Our Take On Life and Baseball
(archive edition)

VENI, VIDI . . . THEY RETREATED?
deidre@, Sunday, 8/17/08, 12:22AM EST
That's right: the thunderstorms came, they saw, they fled. And us, were we retreating? Nah, we were prepared to steady ourselves to the headwinds, despite the obvious insanity in approaching lightening bolts. As you might remember, the same thing happened when we participated in the National’s first Ladies Day this summer, on June 5^th. And again, there was little Mother Nature could do to take the night from us and the 500+ women who came for a good time. I'd love to know her motive.

But, it wasn’t easy, mind you. Jackie and I started the day in New Jersey and headed out to Baltimore after a 10:30AM radio show. Why Jersey, you ask? We had just arrived down from Boston where we attended my grandmother’s 90^th birthday. Then we drove to Atlantic City where we stayed in a nice hotel with an ocean view and all the accoutrements a guest would want. And it was a fraction of the price of our other hotels. How can this be, you ask?  Jackie has a storied and sordid track record booking hotels with views of gutters. Is is possible that she redeemed herself? Not. A. Chance. I booked it. I know it doesn't make sense, but it's the honest truth.. .

And why were we going to Baltimore? You ask too many questions but this is one we’re pleased to answer. We were headed there to meet with Desiree from Cal Ripken’s office.  We got in there a little late, due to some hazmat spill on 41 coming out of South Jersey.  Then there was the traffic, just because, well, we were on I-95.  That’s par for the course. We got a tour of his office and snapped a photo of our book on his bookshelf.  Then we down a meat salad and pulled out of Baltimore at 3PM with only an hour to make it to the National’s ballpark. Continuing our charmed existence, however, we cruise on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway and get into town. This took calls to my husband Michael, brother Marc and father Bob (but don’t say that to his face) to give us directions via MapQuest and fly us in, so to speak. All looked to be in our favor until the monsoon hit. And we took a wrong turn. We rolled our eyes and didn’t speak as the car rolled through a gutter with a foot’s worth of rain flooding through. Of course, there were the really close lightening strikes that shuddered the soul… Man! we said to ourselves because we weren’t talking. Is the Nats event going to be cancelled?  If not, there will be only a handful of people in attendance.

Boy, were we wrong! These DC chicks are tenacious!  We got there at 4:30 and there was a line to get into the event. That’s right, an actual line. Workers were swabbing the deck of the garage where this event was to be held – a far better venue than on the street by right field.  There were views of the city and field and a huge tent filled with vendors from everywhere – lingerie, wine, gyms, condo developments.  You name it.  And a DJ and a comedienne!  No joke. Really, no joke. It was a full-blown party and the party was solid.  We were approached by people who had met us before and read the book or had just stumbled across it. When I say we were “approached” it means that they said good stuff about us and the book. They wanted to take our pictures – and I don’t think it was to throw darts at it, though one never knows.  Jackie may have booked their hotel (see previous posts about her shortcomings as our travel director).

You know we were tired if we didn’t take Ron and Bob up on their offer to buy us a couple drinks at the game (section 220!), even after they bought the last two copies of our book. Instead, we climbed back into our car, made a detour to Annapolis and then to my dad’s house, arriving at 9:30 PM and having to leave eight hours later to catch our flights to Seattle.

My alarm goes off again. It’s 4:45 but I’m not in Miami annoying Jackie and John. I’m sad. The crazy east coast summer tour that we never thought would end is finally over and I’m sneaking around my dad’s place in the dark and heading to the airport with Jackie. We are returning to our families in Seattle and thankfully have the Savvy Girls/Safeco event with the Seattle Mariners on Tuesday, 8/26 to look forward to and sink our teeth into.

This event will also have a panel discussion that will feature sports journalists and, us, though Jackie will do much of the thinking and talking.  I’m a good doodler.  If you go, just watch me.  The pre-game event starts at 5:05 and you must reserve your ticket now.  Go to www.Mariners.com/SavvyGirls for details.  Or you can e-mail us if you have problems – we’ll try to help troubleshoot.  Cutoff for purchasing tickets is 9AM MONDAY. Yes, I yelled that.

But, as I told Jackie, there is a silver lining to the insanity that was this summer.  Sure, we had lots of fun and made a lifetime’s worth of memories and, as always, met some wonderful people. What’s more, though, is that I learned to program my cell phone alarm. Now if I could only do something about those 4:45 wake-up calls.
VIEW PICTURES FROM ATLANTIC CITY/DC

IN CHARACTER, UNCENSORED IN MIAMI - deidre@, Sunday, 8/3/08, 3:35PM EST
“Hey, D, you workin’ tonight?” John said to me as we approached the intersection of Collins and 7^th in Miami Beach.  Jackie’s husband has a way with women, you know.  Sure the comment was spurred by my mini skirt and high heels, but still. I figured that if I could play dress-up anywhere, it was Miami.  And I was right.  I was in suitable character for strolling the scene in South Beach. I just wonder if all the other like-dressed (if not like-minded) women were similarly nursing unsexy blisters the following day.  Little did they know, however, was that I was there to work with the Florida Marlins that evening. In an official capacity.  An invited guest.

So… yes, John.  I was workin’ that night. Smart ass.

And Jackie’s keen sense of finding faulty – but strangely hip – accommodations was as sharp as my outfit was wretched. Remember the pad Jackie scored for us in Soho? The one with a view of the moldy “grotto.” Well, this swank setup had a view of an alley wide enough for a gerbil to pass through. That means that basically we were staring straight at the moldy concrete stucco wall of the neighboring hotel. Way to go, Jackie.  I think that she sneaks off to some really nice place as soon as I fall asleep. That’s why I kill myself to stay up really late, pretending that I’m writing. Who’s got the last laugh now, Jackie?  HA!

OK, it's comments like that that leave me holding the bag, or, rather in this case, holding the phone.  See, when it became clear that we didn't have the reception to do a radio interview via speaker phone, I did it solo. As I chatted up Michael Cooper and his sports show, Jackie sat by drinking wine and filing her nails. Smart ass. You two were made for each other. I'm think that I'm going to do something drastic, like be an inconsiderate roommate by waking them up at 5AM or something.

We had one “free” night which we took advantage of after the three of us hit the beach and enjoyed a guilty dip in the [insert decadent adjective] water. Then we got all dolled up and hit the…. hotel bar. Then, J&J ditched me for some true fun, leaving me to talk with the young bartender who fancied himself a true stud-muffin. Eventually, I tired of his routine and went up to the room to “work.”

The next morning my cell alarm goes off at 4:45AM and I fall out of bed in a desperate scamper to get it to pipe down. What made this more comical is that my bed was about two feet from J&J’s bed. Let’s just say that it was a jarring awakening for us all. I left the room a few hours later to get a book (no easy feat) and return to hook up with Jackie to hit the NBC newsroom for our segment on Miami Today. A repeat appearance, since we were guests on the show back in March 2006, when we were billed the “authors without a book.” Talk about balls. I always wondered if that producer got canned for booking us.

Like before, it was a great interview. The show also featured a foul-mouthed Jon Ashton, the celebrity chef from London. Then again, maybe he was just a little peeved that I threw my trash in the bin carrying all of his food for the show. Anyway, he was certainly entertaining, charming and cute, which is usually all I require. But I think I overheard him asking the featured mariachi band to play Yankee Doodle Dandy. Afterwards, we returned to South Beach to meet Johnny for lunch and a Mojito (or two . . .) and I hit the beach again to complete my sunburn and read my book, A Thousand Splendid Suns, which I devoured in a matter of days and recommend highly.

That afternoon we headed over to Dolphin Stadium for the team’s first Ladies Day event. We had to agree that the venue was better.  It was well-attended and included a bilingual DJ, upbeat dance music and some yummy vendors, namely the Chocolatier who was situated next to us and serving up strawberries, pretzels and all sorts of stuff that I’d never think of dipping in chocolate. Did you know that the Marlins have cheerleaders? Yes, they are the “Mermaids.” The team also boosts a dance team known as the Manatees, named after the endangered mammal, also known as sea cows. Well, this being a Ladies night event, the team trotted out the Manatees who, well, got jiggy with the attendees and, well, us, too! The place really broke up when a pair of adorable players showed up. There was Anibal Sanchez, the RHP, who was born a couple months before Jackie graduated from Troy High School outside of Detroit and Alfredo Almezaga, the switch hitting centerfielder who, OK, was just ten years younger than me.  Ouch. But we saddled up and got our photo taken with them, because they really seemed like nice guys (not at all like the petulant Billy Ripken at a fan event in 1992 – sheesh… something I’ll never forget!).  And, other than securing the rights to an uncensored photo of me sleeping in the back seat of the car, the highlight of the day was interacting with Arthur Rhodes, who was traded from the Mariners to the Marlins only the night before.  J&J and I walked out to the right field bleachers during batting practice and I said, “Hey, do you think that’s our ‘Rhodes?’”  Sure enough, we yelled down to him, only as polite Seattlites would.  “Arthur!  Arrrrrthuuur!”  He turns around.  “HIIII!!!  We’re from Seattle.”  I think he smiled. Or, at least he nodded in our direction. In retrospect, maybe that was the signal to call for security.  We asked for a photo of him waving at us and he obliged. Then, as we were running up the bleacher stairs back to “work” he jogged over to the right field foul pole and picked up something. Oh, man, he’s going for a gun!  Nah, he tossed us a ball (which John caught)!Yay!  Bonus!

We had a blast at the game but the sunburn was starting to settle in and I was close to having to purchase the rights to yet another uncensored photo. We stayed for the game, hit the team store to get stuff for the families and took off, but not before snapping a photo of the World Series trophy. Oh... we'll be baaaaack.  And we're off to Boston and DC so I'll pack up my heels/mini combo. Check out the fun with our Miami Photos!

GOODBYE SHEA, HELLLLLOOO MR. MET!
deidre@, Wednesday, 7/30/08, 1:16PM EST -- WOW!  We were set up in fine form with the Mets.  The team sent an e-mail blast out only a week before the scheduled event and pulled more than 200 women out for the fun.  That’s right, that makes them unbribed attendees.  Tina – our Mets' woman on the ground -- and the team’s fleet of interns had the outfield area stocked with giveaways and the stage set for the panel discussion that included Jackie, player wives and execs from the team’s front office. I moderated the discussion with Tina working the crowd, taking questions and giving me the signal that meant that people are starting to doze and the National Anthem was about to play.

It was quite the day, one that started at 1AM with me and John (Jackie’s squeeze) racing down Mulberry street after a late meal in Little Italy. Then I lost a quick $20 bet and took a cab back to our pad in Soho.Once there, I looked at a bunch of e-mails and decided that it would be best that I not return them.  Usually Jackie’s last words to me as she’s falling asleep after a big day is: “Write, D. Don’t post.”  The translation for those that don’t keep up web pages is that I am to keep all writing done after a few glasses of wine totally private.  If the writing still looks good in the AM, then I can post it publicly. This is one of those categories where I definitely listen to her and it has saved us both a lot of embarrassment.

After a good night’s sleep and running around town and meeting my friend Alan (from New York Times fame) , Jackie and I were ready for the stadium gig and relaxing with the group of men and women interested in hearing from Jackie and the rest of the panel.  Unfortunately, they also had to hear me out… I had control of the microphone, you know.  Otherwise, I’m not sure if anyone would talk with me.

We signed and sold a bunch of books and met plenty of fun and interesting women. We were also interviewed by SNY, the Mets flagship station for the upcoming Mets Weekend.  An added bonus was getting our picture taken with Mr. Met, the guy with a baseball head.

My aunt Karen McCahill surprised me with Erin and family and I almost cried. I do enjoy a real surprise. And I got to sit with them until the 4^th inning, when I started to fade.  John, Jessica (Jackie’s niece), Jackie and I stared at the field.  I took off in the 7^th but J&J&J stayed the full 14. I was sound asleep at that point. Sorry. I really wanted to say I was a diehard but I cannot.

But I’ll have other chances.  We’ll be working with the Florida Marlins tomorrow. That's right. South Beach, Baby. Check out our Mets Photo Gallery!

SMOOTH AS AN OLD SHOE IN NYCC
deidre@, Saturday, 7/26/08, 12:35PM EST -- Back in NYC and starting to feel like a native.  Not that I’m really fooling anyone, I’m just not that smooth.  But Jackie found us a really smooth Soho hotel so I can fake it for a while. That’s until you take in the view from our first-floor suite and realize that there’s not much of to overlook – some moldy concrete that the staffers tried to spruce up with potted plants. I call it the “grotto.” That’s smooth-ish.

Yesterday was a crazy day.  Our publicist, Jen, had us working like well-oiled machines.  To White Plains to meet with JimmyV, then to CW11 to interview with Lolita Lopez, then to the offices of Madison Square Garden to interview with Tina Cervasio.  I decide that if I were a smooth native New Yorker, that I, too, would also have a name like Lolita Lopez.  I’d also look like both of our female hosts (sorry, JonnyV, I just can’t rock the suit and tie like you do). Added bonus goes to Tina for the only other University of Maryland grad I know who doesn’t tend bar. Not that I’m against bartenders. As a lot, they’ve been very good to me. Not so good to my liver...In the middle of yesterday’s insanity we get a call from the WNBA offices with an invitation to take in last night’s game at the Garden. Hey, it was totally random but … why not?  I operate quite naturally in a random fashion.  Afterwards, Jackie, her husband, John, and I headed to the Russian Vodka Room on 52^nd and acted, well… pretty random.

Today there’s not much wiggle room to be random, however. After I disconnect from here, I’m off to meet my friend Alan Schwarz, who is a reporter for the New York Times and then hooking up with Dr. Steve (from our Philadelphia trip in June) and then off to Shea Stadium!  All in four hours!

At the 6PM event at Shea Stadium, I am moderating a panel discussion about women in baseball.  It should be really enjoyable.  About 200 fans will be in attendance.  I will grill our panelists about their connection to the game. I like to see my subjects sweat, especially when one of them is Jackie.  I promised some softball questions but I’ll throw her a changeup.  I suppose I’ll need to be kinder to Renette Manuel (wife of Jerry) and Jill Knee, the team’s Director of Community Outreach.  Players wives will be on hand, too, to give attendees an inside glimpse of the game. I’ll try to be smooth. Pictures from NYC

ALL-STAR BLUNDER? by deidre@, July 17,1;35 AM PST
Hey, I'm pretty easy-going about things. Especially sports. As I've said over-and-over again in interviews, writing a baseball book isn't like curing world hunger. Now, there was certainly a day when I cared deeply about sports: when I played soccer as a kid. I was never one to cry over a loss but I was the type to play the game over and over again in my head - wins and losses.

And I still do...For example, my daughter came home from camp yesterday and said she met a friend named Joanne. "Really?. . . Joanne," I thought. Oddly, I immediately teleport myself back to a soccer game during my junior year in high school. The game had gone into sudden-death overtime and I was called off-sides just as my teammate, Joanne Duymovic - one of the best athletes I've ever seen - scored. Of course, the goal was called back because of my error. The opposing team eventually scored and we lost the game -- when we should have won. I still feel guilty. That happened 24 years ago, folks! So sports do drive a sixth sense in me.
 
But, as a spectator, I have a hard time getting really emotional when games are won or lost. Sure I hang on my seat and enjoy the contest, like most fans. But when it’s an exhibition game, such as Wednesday night’s All-Star game, I really just have fun watching, because I really don’t care who wins. There are people who care deeply and there are journalists who entertain those (perhaps misguided, yet harmless) feelings with columns about every aspect of the game. Hey, if there’s an audience, there will be a writer writing to that audience. I get it and it doesn’t bother me. Journalists have billed Wednesday’s game, which the AL won 4-3 in 15 innings, as everything from a mismanaged debacle to a little-league fiasco to, well, simply boring.

Me? I enjoyed watching it. I enjoyed watching the plays at the plate, the blooper hits and the miscommunication between outfielders who were teammates for only a night. I enjoyed wondering whether Bud Selig was going to call the game in the 13^th inning. I enjoyed wondering who Terry Francona was going to pitch – maybe his remaining position player? I enjoyed the defensive play. Then I wondered whether Bud Selig was going to call the game in the 14^th inning. For all of those reasons – and many more -- I watched. The next morning, I even enjoyed remembering that Derek Jeter – someone’s whose face I can barely stand to look at – was in the dugout until the bitter end, even though he didn’t play past the 5^th inning. And he was the first guy to reach Michael Young, enveloping him in a hug as the Rangers’s shortstop stood on first base after hitting a sacrifice fly that scored the winning run. Barely. But barely counts.

Speaking of which, I even half-hoped that catcher Brian McCann (Padres) missed the tag at the plate that ended the game. “NO he was out!” I shouted, hoping that the game would continue. I looked at all the tired fans – those who stayed – and remembered that beer sales ended two hours ago and the flask was probably bone dry. I even enjoyed the fact that there were still fans there at 2AM. I didn’t mock them. I really was happy that they were still there.

DETROIT DRIVER TAKES ON BOSTON -- deidre@, 12:22AM, Monday  6/30/08
At the risk of sounding like Rainman, I’m a pretty good driver. My high school Drivers Ed class took place on the D.C. Beltway and I was weaned at age 16 on the NJ Turnpike while driving my mom to Cape Cod. So, I’m pretty hard-core. No slouch. I like to drive really fast but, honestly, that's pretty much the depth of my talent. It's that realization that I don't have the total package that drives me to hand the wheel over to Jackie. Jackson. Jack-o-rama. She’s a true pro. Raised in Detroit, the Motor City Girl rolls with the big boys and I’m in awe.

What makes a good driver? Well, among many other things like knowing how to jam an inferior engine in order to make an 80 MPH merge, a good driver sees getting lost as no cause for alarm. The answer is always just to keep driving. We got lost Friday night driving home from the Boston airport, arriving at my aunt’s house at 1AM before we raided the refrigerator to eat leftover ribs and find the makings for pizza bagels. And we got lost the next morning heading to the Red Sox' Fenway Park for the Jimmy Fund event.. . . We instead headed over a modern suspension bridge that I quickly realized would land us in Charlestown, a loooooong way from Fenway Park.  And then we got lost leaving Fenway Park.  Exhausted from the day we kept seeing signs for I-90W (that’s the Mass Pike, which would eventually land us in Seattle…) But we needed I-90 EAST. Finally, the navigator (me) steps in. “Jack, don’t worry which way it’s going,” I said.  “Just get on the f**king highway.” She didn’t bat an eye.  She got on the highway and we headed for Seattle. A good driver knows to listen to her navigator, no matter how misguided things seem. We got lost returning our rental car. I… think that’s it.

It would be reasonable to think that the navigator is responsible for all of these missteps. This wouldn’t be a terribly far-fetched notion – just not a particularly creative notion. It's easy to blame the navigator. But I, as the navigator, was hampered because I didn’t have a map. You see, I’m Portuguese (that explains a lot of things, among them: a penchant for packing). I know a little about Boston and, well, the bottom-line is that as long as you have a good driver at the helm, there really is no need for maps. Jackie just kept driving and laughing while I tried to channel my innate sense of direction – born from the aforementioned Portuguese heritage – to figure things out.  “We aren’t lost,” Jackie would say. “We just can’t get there.” Eventually we did. I think we passed Fenway… let’s see… was it five times on the highway? 

But Jackie’s a good driver and that’s all that matters to me when we are on a tour like this one. Sure, she’s good at other things but when we’re on the road, she is most valued behind the wheel of a car. She is also the liaison with most teams, as she was when we got to Fenway Park. We were on a panel of authors including my 1967 season bookend buddy Saul Wisnia and cutie Andy Wasif just in from Santa Monica, CA.  Jackie claimed I flirted mercilessly with dear Andy but I don’t think I did. And – just for the sake of argument – even if I did flirt mercilessly… what woman can resist a really cute, sensitive guy with a firecracker wit and brains to match? And he was there with his dad, which made him all the more endearing. But, sorry girls, I think he has a girlfriend. Well, I’d be willing to bet. Alas.

We met so many wonderful people at the Jimmy Fund event and had such a good time that we could hardly breathe afterwards. So we went to the nearby Boston Beerworks and had a, uh, beer. Jackie had a cuppachowda and said that she’d do that everywhere we went. By the time we finally got back to my aunt’s house Jackie was embroiled in a full-scale war with Enterprise Rent-a-Car. But I still don’t think they know – or care, which, as you might imagine, is really the crux of the issue.

Tomorrow morning a dear old friend is picking us up and delivering us to the Rte 128 train station near Brockton, MA.  We should be in NYC by noon.  Then, interestingly, as Jackie clinks champagne glasses with an old flame at one of Manhattan's most swank rooftop restaurants, I am tasked with taking the subway out to the Bronx with a handful of cash and marching orders to scalp tickets for the night’s Yankee v Rangers game.  Indeed, you can just start calling me "Short Straw" Silva.

DISNEY OR BUSTED TOES, posted by deidre@, 6/27/08, 2:44PM EST 
Up until now the worst part of my week was a need of so many Bandaids for my calloused feet that finally I had to dip into my kids’ SpongeBob stash. But now my week of planes, trains and automobiles has caught up with me and I’m trapped in the Baltimore Airport (BWI) trying to get to Boston for our Jimmy Fund event at Fenway Park.  Jackie lovingly planned out our flights so we’d arrive into Boston (her from Detroit) within 15 minutes of each other.  Now, my plane is scheduled to depart 40 minutes after I was supposed to arrive.  Strike that, 70 minutes. (My ETA changes by the minute). This stinks. But my nasty temperament is tempered when I noticed a beleaguered GI sitting on the floor across from me, still donning fatigues. OK, my life doesn’t suck.  Don’t be such a brat, D.

Certainly, not all was lost this week. My last childless "last hurrah" came by way of a game Wednesday at Nationals Park (thanks Bree!). I drank with Scott from Connecticut on the train ride between NYC and D.C.(but then he ditched me in Balt, some lame excuse about a conference...).  The game was followed by a late Italian dinner in D.C.'s Dupont Circle -- my old stomping ground.  See, after the Iron Chef gig, my kids and the AGPs (Awesome Grandparents) took off for the much-anticipated Disney cruise. I saw them for all of about 36 hours after arriving from NYC but it was still totally worth it.  I mean, when your kids are fighting over who gets to sleep with you, that’s pretty much all that matters. So neither was really left hanging, I snuggled in with both.  Thought any parent knows that’s where the fun ends. At about 3AM I finally had to evacuate the bed because the kids had taken over with their delightfully pointed knees and elbows.

So, with the kids safe with Mickey Mouse, I eventually moved on…to bid adieu to Barb and Matthias who are leaving NYC for Germany and to Philadelphia to see Dr. Steve and his baseball card collection.  Again, that’s an colossal understatement.  I was more than a little naïve – and, as was soon revealed, quite ill-informed -- about baseball card collecting.  Not sure if it was daft politeness, sheer aloofness, or just plain exhaustion but I never took any notes as Dr. Steve rattled off the relevance of card after card. Dammit! I’d lost focus!  Still, I understood the significance of holding the Honus Wagner T206, even though it was encased in a cassette of hard plastic. Ditto for the Ty Cobb cards, the Walter Johnson rookie card, Joe Jackson… I could go on.  And may, another day.

IRON CHEF GROUPIE -- posted by deidre@, 6/20/08, 5:45 PM EST: ted by deidre@, 6/20/08, 5:45 PM EST:  
A good start to the week of insane travel, I'd say. Jackie and I being invited to speak at a baseball caucus with slugger Dave Henderson.  He rightfully showed off his World Series ring (1989 Oakland) while five of us gawked and gathered over lunch. His candor entertained us with clubhouse stories and was honest enough to dispel more than a few rumors. I could have talked to him all day. The speaking engagement was a ball and we sold lots of books.  Not to say that’s all that matters, of course, but it was a nice perk. They were a great group. They were enthusiastic and laughed at my jokes.  (They laughed harder at Jackie’s).

Since then, Jackie has traversed the Great Plains – or, whatever. I’m sticking with it because it sounds fully nostalgic – from Seattle to Detroit via car. Me? I took the easy way with a direct redeye flight to New York City. This was the beginning of a weeklong Bandaid crisis because everyone knows that you need an artillery of bandaids when you plan to walk the streets of NYC, as I did. Anyway, I never know when I’m gonna need some extra cash.

My redeye took me directly to the 9AM taping of the Food Network’s Iron Chef where my friend, Sabrina, was the day’s challenger. I signed a confidentially agreement so don’t ask me who won unless you have $1M burning a whole in your pocket that you’re willing to hand over. The most difficult part was that I was ravenous from my sleepless redeye and they were making some really good food. Really, it could have sucked. I was starving. The taping lasted until 2PM. “Pietro,” I said, desperately grabbing the arm of Sabrina’s husband.  “If I don’t have a glass of wine in my hand in 30 minutes, I’m going to get really bitchy.”

Thirty minutes later I had a full glass of wine.  But just not any glass of wine. I was seated in a fine Chelsea restaurant that is rumored to be co-owned by Iron Chef Mario Batali. We were directed there by one of the Iron Chef judges that Pietro had befriended-- evidently  during the time period that I had slipped into hypoglycemic shock. As the judge, himself, poured my wine, I looked around our intimate table-for-ten. There was a table for ten of us: family members, old friends of the family, the publicist, her sous chefs … and me. Yikes! I felt like such a groupie. But I ate, drank and was merry.  I was probably the “happiest” of all because I was thoroughly jetlagged – and I felt charmed because I didn’t belong anywhere near that table and its eight elegant courses – very little of which I can remember. Well, that's other than the lard butter laced with rosemary - wow. I was so happy, in fact, that I made an executive decision to "miss" my train to DC.  That was my ultimate destination because I wanted to see my kids, Amelia and Tony (7 and 6) , before they left for a Disney cruise with my dad and stepmom. Their dad (aka Michael) had brought them out the week before and then “aka Michael” headed to North Carolina for a golf tournament. Truth be known, during that post Iron Chef meal, I was so taken with the Life of Riley that I doubted I’d see my kids until they turned 13.  But, alas, I pushed the table away. As if! There was still the champagne course. I’m was brought up properly, after all. Then, when all was right in the world, I left. Mother would be proud.

HELL HATH NOT THE FURY (OR THE BALLS) TO CANCEL A LADIES DAY EVENT - posted by @deidre, 6/7/08, 6:58 PM EST
 I woke up and checked the weather forecast on-line. The most favorable reports called for thunderstorms starting around 3:30, when Jackie and I were scheduled to set up for our Nationals Ladies Day event. Ugh. I refreshed my screen, hoping for better news. Same thing. Rain. Thunderstorms. At least there were no tornado warnings, like the day before. But who wudda thunk it? The event went off without a hitch. We felt charmed, as did the event organizers, our new best friends.

Early in the day we decided to make the best of what everyone was telling us was quickly turning into a bad weather situation. Jackie read that the rained-out Nats game from the previous, stormy night was scheduled for 1PM. Heck, we thought, it was such a beautiful day “let’s watch two!” (as paraphrased from Ernie Banks). We rushed around my dad’s house, got ourselves together and missed the shuttle to the subway. So we leaned on my dad to drive us, which he kindly did. A father’s work is never done, is it? So we leaned on my dad to drive us, which he kindly did. A father’s work is never done, is it?... As the subway shot us underneath all the museums, statues and monuments, I felt badly for Jackie who, again, hadn’t seen D.C. for twenty years. Guess this just wasn’t her day, either. First I take the window seat on the airplane . . . now this. How long can I keep the city a secret from her? From my dad’s pad in Rockville, it took us 40 minutes to make it down to the ballpark via the “Metro” – or, the “subway.” It was so cool to walk out from the tunnel to see the entrance to the Nats centerfield only a block away.

We discussed how we were going to be all ballsy and scalp tickets again, a la our glorious experience in Philly. Here we were, poised to scalp. We were cocky. We were prepared.  We counted our cash.  We went in. What? No scalpers? What kind of bush-league outfit are they running, here?  OK, OK, I didn’t really mean that, you know, being a native Washingtonian, myself. But… really!  So we bought tickets at the box office. B-O-R-I-N-G.

Since the game was a quickie rain ticket, the stadium was empty and Jackie and I just walked around and around, never making it to our $18 seats. Again, as in Philly, we were amazed that they served booze in the ballpark. We bought some items at the team store, namely a Teddy Roosevelt doll for my daughter (to accompany the Philly Phanatic doll I got my son earlier in the week).

After the Nationals lost the first game, we found our table and began setting up. My dad and stepmom, Marion, were on-hand bringing around our supplies and taking some pictures. We ducked into the port-o-potties and got ourselves presentable which is really pretty difficult in a port-o-potty that has been stuck sucking up ninety degree heat all day.  I’m not sure that we succeeded because while a rep for Mary Kay Cosmetics – a vendor booth near ours – was talking to us she said she couldn’t “stand to watch” us put on our makeup and just had to walk away. However, they kept checking on us, telling us to stop by. Yikes. I didn’t think we looked that bad.

The day was wonderful. The Nationals event planners had it all figured out (or at least it seemed as much). We have been working with them for a long time and Bree, Katherine, Christine and Sydney had things working like clockwork. I even wrote an article for the Nationals June/July program.  It is about women fans and the sordid history that is the backdrop to any Ladies Day event (click for .pdf article.)

As often as we’ve done this sort of thing, we still get excited at the hundreds of people starting to line-up to get into the event. It was Ryan Zimmerman bobblehead night and the check-in table was filled with bobbleheads for the Ladies Nights attendees – men and women – to grab. Attractions were a wine bar, jewelry sales, massage chairs, a fun lingerie line called Slumber Party and, as you know, Mary Kay. All the vendors were supportive and fun as they walked around before the event checking out the wares others had to offer.  Good Party!

Dad and Marion were in charge with helping us keep track of what we were doing, whether it was getting us drinks, snapping photos or making change for people buying our books.  The DJ was spinning some fine tunes as the party of 600 or so danced under a tent by the first base entrance.  Even the mascots made an appearance – two of the presidents (Teddy and I think it was George, though he looked like Thomas Jefferson – Abe is easy to pick out) and Screech, the bald eagle – were out whooping it up..

Afterward, Jackie and slipped into our own post-event coma with a couple amazing tickets in the Nats “Diamond Club.”  We had a couple drinks, a hot dog and some good conversation, though, mainly, I was staring at a point somewhere in centerfield.  Glad I snapped to it when Elijah Dukes (of an anger-management post I wrote a year ago, among other things…) hit the walk-off home run in the bottom of the 10th.

Not only was the event a huge success for us and for the Nationals, it was a great deal of fun.  And not a drop of rain.  Who wudda thunk it?

View More Photos from this astoundingly surprisingly dry day!

PRE-SUMMER SLUMP IS NO MATCH FOR DUNKIN' DONUTS
posted by @deidre, 6/05/08, 3:22 AM EST: A violent storm rocked the D.C area Wednesday, leveling trees, cars, fences and power lines. It also practically leveled our hopes of today’s Ladies Night appearance with the Nationals, as well. Sound paranoid? Negative? Well, seven hours in the dark can drive anyone to such thoughts. More thunderstorms are expected late this afternoon. So, we’ll see. 

Yesterday started with a visit to my high school, Walter Johnson, and, specifically, the journalism class, where I got my “start.” At first, we thought it was only the receptionist, but it soon became clear that the whole school was wrapped in a deep and muffled trance that accompanies the waning weeks of the school year. It struck me that every single kid is completing a monumental year – as they all are at that wonderful age -- and is often anxious about what lies ahead… the whimsy of summertime… and the next school year. You remember the feeling, right? . . .

But, Jackie and I know kids and figured that even a muffled trance was likely not enough to force the students to pay attention to us. So, we plied them with two dozen donuts and patiently waited for the placating coma that follows a sugar rush. Then, we merrily wonked our way through 45 minutes.

 Just kidding, kids… we were pleased that they all seemed attentive – and some even eager – as Jackie and I talked about our life as young journalists and (feeling very) old authors. We both would be delighted – and fully expect – to see your names and your words in print. You are all off to a great start, certainly with the enthusiastic guidance of Ms. Gates. Good job to you all!

I then proceed to drag Jackie though my old neighborhood – Wyngate Elementary school, and all – where we terrorized the poor man who lives in my childhood home. He hid in the upstairs bedroom and ignored the doorbell and knocks as if we were pesky vacuum cleaner salesmen. Yes, dude… we saw you shirking.  So, without your permission, we took all sorts of pictures of the house. In my day, we kept the doors unlocked. And we most certainly didn’t hide from the odd passersby.  Sheesh. We followed that with a visit to the mother of my childhood best friend. She let us in. Though that wasn’t always the case...

Then the storm came and, with it, away whisked any assurance that we’d be hanging with the ladies (and guys like my dad) at the National’s Ladies Night, Thursday. Jackie and I took pictures of the storm as it raged outside.  We don’t get storms like that in Seattle.  The bloom soon fell of that rose and we found ourselves sitting in the dark drinking beer, taking silly pictures and eating fajitas with my family.

When the lights came back on, Jackie turned on the “Red Wings game,” which also featured The Penguins. I caught the final, dramatic seconds that could have put the game into another overtime (Monday’s game had three overtimes). Instead, Detroit hoisted the trophy and I went to bed.

View More Pictures from Today

TODAY: Ladies Night?

THE TOUR'S GRITTY EARLY DAYS, posted by @deidre, 6/03/08, 5:22 PM EST:
So, we’re beginning day three of the tour and if Jackie has learned nothing else, she’s learned this: keep me away from caffeine before a redeye flight. The silver lining was that there was an empty seat between us. Trying to follow a conversation with me was like trying to drink from a fire hose. But we completed about eight hours of brainstorming during the two-hour flight between Seattle and Vegas. Our plane was late and we barely made our connecting flight to D.C. This scene foreshadowed things to come -- mainly the manic drive from D.C. to Philly the very next day. But, even with harbingers hovering, let’s keep up the suspense, shall we? I’ve got so little else…

The approach into National Airport was as magnificent as it was frighteningly low. Straight down the Potomac and over Georgetown University, Watergate, The Kennedy Center.  Directly over the Lincoln Memorial and looked straight down the Mall to the Capitol Building with the White House and Jefferson Memorial balancing out the axis on either side of the Washington Monument. I grew up in this area and visit my family here often and never tire of looking at the monuments. Selfishly, I had taken the window seat and tried to point out stuff to Jackie, who hadn’t been to D.C. for more than twenty years.  Sorry, Jackie -- But that’s what you get for slipping me your Nyquil and then giving me the blow up pillow with a hole in it while I was in a weakened stupor. They look silly enough wrapped around a person’s neck while inflated, imagine how pathetic (and desperate) I looked with a flaccid pillow clinging to my shoulders with nothing but static to keep it in place? I arrived into D.C. Sunday morning with a crick in my neck. My dad and stepmom picked us up. Hi Dad! Know a good chiropractor?

Thursday: Ladies Night event with the Washington Nationals (guys welcome!) - Join US! (You'll need to scroll down a little for our event. Be patient...)

BASEBALL WORSHIP IS NO JOKE -- TO SOME
posted by @deidre, 5/17/08, 11:22 PM PST:  This is a big Sunday for my family.  My daughter, Amelia, 7, is getting her First Communion at St. Therese Catholic Church in Seattle. Now, my husband and I never considered ourselves particularly religious – and, honestly, probably bordering on the religiously apathetic – but I’ve gone to church with my daughter just about every Sunday since January because she wanted to get Communion. I warned her... that she’d have to pony-up and start going to church.… she was not deterred. So, mom’s there, too. Father and son, 6, sleep in and watch cartoons. Anyway, tomorrow, there will be a party, etc., etc. What does all of this have to do with baseball?  Well, there are many who consider baseball a religion. We’ve all probably heard that mentioned in jest. But there are those churches that have “baseball worship services.” I heard about them a while back and just decided to delve into the topic more thoroughly. And I found some pretty interesting stuff.

For starters, a decade ago there was a church in northern Georgia that narrowly averted legal action brought on by confused parishioners when the sermon revolved around baseball. This public rebuke was met with an apology from the priest in charge, who was probably equally confused. But, it’s his job to know his flock, yes? I wonder if MLB would have sent in a team of lawyers to defend the guy.

Here’s a time where the readings in a sermon adapted a passage from the book of Romans in the New Testament. The reverend used some baseball terminology:

“And so, fellow teammates, I plead with you to give your team to God. Let them be willing to make a holy sacrifice—the kind deep in the outfield. When you think of what God has done for you, is this too much to ask? Don’t copy the behavior and customs of the other team, but let God transform you into a new player by changing the way you think. Then you will know what God wants you to do and you will know how good and pleasing and perfect his coaching really is.” (Romans 12:1-2 NRBV – New Revised Baseball Version)

In fact, the guy who wrote that adaptation, Rev. Larry Davies, included a portion of it in his book, Live The Light, where members of his church face-off in a game against some of the game’s iconic players.

If you have a subscription to the New York Times, you might find this article interesting (if you don’t have a subscription, you can read the beginning paragraph, which is also cool, and may entice you to get a subscription…) It is from 1912 and a church’s annual baseball worship service. Some of the New York Giants were in attendance. Probably just covering their bases.  Ok. That was pretty bad. I’ll be here through Thursday, folks.

More recently, however, a writer drew comparisons to how the changes in his church are akin to the changes in how kids now like soccer over baseball (his assertion).  Soccer, he said, is faster, and along with the added movement, there is more excitement. He looked at how his church could adapt and become more like soccer and less like baseball.

Well, there are those who say that soccer is also a religion.

Photo: Field of Dreams: Associated Press, Sistine Soccer: www.TBWA.de

APRIL'S BEEN BERRY, BERRY GOOD TO ME
posted by @deidre, 5/2/08, 4:08 AM PST:  April was our long-awaited book launch. It was the culmination of four years of thought, execution, near-executions and family neglect.  How did we celebrate? On April 1, release date, Jackie and I drove around Seattle and took pictures of our book in various stores. (Total dorks. Thank God we found each other.) By the end of the month, we had this great article by Doug Miller, senior writer for MLB.com. It was featured, front-and-center, on the MLB.com website.  Don't believe us? Here's the screen shot. I had to take it, knowing that these things are fleeting.

Thanks, Doug.  You rock. He's a Seattle-guy, too, but likely got wind of us from MLB.com HQ in NYC. Specifically, Doug's retelling of our interview w/ a bonehead "sports reporter" was fun to read.  I blogged about the guy earlier this week in "Dark Interview in the Dark." (scroll down a few entries to read about that bonehead).  OH, in case you missed it, here's another look at that screen shot. Resolution stinks but you get the drift...

This month, we also had a couple book launch parties.  Jackie's good at many things but one thing she truly excels at is party planning.

One party included a tour of Safeco Field (my 6 y.o. son tried to pick the lock of the snack machine in the visitor's locker room) followed by a public party at Pyramid Brewery, directly across from the stadium. The night was capped with an intimate "after party" with us standing in the rain w/ our two husbands along Seattle's Alki Beach and cracking a bottle of Dom Perignon that Jackie and John had saved for a special moment. Glad this rated.

Then we had a more private shindig red velvet-clad "Grotto," which is really the basement of The Rendezvous bar on 2nd Ave in Seattle's hip Belltown neighborhood.

We are starting our book tour in a month w/ a event with the Washington Nationals on 6/5.  This is especially nice for me because it was my old stomping grounds.  Well, not exactly Southeast D.C. where the new stadium is...  (When I was a teen, we were instructed never to go to SE and, if we were ever lost there, we were encouraged to run red lights)  But, I hear "revitalization," etc., etc. born from the Nats new park have made the place a little nicer.  I'll see in a month and report back. 

Here's a shot of me getting caught stealing some cake:

















And us and some friends at the Grotto party.


D&J in front... w/ Dave at top far left, Tim, John (Jackie's squeeze), Andrew (Tim's squeeze) and Michael (D's squeeze). 
Yes, we need to find Dave a squeeze...

STATTO? STATISTICS? MARS? VENUS? .... CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?
posted by deidre@ 4/28/08, 10:25PM PST (MLB BLOG)

This interesting article appeared in last week's Sunday Edition of a Wales newspaper in the UK that talked about the differences between men and women in the Wide World of Statistics.  Could it be that there is truly a difference? And is it on gender lines? It seems that the writer of the article chose to frame the idea in sexual terms, if you may... I'm not so sure about that argument but there are some good points...One such:"Sports fans of limited knowledge but acute perceptiveness sometimes have far deeper insights about the game than people who are unhealthily obsessed ... The difference between an 'expert' and a 'mere fan' revolves around knowledge - who knows the most. But many of the characteristics which really separate sports fans have nothing to do with degrees of learning. Instead, they derive from differences in temperament" That was quoted from: What Sport Tells Us About Life by Ed Smith. OK, "limited knowledge" and "acute perceptiveness" make for deeper insights? Remember that, guys, when you are arguing with the missus.

BUT THIS ALSO is a good point...From the same book, Smith says there are those that "just love a bloody good argument" and those that watch "a match like a reader gripped by the narrative of a novel, simply wondering what will happen next." This, I get.

In our book, we don't say that people are obsessed -- though they may well be. But that term just seems to so negative. To me, those that can recite stats from teams of decades ago are hobbists. Tracking baseball can be a worthwhile and fulfilling hobby, much like playing the piano is for me or playing baseball is for others. Are hobbists greater fans? Not by my definition. Most certainly they are a different type of fan. And, really, who cares about the pecking order of fans, anyway?

Now, since this is my blog, and we're on this topic, here's a nugget from the intro of our book, It Takes More Than Balls: The Savvy Girls' Guide to Understanding and Enjoying Baseball, you may have heard of it:

"...Baseball is just fine without its fans having to create unnecessary pecking orders. Other forms of entertainment seem to thrive without such jostling. After all, symphony regulars usually don't discredit occasional attendees with remarks like, "Mildred! Get this guy behind us. He came to this concert without knowing that Beethoven bridged the classical and romantic periods! The savage!...

"...So, how about you? Do you enjoy going to a baseball game and eating a hot dog, drinking a cold beer, and feeling the warm sun on your back? Great! Do you enjoy knowing the statistics of the opposing team's pitchers? More power to you! There are fans who like to score entire games and those who want to score only half. There are those who come late and those who leave early--no harm, no foul. We've filled all these roles at one time or another. There are a lot of things going on a baseball game, and it's any fan's privilege to soak in as little or as much as they please on any given day..."

So.... how about you?

photos: Mars, Venus

WHAT WERE WE WEARING? ... WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW
posted by deidre@ 4/24/08, 3:35 PM PST

When a radio interviewer's first question is: "So, tell me, what are you girls wearing?" you know it's not a regular day at the office. This is exactly what happened to me and Jackie last night. As soon as we heard this opening gambit, we looked at each other and shook our heads. Promoting our book often lands us in the most unlikely -- and sometimes, unfortunate -- places.

So, this is how it's going to be, I thought, while mulling-over the interviewer's question.

I was immediately thankful for having had a couple drinks in me. Of course, we handled the onslaught with grace and humor. Growing up with big brothers, we learned how to go toe-to-toe with guys -- we're not afraid to mix it up and can definitely dish it out. Our aplomb doesn't mean that we really enjoyed the interview, especially when coupled with sexual innuendo. Here's a gem that our host, "Dark Star," came up with: "Answer me this, ladies: why do women say they want to sleep with you when they don't really want to 'sleep?' You know. They want to do anything but 'sleep,' right? So why say you want 'sleep' with someone? Get it? Heh. Heh. Get it?"

Yea. We get it.

And to think we ducked out of a baseball game for this? And an exciting one, too: It was the bottom of the ninth and the Mariners were trailing the Orioles by one run, none out, with Rauuuuuul Ibanez on first. But we diligently did what our publicist told us to do and that was to call-in to a Minneapolis talk show called "Sports Tonight with Dark Star" at 9:30PM. We went down to the Mariners front office and walked into the Ellis Pavilion, an event space in the stadium where we could have a quiet conversation with our radio host. It was a huge space and a couple stadium workers were sitting in the dark catching the waning moments of the game on one of the TV sets hanging from the ceiling. Jackie and I found a big table in a far corner of the space and turned on the lights.

Before the interview the producer got some administrative work out of the way by letting us know that we should call the host, "Dark" instead of "Mr. Star." ... During the course of the interview, which ranged from if we chose the book's title (we didn't) to whether we drink beer at games (we do), the Mariners had lost. Then a stadium worker, who probably never knew we were there, turned the lights off on us. Then on. Then off. Then on. Then off. We stifled giggles and were left sitting in total darkness in the back corner of a huge 600-person conference space. We wondered if someone would kick us out (they didn't) or if we'd be locked in (we weren't). Or if "Dark" would get excited to learn that we were talking to him while sitting in the dark (likely).

We wrapped-up the interview and met our husbands at Hooverville, a bar just south of Safeco Field where they were playing darts. A few more drinks later and my husband and I were in an argument over whether not pinch running for Ibanez in the bottom of the ninth was a bad management decision. It was heated. We'd had drinks. You know the drill.

So, how did we answer that first "what are you wearing" question? I wanted to answer "boots." But it was Jackie who stepped up to the plate: "Well...uh, Dark, we just left the game for this interview and it's freezing outside. I'm wearing a down jacket." And she was. Had our host been on the ball, however, he would have got the real story. That is, what was she wearing underneath?

(In the bottom of the 9th, while we were being "interviewed" in the dark, the boys (Michael and John) and friends donned the "rally cap!" We miss all the fun... -- photo care of Jon Wells)

WHAT ABOUT A TAMPA BAY SHIRT?
Why can’t they bury the hatchet? Because the Yankees would probably dig it up.

This week is a good example of someone who talked too much. Gino Castignoli is a Red Sox fan living in the Bronx and was a contractor assigned – for one day – help build the new Yankees’ stadium. He thought it would be funny to try to cast a curse on the stadium by burying a Red Sox shirt in the concrete of the stadium, a la Jimmy Hoffa (not that I know anything about any of that). He actually succeeded! But then he blabbed. Why not just bury the Ortiz shirt and shaddup about it? But this guy bragged. The conversation probably started something like “Hey!  I did something wicked awesome….” and it quickly digressed into undoing of one of the greatest hoaxes-that-never-was. . . . ...

Then, in an awkward and expensive display of humorless leadership, the Yankees had some guys spend five hours last Sunday jackhammering away two feet of concrete so they could pull out the shirt, which was in tatters by the time the jackhammer spit it out. Not that I really blame them for digging it up. Why take a chance on something like a shirt buried under what is slated to be a restaurant? After having pulled out the offending shirt it will now be auctioned off to the Jimmy Fund, a Boston-based charity. How sweet.

Yankees President Randy Levine said that the team might press charges because what Gino did was a “very, very bad act.” Burying a shirt isn’t a bad thing. Unless, of course, you believe in curses. Then, indeed, it would be a very, very bad thing. So, does Levine actually think that Gino had the ability to curse the Yankees? Nah, that couldn’t be. But, dig up the shirt, anyway. You know, just in case.

To me, there the other question missing an answer is: What if it had been a Tampa Bay Rays shirt?
photo credit: www.fansedge.com

BASEBALL'S BIZARRO WORLD
posted by deidre@ 4/8/08, 4:05 PM PSTLet’s look at our two childhood teams: Jackie’s Detroit Tigers and my Baltimore Orioles. The Tigers were supposed to buzz saw their way through the league and the Orioles were supposed to be, well, the timber. But this week has been interesting, hasn’t it? ..

After giving up 39 runs in the first six games, the Tigers finally got a win last night in Boston, but still gave up five runs. Hey, Jackie’s not complaining: it’s a win. (And I’m not complaining, either, she brought over the wine last night.) And, in tonight’s rubber-match, the Tigers could get the better of 41-year-old Tim Wakefield in his first start of the year. He's been working with new catcher, Kevin Cash, 30, who will probably amount to be little more than one of the worst hitters in the league who can corral a knuckleball . . .

Cash replaced Doug Mirabelli (another terrible hitter) over spring training. Will Detroit’s baesrunners be primed to take advantage of some passed balls? Perhaps. I’d say, “Go Tigers!” but Boston is another one of my childhood teams and rooting against them would result in me being cut out of my family’s will, which is Boston-based. There won’t be much money there but the Linguica futures are looking good, especially with a “Silva” pitching in the league (even though he’s from Venezuela, not Portugal, as The Family would prefer).

And, thanks in part to a four-game sweep of our local team, the Seattle Mariners, the Baltimore Orioles (my adopted childhood team) are looking like the buzzsaw to be buzzed with. This week, at least. Maybe all that off-season trade drama will amount to something? After losing to Tampa Bay (yes, you read that right) in the home opener, the O’s went on a six-game tear, scoring 38 runs. They are going into a double-header w/ Texas today after yesterday’s game was postponed.  And now they are 2.5 games ahead in the AL East? What gives? Who cares? I can say “Go Orioles!” with out reprisal from The Family. And, as an Orioles fan, I know when it's time to enjoy. They are fleeting.

But, back to Detroit for a moment. Because I feel for Jackie because her team is looking really ugly and they are supposed to look great. Sure, it’s the opening days of the season. They'll get over it just as the Tigers will get over this slump. But what will they all do if the Tigers come back losers off of this roadtrip? Well, Detroit fans all have the United States Bowling Congress Women’s Championships happening in nearby Canton this week. It’s no secret that bowling is really Detroit’s first love, anyway… Hmmm, baseball and bowling. Sounds like Detroit is a “Bizzaro World” all unto itself.

photo credit: Deidre's Bizzaro Search Skills and www.hillcity-comics.com

BIG DAYS
posted by deidre@ 4/4/08, 3:02 PM PST
Today was a Big Day capping off a Big Week. I was up at 5:30 this morning talking with our publisher in NYC about some really exciting endorsements coming up The Savvy Girls Pike – one from a recent Hall of Fame player inductee. Don’t worry, we’ll keep you posted on that front. We’re so giddy now that it’s hard to keep quiet on it…As for the week?  It was Opening Day for most of the country’s MLB cities and I got to see a MLB player with the name “Silva” on the back of his shirt. But this was also our book launch week! On Tuesday, Jackie and I spent the day driving around to book stores and actually seeing our book on the shelves. In many cases, it was not only on the shelves but were featured on the store’s baseball “tables,” which is a fancy book-industry table for where they put baseball books that the store is featuring.  Don’t believe us? We have pictures! And we have video, too. The footage is of us finding our book for the first time and clinking martini glasses. I know, I know… so out of character.
Tomorrow is our book launch party at Pyramid Brewery....
 

WANNA PARTY?
 ... We have about 100 people joining us at the soiree where we’ll be meeting lots of new people, selling our scorebook journal, our t-shirts and our books.  We’re very excited to start the “have fun and have a party” segment of the book-making program… But we still have events w/ the Detroit Tigers, NY Mets, Mariners and Washington Nationals coming up.  Never thought it would happen but we’re glad it did.  And we’re glad that tomorrow’s a day to celebrate!
       
That's our book, in the middle!                        And our book second from the left!                 And in the stacks!

 
THE SYMPHONY WORKOUT
Posted by deidre@, Thursday, 3/27/08, 5:12PM PST
Jane Fonda, eat your heart out. Sure, some of the big guys are already playing ball in Japan but, for me, baseball season begins when I walk into the stadium. I train for that moment. I need to be in top form for Monday's game when Jackie and I join several friends for a day’s worth of ditching work and other responsibilities where we act like we have nothing better to do than enjoy a few midday drinks, trip over curbs and, for those who partake in such footwear, catch our high heels in sidewalk grates.

So, specifically, you might wonder, what have I done to prepare for baseball season? Last night was a perfect example. I was at the Seattle symphony hall to catch one of the world's most prodigious pianists in recital ...At intermission, I’d arranged to meet two friends over glasses of champagne, which I’d ordered for all of us before the concert even began (this, so that we wouldn’t have to wait in the intermission line that the rookies queue up in.) All day it drove me crazy that my friends had better seats than my date and I had. We sat in my regular season ticket seats in row FF while my friends were rubbing elbows with the swank patrons in row N – twenty rows closer. As we chat and giggle over our bubbly, I mention once again to my friend that I helped select the better seats and she perks up: “Hey, there are two empty seats right next to us!” (Are you thinking what I was thinking?) “Jen,” I say, in my best incredulous manner. “Do you think we’re at a ballgame, or something? Are you suggesting that we seat hop at the symphony?” How crude! We all shrugged. I looked around the atrium. Had anyone heard us?

The four of us downed our drinks and proceeded past my bush-league seats in row FF, heading straight for the black Steinway positioned at the middle of the stage. It was like sneaking past that usher at the ballpark and I was nervous. Was someone going to ask for my ticket? I tried to act natural. Head up, D, walk purposefully. Smile and nod. We followed our friends to the plush seats in the middle of row N. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I said to a woman in row M as I handed her the coat that was carelessly tossed over “my” seat. Boy, did I act the part. For the woman behind me, it was like those days at the baseball park when you feel like you’ll have some extra space to spread out your limbs and belongings until some philistine shows up in the fifth inning and asks you to get your feet off of his seat. But, the difference here was that it wasn’t my seat and I was still fool enough to feel entitled. 

I’ll spare the suspense because we weren't booted. This doesn’t mean I had fun, of course. I was twitchy nervous between every piece – that’s when the ushers allowed late arrivals into the concert hall. Once a couple stopped at the end of row N and looked at their tickets, counted seats, whispered and pointed. I kept my head down. I did not smile. I did not nod. They walked to an usher before moving along to another section. But it was too late for me. I had already died a thousand deaths.

"PINK IT AND SHRINK IT:" IS THAT ALL WE MEAN TO THEM? - MARKETING TO THE FAIRER FAN
Posted by deidre@, Tuesday, 3/4/08, 9:31AM PST
Different sports are making marketing to women a priority. This isn’t news. The practice has been going on for several years. Baseball’s Ladies Days, for instance, started in the 1800s. But, as opposed to these days, it wasn’t the women’s money that teams wanted. Rather, teams granted women free admission to the stadiums because team executives thought the presence of women would make the men-folk less crude and rowdy. Of course that was before women rioted when the Washington Senators starting pitcher Win Mercer was tossed from the game after an argument with the umpire in 1897. The women tore up seats and smashed windows. The offending umpire, Bill Carpenter, was smuggled out of the stadium in a disguise.

But, aside from free tickets and special promotions offering spa vacations and manicures, what I’m really talking about today is how sports are trying to lure women with merchandise. Having women connect with a player or team isn’t enough – it is expected that women brandish their allegiance with a hat or t-shirt. Not just any hat or t-shirt. Teams often suggest a pink item. You know, because chicks dig pink. Now, don’t go thinking I’m for or against pink stuff for political reasons. You won’t see me wearing pink because I look dreadful in any shade of pink. Jackie looks good in hot pink -- but the powder pink hue often sold in team stores does nothing for her perfectly pale Polish complexion. So, the “pink it and shrink it” marketing isn’t intended for us. But that doesn’t mean it’s not for some. My stepmom looks stunning in pink. I even bought her a pink Boston cap a few years back (the lifelong Orioles fan has the misfortune of marrying into a Boston family. Oh well. Probably not too late for that annulment.)

And of course it’s just not baseball that is making women think they should think pink. The NFL has pink everything, too. And haven’t we all heard enough about how NASCAR is the favored sport among women? There is even a line of harlequinesque romance novels created around a NASCAR theme. Chicks dig Harlequin novels. And there is an upcoming NASCAR-inspired movie, too. A chick flick. NASCAR has scads and scads of driver-specific jerseys that are tailored to show toned mid-riffs and bodacious curves. And don’t think that the open-wheel racing world is keen on being left behind when it comes to collecting some money from women. Though they are taking the highroad, so to speak. Formula One racing is now offering a diamond-clad watch by TAG G Heuer for $2,300. The marketing material says that the company made the watch for “women who want chic design and serious sports-inspired functionality.” It has a pink face and, as you can probably tell by the price tag, lots of diamonds.

You know, Formula One executives don’t want just anyone cheering for their drivers.

Then, right up there with Formula One clientele is bass fishing. According to National Sporting Goods Association, 12.9 million women fish. Yet many cannot zip the vests over their chests. So… big clothing manufacturers are on the case. "Columbia considers the technical and performance aspects first and then we bring in new colors designs and fit… Colors such as sea foam green, sunkist coral and periwinkle are colors that seem to appeal to women," a Columbia spokeswoman said.

I can’t tell you how many women I’ve heard from that abhor sports marketing to women. They say it’s demeaning and pandering. They thumb their noses – and whatever else they can get their hands on – at pink merchandise. As if pink shirts automatically label a woman a non-fan, or, -- GASP! – a casual fan. Do all fans have to wear an $80 authentic MLB-licensed [insert favorite player’s name] double-knit jersey? I don’t think so. Can’t we all just get along?

HOLLYWOOD FOR UGLY PEOPLE?
Posted by deidre@, Tuesday, 2/4/08, 3:15 PM PST
I read today in the Wall Street Journal that a committee working for Republican presidential hopeful Mitt Romney was tasked with determining how Romney should spend his time watching last Sunday’s Superbowl between the New England Patriots and NY Giants. This is no small matter, mind you. Should he sit in a bar? Should he watch it from a house?  Ah HA!  That’s a trap! If it’s in a house, what kind of house?  If it’s too cramped, it would look uncomfortable; maybe even appearing cheap or seedy. If the house were too large, it would look like he was out of touch with voters. So, the Massachusetts Governor grabbed a stool and bellied up to a St. Louis bar. Check. Next issue. The McLaughlin Hour, this ain’t.... Why is Sports so important in politics?  Do presidents want to show that they are still one of the guys?  As if they ever were. You know, most of the policy wonks were never the ones getting all the dates in high school. This reminds me of the saying: “D.C. is Hollywood for ugly people.” (OK, before you Washingtonians get all mad at me, I’m from D.C. and managed to escape with a sense of humor – so, there’s still hope). Or does an interest in sports make one seem healthy and, therefore, somehow especially fit for the presidency? But we know that can all be smoke-and-mirrors. The Kennedy family’s famous touch football games in Hyannisport, MA were staged to show that JFK didn’t have the well-publicized back problem that he did, indeed, have. This agonizing over appearing to be the pinnacle of health is nothing new, of course. Few pictures exist of FDR in his wheelchair. This was no accident.

Of course, an emphasis on election-year sports talk is yet another disadvantage to women on the national political stage. Before Title IX, you know, women were barred from participating in many sports at varying levels. Now, lively and engaging sports banter coming from women in power is often ill-executed and just, plain silly. (Lest you forget that Title IX wasn’t about sports: women also were not welcome into professional colleges that awarded degrees in medicine, law and science, to name a few.)  There have been few women who have been able to bridge their femininity with sports and/or politics. Think of all the hullabaloo last year about Hillary Clinton’s cleavage on the campaign trail and how she talked about seeing last weekend's Superbowl "game." Remember Ann Richards, former Texas Governor? A little Annie Oakley, herself, she once said that George Bush-the-elder was “… born on third base and thinks he hit a triple." It’s rare that a woman can pull off a sports line like that in politics and have it not seem forced. But Ann Richards forced plenty of other things.

Maybe politicians pull sports into their casual conversations because they know that politics is sometimes just so damned convoluted. Or, at least the politicians make it seem that way. Or it’s boring. Or it doesn’t make much sense. Does the best guy always win? Is it always clear? And with wealth, family connections and incumbency, much about politics appears to be a given. This in stark contrast to sports where the underdog can win -- and often does -- as can be seen by Sunday's shocker. In many cases voters (if they even vote) are asleep long before the final chad falls to the ground. Yet we stay up until the wee hours watching a late-inning baseball game. Monday Night Football games that roll though midnight.  Hockey games that… OK, bad example.

What does this say about Americans and the media that is supposed to serve us?  Is the media wrong in producing wall-to-wall election coverage? Probably not. But sometimes I think that news organizations could air reruns of Gilligan’s Island and everyone might breathe a sigh of relief (“Whew, we don’t have to watch this stuff!”).  Election coverage is not “Must See TV,” rather, it is perfect for the internet age. But threaten to not show the Superbowl? Now, that’d be deplorable. What would our politicians do on Super Sunday? The possibilities are endless. Email comment


A NEW LOOK, NEW FEEL; A NEW BOOK, NEW HAZARDS LAY AHEAD
posted by deidre@, Thursday 1/31/08, 2:05AM
It's just one of those things I get so much joy out of:  Jackie wakes up in the morning and she has no idea what I've written. Not like it's a big deal, we joke about it all the time. ("Deidre, just write stuff," she says, "Don't post.") Well, it's too late, now, and I have to post something -- so here it is. Unbelievably (to many), Jackie and I get along. Just yesterday, we sat in a coffee shop and talked for two hours about fun stuff. You know, stuff that really matters: Family and friends and what I can bring to her annual Science Saturday party this weekend. And this was after spending 14 hours working together on the  final draft of our book only the day before. Go Figure.
 
Keep a look out for where we'll be during out book tour this 2008 Summer of Love!

MAYBE YOUR WILD GOOSE CHASE WILL END IN 2008? Posted by deidre@, Tuesday, 1/9/08, 4:05 PM PST
Still chasing your dreams? Keep it up because this could be your year. It is for me and Jackie, after all. In the matter of a few months, we’ll finally see our book in print. And it was the year for Rich “Goose” Gossage, who yesterday was dubbed officially a Hall of Fame baseball player. There were many who already viewed him as Hall of Fame caliber. But, yesterday, it was made official when he and his bushy handlebar mustache snagged 85.8 percent of the 543 votes cast by members of the Baseball Writers Association of America. He is only the fifth relief pitcher elected to the Cooperstown, NY shrine.

Last year’s Hall of Fame vote brought great fanfare. Not only were Cal Ripken, Jr. and Tony Gwynn first ballot inductees, the steroid “issue” was brought to the doorstep of the hallowed museum when Mark McGwire’s name appeared on the ballot for the first time. It wasn’t his year.  Needing 75 percent of the total vote to be inducted, he came up short with only 23 percent – the same percentage as he received in this year’s vote. In fact, McGwire received the exact same number of votes in 2008 as he did in last year’s balloting: 128. Who knows when he’ll get in, if ever? He may languish on the Hall of Fame ballot for fifteen years before his name is removed. Well.... this is exactly what happened to Dave ConcepcionAh, yes. Concieve Concepcion. The Cincinnati shortstop played for nineteen years and went to four World Series, winning two of them, in 1975 and 1976. He was part of the “Red Machine” that included Hall of Fame infielders Joe Morgan at 2B and Tony Perez at 1B. Pete Rose played third and Johnny Bench, a Hall of Famer who played his entire career with the Reds, was the catcher. Clearly the company one keeps isn’t enough to impress baseball writers.

So there he sat on the ballot for the last fifteen years. It’s like the prom from Hell. To get all dressed up just to get toyed with. “Maybe this year I’ll get asked to dance!” In 1998, almost 17 percent of the Hall of Fame voters wanted him to. But that’s as close as he ever got.

Red Sox Slugger Jim Rice has been on the ballot for 14 years. A fan favorite, his popularity with the writers has gone up pretty steadily since his first appearance on the ballot, in 1995 when he got 137 votes, 29.8 percent of the total. It peaked this year with 72.2 percent of the vote. His 392 votes left him 16 votes shy of Cooperstown. I read somewhere that everyone who has cracked the 70 percent mark eventually gets into the Hall. He’s got one more shot. All eyes will be on him in 2009.

And don’t forget about Don “Donnie Baseball” Mattingly, whose been on the ballot since 2001. Yankee fans are campaigning pretty hard with a website and a MySpace account dedicated to getting him into the Hall of Fame. But, as opposed to the steady growth in popularity that Rice