Competitive Backstabbing
Women
19
Baseball and Moms
Soap Operas are not the only item “stay at home mothers” enjoy. I know of three who can provide evidence of this statement: Margaret Gannon, Rose Parcher, and one of my best friend’s mothers. She wished to remain anonymous, but I am only going to say she resides in Walla Walla. I believe that is the reason she requested to remain anonymous. All three of them love the game of baseball.
Let’s just refer to the latter of this simple list as “The Walla Walla Sweetheart”. She holds season tickets to a baseball team in Walla Walla, known as the Walla Walla Sweets. She never misses a Sweet game and additionally doesn’t miss a Seattle Mariner game. (that’s when I question her sanity, even though I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her) This is a woman who doesn’t swear even after watching the Mariners make fools of themselves, or observing the Walla Walla Sweets get demolished by the Crab Creek Minors. She simply says, “oh fishy doo hooks”. Apparently, according to my friend, that is her nicest and most lovable form of cursing. She has used this phrase so long, it is now being considered to be placed in the infamous Webster’s Swearing Dictionary.
On to Rose Parcher: This is a completely different form of human. Rose is teetering on the age of, and this is just a guess, one hundred and seventy seven. Just like her children, Vic and Tim, she is tough as nails. She is also as fun as a feather. I watched baseball with Rose because we both enjoyed the games, and her spaghetti is absolutely worthy of a prize. She also was fun because she used colorful words I wasn’t used to hearing from a woman, or man, or sailor of that age. I was confused at the time because I always want to rate things in order of importance. Her use of the English Language was colorfully fascinating, (she didn’t use words or phrases such as, “fishy doo hooks” when she was pissed. Let’s just leave it at that. Rose’s knowledge of baseball was baffling, but her spaghetti was a very close first second or third to my enthusiasm for baseball. We always had a good time betting on pennant winners, eating great food, and tossing some really nice F bombs.
Margaret Gannon: Because this is my dear mother, I do have to save the best for last. As the last of thirteen children, and at an age too young for school, I was all alone with my mom at home. Most of my siblings were in school, fishing in Alaska or working at a lumber mill. Yet still, it was necessary for me to play catch with someone. Mom was my only option.
Asking her to play a game of catch with her was extremely cute. Reluctantly, mom always complied. She is an amazingly talented woman. Witnessing her artwork, I knew she was very impressive with her left hand, but when we went to the backyard to play catch, she honestly didn’t know if she was right or left handed. By the way, she is ambidextrous. I was young enough to not know what that word meant, but when she asked me what hand she should use for throwing, I replied, “I don’t know, how about the one you write with”. She was fabulous. I then knew I didn’t require playing catch with a father or a brother or sister who just wasn’t and couldn’t be around.
My sister, Teresa, and I spoke the other day. She remembers convincing our mother to stay home from school in 1973, the year I was born, to watch the baseball playoffs. Mom understood the importance of witnessing us watching something making all of us so happy. Dad probably would have said “no”, but since he would leave for work before the other children would have to go to school, mom wanted to watch the game with people who loved the game.
When the team she was rooting for would lose, she would whip out profanity. “Darn it”. Then, she’d make lunch and dinner for the whole gang. The gang would then go out and play baseball.
Baseball Magic
For those of you who don’t care for baseball and find it extraordinarily boring, you missed history last night. I even missed some of it. Everyone knows of players such as Babe Ruth, Jackie Robinson, Hank Aaron, Mickey Mantle, and Roger Maris, but we only see them in museums, or read books from the past or perhaps just hear old stories from a father who loves the game. Last night, I witnessed a part of history (fun history) I will be capable of telling a son or a grandchild about. It was an evening I wish I could have shared with my late father.
There is no possible way to go into details regarding everything that occurred last night. I can only say that when seeing marvelous athletes compete and win, my wife and I looked at each other and collectively said, “Do you have goosebumps?” Yes. And it’s not necessarily because of the team you’re rooting for, it’s sometimes the fans. These teams and fans come together as a team and a family. I’m not limiting this to baseball. It can be soccer, football, hockey…..I don’t really care. What I do care about is seeing people in a stadium hugging someone next to them who they don’t even know. 
It gives people a chance to forget. With our economy, there are millions of people who are struggling not only financially, but emotionally. But if you can forget for a day or even a moment about your stresses, those goosebumps make you laugh, smile and even provide tears of joy. It was good to see so many people happy.
Regardless of the sport, many people will root for the underdog. Last night, the underdogs (plural) won. There was a perfect storm in baseball. The Yankees lost to the Tampa Bay Rays, thus allowing the Rays in the playoffs. At one point, The Yankees were up seven to zero in the eighth inning, but somehow, the baseball Gods prevailed and allowed the Rays to come back from this deficit and win in the bottom of the 12th inning on a walk off home run. The fans blew up with fabulous emotion. The Red Sox lost to the last place Baltimore Orioles, thus eliminating the Sox from the playoffs. The Atlanta Braves lost a crushing defeat to the Philadelphia Phillies, allowing the St. Louis Cardinals to knock the Braves out of the pennant race and give the Cards, who were at one point, 10 games out of the race to now have a chance to win the coveted World Series. (This may be a bit confusing for those of you who don’t watch baseball). I’m even confusing myself. Ultimately, and most importantly, all of those games being played at roughly the same time, ended in spectacular dramatic and historic fashion within the course of 25 minutes. We didn’t have enough television sets to watch them all. Baseball historians have recognized these feats as having never occurred over the course of a century. 
This may sound a bit corny, and off topic, but there is a song by The Doobie Brothers titled, “Listen to the Music”. I’ve never been around a person who couldn’t laugh, smile or sing along to this happy tune. Last night, we were listening to the music.
Baseball, while sometimes boring, can bring strangers together, whether you know the game or not, in a very positive way. And, it can be magical.
Phones (sell phones)
I shall now write with regard to phones as though you and I are common cave dwellers. Land lines RULE. Oh, so you say you don’t know what a Land Line is?? Let me progress. These are phones which don’t require touch tone anything, don’t necessarily give you poor service (Verizon) and when you actually sit on it, it doesn’t call an ex girlfriend pissing your wife off. Rotary phones, which once existed, were wonderful. These were phones allowing you to make a call when forcefully placing your finger in an obviously circular area rotating it seven times only to reach the presumed innocent recipient.
They were strange phones where,when dialing, you didn’t hear a rap song or a Jerry Seinfeld tune. Instead, you received a buzzer dictating whether the said recipient wished to talk to you or not.
Because I love my late Father, I can’t even get into call waiting. That was a no no no.
Ben
College Football (personal rivalries) and Target
Millions of people love the game of football. I’m one of them. For those of you who don’t really give a damn about the game, this is your chance to jump on the “I hate football bandwagon”. Specifically, in my case, I am going to watch, with furious passion, every down of THEE University of Washington football games this year. Or, if I may “Flatball games”. Now, of course, I will have to plan this very strategically with regard to the young Britt and Chain. It’s a simple solution. When I require watching a Husky game, our bargaining agreement is that she is allowed to visit a place called Target, where she can get drunk by purchasing five thousand dollars of crap she, the dogs, cats, and less importantly, I don’t need. (I’m currently wearing a Dairy Queen shirt purchased for 10 dollars by my wife, Britt……the neighbors are making fun of me).
My current wife and I graduated from the less relevant Washington STATE University… home of the Mighty Meowing Cougars. She earned a psychology degree, and I purchased an English Degree. Thus, it’s a bit odd we support the local Huskies. My ex-wife, her two brothers, father, several cousins and one of their dogs graduated from the University of Washington, all with honors, including the dog, who is currently a licensed physician. I won’t mention any of their names, including the dog’s, but they were all good people….including the dog. They were also wildly smart and talented in ways I can’t even begin to fathom. Therefore, I grew to hate all of them purely out of jealousy. The WSU, UW, rivalry amongst some of us in this new family also began to blossom….and, by blossom, I don’t mean like a flower or a glorious butterfly, but a bitter ugliness only idiots like me can understand.
During the rivalry Apple Cup Weekend, I had internal disagreements with my then mother in law. She possessed less knowledge about football than I did about the next coming of Christ. As a self proclaimed prophet regarding Husky/Cougar games, she was correct most of the time. The Huskies have a terrific tradition with beating the Cougars, but the Cougs were making a stance for many of the years I attended the college. By stance, I mean the Cougs ACTUALLY beat the Huskies on several occasions. Much like a person with Alzheimer’s might react, she could not recall a time the Cougs had ever beaten the Huskies……..which had happened the year before. Still, she would make comments like this which made me wish to swing, but you just can’t justify hitting a girl even when it’s about football. “Do the Cougars really think they can beat the huskies?” I was only speechless because I provide forgiveness for the blind, deaf and stupid. I maintain far more respect for people such as my mom….blind, deaf, kind, and far from stupid. By the wayside, my ex mother in law was far from stupid. In fact, she was always kind to me yet smart enough to get in my football kitchen. I hate it when people are brighter than me. Darn it!
I couldn’t watch the annual Apple Cup rivalry that day because: One, I was spineless and TWO: I spent most of the day at Nordstrom’s with my ex-wife and mother in-law. On the drive back home, I convinced wife and mother in law to turn on the game radio. The Huskies won on a last second field goal, and mother in lawless looked at me with disgust, further convincing herself she knew football better than most. I then threw up in her new car. It was my only form of defense.
Back to football, rivalries, and Target. If you were paying any attention to college football over the weekend, you may have noticed that the University of Washington narrowly squeaked past a very formidable opponent, Eastern Washington University which happens to be a division 2 school. The U of W was extremely lucky to be victorious. Only making a friendly bet with brother Tom, I thought the Huskies would easily conquer. I lost the bet, but really didn’t care because Britt was happy not looking for the remote control in The Puget Sound. (secretly, I began rooting for the underdog, Eastern Washington)
Guilty of jumping on the pretentious University of Washington Bandwagon, and now living in Seattle, I have been made fun of by fellow Cougs and friends including my wife, who just simply despise U dubious. An experience on Sunday solidified their argument…….and it was not created by jealousy…..sort of.
In line at the local farmer’s market, I noticed the non-gentleman in front of me was wearing a U Dub Cap. Kindly, just bored standing in line, I said, “wow, that was a tough one yesterday…..Eastern really put up a good fight”. That was all I had to say. This jerk was pissed because the Huskies only won by three points. He was abjectly disgusted by the fact the infantile Eagles of Eastern Washington, formerly known as the Savages, could even entertain the notion of winning. For those who know and appreciate the game of football, this was offensive.
Initially, I wanted to cram my knuckles through his pretentious teeth. But, remembering my pacifist background much like a vegetarian transitions from meat to soybean, I made the conscious decision not to kill him. And then, he kicked it up a notch. This guy struck a nerve with me forcing me to call my “Swing Like a Wild Man Settle Down Hotline”. After lying about playing this high level of football, he went on to describe how a team like Central Washington University should be playing with High School children. My brother, Tom, an all state running back, played football for Central for four years. He never made it to the NFL, but anyone who watched him play, had and maintains tremendous respect for what he did on the field. At that point, the man in this market was in danger of having his necked snapped after disrespecting my brother. My fuse was getting shorter and shorter as the line grew longer and longer and the tomatoes were getting older. That’s when I called the hotline. Coincidentally, my wife answered. She was at Target and politely told my not to swing like a wild man. I relaxed, smiled, and walked to Target, where she bought me an ice cream cone and a ridiculous t-shirt.
(for those of you a-hole husky fans who are not arrogant, I apologize…….believe me, there are plenty of a-hole coug fans)
Let’s just all keep our egos in check, and Husky fans . . . please stop making it difficult to support your team.
Ben Gannon
State Fair
Caramel Apples, Cotton Candy, Elephant Ears, Fried anything, Footlong Corndogs…(my personal favorite) sweet potato or minced meat pie gathered with wonderful straw hat adorned fellows, bellowing, “howdy pardner” on a tractor. Is there anything more innocent, precious and simple? Just down home good folk wearing cut off jean shorts who can’t get more gosh darned genuinely kind. Well, it’s that time of year. It’s time for a great State Fair.
Step right up and win an ashtray!
Other than rock fights, potato fights, wiffleball games, basement boxing matches, and an occasional sibling showing up on Christmas with a worn down 20 dollar snowmobile, (which we proceeded to destroy), Spokane had little to offer………other than the annual STATE FAIR!
There were pigs, chickens, rabbits, bulls, cows, ducks, horses, cats, and every other animal anyone could eventually eat while living in Spokane. It was our five dollar Disneyland. There were also rides. I remember thinking to myself, “should I sacrifice this money on a corn dog, or ride the “zipper” or perhaps, the “sizzler”? Knowing I could perhaps do all three, I was both dumb enough and smart enough to skip the corn dog because it would be projectile vomited on one of the rides, thus wasting one dollar and ruining someone’s shirt.
The innocence of those days makes me remember that we didn’t have to drink and get thrown out of a bar to have fun. We simply needed a snow cone, a funnel cake, and as a good friend once told me, “you gotta get the crusty pup”. That’s a corny dog to you and me.
Deciding to further research this complex subject, I combed the streets of Seattle and Bremerton, Washington, interviewing people seeking memories of past State Fairs. My wife thought this was a frivolous idea, therefore, I did it anyway. Some of the people requested their names should be changed to protect their innocence.
Top Ten State Fair experiences and or prizes…..in no particular order: These are all tape recorded responses so forgive me for the lack of sentence structuring.
1: Craig Handjob: “winning ashtrays and beer steins only to carry them back on my bike to my mom and dad who didn’t drink or smoke”
2: John Dwellingson: “proudly displaying my half Iron Maiden mesh T-shirt I just won for my first girlfriend”
3: Taco Stone: “displaying so much corn on the cob in my teeth that people thought I had never been to a dentist”
4: Britter Bear Gannon: (that’s her native American name) “won a goldfish after playing a game costing my parents 50 dollars. It was dead by the time we got home”. (Ironically, she ended up marrying a dead fish)
5: Larry Johnson: “won or found a cat. I was stoned at the time so I really don’t remember. (Coincidentally, he ended up marrying a woman who is allergic to cats. He no longer smokes pot). These were fascinating people!
6: Jackhole Brownstain: “winner of the best pornstar mustache competition”
7: Yawn Larson: “I ate an entire watermelon, including the rind and seeds. Threw up for two days but won an etched ACDC mirror”
8: Seamus Mcgillicutty: “I saw the biggest balls of my life on a bull. I haven’t been to a fair since” (some of these testimonials are sad)
9: Conner Russell: “my dad was going to beat up the man running the pony rides because he didn’t think it was safe enough”
10: Russ (he used this name as though it was the equivalent to Cher, Madonna, or Prince) After only providing this mysterious name, he said to me only two words. “demolition derby”. He then strolled off to find the closest monster truck show.
Initially, I began making fun of the idea of State Fairs as being complex. Currently, I am amazed at the capacity and complexity a State Fair maintains. There’s just too much to offer. Therefore, I would like to ask my friendly followers to add anything I am missing. But take caution, because I have the 12 foot corndog of dreams story to offer regarding The Spokane County Fair. It involves a man only known to some as, The Old Man. Not the dude. The Old Man.
Just wait until I talk about Carnivals. That may be dubiously better, or flat out worse.
Ben
Swearing (F bombs)
This is a shout out for my dear friend, Dave. “Hey you, yeah you, F You!”. Dave and I used to utilize this language when boating on lakes or rivers as high school punks. Dave was and is a very colorful and extremely intelligent man who always made me laugh and still can.
Growing older,16 or 17,Dave and I recognized that humor didn’t have to be profanity laced. Tom taught us this value. Dave and I would get a kick out of my brother, Tom, probably during a stint of Lent, using phrases such as, “That guy is a sack of potatoes”, rather than, “What a sack of shit”. Dave was wonderful because laughter is so medicinal. He recognized Tom’s sense of humor, and our free summers at the lake were magical. Tom, in terrific shape, and four years our senior would say funny things such as, “Listen you pack of cigarettes, stay away from these guys”. No one wished to mess with my brother, Tom, including Dave and me, but it was pretty cute hearing one of my idols not requiring profanity to be tough.
Dave and I remain great friends, yet sadly, we don’t see or talk with one another as much as I’d enjoy. When seeing him at our 20 year high school reunion, he did not disappoint. Selfishly, I thought to myself, “I chose great friends”…..we just chose different paths.
Commonly, I have made fun of “FACEBOOK”. My mother, Margaret, and brother, Glenn, won’t know this term, but everyone else in the civilized world will know what facebook is. Therefore, I won’t go into further detail. I will, however, provide this blog as though it were facebook worthy. There will be quotes from famous authors. I will talk about my weekend. I will, once again, mention one of my many brothers who are perhaps making you weary. Additionally, there may be a picture of someone you don’t give a shit about. Fortunately for you, we don’t have children. Baseball will, of course, be utilized as a stupid analogy for anything… even if it’s in reference to lobster, neighbors, tic tack toe, or gambling.
Here we go. Britt, my wife, and Tom, my brother, and I spent a glorious last weekend in Seattle. We cooked wonderful food, dined at local establishments, attended a ballgame, visited the farmer’s market, walked through Lincoln Park, pissed in the neighbor’s yard, developed resumes, and most importantly, played pinball at a place called Shorty’s. It isn’t a place for dwarfs, gnomes or midgets, just a cute name for a pinball bar where old school games we used to play at 7 elevens during the late 1970’s go to survive. Isn’t this intriguing?
Some face bookers need to get a lesson from this. If you cut yourself shaving, no one cares. If you’re cheating on your wife, no one wants to know. If your son or daughter is playing a soccer game on any given Saturday, your friends will run for the hills.
Tom provided a wonderful point this last weekend. He gave me terrific feedback concerning one of my posts. Brother Tom kindly said, “I like your writing, but did you have any point with the post “Baseball and Couches”? He was dead on. Not only did he have a point, but I was embarrassed because I had no point. Additional embarrassment manifested from the basic fact I wasn’t drunk when I wrote that piece of shit. At least, that could have been an excuse.
Back to Facebook and points: Here lies my ultimate point. John Steinbeck once delivered fabulously simple words in the book, Of Mice and Men. He articulated, far better than me, an idea which made some sense. Within the novel, the character known as Crooks, an extremely lonely black stable man stated, “Books ain’t no good”. People need people. Personally, I’m not a facebook type of guy, but now I understand why it helps just to say something to someone….face to face, e-mail, or Facebook. Even if no one really cares, or they don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, social interaction makes all of us feel a little better.
Keep facebooking
Customer Service
Working from home has many perks. Being white also has many perks. How about that intro?!
My wife and I have been juicing lately. For those who don’t know this term, for us, it has nothing to do with Barry Bonds, Mark McQuire, Sammy Sosa, and perhaps ten billion other ballplayers using human growth hormones. Rather than increasing our girth and head size, we are choosing a much healthier lifestyle.
Britt and I purchased the “Deluxe Hydrophonic Blowpunk Juicer” recognized by many as allowing mortality to “just be a thing of the past”. (Silly Bible….what does it know?) Since we are finally happy with our lives, we thought living may be a better option than dying. I know where she’s going, but I don’t want to know where I’m going. Therefore, I spend early mornings prancing around grocery stores finding the freshest of fruits and vegetables. When I use “grocery stores” as a plural, I mean that I choose to find the stores employing the friendliest of employees. For me, a fresh smile and a laugh is sometimes better and worth more than fresh fruit.
As a morning person, I tend to be a bit more chippy than the average ho, or hobo. I run into them constantly when arriving at establishments at six in the morning. (That usually runs me an extra three or four dollars) And, I understand when a cashier is either beginning his or her shift or ending it. I have developed an art form recognizing whether someone may be the “cashier nazi” (Seinfeld reference number ten thousand) or the “cashier prince or princess” (depending on the store’s location).
These are the facts. The lady working the cashier this morning was clearly black. The man before me was clearly white. He seemed to be a fine fellow save for the elongated details he was providing regarding his 401 K plan. As clearly white as he was, she was clearly as bored, and I was clearly becoming a bit agitated. Blueberries don’t last too long in this mild weather. After two or three minutes, nicely, I recommended a great accountant and solid psychiatrist for this man who was driving the kind black woman and the ever so patient white man insane. Finally, he exited Thriftway, and the cashier and I both breathed a sigh of relief. She smiled and said, “I’m sorry for the wait”. I smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I’m on vacation”……which I always seem to be on.
She had every right to be surly with me, after dealing with this crackerjack for ten minutes. Quite the contrary, she knew I was going to smile and get the hell out of there when the blueberries were good. However, while she was ringing up my fruits and veggies, I did say, very delicately, “I hope you are off soon so you can enjoy this weather”. Again, she smiled and said, “I just had four days off, fool! I’ve had plenty of sun”. Recognizing her sense of humor, I replied, “yeah, I can see that you’ve gained some color”. She slapped the table and laughed more than I’ve made anyone laugh in years, and said, “That’s a good one”. Then she added, “The blueberries are on me”. I declined her offer but said thanks. I could still hear her laughing as I was exiting the store. That was good service.
It’s tough being in a new area where you don’t have many friends. The only people I really talk with, face to face, other than my wife, are cashiers. This one made my day, and I hope I made her day a little brighter.
I think I have found a new friendly cashier.
Ben
Be careful who you root for
While watching “Baseball Tonight” with Britt, I began telling her yet another story about baseball. As a youngster, stupidly admiring ballplayers, Tom, Greg and I would take what little money we had and purchase caps (hats) we could not afford. Since my oldest brother, Mike, who in the 1970’s was drafted by the Pittsburgh Pirates, Greg picked the most ridiculous cap available only because my mother loved the Pirates and Mike was a great catcher like Greg. Tom and I took it to another level. We wished to kick it up a notch, or dollar, by begging mom on her Sears credit card to buy us some ridiculously cheesy plastic helmets with which we would travel around Spokane wearing and thinking we were cool. Talk about not being cool…..unless we weren’t in Gannon Stadium playing wiffleball, we looked like the only reason we should be wearing these helmets was because we may end up on a swing set, or God Forbid, monkey bars.
Tom chose the Cincinnati Reds helmet because, at the time, Pete Rose was one of our favorites. I chose the LA Dodgers helmet because I loved the team, and I was a huge admirer of Steve Garvey, one of the all time Dodger greats. (many of the team members played minor league ball in Spokane) My sister, Maggie would often make fun of me by describing me walking down the church aisle waiting for Dodger Garvey to solidify our married bliss. I remember reading a biography about first baseman, Steve Garvey to my mom, who so gently tried not to fall asleep. Now I know why she was trying to fall asleep. Steve Garvey turned out to be what some people call, other than Wilt Chamberlain, and George Washington, “The Father of our Country”. He cheated on more girlfriends than he did on wives.
I am not a person who passes judgment at the age of 38. Acknowledging my mistakes is one of a few reasons I can pray about keeping me out of Hell. But, at the age of six or seven, devoting hours to people you revere, and reading books they didn’t write, and were completely phony, I think I had a right to dislike and not respect Steve Garvey.
Tom’s Pete Rose helmet gambles for itself. Although being banned from baseball for gambling, he seems to be, genuinely, if you will, a complete D Bag. My father, when I was admiring these players at a young age told me Pete Rose wasn’t someone I should look up to. It wasn’t the gambling my father disliked; I could tell, in his eyes, my father just simply thought he wasn’t nice.
Baseball, like so many other wonderful sports has its’ share of A-Holes. I guess what I learned most from my father wasn’t on the field. It was the manner with which he taught me to look into someone’s eyes and see both the bad or, hopefully, the good. Other than being a goofball, I do think I have a gift for recognizing when a person is good or not so good. (I don’t wish to use the word “evil”…..that may make me return to church on a weekly basis.)
Be good,
Ben