Saturday AM

Throwing on a few lines this morning before getting a couple projects done here at the office and then departure for the Twin Cities.  Cold came in over night.  Not quite a hard frost, but close.  And I think that its supposed to be even cooler tonight.  I moved my ficus trees inside from my deck for the weekend. 

I didn't watch the game, but the replay makes the umps' call for the infield-fly-rule look dubious, at best.  The fans obviously didn't think much of it.  I doubt if MLB will uphold the Braves' protest.  But how do you call an automatic out on a fly to left field?  Even the "regular" officials make so-so calls, eh?  As a Cardinal fan, I don't have much empathy for ATL.

Given my baseball history, I find it borderline stunning how little I know about the teams, individual players, and basic facts in (and about) MLB.  I couldn't name one player on the Oakland A's.  I didn't know that the A's won their division.  I didn't recall that the Washington Nationals were a National League team.  Even right now, I'd have to look up on the Internet to confirm the teams in the divisional series that begin today.  Pathetic.

I've had the same information-deficit for the NBA and the NFL for many years due to a lack of interest.  But I kinda like baseball.  Aging is a terrible thing.

My entry in the History category from earlier this week seemed to garner a little more interest than some of my other on-going mental meanderings.  I'm not sure that that gives me much of an ego-boost for the exciting (or maybe not so much) life that I currently call Home. 

Reaching back into that archive, here is a pic of a comparable of my first car, a 1949 Pontiac.  I can't remember for certain, but I think that mine was a 4-door model like this one.  And certainly black in color.  And like this one, a bit frayed on the edges.  It had a "straight-8" motor (unlike the V-8's that became the norm), and a hydromatic automatic transmission. 

Given that I would have been driving this car in 1964 as a high school sophomore, do the math: I was driving a 15 year-old car!  That makes the BEATER a youngster in comparison!  Years later, Daddy told be that the Pontiac was a gas and oil hog.  Which probably explains why he traded for a later model Chrysler for my junior/senior years.

OK.  Maybe an update later from Harvest Path. 

BCOT