Red Sox to move Ellsbury to LF, Cameron to CF

Red Sox to move Ellsbury to LF, Cameron to CF

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Xavier versus Butler and the Referees

I haven’t written in some time—almost two full months—and the topic that stirs my creative juices isn’t one that will change the world, but I felt compelled to write nonetheless.  This past weekend, while watching beloved UNC fall to Texas, I switched stations (UNC was taking it on the chin versus the exceedingly deep and athletic Longhorn team) to watch the end of the exciting Xavier versus Butler basketball game.  The game went right to the wire with Butler making a “last second” shot to take the lead with 1.2 seconds left.

What occurred next over the next fifteen minutes stole the excitement from the game.  The referees spent fifteen minutes reviewing the last 20 seconds of the game, watching the tape ad nauseum to determine the correct time on the clock.  Xavier had stolen the ball briefly, leading to the basketball traveling all the way back into their half of the court.  For some reason, the clock frozen momentarily during this exchange, and the referees, using stopwatches and replay materials, determined that the inadvertent stoppage of the clock was playing a crucial role in the last seconds of this game.  The referees, after conferring for what seemed like eternity, finally determined that the game’s time had expired: no 1.2 seconds left for Xavier to attempt a shot.

It is always easy to criticize those who have to make a decision, and in that spirit, I question the logic of the referees’ puzzling decision.  Why did they see it fit to steal that last second from Xavier?  Why did they believe that the integrity of the game would be best served by not giving Xavier that time?  Most watching, including legendary coach Bob Knight, who was serving as color analyst, assumed that the officials were trying to determine if there should be more time on the clock, not less.

The most disappointing aspect of this decision was that the game’s outcome wasn’t decided on the court, but at the scorer’s table.  Who knows how much time was frozen or lost, but just as important, who cares?  The clock showed 1.2 seconds: not really an awful lot of time for Xavier to do something, but enough time for them to try to do something.  Instead the officials arbitrarily ended the contest, leaving many confused and disappointed.  I don’t think that that is in their job description.

Lord knows if there were really 1.2 seconds left, but if one questions that, shouldn’t one question whether Butler scored before time expired?  If the referees have the capability to measure time accurately (with analog stopwatches) to the tenth place of a second, then can they determine that Butler scored precisely before time expired?  Of course not, so since they couldn’t do that, the officials should have allowed Xavier a chance at finishing the game on the court, not at the scorer’s table.

If the Xavier players feel cheated by the outcome they are not alone.  A game that should have been decided on the court was, like a BCS Football Championship, decided capriciously by a panel of interested observers.  What a shame.

Finally, A Bet That Both Sides Win

As is tradition, the mayors from both cities in the National League Championship Series, Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa of Los Angeles and Mayor Michael Nutter of Philadelphia, have made a wager on the winner of the series between their respective city’s team.  As is often the case, the two mayors are waging local fare: Mayor Nutter is putting up cheesesteaks and Mayor Villaraigosa is offering Pink’s Hot Dogs, if (when) the Phillies win.

More nourishing and sustaining than the fast food items (even the delicious cheesesteaks from D’Alessandro’s), is the promise by both Mayors to spend a day volunteering for Habitat for Humanity, if their team wins–that’s right, the winning city’s mayor will serve in the losing team’s city.

This kind of wager impresses because it not only highlights each city’s (fine?) fare, but also, and more important, it focuses attention on the importance of community service in our communities.  When elected officials routinely include days of service as a part of their larger service to the community, that municipality improves.  Kudos to these mayors for their innovative and thoughtful gestures: they make the series that much more interesting and enjoyable.  Perhaps the mayor of the winning city will encourage denizens of the city to join him in the vanquished city’s community.

With the look of the series, I hope that Mayor Nutter will secure an inexpensive flight to the City of Angles.

Maureen Dowd’s Article on Wilson’s Comment

September 13, 2009

Op-Ed Columnist

Boy, Oh, Boy

By MAUREEN DOWD

WASHINGTON

The normally nonchalant Barack Obama looked nonplussed, as Nancy Pelosi glowered behind.

Surrounded by middle-aged white guys — a sepia snapshot of the days when such pols ran Washington like their own men’s club — Joe Wilson yelled “You lie!” at a president who didn’t.

But, fair or not, what I heard was an unspoken word in the air: You lie, boy!

The outburst was unexpected from a milquetoast Republican backbencher from South Carolina who had attracted little media attention. Now it has made him an overnight right-wing hero, inspiring “You lie!” bumper stickers and T-shirts.

The congressman, we learned, belonged to the Sons of Confederate Veterans, led a 2000 campaign to keep the Confederate flag waving above South Carolina’s state Capitol and denounced as a “smear” the true claim of a black woman that she was the daughter of Strom Thurmond, the ’48 segregationist candidate for president. Wilson clearly did not like being lectured and even rebuked by the brainy black president presiding over the majestic chamber.

I’ve been loath to admit that the shrieking lunacy of the summer — the frantic efforts to paint our first black president as the Other, a foreigner, socialist, fascist, Marxist, racist, Commie, Nazi; a cad who would snuff old people; a snake who would indoctrinate kids — had much to do with race.

I tended to agree with some Obama advisers that Democratic presidents typically have provoked a frothing response from paranoids — from Father Coughlin against F.D.R. to Joe McCarthy against Truman to the John Birchers against J.F.K. and the vast right-wing conspiracy against Bill Clinton.

But Wilson’s shocking disrespect for the office of the president — no Democrat ever shouted “liar” at W. when he was hawking a fake case for war in Iraq — convinced me: Some people just can’t believe a black man is president and will never accept it.

“A lot of these outbursts have to do with delegitimizing him as a president,” said Congressman Jim Clyburn, a senior member of the South Carolina delegation. Clyburn, the man who called out Bill Clinton on his racially tinged attacks on Obama in the primary, pushed Pelosi to pursue a formal resolution chastising Wilson.

“In South Carolina politics, I learned that the olive branch works very seldom,” he said. “You have to come at these things from a position of strength. My father used to say, ‘Son, always remember that silence gives consent.’ ”

Barry Obama of the post-’60s Hawaiian ’hood did not live through the major racial struggles in American history. Maybe he had a problem relating to his white basketball coach or catching a cab in New York, but he never got beaten up for being black.

Now he’s at the center of a period of racial turbulence sparked by his ascension. Even if he and the coterie of white male advisers around him don’t choose to openly acknowledge it, this president is the ultimate civil rights figure — a black man whose legitimacy is constantly challenged by a loco fringe.

For two centuries, the South has feared a takeover by blacks or the feds. In Obama, they have both.

The state that fired the first shot of the Civil War has now given us this: Senator Jim DeMint exhorted conservatives to “break” the president by upending his health care plan. Rusty DePass, a G.O.P. activist, said that a gorilla that escaped from a zoo was “just one of Michelle’s ancestors.” Lovelorn Mark Sanford tried to refuse the president’s stimulus money. And now Joe Wilson.

“A good many people in South Carolina really reject the notion that we’re part of the union,” said Don Fowler, the former Democratic Party chief who teaches politics at the University of South Carolina. He observed that when slavery was destroyed by outside forces and segregation was undone by civil rights leaders and Congress, it bred xenophobia.

“We have a lot of people who really think that the world’s against us,” Fowler said, “so when things don’t happen the way we like them to, we blame outsiders.” He said a state legislator not long ago tried to pass a bill to nullify any federal legislation with which South Carolinians didn’t agree. Shades of John C. Calhoun!

It may be President Obama’s very air of elegance and erudition that raises hackles in some. “My father used to say to me, ‘Boy, don’t get above your raising,’ ” Fowler said. “Some people are prejudiced anyway, and then they look at his education and mannerisms and get more angry at him.”

Clyburn had a warning for Obama advisers who want to forgive Wilson, ignore the ignorant outbursts and move on: “They’re going to have to develop ways in this White House to deal with things and not let them fester out there. Otherwise, they’ll see numbers moving in the wrong direction.”

 

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David Brooks Article on Race and Present Debates

September 18, 2009

Op-Ed Columnist

No, It’s Not About Race

By DAVID BROOKS

WASHINGTON

You wouldn’t know it to look at me, but I go running several times a week. My favorite route, because it’s so flat, is from the Lincoln Memorial to the U.S. Capitol and back. I was there last Saturday and found myself plodding through tens of thousands of anti-government “tea party” protesters.

They were carrying “Don’t Tread on Me” flags, “End the Fed” placards and signs condemning big government, Barack Obama, socialist health care and various elite institutions.

Then, as I got to where the Smithsonian museums start, I came across another rally, the Black Family Reunion Celebration. Several thousand people had gathered to celebrate African-American culture. I noticed that the mostly white tea party protesters were mingling in with the mostly black family reunion celebrants. The tea party people were buying lunch from the family reunion food stands. They had joined the audience of a rap concert.

Because sociology is more important than fitness, I stopped to watch the interaction. These two groups were from opposite ends of the political and cultural spectrum. They’d both been energized by eloquent speakers. Yet I couldn’t discern any tension between them. It was just different groups of people milling about like at any park or sports arena.

And yet we live in a nation in which some people see every conflict through the prism of race. So over the past few days, many people, from Jimmy Carter on down, have argued that the hostility to President Obama is driven by racism. Some have argued that tea party slogans like “I Want My Country Back” are code words for white supremacy. Others say incivility on Capitol Hill is magnified by Obama’s dark skin.

Well, I don’t have a machine for peering into the souls of Obama’s critics, so I can’t measure how much racism is in there. But my impression is that race is largely beside the point. There are other, equally important strains in American history that are far more germane to the current conflicts.

For example, for generations schoolchildren studied the long debate between Hamiltonians and Jeffersonians. Hamiltonians stood for urbanism, industrialism and federal power. Jeffersonians were suspicious of urban elites and financial concentration and believed in small-town virtues and limited government. Jefferson advocated “a wise and frugal government” that will keep people from hurting each other, but will otherwise leave them free and “shall not take from the mouth of labor the bread it has earned.”

Jefferson’s philosophy inspired Andrew Jackson, who led a movement of plain people against the cosmopolitan elites. Jackson dismantled the Second Bank of the United States because he feared the fusion of federal and financial power.

This populist tendency continued through the centuries. Sometimes it took right-wing forms, sometimes left-wing ones. Sometimes it was agrarian. Sometimes it was more union-oriented. Often it was extreme, conspiratorial and rude.

The populist tendency has always used the same sort of rhetoric: for the ordinary people and against the fat cats and the educated class; for the small towns and against the financial centers.

And it has always had the same morality, which the historian Michael Kazin has called producerism. The idea is that free labor is the essence of Americanism. Hard-working ordinary people, who create wealth in material ways, are the moral backbone of the country. In this free, capitalist nation, people should be held responsible for their own output. Money should not be redistributed to those who do not work, and it should not be sucked off by condescending, manipulative elites.

Barack Obama leads a government of the highly educated. His movement includes urban politicians, academics, Hollywood donors and information-age professionals. In his first few months, he has fused federal power with Wall Street, the auto industry, the health care industries and the energy sector.

Given all of this, it was guaranteed that he would spark a populist backlash, regardless of his skin color. And it was guaranteed that this backlash would be ill mannered, conspiratorial and over the top — since these movements always are, whether they were led by Huey Long, Father Coughlin or anybody else.

What we’re seeing is the latest iteration of that populist tendency and the militant progressive reaction to it. We now have a populist news media that exaggerates the importance of the Van Jones and Acorn stories to prove the elites are decadent and un-American, and we have a progressive news media that exaggerates stories like the Joe Wilson shout and the opposition to the Obama schools speech to show that small-town folks are dumb wackos.

“One could argue that this country is on the verge of a crisis of legitimacy,” the economic blogger Arnold Kling writes. “The progressive elite is starting to dismiss rural white America as illegitimate, and vice versa.”

It’s not race. It’s another type of conflict, equally deep and old.

 

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A library without the books – The Boston Globe

A library without the books – The Boston Globe

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Findings – Guilt and Atonement on the Path to Adulthood – NYTimes.com

Findings – Guilt and Atonement on the Path to Adulthood – NYTimes.com

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The Kindness of Strangers

 Last evening we pulled into Christ Church in Hackensack, New Jersey and thoroughly enjoyed the gracious hospitality of the church and its people.  Everywhere we have been in this nation we have experienced an outpouring of kindness and generosity: in California’s Mojave Desert, Daniel ran out of water as he was riding in 100 degree weather.  He smartly took shelter beneath a bush instead of pressing forward.  A family saw him, stopped, offered him water, and allowed him to continue forward; while I was riding in 100 plus weather in Nevada, a lovely Latino family stopped, told me of the Bishop’s plight—flat tire—and offered me cool, cool water to drink; in Overton, Nevada, when we tried to pay for our extra stay at the RV park, the manager refused, sending us on our way; in Kansas, when we were stopped waiting for Isaac and Mark to complete their shift, a concerned young man stopped behind us and asked with great concern how he could help us; in Farmington, Missouri, Father Peter Van Horn and his wife, Beverley, opened All Saints to us and allowed us to relax in a beautiful new space;

And, at a number of convenience stores where we stopped we met delightful men and women who wished us Godspeed.  Police officers, curious about our traveling, stopped us, asked us what we were doing, then supported us once they heard—even the one who pulled me over while I was supporting Daniel’s ride through Ohio.  And here, in Hackensack, we have had cool water to drink, warm water for showers, comfortable mattresses for rest, and kind church members for conversation.  In sum, we have met incredibly kind people, happy and eager to share their world with us.

 After arriving at Christ Church, we set off for our first meal together—all 11 of us at the same time.  We ventured to Casual Habana Café where the owner Benny served us delicious Cuban food.  Benny was very kind, serving us basil lemonade and all sorts of Cuban foods.  Rt. Rev. Mark provided entertainment with assorted card tricks which amazed us.

 Now, as we prepare to leave Christ Church, we expect to arrive at 815 2^nd Avenue in New York City.  Kelly drove the 16 mile route last night and told us that it will be hilly—more than we expect.

Accidents Will Happen

Yesterday’s biggest event was Carl’s crashing into a car in New Castle, Pennsylvania—yikes!  We spent our last few hours in the Buckeye State, and then we made our way into the Keystone State.  Carl took off on his Ride and Greg and I followed behind him, looking to support him.  We came upon him a few miles down the road, standing next to a young man and his mangled bicycle.  We immediately stopped, of course.  Carl seemed fine, but unsettled.  David, the tattooed driver, was stunned that he hit Carl.  Carl was riding fine when David inexplicably turned into Carl while trying to enter a convenience store.  There was no rhyme or reason for David’s turning into Carl and impeding his progress on road: Carl, legally traveling along, Route 208 in Pennsylvania, lost his opportunity to ride.  His front wheel was completely mangled by David’s driving, so Greg took up the challenge and road the hour.

Pennsylvania has many terrific riding routes, and we used PennDOT’s Route V to cross Pennsylvania yesterday and this morning.  It is a pleasant road that rises and falls dramatically over the width of the State.  After an hour, Greg was “gassed” so I took over for 90 minutes.  It was lovely to ride in the daylight, as I traveled up and down the road and enjoyed the vista afforded by Pennsylvania’s varied terrain.  Dan followed me and did a tremendous job pushing us toward Clarion.  This morning Mark and Steve arose early and continued on PennDOT’s Route V toward the Jersey boarder.  Isaac rode a rough patch before Steve took over to cross the Jersey boarder.  Kelly rides now and the rest of us will push toward Hackensack, New Jersey, where we will stay at Christ Church in their parish hall before triumphantly riding across the George Washington Bridge tomorrow.  The weather continued to be the story, as rain and thunder threatened for most of the early evening last night.

One of the best parts of this trip has been meeting people.  I must prepare for my Ride, but I will continue this thread later.  Suffice to say, this trip has been made incredibly pleasurable because of the people across this country who have opened their hearts to us.

People Get Ready

On Saturday, we continued to monitor the weather after Friday evening’s impressive thunderstorms in southern Indiana, but, thankfully, we were able to ride all day Saturday without incident.  After Dan and I nearly finished our customary graveyard shift (the thunderstorms cut short our rides), The Hollingsworth team of Mark and Isaac started early Saturday morning, moving us spritely toward the Ohio boarder.  When their shift concluded, Kelly O’Connell and Steve Sedgwick took off with the baton, while the rest of sough the comfort afforded by an RV campsite: picnic tables for leisurely lunches, stationery bathrooms, large, clean showers, drainage facilities (Dumping grey and black water is as cathartic an activity as saying 12 “Hail Mary’s.), laundry facilities (And we discovered washing one’s clothes after 8 days in an RV is as decadent a treat as sipping champagne on the banks of the Seine.)

 

While we wiled away the time at the RV camp, speaking with families enjoying their vacation there and admiring larger RV’s, Kelly and Steve enjoyed a wonderful ride along the Ohio River.  Yesterday I waxed poetically about the special significance and historical place that the Mississippi River has in American lore, but I could have just as easily been celebrating the Ohio River, which also has a rich and deep history.  Because it flows westerly, the Ohio, which feeds into the Mississippi at Cairo, Illinois, was a convenient means for pioneers to reach cities like St. Louis.  Because it separated Free states from slave states, the River has a clear place in American’s second fight for freedom, the Civil War. It has been featured in many works of art, including the iconic Boatman’s Dance, Huckleberry Finn (Remember that Jim and Huck’s original plan was to raft south on the Mississippi to Cairo, Illinois where they would then float to freedom on the Ohio River.), and Uncle Tom’s Cabin (Eliza crosses the dangerous ice floes along the Ohio and escapes to freedom).   Kelly and Steve reported that their trip along the Ohio River featured scenic vistas and welcomed tailwinds. They finished their appointed round 30 minutes early, and we met in Ohio, the state.  Kelly’s parents and her father-in- law met us near the Queen City, Cincinnati, and Kelly, stunned that we did laundry without her and eager to spend time with her family, gathered her laundry and Steve and went home for a few hours.  We, after sending Carl Petterson and Greg Daniels on their way at approximately 5:30, descended on the local grocery store for victuals.        

 

The evening passed uneventful, as Greg and Carl rode mainly on the Miami Bicycle trail in southern Ohio, enjoying the smooth surface.  They gave over their responsibilities to Dan and me around 11:15 in London, Ohio.  I rode the first 90 minutes, and then repaired to the Prius to support Dan.  While traipsing along behind him, I was pulled over by a police officer.  As polite as Dr. Henry Louis Gates was disorderly, I explained why I was seemingly riding the double line behind my cyclist at 1 in the morning: to make sure that I didn’t cast a shadow on the road for him.  Luckily, he let me go without incident, and I continued to follow Dan before finishing my ride. Dan completed our shift beautifully, averaging well over 20 miles per hour through Fredericktown and into Butler, Ohio.  Mark and Isaac awaited us and took off for Port of Canal Fulton, where we made the transition back to Kelly and Steve this morning.  Mark and Isaac reported a challenging ride that started at 5 this morning, but a good one.

 

            Canal Fulton, part of the famous Eric Canal system, has transformed the formerly vital canal into a living museum, so we have wandered around here meeting and greeting well wishers.  Carl’s mother and dog visited with us this morning and supplied us with more homemade beef jerky—thank you, Mrs. Petterson—cookies, and potato salad.  Greg’s wife and son visited with us as well, sharing cookies and Mediterranean Chicken Salad.  After exchanging pleasantries and appreciations, we repaired to a local café for breakfast: pancakes, vegetarian omelets and other good breakfast fare.  

 

Soon we will leave here, expecting to enter the Pennsylvania, the Keystone State, my family’s future home, which will be the final test for us.  We have heard that the mountains of Pennsylvania are even more challenging than the Rockies (or even, perhaps, the Ozarks).  The wind is blowing in such a way that I think rain will travel with us across the state line.  

 

People, get ready, we are almost there.  Of course, we never could have made it this far without our tremendous support: Erin, Gary, and Martha.  They have driven us in the RV, taken hundreds of pictures, rubbed our weary muscles, shown tremendous flexibility, resilience, and patience, bucked us up, and supported us in every conceivable way.  We eight riders bask in the glory of the task, but we could never accomplish it without their anticipating rough spots and quickly working to smooth them.  At every transition they are there to assist us and guide us.  Their work has not gone unnoticed by us.  We appreciate all that they have done and know that when we arrive in New York on Tuesday morning they deserve as much of the congratulatory words as those of us who rode.