A Magic Night at the Park

My sons J.T. and Cal pose with the Pittsburgh Parrot before the big game.

I’ve been a Pittsburgh Pirates fan since I was six years old. My parents reluctantly decorated my room in Pirate black and gold when I was nine. We (yes, I deserve to say “we”) won the Major League Baseball World Series in 1971 and 1979.

Unfortunately for me, a loyal guy, my favorite team in all of pro sports has been pitiful since a fateful seventh game playoff meltdown in 1992. Fifteen straight losing seasons. Fox Sports recently labeled my beloved Pirates the worst franchise in all of professional sports. Ouch.

Every year I hold my breath as that wretched trade deadline nears in late July, praying the management won’t trade away our few good players to save money. “Mom, why is Dad yelling and throwing things?” a child will ask. Says an experienced mom, “I suspect the Pirates just traded his favorite player away again.”

I’ve seen the Pirates play in Atlanta before, but on July 12, 2008, I escorted the Stroupes to our first Pirates game in Pittsburgh, where loyal home fans still hold out hope.

Magic ensued. First, the odds of crossing paths with the mascot outside the gate before the game are minutely small. Yet somehow two Stroupe boys were able to get their picture taken with the Pittsburgh Parrot.

We wished out loud before the game that we could be lucky enough to see our favorite Pirate player hit a homerun. He hit two.

At one point, the powers that be were flashing text messages on a display screen for the whole stadium to see. I quickly texted the press box and pecked out “First game at PNC Park- Dad’s dream come true.” A few minutes later, my wife grabbed me and shouted, “There’s your message!” And later in the game, during a Pirates rally, my middle son Cal’s image suddenly appeared and could be seen on the giant scoreboard jumbo-tron waving his rally towel.

Despite all the good fortune, the Pirates were getting smashed by the St. Louis Cardinals. I even considered leaving when the Pirates entered the 8^th inning down 10-4.

But much to the delight of the Stroupes, the Pirates scored two in the 8^th and four in the 9^th to tie the score. Much to our chagrin, the Cardinals hit a homerun in the top of the 10^th, deflating the wind from our Pirate ship sails.

Fate owed me nothing, I told myself. It was just a game. And my family had been exposed to a tremendous contest in an electric environment. I was content.

Just as I was conceding defeat, the last player on the Pirate bench came to bat and whacked a two-run homerun that sent the fireworks streaking skyward against the lit up Pittsburgh skyline and the remaining faithful fans into a deafening frenzy. The Stroupes jumped and screamed and celebrated one of the most unlikely comeback wins in Pittsburgh Pirates franchise history.

For one night all was right in the sports world. But alas, it was only one night. When the clock struck midnight, the Pirates still found themselves fighting to avoid last place and the trade deadline looming one day closer. As that deadline nears, the boyhood dreams that survive inside the man run the risk of being crushed yet again. Beware of flying objects.

Why I don't want to be President

If you ask me, Presidents are the objects of too much criticism. It seems like somebody is always picking on them. They’re the objects of late night comedy show humor and Saturday Night Live sketches. Comes with the territory, they say.

All well and good when done in fun, but I think our presidents are unfairly ridiculed and dished upon too often. After all, they occupy the office representing the highest level of respect in our nation, if not the civilized universe.

A president can’t utter a syllable without some hot-shot analyst berating him, questioning his intelligence, and proposing he be thrown out of the Oval office. I’m all for critical analysis, but I think most of that stuff is just piling on after the whistle has blown.

Take, for example, the President’s remarks I read about on a recent family trip. Poor guy did everybody a favor by keeping his comments short and sweet, but apparently, the crowd was settled in for the long haul and wanted something with a little more substance.

Of course the media jumped all over the opportunity to deride the President. Said one local newspaper- “We pass over the silly remarks of the President; for the credit of the nation we are willing that the veil of oblivion shall be dropped over them and that they shall no more be repeated or thought of.” I’m not good at big words, but I don’t think they were impressed with the President’s comments.

A Chicago newspaper said, “The cheeks of every American must tingle with shame as he reads the silly, flat, and dishwatery remarks of the man who has to be pointed out as the President of the United States.” Ouch. Even a London newspaper (London is not in America by the way) pointed out “Anything more dull or commonplace it would not be easy to produce.”

I think it must be tough to be President of the United States, especially during a war. And even more so if the majority of Americans believe that the President is the one who started the war. And if victory comes slowly or at too great a price, a President can watch his approval ratings go down the tube like bathwater draining from a tub.

After reading the Presidential remarks mentioned above, I also noticed the President took the criticism to heart and inaccurately predicted afterwards, “It seems exceedingly probable that this Administration will not be re-elected.”

I don’t think I would ever want to be President. It seems to me that no matter what you do while president, somebody gets irritated and calls you mean names. Only years after your presidency- and possibly your death- will historians look back and decide once and for all whether or not you were worth a hoot.

These were the thoughts turning laps in my mind as I read and reread the President’s remarks on my recent family trip. And I came to a conclusion. I like the guy and his little speech. And so does my wife. She read it out loud to our kids.

You’ve figured out by now that he’s President Abraham Lincoln and his Gettysburg Address will rightfully go down as one of the greatest speeches ever delivered, regardless of what the critics of his day said.

Gas Conservation a Patriotic Endeavor

This whole gas price thing has gotten to me a little. I heard a so-called expert on one of those news channels about six months ago predict that a gallon of gas would cost $4 by summer. I laughed out loud and proclaimed him insane. Nowadays I’m the one going crazy and he’s moving up in the network ranks.

I see this gas crunch crisis as a patriotic challenge. Throughout the world, folks are laughing at us, rejoicing that those spoiled, arrogant Americans are getting their just due for being hogs who can’t and won’t make sacrifices.

Well I say we show the rest of the world what we’re made of like we did in the early 1970s when OPEC tried to hold us hostage. We conserved and decreased our consumption and they folded like cheap lawn chairs. But are we tough enough to duplicate the success of the past?

I have done some research and learned how we can save some gas. Inflate the tires, use cruise control on flat roads, coast when possible and don’t use the air conditioner. We’ve all heard and done those. But I now present a few additional suggestions I discovered on the internet- some silly, others ludicrous. In no particular order:

1. Drive with the lights off.- (Some cars use extra energy to power the lights.) Dad, why do those cars keep blinking their lights at us tonight? Be quiet, Son, and concentrate on shining that flashlight straight ahead over the dashboard.
2. Don’t drive against the wind.- Okay kids, we’re going on vacation but we’re not sure where yet. Depends on which way the wind’s blowing when we leave Saturday morning.
3. Fill up in the morning.- (Cooler gas is more compact and you get more for your money in the morning.) Dad, why do we have to sit here all night in the parking lot? The sign says they’re open. Quiet, Son, we’re waiting until 6 a.m. Until then, use the spare tire as a pillow.
4. Drive in the heat and park in the shade.- (Warm tires and warm engines run more efficient. I have no idea about the shade.) Okay, kids, it’s finally 6 a.m. and the tank is filling up. When it’s done, we’re staying here in the shade for six hours until it gets hot enough for us to head in whatever direction the wind is blowing.
5. Don’t stop at the bottom of hills.- Dad, why did go through that stop light ten seconds after it turned red? Son, don’t you know how much gas it takes to climb a hill from a dead stop? Besides, I checked and there wasn’t anybody coming from either direction.
6. Push the car without cranking it whenever possible.- Okay, this example really happened. Our family van and my truck were parked in the driveway after a garage cleaning. I ordered my youngest to steer while I pushed the automobiles back inside. “But I’m only 8,” he explained. “Then get your 12-year-old brother to do it.” Which he did.

So there you have it. I’m anything if not patriotic. Though my kids say I’m cheap and downright embarrassing. “I’m just trying to be a loyal American,” I tell them. “Then ride your bicycle,” they say. Good idea, guys. That’s the spirit.

Surviving the Longest day of the Year

My dad a few minutes before open heart surgery, relaxed and confident, fully trusting the Lord

My radio informed me on the drive to the hospital that June 20, 2008 would be the longest day of the year. I couldn’t have agreed more as I raced up the mountain on my way to Veteran’s Hospital to see Dad before his surgery that day. I knew there would be much praying and waiting as our family members endured those anxious hours when you simply don’t know how a major event in the life of someone you love will turn out.

Less than two weeks after his 50^th anniversary celebration with my mom, Dad was to undergo emergency bypass surgery to repair a 90% blocked artery in a major area of his heart.

When I first saw him at 5:30 that morning, Dad was stepping out of the shower and since it was the only private place and moment available, I hugged him while I prayed out loud. Both a dripping wet dad and his youngest fought back a tear and shared an embrace as the son lifted up a heartfelt supplication to a Heavenly Father- whose blessings and favor we didn’t deserve- but whose Hand we trusted unconditionally.

We weren’t anxious or fearful. We got lumpy throats because we were afforded the opportunity to express our undying and utter love for each other, albeit the fact that it was next to a stainless steel hot-tub in the shower room, which smelled like that hospital anti-bacterial stuff they spray all over the place in health care facilities.

People often wait until something dramatic happens to reveal their love for each other. Fortunately, that is not the case with Dad and me. We’ve been open about our love for each other for years so there was no awkward moment when I attempted to put the adverbs and adjectives in eloquent order to impress him.

The orderly who carted my dad away a few minutes later tried to relieve the tension with some hospital humor. “Don’t worry,” he smiled, “I’ve never lost a patient, but I’ve misplaced a few.” Nervous laughter ensued.

They say there are no atheists in foxholes. I would add that you probably won’t find many in hospital waiting areas either, especially rooms with the letters ICU on the door.

Seven hours after I saw my dad off to surgery, his surgeon casually strode into the waiting room, informed us that all had gone well, and departed before anyone could thank him. But there was some thanking left to do.

I asked my dad’s pastor if he would pray before we all rushed off to the allowable areas to use our cellphones and spread the good news.

Another seven hours later my dad woke with nothing but a washcloth looking-thing as clothing to protect his privacy. “You forget all about modesty when you’ve been split wide open and operated on,” he would later say.

Despite eleven inserted tubes- the largest of which was stuffed down his throat- my dad nodded when I asked if I could pray while he lay in the ICU bed.

A little later, as the remainder of our family departed from the ICU, smiles of joy decorated faces and eyes misting with relief met as June 20, 2008 came to a close. The longest day of the year for the Stroupes had come to a glorious finale.