The hope I don't Fall asleep Classic...

As I hunt and peck on the keyboard, the World Series is on the tube...and I can't help but think that the Series ain't what it used to be. First off, I'll likely be sound asleep long before the game ends. Gone are the days when they played the games during the day; when half of America called in sick to stay home and watch. Sure, productivity in the States crashed and burned the week of the Series, but at least we weren't rendered into a vegetative state by games that dragged on forever...or by the incessant ramblings of Tim McCarver. I'm not sure which is worse. In any event, the Series is Prime Time now and Heaven forbid the game go into extra innings or you'll find yourself waking up at two AM...and the damn game will still be on. Or, at the very least, Ron Popiel will be jamming a turkey into a flimsily made rotisserie oven.

Oh yes, regarding the daytime World Series: I recall rushing home from school in 1967 and watching Bob Gibson mow down the Boston Red Sox. There was no Sports Center in those days...just memory and pouring over the box score the next day in the local newspaper. Who knew that Gibson's catcher would be the same over explaining, long winded, Tim McCarver who today bleeds the viewer dry of interest by the time the 4+ hour game ends?

On the off days when the teams traveled, the village kids would be in the park pretending to be Tony Conigliaro, Yaz, Curt Flood, or Lou Brock; arguing about who would win the next game and plotting fake illnesses that would be realistic enough to fool their parents into allowing them to stay home from school and catch the entire game - usually with no success. Although one year I had strep throat and was able to stay home and watch the A's and the Reds. I must admit that the relapse I had at game 5 was not completely on the level. I think Dad knew I was faking, but he knew how much I enjoyed the games, so he overlooked the fact that my untimely deterioration carried with it no symtoms at all.

The Series was part of the American experience. In those days there were no roided up, pierced and tattooed gazillionare athletes; there was limited hype, and the games ended before dinner time. Folks were actually interested in the games. Now, I doubt half the people watching will stop tweeting long enough to even feign interest, and the other half will switch over to The Real Housewives of Outer Mongolia after 3 or 4 innings of Tim McCarver explaining the nuances of the hit and run as if he's talking to an audience of 5 year olds. Hey Tim, we've seen baseball before.

So the Damn Yankees are facing the Phillies in this year's Fall Classic. Frankly, I share brother ECI's hatred of the Bronx Bombers (a pox be upon their house) and hope that the Phillies beat them senseless. I've been a Braves fan since they moved to Atlanta when I was a wee lad. The Bravos play in the same division as the Phils; therefore, I'll go with the National League team despite the fact that I pretty much hate the Phillies too. So here I am, watching the World Series, already feeling drowsy, and cringing with every syllable uttered by Tim McCarver. Maybe I'll wake up in time to see the end of the game...or to catch the 800 number I need to purchase a can of that spray on hair. Hi Ho.

Note: It looks as though the game is going to be finished before midnight. Miracles - and Tim McCarver's mouth - never cease.

On The Street Halloween episode 2009

Our latest spooktacular

Really nothing to get hung about...

I loved the Beatles; they had an adventurous spirit did the lads. They were so adventurous that they even sang songs about the weather- at least in a metaphoric sense - So, loving the weather as I do, I dug up a favorite from the boys that just fits the bill for a rainy day in the deep south.



I rarely make a link to Wikipedia, but this one concerning the song Rain is as good an article as any. I've probably said here before that I found the smacked up Yoko worshipping Lennon to be a little hard to take. Looking back, I think he was a bit of a phony baloney (sometimes). Sure John, let's give peace a chance and imagine there's no Heaven; but would not the end result of that prescription be slavery and hopelessness? Actually, I've come to believe that a lot of Lennon's pontifications were the guilt trip induced ramblings of guy who couldn't believe his luck. But it's not my intention to pile on John. He was a soulful singer and he was, after all, one of the Beatles. I particularly loved his work on The Beatles cover of Mr. Postman - and all of the Second Album.

Be careful what you wish for...

Welcome back to Midst The Hum, a blog that covers a little bit about everything but not a whole lot about anything. You might even say that this blog is holding up the Seinfeldian tradition by being a blog about nothing. You know you've gotten pedestrian when you've lost count of the times you've blogged about the weather. I have particularly pissed and moaned about the great draught of 06-08 and the great browning of the deep south landscape. In my defense, watching the lush green scenery drain from Greenville has been traumatic. I'm a home boy - and Spring and Summer means drenching thunder storms, tornado warnings, and getting hammered by the remnants of tropical storms; not weeks without rain, humidity in the 20's and rationing water. If this is what it's coming to then I may as well move to Arizona.

But for now, the draught is over; and it's death throes were violent and tragic. Storms passing through last week knocked down trees all over the place (due no doubt to draught weakened root systems), resulting in the complimentary property damage and power outages. The airport recorded a 75 mile per hour wind gust which, of course, has the capability to do things like push over a 75 foot maple tree into a swimming pool.

And what good summer storm is complete without some dime sized hail?

With as much complaining as I've done about our recent arid conditions, I'd be foolish to begin complaining about too much rain. Bring it on I say... for now; but should the weather Gods decide to be kind, we could do without the hurricane sized wind uprooting everything in sight and leaving us in the dark. A nice gentle, steady rain that tempts you to grab a good book and throw open the windows would be nice. Meanwhile, back to the vortex.