Cookin' with Uncle Marv- Move over Julia

I've always had a thing for pie.  You can have your cake and eat it too; just make sure you leave the pie for me.  If God forbid I "get" to request a last meal on this earth, the dessert course is going to be one slice of fresh blueberry pie with real whipped cream, and one slice of Duane Beachey's custard fruit pie.  Go ahead and blindfold me against a wall after that 'cause I'll be ready to go. I will have already passed on into pie Nirvana.

Sometime around Thanksgiving my sister sent me the recipe for the world's greatest pumpkin pie. It's so good that if I face the firing squad anytime in the months of November or December there is sure to be controversy swirling around my final bites because one of my afore mentioned choices is getting benched. Here is the recipe for your making pie pleasure: julia-childs-aunt-helens-fluffy-pumpkin-pie.  Oh and how cool is it that it's freaking Julia Childs' Aunt's pie?  "The Pie That Helped Create A Legend"

Make a couple even if it's after Christmas, you will not be disappointed!

Pieology 101

-When cooking with wine or in this case bourbon, it's always important to taste the wares prior to putting any in your dish.  You may have to have a glass and ice close at hand and continuously sip the bourbon throughout the cooking process to ensure freshness.

-If you're going to make a pie with a gluten-free crust then do yourself a favor and buy a pre-made frozen one from your local Sprouts or Whole Foods.  If they happen to be out of said crusts, do not attempt to make your own using a GF baking mix.  There is a good chance that once you pre-bake the crust you will end up with what looks like a biscuit in your pie pan, which once filled and put back in the oven, will burn and have to be tossed.  In that case just make pumpkin pudding for the gluten free amongst you.

-Cooking with Molasses makes me uncomfortable.  That's probably because the bottle bears words like "Plantation" and "Black Strap".  First we have Aunt Jemima and now racist molasses.  What's next; Washington Redskins' stevia?  Thankfully my bottle was manufactured in New Jersey not Mississippi!

-One of the "first world problems" sure to give you fits this time of year is the shear number of aerosol-armed whipped cream related products available at your local Safeway.  Most only vaguely include cream at all but that's to be expected.  The problem only rears its ugly head when you get home and realize that you accidentally grabbed a can that includes words like, peppermint, light, Silk, creme brulee, or candy cane.  Avoid that indignity altogether by grabbing a carton of heavy cream and whipping up your own creamy pie topping yourself (add a dash of vanilla and smidge of powdered sugar towards the end of the whipping process).  Trust me, you'll never go back to that crap from a can again.  The only downside is not seeing your wife go to the refrigerator, grab the can, and fill her upturned mouth with a huge slug of whipped whatever it is.

-There aren't many rules related to the consumption of pumpkin pie.  It's generally eaten around Thanksgiving but that by no means should be considered sacrosanct.  Sorry Texas school book creators, Sacajawea did not in fact bring one to Plymouth for the first Turkey Day.  I would like to advocate that pumpkin pie season so-to-speak be expanded from early October to the end of February. In other words any time it's crisp to cold outside is a good time for a slice.  However there is one commandment that must be followed at all times when eating a pumpkin pastry,  "Thou shalt not eat pumpkin pie heated up"  It has got to be cold folks!  But who am I to cast the stone of guilt at the warmers among us?  I'm ashamed to say that within the walls of my home the woman I left mother and father for has recently become a pie warmer.  Shame on me!

Dancing with the Devil in the City of God

If you clicked on the title thinking you were going to be treated to a story about a recent pub crawl through Colorado Springs, well then I am sorry to disappoint you.  It's actually the title to a book I am currently perusing about about Rio de Janeiro, by Juliana Barbassa. However both cities do have religious symbols to hang their hats on; Rio has the giant Jesus statue on the mountain, and The Springs has Pat Robertson, but I digress.  Let's focus on the real reason for this piece, the best books I read in 2015.  What did you read this year that I need to add to my list for next year?

The Short and Tragic life of Robert Peace, by Jeff Hobbs

Robert Peace does the unthinkable; he escapes a single parent home in Newark for the halls of Yale. But like so many kids from difficult circumstances his past wont let go of him.  There are drugs, bad guys and death.  This is a story we white middle class folks just can't wrap our heads around.  Why is it so hard to live with success?   What happens when that hand up leaves some lost?  If you want to understand poverty I wish you luck.  But if you want the curtain pulled back just a little thc   en read this book.

Take This Man: A Memoir, by Brando Skyhorse 

As a kid growing up in the shadow of Dodgers Stadium, Brando Skyhorse was a Native American kid who lived with his mom and grandmother.  Pretty nice huh?  The only trouble was that he was actually Mexican and the women he lived with were nuts.  His mom made up the the Native thing and recycled men like Waste Management goes through pop cans. There was abuse, neglect, lots of crazy and a little boy stuck in the middle of it all.  Skyhorse brings you right into that wacky world with him in the same way Jeannette Walls does in her iconic memoir "The Glass House".  Never underestimate the strength of a child.

All The Wrong Places, by Philip Connors

One of the best books I read in 2014 was Connors' "Fire Season", about his summers as a fire lookout on a remote mountain in the Gila National Forest.  His latest offering is a prequel to "Fire Season" and it chronicles his struggle to cope with his brothers suicide.  If you've read his first book this is the logical next step, but don't try to read them out of order.  Connors can be funny in a way that helps you the reader through his difficulties.  Read them both.

Omnivores Dilemma, by Micheal Pollan

Once you've watched all the documentaries on Netflix about the state of our food systems you should settle into reading Pollan's book.  Don't worry this is not Jurgis Rudkus's "The Jungle", you wont want to starve yourself at the end.  It gives you the hard truth about your hamburger, but also offers alternatives.  A good and enlightening read.

Tulia: Race, Cocaine, and Corruption in a Small Texas Town, by Nate Blakeslee

What do you get when you mix a small town in Texas with race, drugs and a bad cop?  One hell of a book!  'Tulia" is a gripping story about what happens when the good guys go bad, and innocent people get framed. Trust me you will not be able to put this book down, and you will get your pound of flesh when it's all said and done.

Fresh off the Boat: A Memoir, by Eddie Huang

Those of you who watch the show of the same name know that "Fresh off the Boat"is the first ever sitcom about Asian Americans.  Huang's memoir takes that TV comedy much deeper into the struggle to be both American and Asian.  The pressures of suburban life collide with the expectations of immigrant parents in this coming-of-age tale.  Enjoy.

Pistol: The Life of Pete Maravich, by Mark Kriegel

Before Steph Curry there was Allen Iverson, and before Iverson came Pistol Pete. All three are and were little skinny guys that played a big man's game with panache, heart and acrobatics.  Maravich came along in a world before Sports Center and died young so his talents may be unfamiliar.  Kreigel paints the picture of his life with all of its ups and downs and the pressures he felt from all sides. Once you've read the book treat yourself to a half hour of YouTube highlights.

Medium Raw, by Anthony Bourdain

I have a really big man crush on Anthony Bourdain!  There I said it.  I will consume any and all books, documentaries and TV shows by or about Bourdain.  "Medium Raw" is a follow up to his wildly successful "Kitchen Confidential" and reads like the  gravely ramblings of many of his shows.  If you haven't yet joined the cult of"Tony" you will once you dive into his world of travel, cooking and making fun of Guy Fieri.

Something Rich and Strange: Selected Stories, by Ron Rash

Ron Rash's short stories was a departure from memoirs and crime for me.  Set in Appalachia, a place near and dear to my heart his stories are a cross section of life in the hills.  If you harbor some romance for those mountains and people you will find yourself sucked deeply into this book and it's characters,  And you'll no doubt run out and try to find Rash's other work.  Happy Reading.

Whose Woods These Are...A Photo Tale

My in-laws have a fake Christmas tree.  I know its an outrage; one that I have railed against for years, but with little to no effect.  However in an effort to pay for the sins of the father so to speak my wife and I only invite actual real, used to be alive trees into our home.  Not only that but we go out into the national forest and cut one down.  Its sort of like the carbon tax ideas being floated to counteract global warming.  Our real tree cancels out their Made in China, of Middle East oil lame fo tree thingy.  Oh and its organic, free range, non gmo, and gluten free.

Why spend seventy big ones at a tree stand or God forbid Costco an a tree that was cut down a week ago in Oregon and shipped here?  You'll be lucky if it last three weeks.  Ten bucks and some gas gets you way more tree then you can handle.

Oh and it lovely, crisp and invigorating up in the mountains this time of year!  We ran into this guy was out on the trail having a some sort of zen timeout.

Don't forget a saw! And don't cut the tree two feet off the ground and leave the stump.  Get down on your knees in the snow and cut it right.  Non of this wussification of America crap.

L.L. Bean should be contacting me any day now to plead for the rights to this shot for their next mailer.

Yeah my wife does takes good pictures doesn't she?

My little brother and I have a thing going were by we send each other pics of our truck looking cool. Scoreboard Gary!!

The Fall of Fleming

It may have truly been the last day of fall in Eastern Colorado.  Blue skies, bright sun and warmth covered the fields and grasslands of the plains in a last gasp of autumn's goodness.  Winter waited just beyond the western mountains to sweep in with snow and wicked, skin biting wind.  But this day no dirt devils danced among the corn stalks and the empty fields showed a hint of green winter wheat.  A group of horses played on a large pile of dirt along the edge of the highway.  On the road heading east is a well-worn classic Cadillac convertible.  The driver sports a black shirt, shades and sweet Elvis-like sideburns. We slide slowly by him, our minds struggling to capture this slice of the 1970s and its place out here on the prairie.  Passing someone at all turns out to be no small feat in a VW Westfalia van.  As the road unwinds before the tires, the snow covered brilliance of the Rockies slowly recedes in the rear-view mirror.

The Westy belongs to my brother-in-law.  The passenger list includes my almost four year-old twin nephews, their grandpa, my brother-in-law their dad and yours truly.  We were following what is quickly becoming a familiar refrain around this blog; going east toward the forgotten parts of Colorado for another taste of 6 man football.  Oh but I had ulterior motives.  How would city kids do in the other America?  What would they do when a kid wearing cowboy boots yanked their football and wouldn't give it back? How do you react when you get stuck on the highway behind a loaded, heavily fouled cattle truck? Whats are fries and shakes like from a legit roadside burger shack?  What is is a grain elevator?  Ah; so many questions that needed to be answered.

As an E Pluribus consumer you have no doubt read with great fascination about some of my previous forays into the world of 6 man high school football.  So I wont subject you once more to the minutia and nuances of the game.  It's vital however that you understand the magnitude of the struggle we were hoping to witness.  Our recently adoptedfavorite Fleming Wildcats were set to face off  against their hated foe - the Eads' Eagles.  The 10-0 'Cats were up against the 9-1 Eagles for a spot in the Colorado 6 man state championship game to be held a week later.  So not quitethe game for all the marbles but important none the less.

And now a few words about the buzzing metropolis of Eads, population 609.  Well that's it really, their is nothing more to say.  OK sure it was named after a railroad engineer, is almost in Kansas and I saw quite a few cowboy hats on their sideline.  Sorry no semi famous people.

We did stop for hardcore road trip grub in Keensburg at Benny's Burgers.  The fare is is mostly fried, wrapped in waxed paper, heart attack-inducing goodness.  Gramps amazingly put away two cheeseburgers, fries, Sprite and a shake.  The rest of us set an around-the-clock stroke watch on him and settled for shakes.  Needless to say by the time we trundled into Fleming the festivities were well underway.

The crowd around the Mike Sonnenberg Memorial Field had swelled considerably since my last visit. All of Fleming and the surrounding farms seemed to be represented, and the visitor stands were full of the purple and gold of the Eads faithful.  Three hours is never to far to come to root on our boys they seemed to announce.

By the time we had peed in a field behind the van and squeezed through a hole in the fence Eads was up on Fleming 24-16 in the second quarter.  Both teams "marched" up and down the field with varying degrees of success but the score remained the same at halftime.  Hordes of kids, my nephews included, rushed the field for impromptu battles of their own while the tiny Fleming band wobbled through a couple numbers.  Grandpa sat in the warm sun and ate a huge soft pretzel with mustard. Would we need a body bag to bring him home?

No one could have known that the game was already over.  In the second half Eads stymied Fleming with suffocating defense while adding to their own tally.  Fleming briefly brought a swell of hope to the home stands with touchdown, but the Eagles answered with one of their own.  As the time ticked down the hopes and dreams of one small town withered on the bright windswept grasslands.  But with each death comes life and championship hopes to another tiny hamlet.

The Eagles mercifully put the 'Cats season to rest with a couple gentlemanly kneel downs as time expired. There was prayer, handshakes and many hugs from proud coaches and parents on both sides.  The Fleming faithful lingered for a long time at the fifty yard line, not wanting the season to be over.  Kenny Chesney's "Boys of Fall" wafted through the late afternoon air.  One of my nephews tackled the other in the end zone as a man took down the American flag from its perch.  Honestly I could have written a dozen country songs right then and there.

We pointed the Westy back toward the city and the setting sun.  Four of us were hungry and looking for dinner but gramps said he didn't feel good and wanted to go home.

Give Me Your Tired...

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she

With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Earlier this summer our government pledged to take in some ten thousand refugees seeking refuge from the dumpster fire formerly known as Syria.  Only ten thousand huh?  Pretty weak when you consider that some 4 million Syrians have fled to neighboring countries and Europe to escape the civil war there.  But hey its a start right?  Maybe we can work up to twenty thousand if you give us a little time.  According to CNN so far this year we have "welcomed" 1,199  refugees from Syria. Oh and that ten thousand number that's been thrown around well it will be allocated out of the yearly quota of seventy five thousand admissions slated for the year instead of being added to that total.  So basically we aren't doing shit!

Well now following the ghastly ISIS-linked attacks on Paris this past weekend governors, house and senate members, and wanna-be politicians all over the country have been jumping up and down on their soap boxes to denounce the planned resettlement.  Its seems there may have been a Syrian refugee involved in the attacks in France.  Maybe.  www.washingtonpost.com/news/were-syrian-refugees-involved-in-the-paris-attacks-what-we-know-and-dont-know/

(An aside:  Wasn't it just a few years ago that we all decided to hate France because they wouldn't support the war in Iraq? Bet you aren't calling them freedom fries anymore!  Oh and how did that Iraq thing work out anyway?)

Hold on a second guys and gals.  Aren't we a nation of immigrants already?  How many of us can say we are truly from here?  Do we really think taking in ten thousand men, women and children from a war torn hell is going to open the door to ISIS?  Or could we just possibly be using this as an opportunity for political gain?   Bobby Jindal aren't you the child of immigrants yourself?  We welcomed your mom and dad to this country from Punjab, India so that you could have a better life. Have the words of Emma Lazaras inscribed on the Statue of Liberty ceased to mean anything?

(Another aside: I am over these ISIS guys!!  My bleeding heart peacenik instincts have been violated.  I believe there is a list of reasons to throw haymakers, for instance if someone assaults your lady.  Well ISIS you're on the top of the list!)

Take a look at the blood flowing through my very long veins.  On my Dad's side of the family I am a first generation American with Irish and English roots, my grandparents having fled war torn Europe in the 1940s for South America, eventually landing in Connecticut in the 1960s. My Dad did not come to the US until the late 1970s.  My Mom's Mom comes from a long line of Quakers who were lead to the new world by William Penn and who founded a colony were they could live free of religious persecution.  One of my Grandfather's fore-bearers sailed under Lady Liberty's torch and was processed for immigration at Ellis Island. I am a mutt just like the rest of you.  I was lucky enough to have my elders make that hard transition to America so I could have a great life here.  How many Syrian kids are going to have opportunity?

Stop reading my blather and take some time with this piece by Nicholas Schmidle that appeared in the New Yorker last month. newyorker.com/magazine/2015/10/26/ten-borders  This story will make Harriet Tubman roll over in her grave.

I believe that sanity will prevail in this national dialog because we all have immigrant hearts.  Our routes into this nation are as long and as varied as the roots of a tree.  How about we welcome fifty thousand next year? It's still a drop in the bucket but what a great sucker punch in the gut that would be to ISIS, and to our collective fear that is so present this week,  I am proud that my governor openly welcomes refugees to our state. 

 My basement is open and the welcome mat is in place.  "I lift my lamp beside the golden (mine's wooden) door"

Now What- Where I Am From, Part Three

Dear Gentle Reader,

It is difficult and potentially life changing for me to explore the topic of where I come from.  I know that the interweb is monitored for content related to "the sect" and that content deemed negative can result in unwanted attention.  For that reason I have chosen to not include the names of any people associated with this story, or to name "the sect" outright.  Please understand that my relationship to some members of my immediate family could be effected by the way in which this piece is spread online. Many of you have heard or lived this story in your own life or because we have been BFF's for long enough for me to open up and tell it to you.  It has been 18 years since I got on a Greyhound bus to start a new life and I have been through many different stages in my relationship with the group I am calling The Sect .   I have gone from having season tickets on the bitter bus to who gives a damn and everywhere in between.  In the last couple years I have been slowly learning that my life does not need to be colored by or remotely controlled by a group of people that choose to live very differently than the rest of us.   It's still not easy to write this piece so thanks for reading and for respecting the lives of those involved!
-Marvin

 If you missed the first and second installment in this series you can catch up here:

Where I Am From-Part One

Where I Am From-Part Two

The other day I was listening to a "best of" podcast of Teri Gross interviewing a series of famous authors on her show Fresh Air. (do yourself a favor folks!) One of her chats was with John Updike, who in the middle of their conversation casually mentioned that people don't really like hearing about other's families.  If that's true its clear that this series has gone on long enough and I had better slam the door on this baby. I have had the nagging feeling of late that too much of my life is lived through a lens that somehow ties everything back to "The Sect". Some of that is natural I am sure since we all view our daily experiences through the filter of our past experiences. For example;  I lived in Appalachia for four years so much of my view of poverty comes from that time. And I am a sucker for misty mountain valleys and bluegrass.   Another part I believe is that it's a very unique background which tends to start and consume a lot of conversations with new people I connect with.  Whatever the reason I am sick and tired of being defined by that past!  As I mentioned in part two I have now lived more then half of my life outside The Sect, so does that mean that the lens with which I view life is starting to shift?

In my family I am the oldest of six.  Four of us kids have jumped that gap between the two bridges and are living "normal" lives.  I have two sisters that said "I do" to life as members of The Sect.  I think they are relatively happy with the choice they made, in spite of the fact that both have discovered many of their passions since becoming members, and neither have good prospects for marriage or families.  One of the issues facing those who stay is that a much higher percentage of young men leave than do young women, which means that over time women who stay have a lower and lower chance of finding a spouse.  Once you hit thirty in that culture you're pretty much toast in that department, which is true for my sisters, and makes me sad.  I also believe that they signed up for membership before discovering that they had interests and/or skills that they developed that are not part of what it means to be a cog in the system and therefore have not been allowed to blossom.  One of my sisters is a nurse who would love to work in a third world country or low income clinic somewhere but she gave up the freedom to make that happen.  Connected to that is one of my biggest beefs with The Sect.  I believe that they use revivals or awakenings to get young people to stay. What do I mean by that?  Well I believe both of my sisters made the lifetime commitment to join largely because they were not presented with other options and they got caught up in a good old case of peer pressure masquerading itself as a spiritual renewal. I do not mean to discount someones else's spiritual walk however I have witnessed the kind of push that young people face when that snowball starts rolling down hill. Before you know it many of your peers have made a public declaration of desire for membership and the spotlight is trained on you.  Its a tough spot to be in.

Note: I have been working on this piece for a little while which means life circumstance can change right in the middle.  Today my parents are on a plane to Australia where a satellite group of The Sect is located, and where my sister has been living for the past 8 years or so.  It appears from the intel floating around and the hints my dad has been dropping that my sister has found a man.  No one will come out and say that for sure which is typical of The Sect.  They are very hush-hush about things like who is dating or pregnant.  In my family for instance all but one of my siblings just magically came along one day.  The only one that we knew about was the youngest because of the wide age range.  So it appears as if my sister is getting married but us outsiders will not be invited. My guess is we will get a letter(yes snail mail) from her and whomever this dude is announcing their marriage . That's how it goes.

People ask me all the time when I knew that I did not want to be there.  Honestly I can't say I ever made that decision, at least consciously.  My subconscious may have been doing its thing starting around age fifteen or sixteen when I started to understand how the system worked.  But even after I left on the Greyhound for California and started to slowly figure out how to live life on the outside there was never a time when I said "no" out loud.  I believe it was that figuring out life, friends, work, having a bank account, a car, and falling in love that slowly pulled me away until it the cord snapped. Getting married was the final straw since its unreasonable and unheard of to expect your spouse to make that kind of life change.

My relationship over the years with my family on the inside has been tumultuous.  Early on they played the tough love card on me by refusing to allow me to visit.  At the time that was hurtful, but it may have also helped make that unspoken cutting of the apron strings happen.  Since then we have had some really good interactions, some ships passing in the night kind of communication and some hard talks.  As my other siblings have left my folks have gotten as used to the situation as I think they can.  I often forget that as weird as it is to relate from the outside in, it must be really hard to have the majority of your kids living in a different world than you do.  This summer at my siblings'weddings we were able to spend extended time together outside The Sect which is a rare blessing.

For me the only pill left that is hard to swallow is the fact that my family members on the inside see their fellow Sect members as more of a family than their blood relations.  When the important and/or special moments in life happen they want to be with the group.  Be it birth, marriage or death we all want to be with those we feel like family with.  That's a tough realization to come to as a kid who chose the other bridge.  So as my parents get older and my siblings get married and have families of their own the next few years are going to be interesting...on both bridges. 

A Bandwagoners Guide to the World Series

The 2015 World Series starts this coming Tuesday night!  Unless you have been living under a rock or focused solely on Benghazi-gate you know that this year's baseball battle features the Kansas City Royals and my beloved New York Mets.  Knowing that you would expect me to use this forum to crow loudly about my team's expected crushing of the Royals, and the glorious return of the trophy to Queens. You will no doubt be pleased that I have decided to spare the gentle reader the noise of fandom, spreading it instead around watering holes and construction sites all over Denver.  As a result this site will instead feature top quality writing on topics such as Bartolo Colon's boiler and barbecue in K.C. ( topics not related surprisingly)  Here are some reasons you should be watching games this week.  That have almost nothing to do with actual baseball.

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Kaufman Stadium

Kansas City can be summed up in one word: meh!  Sure they have great barbecue and rabid Chiefs fans, but the one thing that they can really hang their collective hat on is the fact that the not-so-bright can be tricked into believing K.C is the capitol of Kansas.  Ya'll do know Kansas City is in Missouri right?  OK just making sure.  As you can see, they do have a lovely and unique ballpark out there on the edge of the freeway.  The big crown shaped center field board and light towers are really cool. What you don't see are the waterfalls along the edge of the outfield that add another pleasing dimension to Kaufman Stadium.

Incidentally, if you ever find yourself in town make sure you hit Gray's Barbecue.  The food is great but don't hesitate to order as soon as you reach the front of the perpetual line that forms.  Those young girls behind the counter can be merciless if you don't know what you want.  You may get sent back to the end of the line which at meal times means a long wait.

The Seven Line Army

If Mets fandom is a religion then the fundamentalist nuts of the faith are the members of The Seven Line.  Named for the Subway line that runs to Citi Field they represent some of the most ardent and vocal supporters of the Metsies.  The group was started in 2009 by die-hard fan Darren Meenan and has now morphed into a Mets merchandise business and traveling road show for the Mets nation.  Keep your eye out during the telecast for a group of 800 or so crazy people wearing orange, banging thunder-sticks and starting chants that end up being echoed by the whole park.  Forty thousand Mets fans chanting "Your Mom has a thing for Jacob deGrom" can make a hitter weak-kneed in a hurry.

Hot Heads

This season the Royals have developed a bit of an anger management problem.  Lead by some hot headed pitchers they got into a series of scuffles, bean ball wars, and bench clearing posturing matches this season.  But now things will change as when the games are in New York the pitchers have to bat.  The sins that took place during the American League season where they had a designated hitter can now be avenged when the pitcher has to bat for himself. After the Mets lost their starting shortstop to a dirty play during a game against the Dodgers I am sure they are itching for a throw down.  Keep an eye out for some tit for tat baseball justice in this series. 

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Big Sexy

What a perfect name for possibly the most intriguing guy playing in this year's series.  Checking in at 42 years old and somewhere approaching 300 pounds Bartolo Colon is the baseball equivalent of The Donald in the White House, its not supposed to happen.  At his age and size to be as good as he is, is amazing.  You will see him out of the Mets bullpen, always throwing strikes and always calm.  After 20 years in the big leagues Bart has seen it all and never comes unglued.   Too bad we won't see him at bat.  Earlier this season on a hit over the center fielder's head that most of us could score on;  but Big Bart running hard could only get to second.  The other Mets players love playing with the big teddy bear that is Bart. As a result they have taken to wearing Big Sexy shirts in his honor.

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Hairy

This may end up being one of the most hairy World Series in history!  Jacob deGrom and Noah Syndergaard are renowned for their flowing locks straining their caps.  Royals pitcher Johnny Cueto has one of the nicest heads of dreadlocks you will ever see.  And infielder Eric Hosmer has a weird Mohawk thingy nicknamed "The Hos" around Kansas City.  Even the much maligned Fox TV announcer Joe Buck has gotten into the act with a scurfy high school kid beard.  The beard is so bad it's been treated to the ultimate mock respect.; it has a Twitter account of  its own.

There are many more good reasons to watch, from David Wright in his first World Series, to the heart warming story of Wilmer Flores crying on the field.  I am sure there will be some good commercials for those of you like that stuff.  Plus dudes wearing face masks to fight the cold, and plenty of crotch grabbing.  So gather the family, make some multi layer dip and root for the Mets!  Oops did that slip out.  

The Wait Is Over

Falling Fast For Fleming, Part Two

Did you miss part one?  Here is a link; Falling Fast For Fleming, Part One

On this October Friday night the Fleming Wildcats (Yes K-State they ripped off your logo) are doing battle against the Bulldogs of Peetz, a town of some 225 men, women and children five minutes from the Nebraska state line.  Fleming enters the contest 4-0 and eyeing a trip to the playoffs; while the Bulldogs come in at 2-2.  Peetz rock's almost identical uniforms to the Green Bay Packers.

The football field sits in a low spot just north of the Fleming School.  On the home side there are bleachers topped with a metal and glass press box.  The visitors have to make do with two sets of portables and their bus parked behind the bench to serve as a locker room.  A thin yellow rope rings the field keeping the players and coaches in and the fans out, just barely. Parents, alumni, arm chair quarterbacks, "assistant coaches", and amateur out-of-town writers hug the rope line to cheer and exhort the boys of Fleming.  Kids played football on the side or clustered in groups wearing their school colors.  A group of young teen girls held down a couch that was sitting on the edge of the field. Earlier I mentioned the cars full of spectators ringing the field.  It turns out that another good reason to have your car nearby is to use the horn as a celebration device, which the home crowd puts to good use.

Welcome!

It didn't take long for two strangers with a camera and a legal pad to begin to draw some attention in a small town. Not five minutes after our arrival folks began coming up to assess our presence. That turned out to be a boon for me since I had a lot of questions that needed answers.  Not only did I meet a lot of proud parents and alumni full of past glory, but I got a lot of help figuring out this strange game.

Not Your Old Mans Game

Turns out 6 man football is very different from the version we watch on Sundays. For one, the field is only 80 yards long and 40 wide.  In other words a little less ground to cover with 6 guys.  But those 6 had better be in great shape, no fat guys here please! With scores routinely reaching the sixty point realm its a game built for the swift.  For sure if you have two or three great athletes on your team you have a good chance of piling up the points. In an effort to counteract that a first down is fifteen yards instead of the traditional ten, and the quarterback cannot run with the football.  So no Timmy Tebow up the middle in this game.

Things really get weird when it comes to the kicking game.  Since having a kicker and a holder on a field goal or an extra point means that you have only four guys left to block, an extra point is worth two and a field goal nets you four points.  Peetz tried a different strategy by sending out a tiny freshman kicker to drop kick (punt style) their extra points and field goals.  The result were not encouraging; he was blocked or missed badly on each attempt.

Fear and Loathing

By halftime I was freezing and the Wildcats had a comfortable lead of 20-0.  The Homecoming festivities at the half included a two car parade of girls wearing dresses that made me happy for my sweatshirt and a couple numbers from the band.  Following a tradition at every American high school the king was one of the football players.  Unfortunately Fleming does not have a cheer squad so the queen couldn't come from those ranks.

Fleming scored to start the second half and the game looked to be out of hand.  But Peetz returned the kickoff for six, forced a three-and-out by the Wildcats and scored again to make it 28-12. The Wildcats answered with a long touchdown pass, but Peetz was unfazed and returned the favor with a 62 yard bomb of their own. Again Fleming seemed to ice them with another touchdown, and again the Bulldogs answered with a long running score of their own.  We had a good old fashioned shootout on our hands and the Fleming faithful began to stir and murmur.  Anything other than playing for the state championship wont cut it around there.  The sidelines came alive with tips, exhortations, and outrage at yellow flags. Surprisingly the game featured a crew of four referees. Even more astonishing was that fact that they were should we say not in peak physical condition.   The real coach just inside the yellow rope got into the act as well with a tirade of his own.  The kids responded with another score and this time Peetz had nothing left.  By the middle of the fourth quarter the scrubs were in the game and Fleming won comfortably 64-24.

Reflection

Two developments that took place during garbage time that are important to share.  First we were made aware of the post game prayer on the field and encouraged to bring the camera on the field to bear witness.  And second we were invited to stay around for the homecoming dance in the gym. There was even talk of us staying the night with some new friends and going to an Oktoberfest in Sydney, Nebraska.

When the final whistle sounded we jumped the yellow rope and joined the players and most of the town in a circle for prayer at midfield.  Then Peetz heading for their locker room bus and the players and most of town gathered around the coach for a post game debrief.  Coach clearly spoke to the players as well as the faithful gathering.  Dads nodded their heads in agreement with his game assessment.  Peetz had given them one tough quarter but things were OK.  There is a balm in Gilead.

Kelley and I declined our invitation to the homecoming dance and began a the long dark trek toward the distant glow of city lights.  He turned to me as the gravel turned to pavement and said that had we stayed for the dance we surely would have been invited to Thanksgiving.  Fleming had made us honorary citizens for a night and we in turn promised to return for the championship game in late November.

Go Cats!

Falling Fast For Fleming, Part One

Autumn was in the air that Friday night as Interstate 76 unrolled itself in front of the speeding truck.  From Denver, the highway cut straight north and east across the plains of Eastern Colorado toward Nebraska, seemingly in a hurry to get there although I can’t imagine why.  Dark clouds loomed over the fields and a hard wind buffeted the windshield.  Darkness was coming as the day's last loads of corn were pulled from the fields.  I was already chilled and beginning to grasp the fact that the sweatshirt I had on was woefully inadequate.  It felt like a good night for high school football.

Eastern Colorado is a different world from the one we call home. In fact folks out there feel so alienated from the cities of the Front Range that there has been talk of seceding from Colorado all together.  It’s rural, red (politically) and sparsely populated.  Cows outnumber people by a good margin.  What were us two city boys getting ourselves into?

A Track Meet in Helmets

College football has undergone a metamorphosis over the past few  years.  Playing a spread out, no huddle, lighting-speed style has become the rage.  Gone is the three-yards and a cloud of dust football of the past; in, is hurry, hurry, hurry.  But f or a long time in small towns and tiny hamlets all over The Plains, a hybrid form of fast paced football has been played.  Six man football (traditionally football is played with 11 on a side) was started in Nebraska in 1934 so small schools could play the game so many of us love. Today the game is still played in places like Texas, Montana, Wyoming and yes, Colorado.  If you want to witness it for yourself you are going to have to find a rural area with a small and/or shrinking population, corn or wheat bending in the wind, and tractors, lots of tractors.

I’ve been wanting to do just that for a few years now.  Once, my father-in-law and I drove out to the land of wheat and corn but I had misread the schedule and we arrived to a dark field and an empty hamlet; it was a road game.  This year I invited Kelley (a budding videographer), made sure I was seeing the schedule correctly and made sure the windshield of his truck was clean before leaving town, to make sure he could get a shot of bugs making the ultimate sacrifice.  Alas, the cold seemed to drive away the insects. 

Why Fleming?  I'm not sure to be honest.  I looked at a couple options and ended up driving out there a couple weeks ago on a recon mission.  It was the night after a game and the field was empty save for a couple kids throwing a ball.  I sneaked through a hole in the fence to check it out.  Soon I was barefoot in the cool grass. As the sun went down on a warm evening, I fell in love.  It turned out to be the perfect choice.

Fleming Facts

The town of Fleming, Colorado is on a two lane highway in an area of gently rolling grasslands, almost two hours from Denver.  The first thing you see long before the town comes into view is a set of towering grain elevators rising from the brown fields.  Home to around four hundred folks, Fleming sits along the train tracks that it's namesake bequeathed.  Downtown there is a bank, a bar and grill, the community center, a church or two and little else.  Parking is on the diagonal which I must admit I have a thing for. What do people do, you say?  Well there is farming of course, a prison nearby, some commuting I am sure and of course the school.  If you were born and raised in Fleming there is a very good chance that you could probably get from your house to the school blindfolded.  With all your school years spent under one roof you are gong to wear out a trail there from the day you start kindergarten until the moment you throw your cap into the spring sky.  One hundred and ninety five kids, seventy three of which are in high school make up the K-12 roster. The number seventy three is significant since seventy five is the cut off for 6 man.

Bullish

About a mile before town we pulled off the highway on a gravel backroad to get into the spirit of rural America.  Most of the harvest was done but some corn was still in the fields.  Dust plumed behind the truck and a wind farm off to the north helped reduce our carbon footprint.  We entered the town the back way behind the school and arrived at the field to an unusual sight.  Instead of a crowd gathering for tickets, there was a line of cars waiting to enter a gate and surround the field.  Eventually much of the sidelines would be a parking lot of moms and dads and grandparents staying warm in their trucks and suburbans.  We had a more pressing problem than finding parking, and that was food.  Bully's Bar and Grill is the best option in Fleming to fill that need. Actually it’s the only option.

From the street Bully's seems like a dingy dive bar, but opening that door on Friday night we were hit with the sights and sounds of a very busy dinner hour.  Unbeknownst to us we had come to Fleming on one of the busiest nights of the year, Homecoming!  Needless to say the tables were full and the reservation list as well.  So we settled for a tall table in the bar and a Jack and Coke, if you please.  The bar itself was flush with a row of seated hats, all drinking American beer and playing along with Wheel of Fortune on the television.  The menu carries Rocky Mountain Oysters ($6) and something called Blazin' Balls (I didn't ask). We settled for Steak and Salmon and some people-watching.

The discussion at the bar gripped me.  Topics wandered from dislike for the guys in the Sonic commercials to good hamburgers, getting blood drawn and line dancing. All the while solving each Wheel of Fortune puzzle before Vanna White could touch the right squares.  A loud laugh brought two little heads peeking inquisitively into the room.  At this point I turned to Kelley and said that being accepted and at home in a small town can be really special.  He said he thought I fit in better than he did, which was being generous.  Neither one of us were from around there.

We finished our meal and another beverage and headed down the street toward the bright lights of the football field.  By the time we squeezed through that hole in the fence Fleming was already up six to nothing.

Next time on Falling Fast For Fleming, the smack of helmet on pads and an invite to the dance.  

Coming Soon

"There's something happening here

What it is ain't exactly clear"

Ladies and Gentleman, boys and girls, children of all ages,
Coming next week to these very pages will be the story of an epic adventure into the hinterlands of Eastern Colorado, to experience something very few folks ever get the chance to see; six man high school football.  Of course you being astute sports fans you know that football is played with eleven men on a side.  But what if you live in a tiny farming community on the prairies and you don't have enough kids to field a team? Well then you play other little dots on the the map in a modified and increasingly rare version of football that features six on six action.

Tomorrow my friend Kelly and I head east armed with writing pads. cameras, and video equipment to document a world very different from our city lives.  Stay tuned! If you don't see or hear from us for a few days look for us in a scene like this.

Say It Ain't So Tom

It sucks when your heroes fail you!  Or maybe I should say it's tough when you are old enough to realize that your idols are human.  Maybe it’s your dad whose infallibility invariably fades as you grow.  Or it's figuring out that the tooth fairy is really your mom armed with a roll of ones (not at my house). It happens to us all and when that understanding sinks in it can throw a kid for a loop that quickly becomes a valuable life lesson.

Growing up, my heroes were athletes.  Since we did not have a television in my house my sports idols came to me on WFAN the New York radio home of the “The Mets, Jets, Knicks and Rangers.”  And through the occasional newspaper and even rarer sports magazine that came my way.  As a result my heroes were guys like Patrick Ewing and Dennis Byrd, a Jets player who was paralyzed by a hit on his own teammate.  The reason I am a Patriots fan today, even though I call New York home, is because my young impressionable self saw an article from Sports Illustrated about Drew Bledsoe being drafted by the Pats and I fell hopelessly in love.

 I can distinctly remember the day one of my heroes failed me for the first time.  The year was 1994 and the Knicks were playing Houston in the NBA finals.  Both teams battled hard and the series was tied at 3 games apiece heading in to the deciding game seven.  In that game my hero Knicks guard John Starks shot 2-18 from the floor, including missing all 11 threes he attempted in a narrow Rockets win.  Had Starks made three of four more shots that night he would probably still be on my Mount Rushmore of sports gods.  Hell, he once dunked on Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen at the same time; dude was amazing.

As adults we still have sports idols, it’s just that we are not as blindly devoted as kids can be.  If we are smart we pick guys or gals to root for that we think won’t let us down.  And if we see cracks in their façade we bail quickly before we our hearts are dashed on the rocks.  Everyone long ago quit on guys like Ryan Leaf, A-Rod, and Lance Armstrong.  Many of us were all in on Tiger Woods, Barry Bonds and/or Aaron Hernandez before they turned into sports pariahs’.  Why do you think we gravitate to Tim Tebow?  Because Timmy has a goodness and a safeness about him that’s easy to root for even if he can’t throw his way out of a paper bag.  God forbid he turns back into a human and gets a DUI.  A lot of adults as well as kids are going to have their hearts broken.

As I mentioned in the open, one of my heroes for a long time was Pats quarterback Drew Bledsoe.  Sure he had weird eyes but man could he sling it!  But one day in 2001 Drew got hurt on a vicious hit by Mo Lewis and a young kid came into the game you may have heard of.  His name was Tom Brady.  Bledsoe moved on with his life and career and Brady has since gone on to win four Super Bowls and become one of the greatest quarterbacks in league history.  Guess who has owned that mantle of my adult sports idol for the last 15 plus years?

This last week my hero did something that leaves me feeling blue.  No he didn’t deflate any footballs or drive his car under the influence.  It’s worse; he endorsed Donald Trump for President!  Yes it's true folks; not only has he been seen rocking a Trump hat, he was quoted as saying “I hope so”, and “That would be great” when asked what he thought about The Donald in the White house.  What a kick in the nuts!

There is a theory out there called the Backfire Effect.  In a nut shell it says that when our strongly held beliefs are challenged by facts, instead of changing our opinion on that issue we cling to it even more in the face of the truth.  Ironically Trump's supporters have a bad case of this particular disease, but that’s a topic for another day.  I however am faced with this very problem.  Do I blindly support my hero in spite of his clear lack of judgment?  It’s impossible at this point to dump him so that is not an option.  In short I am stuck trying to do something that comes really hard which is to balance my support for his play on the field against my strong dislike for his support of Trump.

We humans love things to be black and white!  Politics, religion, sports, relationships, social issues, really almost everything is put in a box and labeled.  It turns out that I am really good at this.  But lately this tendency of being judge, jury and executioner has come under scrutiny.  So this seemingly small thing is an opportunity for me to explore life in the gray area.  This would be great because Lord knows we all could use more time in the gray zone.  Of course there are exceptions to that great graying of America.  So to steal a line from the great Tony Kornhieser, Donald Trump, go to your room!

Lets go Pats!