IamWyatt.com Blog

Before having a career and being a homeowner, when life was of the simpler variety, I went cherry picking with my dad. We pulled up to the grove in his old rusted Caprice Classic (which not surprisingly became mine once I was licensed), dust in the summer heat mingling with our exhaust. The next few moments are a blur, but I’m sure we exchanged words with one of the workers, were given a basket and pointed toward the cherries.

I think you need to understand my father a little before I go on. He’s the kind of guy who never really grew up, and he’s proud of it. He’s not immature or irresponsible, he just never forgot how to be a kid, and I think that may be the attribute I’ll end up admiring most about him. When I was younger I got a Slip ‘n Slide. He was the first to wet his belly. I got a Power Pad for my Nintendo. He was the first to test it. Cannon balls at the neighbor’s pool. Whiffle Ball in the back yard, laughing all the time. So when we had our baskets in hand at the cherry orchard, there was no holding back.

We ate far more than we picked, red cherry juice dribbled down our shirts and bulging bellies. And this was before we even found the sour cherries–warm from the sun, delicately juicy and tart. The pit-spitting battle was epic, hiding behind trees, surprise attacks from the rear, giggling like we were best buds, and we were, still are.

Yesterday my wife brought home fresh cherries and it all came flooding back to me. I can’t look at a cherry anymore without thinking of that day in the orchard with my dad. I’m sure the day wasn’t perfect, riddled with blemishes as all days are, but that’s not how I remember it. I remember it like a Norman Rockwell masterpiece. Memories are good like that.

Manny being Manny

In the June 01, 2009 issue of ESPN the Magazine, Zev Chafets writes a column titled, “Manny should be Manny–in Cooperstown, right where he belongs.” Well, Amy Winehouse and I say no, no no.

Mr. Chafets’ reasoning behind putting druggies into our hallowed Hall of Fame comes down to just this: Some of the greatest players in the history of baseball also did whatever it took to get ahead. He cites Speaker and Hornsby as being members of the clan. Greenberg and DiMaggio being mobbed up. Ty Cobb being a murderer, Mantle shooting up, Koufax taking steroids, etc., etc. So reasoning here is that because our predecessors cheated and lied, that makes it ok for us then too. Right? Hold on, call me naive, but isn’t there some sort of elementary school saying about friends jumping off a cliff, asking if you’d do the same? I say this to Mr. Chafets, MLB, and anyone else who thinks cheating the game is ok: Grow some stones.

Ty Cobb playing dirty

It seems to me, you spineless money grubbing fawns, that you’ve lost all sense of what is morally right. If you cheat the game, get the hell out. Pay the players less money, stop building multi-billion dollar stadiums, stop charging two grand a ticket (Yankees), and clean up the game. I’ve got this crazy notion that players cheat because the tease of multi-million dollar contracts clouds their moral judgment. What’s that you say? Players won’t play for less money? Fine, find some that will. I’ll bet I can ask any of my middle-class brethren if they’d like to make $35K playing baseball rather than doing whatever it is they do to make the same dime, and they’d all rather play baseball. No, people most likely aren’t going to want to watch the bartender at Molly Maguire’s swat at a 65 mph fastball, but players, great players, will emerge none-the-less, happy to make a living playing a sport just for the love of the game.

Let’s show our kids that yes, you can have a career doing what you love by hard work, without the juice. We have athletes who admitted to breaking the rules of baseball, breaking the law even, and we’re still talking about putting them in the Hall of Fame. Companies all across America have a no-drug policy. You fail it, you’re fired. They don’t have the opportunity to appeal, they don’t get “suspended” without pay to what amounts to, say, 3 hours of work. They lose their job, it goes on their record, and that’s it. People say Manny took a stiff penalty, losing nearly half the season. BS. He got off easy. Right now he should be figuring out if he’d rather sell insurance or flip burgers. He had his shot at the dream and he blew it. It’s not ok. He should not come back. And no, Mr. Chafets, Manny should not be in Cooperstown.

Inspiration for this drawing:

Wanting Sumptuous Heavens by Robert Bly

No one grumbles among the oyster clans,
And lobsters play their bone guitars all summer.
Only we, with our opposable thumbs, want
Heaven to be, and God to come, again.
There is no end to our grumbling; we want
Comfortable earth and sumptuous Heaven.
But the heron standing on one leg in the bog
Drinks his dark rum all day, and is content.

Almost brought a tear to my eye last night.

I remember my first pint of Surly beer. I was then working for Bell Canoe Works and delivering a boat up to the Wooden Boat Festival at the North House Folk School. When I was done, I headed to the Gunflint Tavern and ordered a pint of Surly Furious and a cheese burger. I’ll admit, I’m a hop head: Left Coast Hop Juice, Dogfish Head 90 minute and 120 minute, Pliny the Elder–yeah, I love hops. So when this glorious brew bubbled over my lips, coated my palate and pursed my cheeks I knew I’d found a new best friend. I was hooked.

A little over a year later I found myself employed by SimonDelivers and right in the middle of a desire to expand their beer line. What luck! I said we’ve got to carry Surly. Our product manager at the time worked her butt off to get it in, and after pulling a few strings she did just that. Glory days. If only we could get it in PA!

Fantastic animated short.

Not sure how, but this email found it’s way into my inbox by accident:

Dear Manny,

I don’t have a lot of time (you know, between sliding practice and taking BP in the minors) but I wanted to thank you for your recent stint in the headlines. I’m heading back to the Yankees today and I gotta tell you, I was worried. You know how fragile my feelings are and I was sure to get mercilessly booed after my whole steroid thing. Then when people found out I was tipping off other teams they really got mad. But now that you’ve come out about your steroid use (sorry, “banned substance”) all that attention just might get sent your way. Sweet! It’s really a win-win for both of us because I know how much you like attention (why else would you keep your hair that way?) and nothing means more to me than the opinion of others (I suffer from really low self esteem).

Anyway, enjoy the time off. I probably won’t be seeing you at the All Star break, but maybe we can share “doctors” in October. Gotta run – Madonna has my nuts in a vise again.

Your new best friend,

Alex Rodriguez