without contributing to anything in any way that I could see.

Then it had me thinking. What if we could combine my two favorite shows – Mets baseball and Survivor – into one. Wouldn’t it be cool if we could have "Survivor – Flushing?"

Orlando "El Duque" Hernandez is like Jonny Fairplay, who has the rep and the cool nickname – and seems to make only a cameo appearance in the season.

Brady Clark would be like Mikey B, who got voted off during one of the first episodes and I forgot all about him until the reunion show.

Aaron Heilman is like Chet, the guy who kept getting his butt kicked week after week and somehow kept hanging around. Aaron, take note. Eventually everybody got tired of Chet’s whining and sent him packing. And unless you want to be playing in New Orleans in July – shudder – you’d better get your act together.

Pedro is like Jonathan — a great player and good leader who was ejected early because of an injury.

Nelson Figueroa is like James, who was just happy to be there and was in over his head, sticking around so long that even he was surprised that he was still there. You just know he’d hand off a fake immunity idol to Jorge Sosa, like James did to Eliza.

No Met is as stupid as Erik, who was tricked into giving away his immunity necklace.

And speaking of the immunity idol, Willie Randolph has been managing like he’s had the thing in his back pocket. Realistically, I think he played it to keep his job after last season’s collapse.

Willie, if you lose two of three to the vile Yankees this weekend, and you see the players chatting together on the beach, rest assured they are going to write your name on the next ballot.

The tribe has spoken. It’s time for you to go.

On happier note, let’s get to the Deezo Friday Five.

1) I loved the pink bats and ribbons players used on Mother’s Day to bring awareness to breast cancer. My daughter and I went to see the West Michigan Whitecaps, who were going to wear pink jerseys. The game was rained out, but they didn’t announce this until we had already had our fill of Bosco sticks and the gift shop. They handed out pink T-shirts with the ‘Caps logo on the front. Only problem was the back listed the date as "Mother’s Day, May 11, 2007." Oops. The game has been rescheduled for May 26, and the team promised correctly dated shirts.

2) Holland, Mich. is a city about a half-hour from here, and you know you’ve crossed the border when you see each yard has either a decorative wooden windmill or statues of two Dutch kids bending at the waist and puckering — but not actually kissing, because you wouldn’t want to encourage such racy behavior. Don’t get me started. I was making fun of this at work, and my wife pointed out that such abuse was being hurled about by a guy who has a Statue of Liberty lawn sprinkler. I replied that the issue shouldn’t be whether or not I have one, but why everyone else doesn’t have such a glorious display.

3) The Home Run Apple lives. Apparently Jeff Wilpon took reporters on a tour of Citi Field and confirmed there would be a place for the beloved apple in centerfield. While it might not be THE apple — which looks a little worse for wear, though we certainly can’t blame Carlos Delgado for that — a sparking new one has the potential to be very cool.

4) The Ebbets Field Flannels catalog is always a fun read because of the obscure minor league teams they choose for jerseys, caps and T-shirts. I was very impressed to see them come up with an Alaska Goldpanners jacket. That’s a short-season team usually stocked with college players — including a young Tom Seaver. That nugget led me to purchase a Goldpanners cap though the team years ago. The team hosts the famous Midnight Sun Tournament, played overnight, without lights.

5) Last week’s hidden iPod gem has a hit, so I thought I’d hit shuffle and see what else came up. There is absolutely no reason why Sniff ‘n’ the Tears’ "Driver’s Seat" should be as good as it is. The lyrics make no sense whatsoever, the drummer sounds like he’s playing a different song and the other instruments drop in and out as if a middle schooler with ADD is deciding who plays when. I love it. A quintessential one-hit-wonder track.

Softball, Split Enz, Survivor and the Friday Five

Between school board elections and the Mets playing on the West Coast, I’m suffering from sleep issues.

That doesn’t bode well for my first 5K of the year, which starts at 8:15 a.m. Luckily, the course goes through downtown Grand Rapids and past a Burger King, so I can grab a quick Diet Coke to perk up. It’s not like speed is an issue for me in this race, so there will be no Clemens-like denials and apologies.

Apparently speed wasn’t a factor in posting the latest Deezo Friday Five, either. But here it is:

1) Coed softball. Our season started on Wednesday, which is late. But we needed it to stop snowing. The team is called Know Mercy because in the first year the team lost through the mercy rule in every game. Plus, we're a church team and Lutherans are subtle when it comes to evangelizing. We play much better now, even splitting into two teams because we have so many players. I’m the coach of Know Mercy 2. Luckily we have many players who are younger and better, but I did get to make sure I have jersey No. 41. And unlike Willie Randolph, I’m still likely to be managing the team by the second week in June.

2) El Kabong. My son went to see Iron Man last weekend. He said it was good. But I’m tired of super heroes all full of angst and issues, with their complicated suits and gizmos. No, give me EL Kabong, armed only with an out-of-tuned guitar and faithful sidekick dispensing justice as only a caped and masked cartoon horse can.

3) This is the best Survivor season in years. Erik was playing a decent game — until last night, when he became the stupidest Survivor. Ever. Um, Erik. After watching what those girls did to the previous three people they blindsided right into the jury, what made you think you could trust them? Maybe now he can get a bath and a haircut and sit on the jury with the rest of the duped ones.

4) I’m deep into Season 2 of ER for my daily treadmill viewing. Those episodes marked the arrival of Kerry Weaver. Back when those shows first aired in the 1990s, I told co-workers that I thought Weaver was really pretty. They thought I was crazy. There might have been some shunning involved. They had issues separating Laura Innes the actress with Weaver, the somewhat snarky character. I’m not saying she was prettier than Susan Lewis, but she abandons the show pretty soon, so it’s not like we can get too attached to her.

5) The only relative downside to an iPod with 5,700 songs on it is that occasionally one doesn’t get on a playlist and is lost amid the greatness of the Ramones, Rush, Relient K and Twisted Sister. I was bouncing around iTunes recently found one such song — "I Got You" by Split Enz. It’s one of my all-time favorites, and iTunes said it hadn’t been played since 2006. Absolutely shocking. I quickly played it about five times and added it to three playlists so this doesn’t happen again. It’s a song built entirely around the chorus, but what a fine chorus it is. It’s one of those songs that instantly takes you back in time to the magical era of the 1980s, and brings a smile to your face. The video is horrible, but enjoy the song.

Living without my iPod

Apparently I’m famous in the local Costco now.

This sordid tale begins last Thursday night when my 20-gig iPod died.

It had been acting up for the last couple months, freezing up and not connecting with the iTunes program. I’ve been making quick fixes after begrudgingly reading the owner’s manual at my wife’s insistence.

Then Thursday night the little screen turned pitch black. I was plunged into mourning.

I admit it. I’ve become too close to my iPod, a proud member of the cult in our newsroom. My family has relented, throwing an iPod-themed birthday party where new accessories were bestowed, such as the speaker set that allows me to spread iPod-induced joy around the house.

My son is a cult member. He dressed as an iPod for Halloween.

Life without the iPod is just inconceivable, and by early the next morning I realized drastic action was needed.

Our local mall has an Apple store, and I thought surely the people there could resuscitate it. I was there when the doors opened at 10:30 a.m. and ran to the first clerk I spotted, waving my darkened pod and calling for help.

She kind of rolled her eyes and told me to sign in and a "genius" would be out to help me.

Apparently that’s what they call their tech support people. I suppose it’s better than being on Best Buy’s Geek Squad.

Sure enough, the store has a bar that looks like a trendy saloon without the booze. I hopped up on a stool and out came a kid with spiky hair who might have been all of 22. I sensed some attitude.

What he said: "OK, who’s my first victim of the day?"

What he was probably thinking: "Belly up, geezers. Who can’t figure out how to turn on their computer?"

Me, emotionally: "It’s dead."

What he said, looking at the black screen: "Yeah, it is."

What he was probably thinking: "Thank goodness — the world will be spared a dose of Flock of Seagulls and whatever other kind of crap this guy has crammed on there. I bet he’s got all the Twisted Sister CDs on here. I’d be doing a public service by stomping in the thing."

My helpful friend slipped the iPod from its plastic case, then discovered it’s an HP+iPod — I had no idea there was a difference — and said he couldn’t do anything with it, and that I’d have to contact Hewlett Packard.

Can’t say I was thrilled with that prospect, because tech support over the phone is next to impossible.

Even Tug is a member of the iPod cult.

But Monday I found the phone number buried deep, deep, deep on the HP Website and spoke to a guy named Carlos who confirmed that a pitch black screen is a "very bad thing." He took my information and referred me to HP’s warranty department, which e-mailed back that unless I had a receipt, I was pretty much out of luck.

Naturally, that receipt is looooong gone, like a Carlos Delgado blast.

I was glumly contemplating life without the iPod — unthinkable! — as I saved up for a new one, since $300 is not something I can justify tossing around. I even jumped around the iTunes program on the computer, listening to songs that used to be on my iPod.

And the clerk was wrong, by the way. I do not have every single Twisted Sister song on there. There are a couple tracks here and there that just didn’t hold up over time that I had to delete. At least five of them. Maybe six. So there.

My clever mother suggested checking with Costco, the glorious warehouse store where the iPod was obtained. She said the store probably saves such information on its computer. It was worth a shot.

I headed right over, told the clerk about my issue and she went right to the computer and confirmed that I did indeed purchase an iPod last March.

"Do you have the manual, the installation disk and the wires and stuff?" she asked.

"Sure, everything but the box," I replied. "But all HP wants is a receipt."

"No, bring all those things back here and you can return it."

Say what? I was confused. Did she mean that they would send the deadPod to HP for me?

No. She said I could bring the remains back to Costco and they would give me a new one.

"Hold on," I said. "You know it’s dead. El iPodo es muerto. Are you saying that you would take it back and give me money to buy a new one?"

"No, we’ll give you store credit, since you don’t have the receipt. But yes, you could get a new one with store credit."

Suddenly it sunk in. The sad, un-iPodless portion of my life was going to be short. Emotion took over.

"Yes!" "I apparently said while jumping with fists pumped in the air. If I had a glove in my hand, it would have gone Orosco. "I love this store!"

I was back at the counter in less than an hour, the departedPod and all its possessions gathered in a Ziploc bag. A new, gleaming 30-gig iPod was there in sight.

"We were all talking about you," the bemused clerk said with a smile. "We’ve never seen anybody so enthusiastic about a return before."

I guess they’ve never seen someone forcibly detached from their iPod.

Today, the sun came up, bunnies frolicked on the lawn in the morning dew, and Twisted Sister was once again heard bouncing through the speakers as I drove to work. It is a good day.

M&Ms, Ozzy and a Revelation

You know you’re getting old when you break out with the dreaded “Kids today. What are they listening to? That stuff is crap!”

I had one of those moments this week, as well as a shocking revelation.

I’ve been filling my iPod with classic songs from my youth, making liberal use of my library card to borrow CDs with songs from the LP and 45 collection from my teens.

And my wife will point out that outside of discovering awesome contemporary Christian rock; my music tastes have not changed that much from those formative years. I was a bit of a metal head, but embraced a lot of the synth new wave stuff. Hey, 20 gigs of space means Rush and UFO and Human League and A Flock of Seagulls can happily co-exist.

So I was excited to find that the Grand Rapids Public Library had a copy of Black Box, the collection of every Ozzy-era Black Sabbath album. I haven’t heard most of those since high school.

Giants Eminems

While I was searching for that, I came across a copy of Eminem’s new Curtain Call greatest hits disc. I confess I’ve always been curious. The Detroit Free Press seems to have a reporter covering the guy full-time, so we can’t help put be exposed to his assorted legal and marital woes and the outcry from whatever oversensitive group his lyrics were offending that week.

But I’ve never heard his stuff, other than that overblown duet with Elton John on the Grammy Awards a few years back and the small part of “Lose Yourself” in the iPod commercial that ran virtually between every single inning during the postseason.

It only costs 50 cents to borrow a disc, so I thought I’d give Em a whirl and see what the fuss was all about. I plunked down my buck and walked out of the library with both collections, and popped Curtain Call in the car CD player.

Yikes. There are 16 tracks on the disc. I think 15 are a continuous loop of F-bombs, and about 14 are about how miserable his life is. There was no joy, no optimism. Some of the tunes were OK, but I couldn’t get past the steady stream of profanity. It was distracting me from hearing what he was actually trying to say.

Nasty Yankee Eminems

I’m not some language prude. Dee Snider lets an F-bomb fly once in a while, but not every other word. And Tony will remind me of a certain W.A.S.P. song I subjected him to in college. Well, him and the rest of the dorm. I was always a little heavy on the volume.

Considering how many millions of discs Eminem's sold, he’s probably in Carlos Beltran’s tax bracket. Can things be all that bad?

Then it happened. I broke out with the phrase: “Kids today. What are they listening to? This stuff is crap!”

I felt a shudder. Am I an official fossil?

Then I popped in some of the Sabbath discs when I picked Andrew up from swimming practice.

I threw Vol. 4 in first. “Supernaut” and “Wheels of Confusion” still seemed cool, but I finally realized that not only is “Snowblind” a drug song – it’s a pro-drug song! Who knew? OK, I was a naive kid.

The riff in “Sabbath Bloody Sabbath” still growled with menace. “Paranoid” still rocked, and “War Pigs” was kind of a retro chuckle. Stuff from “Never Say Die,” the least popular of the Ozzy era, held up better than I thought.

Andrew groaned and showed displeasure as each memory blast out of the speakers. He turned up the volume on his GameBoy, as if Ozzy’s wail wouldn’t pierce through those computerized blips and bleeps.

But I realized that much of the rest just didn’t age well. I started skipping through the tracks, faster and faster, cringing along the way at each shrill scream, drug praise and devil devotion.

The first Sabbath CD was … unlistenable.

Ozzy used to seem kind of cool, but now I heard the foghorn vocals and all I could think of was the living cartoon mumbling and stumbling through his MTV reality show.

Then the revelation: When I was a kid, what was I listening to? This stuff was crap!

I used to love this music. I always found it easier to do those outside chores if I could bring my music outside. I’d either take my little red plastic Panasonic tape player or put my stereo speakers in the window and crank it up. I don’t know why the neighbors didn’t complain.

It was confirmation once again that my parents knew what they were talking about. If I’m even half as accurate when I’m bestowing advice upon my kids, they’ll be doing OK.

I ended up downloading a three songs from Curtain Call – more than I expected – and a total of 11 songs from the eight Sabbath albums, a lot fewer than I expected. And I won’t be as quick to criticize Andrew’s musical selections next time he wants me to import some songs to his iPod.

In other music news:

Another 45 I used to play over and over was Terry Cashman's "Talking Baseball -- Mets Version." Cashman rewrote his version of "Willie, Mickey and the Duke" for most of the major league teams. I recently discovered that these are available from his label's Web site, and puchased the National League versions plus a special disc he made for the Subway Series.

The original Mets version was from 1982 before the rebirth, hence the "We long to see them rushing, to the stadium in Flushing line." But the CD has a mroe recent version through the 1986 series and then the Subway Series. Good stuff, and no F-bombs!

What I'm Thankful for...and Turkeys, Too

As you all know, Thanksgiving is this week. And despite the impression that it has become but a speed bump in the rush to Christmas, it's still one of my favorite days of the year.

I confess it, I'm a sucker for the Macy's parade and the giant balloons. And it's not quite Thanksgiving unless I can watch at least part of it.

And I love turkey. Or to be more specific, I love turkey sandwiches, piled high with stuffing and cranberry sauce. The leftovers are the better than the main meal, and I happily take those sandwiches in to work for a week afterward -- and have them for dinner, too!

But most of all, I realize that I must be thankful because the Lord has blessed me in many, many ways that I know of, and probably a million more that I either don't realize or don't appreciate.

So, with that in mind, let's proceed to our list of things I am thankful for, and list a bunch of turkeys, too.

I'm thankful for: David Wright. I thought about Wright when I wrote the post about Gregg Jefferies a couple weeks ago. There are some similarities there. Except that Wright -- at least so far -- has proven to be the real deal. Jefferies might have been, too, except that his head wasn't on straight. But Wright has said and done all the right things and I think we have a very special player here. Plus, the bare-handed catch! Amazing!

Turkey! That would be Derek "Freaking" Jeter. I'm convinced that if this guy had been playing for about any one of the other 29 teams he'd be just another decent shortstop instead of the Mr. Wonderful the Yankees have hyped him into. And the weasel has been just plain lucky. You and I both know that had Jeremi Giambi had the brains to have slid into home, The Play would be remembered as nothing more than a nice attempt. As for The Play II, anyone can catch a pop fly then run and run and run and dive into the stands. And how slow of a news day must it have been Thursday for the Post to devote its entire front page to Jeter gallivanting around Hawaii?

I'm thankful for: My iPod. I’m not a big gadget guy by any stretch. But the iPod is a glorious, life-altering device. A group of us in the newsroom sit around and talk about how much we love our iPods. Some people think we’re a cult. I can't deny it. My wife was almost shunned for implying that the iPod had a fault, which it doesn't. We didn’t take that step, but it was a close vote.

Turkey! It's too easy to pick on confessed 'roid boy Jason Giambi. But what's with the fans voting to give him "Comeback Player of the Year?" The guy's problems were self-induced, if you believe his leaked grand jury testimony. This is like if they had awarded Doc Gooden the Cy in that season when he missed the first month or so because of the drug suspension then came back and went 15-5. And Giambi's situation was worse because it was a performance-enhancing drug. Not only should he not get the Comeback award, but they should take away his tainted MVP as well!

I'm thankful for: Costco! Costco rocks! The adventure! The mystery! The hot dog and Diet Coke combo for $1.50! And it’s where I got the aforementioned iPod. Sometimes I go to this ultimate warehouse store around lunchtime and sample my way around the store. Sometimes I just wander around because you just never know what will be there on any given day. I used to name the goldfish on my desk after school board people I cover. But it got embarrassing when they kept dying. The latest one is named "Costco" and is one happy, healthy fish.

Turkeys: Senators. On one hand I should be glad that because Sens. Bunning and McCain got involved, baseball finally has a decent steroid policy. But on the other hand, don't these guys have something better to do than poke around baseball's business? Isn't there a war and an endless string of national disasters that should be keeping these guys a little busy?

I'm thankful for: Blogging friends.I started this thing in March on a lark thinking no one would read it and I'd run out of stories by the middle of April. Amazingly, that hasn't happened, and I've met some really great people along the way. You keep me informed, you make me laugh and you make me feel like I am close to home despite living far from the shadow of Shea.

Turkey: Gary Sheffield. That whole fiasco around the trading deadline was simply awful. It's bad enough that Mr. I Didn't Realize They Were Steroids had his name associated with our clean-cut young men. Then he goes and says he would never play for us, as if that were some kind of bad thing. Hey Gary, I have news for you -- you can keep your sorry ass in the Bronx! And how many rings have you won over there? Oh yeah, the same number as if you had been playing for the Devil Rays.

I'm thankful: To live in the Midwest, at least for now. It's been an amazing run of baseball events in the area since we moved here, from All-Star Games in Milwaukee, Chicago and Detroit -- including the FanFests, which I get to attend -- to World Series games in Chicago to stadiums closing and opening. It's been a fun ride. And if I can't live in the homeland, this is a good place to be.

Turkeys: Hamlet Torre and Hamlet Cashman. What was with all the hand-wringing about whether they would return? Was there any doubt? As if either of these two Yankee-tainted types would turn tail and bail. What would they do, go somewhere else, fail, and confirm everyone's suspicion that having a $200 million payroll makes one a very good manager and a very smart general manager?

I'm thankful for: Pedro! Pedro! Pedro! Why do we love Pedro? Because he not only didn't strangle Braden Looper on Opening Day, but went out there in his next turn and shut down the Braves in what was an absolute must-win game. Throw in the near-no-nos and other gems following those Ishii mailises. And you gotta love that he respects Mets tradition enough to wear the traditional pinstriped uniform when he takes the hill at Shea.

Turkey: Doug Mientiewicz. Doug, you sucked. But fans stuck by you because you appeared to be a stand-up guy. Then after the season you go and rip the Mets, hoping that you aren't brought back and calling the team clueless? That's pretty weak for a guy who had trouble hitting .250. Go across town so you can back-up Jason Giambi.

I'm thankful for: Mike Piazza. Since he arrived at Shea, Mikey has been a first-class citizen and representative on the Mets and had fully earned that trip to Cooperstown. I'm glad that Mets fans treated him so well as the season wound down, respectful that he once carried this team on his back. Go DH and get that 400th bomb then come back to Shea and hang 31 on the wall!

There you go!

I sincerely thank you all for reading -- and giving me things to read and enjoy! Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!