Is it just me…?

Jim and I were very lucky……and from Day 1, we sure as hell knew it.  My earliest memories of Dad was of a man who was larger-than-life, who was always there when you needed him, who made you feel safe…..made you feel loved.  In time, I would come to find that wasn’t always the case with every Father and son….and to me, that may be the greatest tragedy of all.  When you’re a kid, you think every guy’s Dad is like yours.  He’s the guy who carries you from the car to your bed after a long, family trip.  He’s the guy who teaches you how to ride a bike and throw a baseball.  He’s the one who gives you your allowance and teaches you the value of a buck and a hard day’s work (that one never really took with me).  He’s the one who punishes you when you’re bad (and you hate him for it) as well as the one who tells you how proud he is of you (is there a better feeling in the world than that?).  He teaches you how to drive a car and helps you buy your first set of wheels.  Your Dad is the guy sporting the big grin on your wedding day and the man who puts that same grin on the faces of his grandkids every time they are around him.  He was the most important and influential figure in my life (by a mile), but as I said before, every son wasn’t as fortunate as my brother and me.

There are all kinds of Father/Son relationships.  There is the loving/caring Dad, the dead-beat Dad, the absentee Dad, the never-good-enough to please Dad and the alcoholic/abusive Dad.  To a boy growing up, there is no more important figure than their Father and that relationship can make or break who and what that young man will become.  Through all my years of coaching I have been exposed to almost every type of Father/Son relationship you can imagine and some of them just ain’t pretty.  And it’s not just the lower-economic families this applies to.  In fact, I have coached many young men whose parents didn’t have two nickels to rub together, yet they were bright, well-mannered, well-adjusted boys who knew nothing but love and support from home.  On the other hand, I have seen just as many boys from very well-to-do families that were as distant from their Dads as the earth is from the sun.  Complete strangers in their own home.  Sad.

I may be naive but I like to think that even in the worst of circumstances there is a bond between Father and son that is unbreakable.  Sure, there are instances where this doesn’t apply and there is genuine hate between a man and his boy, but for the most part I think at the core of 99 % of Father/Son relationships, there is genuine love.  Sometimes you just have to look a little harder for it.  Play the Springsteen video (above) and listen to the story (the first 5 minutes) Bruce shares with his audience before launching into “The River“.  I think most of us have been there.  You get to a point where your Dad is a stranger; a know-nothing; the enemy.  You may even tell him that he doesn’t understand you and that you hate him (I’ve done this).  But in the end, he is your Father and you are his son.  End of story.  Please give a listen and see if it doesn’t strike a chord with you.  I know it does with me…..every damn time.

There is a great line in the movie “Parenthood” when Keanu Reeves says, “You need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car–hell, you even need a license to catch a fish.  But they’ll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father“.  Well, what is a Father?  Is he the man who gave you life or the man who molded your life?  My Uncle Lester found out as a young man that he was adopted.  He dealt with the news and moved on with his life.  Years later, he was approached by his biological Father.  The man had become very successful and told my Uncle that all he wanted was for him to take his last name and he would become his sole heir and inherit all of his considerable wealth upon his passing.  Seems like a no-brainer, doesn’t it?  My Uncle very politely told this man, “Thanks, but no thanks.  The Feldmans are the people who raised me.  They are my parents.  You can keep your money“.  Good for you, Uncle Lester.

At some point in our lives, we all butt heads with our Fathers (again, the Springsteen video above).  Does that mean we love them any less?  Or they us?  Of course not.  So, on this upcoming Father’s Day, forget the tie and tell your Dad how much he means to you and how much you love him.  And while you’re at it….don’t stop there.  The fact is we have many people who helped to shape and mold who we are and what we will become….coaches, teachers, friends, relatives.  Let them know how grateful you are for them taking the time, by word or deed, to help to make you a better person.  Look, I was lucky enough to have the greatest Dad in the world for over 45 years.  He was here long enough to see me grow up (sort of) and to get to know my wife and children (as well as Jim’s family).  I may have told him once or twice that I hated him (the stupidity of youth), but that was trumped by the thousands of times I told him how much I loved him (as we all did).  So, yes…..you’re damned right I’ll be thinking of him on Father’s Day (as I do every day), but I will also be thinking of some of the other “Father Figures” who (for better or worse) made me the man I am today.

So, I would like to take this opportunity to wish a warm and heart-felt Father’s Day to all of you men out there and especially to Albert Berlin, Bob Fassbinder, George Melendez, Herb Dell, Jerry Abberbach, Jim Berlin, Jim Kwitchoff, John Hearn, John Stern, Joseph Crovella, Kermit Schwach, Lester Feldman, Lester Reisman, Mac Kvares, Mike Aronson, Mike Marcel, Moses Berlin, Robert Ferguson, Scott Kindberg, Seymour Aronson, Dr. Seymour Mallis, Steven Carson and William Phelan.  Thank you one and all.

Finally, it has been written that you can’t go home again.  Well, I’m about to find out if Thomas Wolfe knows what the hell he’s talking about.  My brother, Jim and my daughter, Erin will be driving with me on Monday down to Long Island to spend a week just hangin’ out and chillin’ by the Atlantic Ocean.  I haven’t been back home in a while and when I do venture back to New York, I usually keep a low profile and visit one or two friends.  We will be staying the week with my oldest and dearest friends (Mike and Riva) and I’ll be curious to see what this does to a friendship that has lasted for over 50 years.  Mike and Riva have also set up a barbecue where I will be seeing friends I haven’t seen since High School (1971).  I am also going to be spending some time with my newest and bestest email buddy (Mindy) and her wonderful family.  So, the upcoming week should supply the answers to several interesting questions…..Will Mike and Riva’s house survive the week?  Will Mike and Riva survive?  Will it be a kick or a major disappointment getting re-acquainted with High School classmates after 38 years?  Will Mindy think I am as funny and charming in person as I am via email? (not a chance in hell).  Will my daughter ever speak to me again after spending 14 hours on the road stuck in the car with me and Jim?  What devilish prank will Jim unleash to embarrass, terrify and/or humiliate me?  And finally, who shot J.R.?  All these questions and more will be answered in the next 7 days.   Should be a very interesting and revealing week.  Should I be lucky enough to survive the next several days, I will give you a full trip report.  Stay tuned and have a great weekend.  Speak to you soon……………

It is in my best interest to set the record straight regarding my last blog.  My dear, sweet wife ever-so-gently suggested that I let everyone know that she did not react to my Anniversary “gift” (”Thirty Moe Years”) as was described in that blog (”Mine Boggling”).  The truth is that she responded pretty much the way my friends predicted she would….I arrived home to find her sobbing as she threw her arms around me, smothered me with kisses and told me that it was the nicest present she had ever received.  In return, Maureen gave me a simple gift that was absolutely perfect for me as well…..A framed picture of her with my Dad.  I feel as though we are Jim and Della from the O. Henry story, “The Gift of the Magi”…..minus the ironic, twist ending (Jim sells his prized gold watch to buy a set of combs for Della’s beautiful, brown hair while Della sells her hair to buy Jim a platinum fob for his gold watch. Incidentally, do you think O. Henry could have been the Grandfather of Sue Ellen Mischke; the bra-less heir to the Oh Henry! candy fortune? Hmmm…..makes you wonder).

I was thrilled that Maureen loved her “gift” as much as she did when it suddenly dawned on me that I hadn’t spent one red cent on her and yet, she couldn’t have been happier.  I did spend considerable time and effort writing the “gift” while reaching down into the depths of my soul for the appropriate sentiments, but…..big freakin’ deal.  I can churn this sentimental crap out in my sleep.  If this is what makes her happy, I’ll never have to buy another Birthday, Anniversary or Mother’s Day present again for the rest of my life.  Think about that…..Never having to agonize over buying the “perfect” gift and never having to shop or pay for a present for my wife (or any loved one) again?  This is just too good to be true.  I feel like George Costanza when he gave out Christmas gifts to his co-workers by donating money in their name to a non-existent charity (the “Human Fund”).  I have actually discovered a loop-hole in the “gift-giving” system.  EUREKA!!!  I am set for life.

As I basked in the knowledge of my discovery, I thought…Why not share this revelation with my male brethren?  Can you imagine the relief I will be bringing to countless husbands who never know what to get for their wives and now have a way to make them happy on every special occasion without the hassle of having to actually give it some thought?  In fact, I’m planning to publish a series of “gifts” for my brothers in the style of the old word game, “Mad-Libs” (anyone remember “Mad-Libs”?).  I will write some gooey, sentimental fluff that can be used by any man for any occasion.  It will go something like this……..

  “My Dearest (insert name here).  As we celebrate (insert occasion here), I realize that I love you more and more with each passing day,  We have been together now for (insert number here) years and you look more beautiful today then you did back in (insert year here) when I first laid eyes on you at (insert location here).  There is nothing in this world that makes me happier than spending a quiet evening at home with you watching (insert her favorite TV show here).  Although I sometimes complain, I really love it when you (insert annoying habit here).  I feel like the honeymoon we spent in (insert loction here) has never ended.  I could die a happy man if I could simply spend the rest of my life with you gazing into your deep, smoldering, beautiful (insert color here) eyes.  So, my dearest (insert favorite “pet” name), as we celebrate another (insert occasion here) know that I love you with all my heart (or insert optional body part of your choice here) and will continue to love you for (insert time period here).  Your loving (insert relationship to recipient here), (insert your name here).

So, whaddaya think, fellas?  Is it just me or is this a big-time winner?  You’re damn right it is!!  I realize this is just a fairly basic and generic template, so if you send me the names, dates and special occasion I can create a personalized “gift” for you to give your loved one for a one-time fee of just $19.95.  But wait!!!!  If you call within the next 10 minutes (cause we can’t do this all day) I will include a second personalized “gift” plus two “Sham-Wows” absolutely FREE!! (you just pay the shipping and handling).  Looks like I’m gonna be busy for a while.  Glad I could help.  Congratulations to Roger Federer (the Greatest Tennis Player of All Time) on winning the French Open.  Speak to you soon…………..

Since Maureen absolutely refused to open her 30th Anniversary “gift” before the actual date (which is today), other people were able to see her “gift” before she did.  When I asked some friends how they thought Maureen would react upon receiving this “gift”, the overwhelming consensus was that she would cry like a baby, throw her arms around me, tell me that she loves me and smother me with kisses.  Well, she did almost cry.  As for the rest…..not quite.

I watched as Maureen read her “gift” (the blog, “Thirty Moe Years”) in silence and I thought I saw her begin to shake once or twice.  When she was finished, she turned to me, fixed me with the coldest stare I had ever seen, and said (very calmly and cooly), “I haven’t seen a “gift” this chintzy since Elaine bought Mr. Littman’s kid “Boggle” for his Bar-Mitzvah.  Thanks for NOTHING!!”  Since I was paralyzed with fear at the time I can’t be 100 % certain, but I am fairly sure I did see a tear or two in her eyes, so I suppose my friends were partially correct.  Is it just me or is there just no pleasing some people?  Go figure!!  I guess it is safe to assume my title as the undisputed ”Cheapest Man on the Planet” is secure for at least one more year, don’t ya think?  Have a great weekend and speak to you soon……………..

It always cracks me up when the “experts” scramble for an explanation why a sporting event plays out exactly opposite to the way they predicted it would when all they really need to say is, “Boy, was I wrong about that!”  Never happen.  The sports airwaves were filled today with elaborate hypotheses as to how the Orlando Magic were able to upset the heavily-favored Cleveland Cavaliers in the Eastern Conference Final while the Cavs were led by league MVP, Lebron James.  After all, “King” James has been annointed by pretty much all of the “experts” as “the greatest player in the NBA today”, if not the greatest of all time.  Lebron is certainly a very talented player, but great? (as I’ve mentioned many times before….a word that gets tossed around much too easily), not even close (at least, not yet anyway).

This reminds me of when Mike Tyson was demolishing opponents in the Heavyweight Division during the 1980’s by virtue of several spectacular early-round knockouts.  What the “experts” failed to realize was that “Iron” Mike was laying waste to exactly that…..waste.  He was beating a bunch of guys who were either passed their prime or never had one.  This didn’t stop the sport’s community from dubbing him, “The Baddest Man on the Planet“.  Hey, why let the facts get in the way of a good story?  The truth of the matter is that Mike Tyson was never a great fighter……NEVER.  A point that was indelibly and decisively driven home by Buster Douglas in a Tokyo ring back in 1990.  Douglas, a nice guy and a decent fighter, didn’t upset the experts by barely decisioning Tyson; rather he whupped-up on ”Iron” Mike like he was his Daddy and had “The Baddest Man on the Planet” down on all fours floundering around looking for the mouthguard that Buster had dislodged from his jaw while the ref counted 10 (he could have counted to a hundred and ten).  Once again, the “experts” weren’t just wrong…..they were WRONG!

Did the “experts” admit that perhaps they had over-hyped “Iron Mike”?  Nah….they quickly proclaimed Buster Douglas as a great Heavyweight Champion who would enjoy a very long reign.  Well, that “very long reign” lasted exactly 8 months (the only person with a shorter reign was the Emperor Constantine III) and still, the “experts” would not admit they were mistaken about Tyson.  The thing about Lebron that disappoints me the most was not his play on the court, but his behavior off of it.  The thing I’ve most admired about Lebron is the way he carries himself…..never arrogant, always friendly and not one to offer up excuses when things don’t go his way.  I never viewed him as a great player, but always as a great role-model.  That’s why I found it so upsetting when after the final game Lebron blew-off not only the press, but the Magic players as well.  I found it totally classless and extremely disappointing.  Hey, Lebron (and “experts”)……I am hoping one day to see greatness, but you ain’t there yet.  Speak to you soon………

Next week, Maureen (who is referred to as “Moe” by everyone EXCEPT me) and I will celebrate our 30th Wedding Anniversary. Well, I’m not sure “celebrate” is the right word. Observe? Tolerate? Endure? Get it over with?? Anyway, come June 5th, for better or for worse, we will have been married for 30 years. How did this happen? I mean, I just recently graduated from High School, and…..ZOOOOOOM. Here I am, a few months shy of my 56th birthday with three grown-up (in age only) children (Erin 27, Mickey and Matt 25) and I have spent the past three decades manacled to the woman pictured above.  I guess now is as good a time as any to introduce you to my ball and chain…..er, I mean “my better half”.

We were both working at the Post Office in Far Rockaway, Queens where we kind of knew each other, but were not really friends.  Working from 2:30 in the morning until 11 AM  can do strange things to a person.  When our work tour’s “lunch break” rolled around at 8:30, there were only a few options available.  You could, A. take a 1/2 hour nap; B.  go down to the local bar and drink yourself silly, or C. go outside and do something recreational (play stickball; shoot hoops; throw a frisbee, etc.).  I opted for option C.  Maureen, on the other hand, travelled in different circles.  She decided on option B.  After her break was over she was often seen returning to work with her gang and by this time they were pretty much all travelling in different circles.  To an outside observer, it was pretty evident our paths were not meant to cross.  But fate has a funny way of blind-siding you when you least expect it.  At this particular time in my life, I was taking a little breather from the dating scene.  You could say I was in just a bit of a slump.  Ah, who am I kidding?  David “Big Papi” Ortiz is positvely sizzling (with his 1 home run and .185 batting average) compared to the slump I was in.  The truth is, my first date with Maureen was precipitated by the fact that I was rejected by a waitress from IHOP.  Does it get any more pathetic than that?  Don’t think so.

One chance date led to another and next think I knew we were planning to be married.  If I told you that I knew what I was doing and was certain I had found my “soul mate” would be a lie.  I was scared.  She was scared.  There was still so much we needed to learn about each other (like me finding out she lied about loving sports and the TV show “The Odd Couple”. She slipped-up when I asked her who she preferred….Felix or Oscar, and she answered, “There’s an awards show called “The Felix’s“? Busted).  We were married in my parent’s living room on a Tuesday night (our day off was Wednesday) in front of some relatives, my brother Jim (the “Best Man” in title only), my best friends (Mike and Riva) and Maureen’s (Barbara and Edna).  We were back at work on Thursday and honeymooned up at Niagara Falls that weekend (I’m nothing if not original). 

I recall the ceremony being somewhat surreal….like it wasn’t really happening to me.  I don’t remember the vows we recited or the words we spoke to each other.  I only remember Maureen’s sister (Katie) singing “The Wedding Song (There Is Love)”……and it was done.  We then set out on our journey together….making a life, making a family and making a future; all the while discovering and revealing who we really were.  In short order I found Maureen to be…..how should I say this?  Different.  Yes, she is most certainly different.  Some of her mannerisms/habits/traits/quirks can be, on occasion, somewhat vexing.  Aw, hell…..who am I kidding?  As I have told her countless times, she is the most G-Damned, annoying person on the planet…..BY FAR!  A few examples……..

She has zero sense of direction, but if you ask her (I know….my bad) which way to turn she will give you an answer with absolute conviction knowing full well she has NO idea what the hell she is talking about.  When you mention that we are out of toilet paper, she will run to Sam’s Club and buy the 1,000 roll pack…..and leave this huge parcel in any room BUTT the bathroom (editor’s note….the extra “T” is there on purpose).  I can’t tell you how many times members of the family have been spotted running out of the bathroom swearing, pants around their ankles looking for this enormous mound of two-ply that she has managed to hide so well Indiana Jones couldn’t find it with a map (she does the same thing with ketchup, mayonnaise, shampoo, toothpaste and soap).  And when you ask where the item is, she will innocently say, “Right here under the sofa.  Where else would I put the milk?”, as if that is a “normal” response.  There was a time I would take a minute and put myself in her shoes to try and think like her in order to figure out where she had ”hidden” something.  I stopped that little exercise when I found it gave me EXCEDRIN headache #’s 6-23. 

Maureen will also laugh at anybody or anything…..EXCEPT me.  She doesn’t think I’m funny at all, and what’s worse, she thinks she’s hysterical (believe me….she’s NOT).  It can get a tad annoying.  She is also the slowest, pokiest person on the plaet.  She is late for everything.  (At this point, allow me to lighten the mood by telling you my favorite “Maureen is late” story. When my boys were younger, I coached them in the YMCA Youth Basketball League. The games were held on Saturday which presented a problem….I work on Saturdays. The routine was that Maureen would drive them to the gym 1/2 before game time {for warm-ups} and I would leave my mail route and drive my truck to the Y just in time for the game. This one particular Saturday the game was scheduled for 9 AM. I flew across town and got to the Y just prior to the tip-off. With no parking spaces available, I parked my mail truck by the drive-thru window of the bank just down the block. I sprinted inside to find my boys have just arrived, but no Maureen {she NEVER missed any of their games}. At halftime, I spot Maureen in the crowd and ask her how I can drive cross town, while working, and get to the game on time but she was late. She snapped, “I had to go to the bank!” I was so angry with her for being late what she said didn’t register for a few minutes. Finally, I said, “The banks are open on Saturday?” “No….just the drive-thru window“. OH SHIT!! I dashed down the block to the bank and saw a line of cars behind my truck that would put a Presidential funeral procession to shame. As I jumped in my mail truck, the teller behind the window {as well as the 100 or so people sitting in their cars waiting in line} in unison all flashed me their middle finger….on both hands. I’m somewhat proud of that).

Okay, that takes care of her good qualities.  Now for the negative stuff.  The honest truth is that Maureen is the warmest, sweetest, most honest person I have ever met.  She hasn’t a pretentious bone in her body and she puts everyone ahead of herself.  Maureen can say “I love you” more naturally, with the greatest ease and in an off-handed manner that may seem like lip service…..but then you catch yourself and realize it is coming from a place deep inside her and you feel it to your core.  She is a wife, a mother, a friend and a confidante.  She is known to every kid that has ever come in contact with her as “Momma Moe”.  When I suggested we renew our vows for our 30th Anniversary (I thought it was romantic and something she would like to do), she laughed at me.  See, as I said, I don’t recall much from our wedding ceremony….but Maureen does.  When she spoke her vows, she knew exactly what she was saying and meant every word.  Me?  I was going through the motions and truth be told, I haven’t always been the best husband.  I have broken some vows (along with some commandments) and have been forgiven.  It’s 30 years later and it seems we have a “Benjamin Button” marriage…..With each passing year my feelings for Maureen grow and I love her that much more. 

Take another look at the picture above.  This was Maureen years before I even knew her.  And you know what?  It doesn’t matter.  A picture does not do her justice.  She is who she is because of what she is.  I see her and I see sheer beauty; the love of my life; unconditional love.  Thirty years ago, the joke was that I had nothing to get her for her birthday (which is June 9th) so I married her.  That was her gift.  Little did I realize that it was mine.  Isn’t that just like Maureen?  Well, honey…..next week will be our 30th and four days later will be your birthday….and guess what?  This is your gift.  I may not remember much from that night in my parent’s living room, but I do remember the song (you can play it below).  This one is for you, my love.  Why not go ahead and draw up a contract for 30 more years.  Just show me where to sign.  With all of my heart…I love you.  Happy Anniversary.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away I got my driver’s license.  On my first attempt, no less.  In fact, all of the Berlin’s (as well as every kid I have ever given lessons to) passed their driver’s test on their first go-round (although I should mention that my daughter, Erin, did receive a summons for passing a stopped school bus WHILE with a professional driving instructor).  That is of course, except for my wife, Maureen…..arguably (actually, there is NO argument) the worst driver known to mankind.  She is the proud owner of the North American record for road tests taken.  The record stands at 27.  That’s TWENTY-SEVEN!! (a woman in England has the World Record).  I know this sounds hard to believe, but I swear it’s true.  I have often speculated the ONLY reason Maureen finally passed her test was because she applied under her married name as opposed to her maiden name, Phelan (pronounced Failin’, which I find unbelievably appropriate and ironic).  I can just picture the instructors after her exam conferring…”Jeez, this Berlin woman is absolutely brutal, but at least she’s better than that Phelan woman.  Aw hell….let’s pass her!”  Glad I could help, honey.

As bad as my wife is behind the wheel, there is at least one driving record for futility she does not own….that one is mine.  The day I got my license I went out and got 3 traffic tickets.  Yep, three.  How did this happen?  Here it is. 

Back in the day (1969), when you took your driver’s test you were notified by mail as to whether you passed or failed.  This was the longest two to three weeks in the life of a teenager.  Imagine my joy when I came home from school to find my driver’s license waiting for me.  My elation was tempered by the fact that I didn’t own a car, but my Dad (foolishly) told me that I could take the family car out for the evening, so you see, what happened next was pretty much all his fault.  I ran out the door and picked up a bunch of friends (I have no recollection of actually who was in the car) and a lot of beer and proceeded to drive all over the Five Towns out on Long Island.

The last few miles of the joy ride I spent swerving back and forth and turning my headlights on and off (”why?” you might ask….I have NO idea. Probably thought it was cool).  I drove down the main street (Broadway) and made a left onto Causeway St., still swerving back and forth like a drunk on the deck of a ship during ”The Perfect Storm” when I noticed a police car flashing his lights at me.  GULP!!!  The officer pulled me over in the parking lot of the Lawrence Country Club and proceeded to ream me out BUT GOOD!

Apparently, he had been following me (or trying to follow me) for several miles and he rattled off the violations I had commited and said, “Here is a ticket for reckless driving….here’s one for driving to the left of the center lane and here’s one for”….as I was pretty much in a state of shock, I don’t remember what the last one was for.  As he handed me the three tickets, one of my drunken passenger/friends in the back started abusing the officer (Officer Pinho…I will NEVER forget his name) with an epithet-laced tirade that was no doubt induced by the alcohol and would make a sailor blush.  The cop looked at me and said, “DO YOU WANT ANOTHER ONE???”

I told whoever it was in the back to shut the “F” up and the cop had me do the field sobriety test (I did fairly well on the True/False and aced the essay).  Fortunately, I was smart enough to have refrained from drinking that evening (the ONLY smart thing I did).  So, there I was with three tickets on my very first day of driving and a court appearance ticket in 30 days.  The truth is, I actually got off light with just the three tickets….not that I had done anything real dangerous (it was pretty much juvenille show-off stuff) but he could have banged me with a lot more than three tickets.

I knew I had to tell my Dad, but I just didn’t have the guts.  I finally worked up the courage to confess what had happened and it only took me 29 days and 23 hours.  Yep, as I was heading out the door to the courthouse (which was only a hundred yards or so from our house) I gave my Dad the bad news.  I don’t know if it was the magnitude of what I had done or just the sheer enormity of it, but my Dad took the news quite well (he probably just took pity on me because I was shaking like a leaf) and offered (in fact I BEGGED him) to go to court with me.  Before we left, I told him that Officer Pinho had a reputation for hassling kids with long hair (which was true) and that he had singled me out because of the way I looked (and NOT because of my impressive stunt-driving).  My Dad seemed skeptical, but when we ran into Officer Pinho outside the courtroom my Dad asked if perhaps he had gone a little overboard with me.

Pinho said, “Did your son tell you there was beer in the car?”  My Dad shot me a glare and I stammered, “Wait a minute!!  I wasn’t drinking!”  When the cop admitted that indeed I had not been drinking, my Dad got pissed and could now see my point about this guy targeting long-hair, hippie types.  He growled, “If my son wasn’t drinking, why would you even bring it up?”  Good….now I had Dad on my side.

We waited patiently for my turn and I could see how the game was played.  If you pleaded “Not Guilty”, the Judge would say, “Well, then you are saying the officer is lying, aren’t you?”  I could see that was a no-win answer, so I figured out what I would say and how to beat the system.  When I was finally called before the bench, the Judge had the court clerk read the charges against me.  Now, every other person that night had their charges read and, at the most, they were three or four lines…..max.  Mine was longer than the Declaration of Independence.  It filled up an entire two pages and the clerk had to call a recess halfway through so people could go to the lobby and use the restroom or get refreshments.

Seriously, it went on for quite some time.  The reading went something like this (and here is the Cliff Notes version).  “The driver was seen swerving back and forth heading west on West Broadway.  He then signalled for a right turn and proceeded to turn left on Rockaway Turnpike.  He then made a right turn onto Central Ave., weaving back and forth and turning his headlights on and off repeatedly.  The driver then turned left onto Causeway St. and swerved back and forth like an Olympic slalom skier.  He then stopped and started the car several times before he was finally pulled over in the parking lot of the Lawrence Country Club where he was given three citations by Officer Pinho.”

Apparently, Officer Pinho had been following me for about 20 minutes over a distance of about 10 miles.  When the Judge (who had dozed-off halfway through the reading) finally asked, “How do you plead?”, I said (with the utmost confidence), “Guilty with an explanation, your Honor.”  Ahhh….I had them.  When the Judge asked for my explanation, I said, “A cat ran in front of my car causing me to swerve, Sir.”  You should have seen the look on my Dad’s face when I uttered those words (”It was the exact same look my parents gave me when I told them I wanted to be a ventiloquist”).  It was one of total disbelief.  He just could not believe his own flesh and blood could be this stupid.  It didn’t help matters when the Judge, trying not to laugh in my face, said, “Well, that must have been one helluva fast cat!!”  Bottom line was that I had to pay for two tickets, got one on my license and had to attend a three-hour defensive driving class.  I guess it could have been worse, though I can’t really see how (my Dad never looked at me the same after that evening).  Well, that’s my driver’s license story.  I hope it made your day.  Good luck Villa Maria baseball team.  Speak to you soon………..

Buchholz misses perfect game

May 25, 2009

Clay Buchholz lost a perfect game in the ninth inning, striking out seven and throwing just 96 pitches in a one-hitter as Pawtucket blanked Louisville, 3-0.

As you can see, yesterday Boston Red Sox pitching prospect Clay Buchholz came within three outs of tossing a perfect game for the Triple A Pawtucket Red Sox.  Buchholz burst onto the scene by throwing a no-hitter in just his second start for the Red Sox in 1997 and then struggled mightily last year before being sent back to the Minor Leagues to work on his game.  The move back to the Minors has paid off big-time as Clay has a 3-0 record with a 1.30 ERA and 49 strikeouts in 48 innings.  Not yet 25, Buchholz appears to have a bright future ahead of him in the Big Leauges.  I tell you all this for one simple reason…..I have a Clay Buchholz story for you.  Here it is……….

Being a loyal (and obsessed) member of Red Sox Nation, I keep tabs on many of the young men the Sox draft and religiously follow their exploits in the Minor Leagues.  I was particularly excited when Boston was able to draft Clay Buchholz in 2004.  Being an absolute stud in Junior College (Clay was dominant on the mound as well as at the plate where he was a power-hitting outfielder) it was surprising that Buchholz had lasted long enough for the Sox to draft him.  A run-in with the law in 2004 (he stole some computers….hey, boys will be boys) scared off many teams from selecting him in the amateur draft and allowed him to fall to late in the first round and directly into the Red Sox’ lap.

Clay was sent to the Lowell Spinners, a Class A affiliate of the Sox in the New York-Penn League.  Every other year the Spinners come to Jamestown to play the Jammers and such was the case in 2005.  I always go down to Diethrick Park when Lowell comes to town and Maureen and I found ourselves sitting right behind home plate (courtesy of Jim’s season tickets) and next to four pitchers (two from Jamestown and two from Lowell) who were sitting with their radar guns (while NOT in uniform so they usually go unnoticed) charting the pitches for the evening’s game.  I recognized Clay Buchholz from his picture on the Red Sox Prospects website and went over to introduce myself.  I told him that I had heard a lot about him when he got this troubled look on his face.  I mentioned that I was aware of his run-in with the law, but that was not the reason I knew who he was….I explained that I was a Sox fan and had a fair knowledge of the players in the Sox Minor Leagues….even the ones in A ball.

We chatted for a few innings and then I asked if he would mind autographing a baseball for me.  When he agreed, I told him I would run home to get one for him to sign.  I was back in 10 minutes and Clay gladly signed the ball.  We talked throughout the game until the 8th inning when Maureen and I got up to leave.  When I went home to get the baseball, I also brought a shirt for Clay.  When my boys were 12, we won the 11-12 year-old State Championship.  The parents had bought all the kids (and coaches) very nice, white shirts with the Babe Ruth logo and “New York State Champions” on it.  Very cool.

I presented Clay with my shirt and said, “To help you remember your visit to Jamestown.”  He thanked me and I told him that I would be seeing him on the Big Club very soon.  I wished him luck and we shook hands goodbye.  Fast forward to a few years later and Clay in now the hot prospect pitching for the Sox Triple A team in Pawtucket.  Bryan Corey, another pitcher who had spent two summers living with us while playing in Jamestown (1994-95) was also on the Paw-Sox at that time.  We had kept in touch all these years (Bryan is about 34 now and pitching for the Texas Rangers on their Triple A team in Oklahoma City) and he invited us up to the game against the Buffalo Bisons.

Maureen and I drove to Buffalo, picked up the tickets Bryan had left for us and made our way into the Stadium.  It was a nasty, drizzly day and the tarp was on the field.  Our seats were down the leftfield line where the visiting team’s bullpen was located (so we could talk to Bryan during the game).  There were just a few players out on the field throwing the ball around (one of them was Clay) when the PA announcer said the game was cancelled.  I called Bryan on his cell phone, but no answer (we were to meet him for dinner after the game).

As we were heading for the door to the Visitor’s Clubhouse, I noticed Buchholz signing autographs by the dugout.  I asked him if he would let Bryan Corey know that his friends were here and we would be waiting outside for him.  Clay said he would be glad to, when I said, “I bet you don’t remember me….a few years ago when you came to Jamestown, I sat in the stands with you while you charted pitches.”  He said, “Sorry…I meet so many people I really don’t remember.”  I laughed and said, “No problem.  Good luck, Clay.”  As Maureen and I were heading up the stairs, Clay looked up from signing autographs and shouted out, “Hey!!!  You gave me a shirt, right?”  It’s nice to be remembered.  Speak to you soon…………

As you enjoy the long Memorial Day Weekend either by watching a parade or barbecueing with the family or just laying about, please take a moment or two to reflect on why we celebrate this day; to remember and honor the brave men and women who serve and have served to protect our country and allow us the freedoms we so often take for granted.  “The rest of those who have gone before us cannot steady the unrest of those to follow“…..William Forrester from “Avalon Landing“.  Speak to you soon……..

I find it both hilarious and disturbing that the blog of mine that has garnered the greatest response was written (illegally) by my brother, Jim.  GREAT…..I’m weeping again! 

Hi. This is Jim Berlin, Doug’s brother.

Unbeknownst to Doug I was able to hack into his blog and, since he has not been writing anything lately, I am gonna write one for him/to him.

Dear Doug,

Hey, why no blogs lately?

I know it is frustrating to you that you don’t get too many responses and you think no one is listening (I think other than Peter, none of us do) but I DO know that people

1. read it, and

2. like it

even if they don’t take the time to write back–other than Daria, (who needs to stop blaming me for things I never really did to you—Daria, Doug has 0 witnesses and can’t prove ANYTHING) and Aztech Goofy, (whose blogs make no sense to me and who needs to get a life. I picture him sitting there waiting by his computer for your next column. Mike, love ya’ but get a life, dude : ).

Anyway, there are a TON of things you should be blogging about Doug—

 The Celtics
The Red Sox
The Yankees (or Yank Mees)
Manny
A-Rod
Rondo
Big Baby
The Houston Rockets
Our upcoming cruise
Mom (NFW on that one, I know–you chicken J)
 

Ok?

PLENTY to write about. Just choose one. Write. Your blogs are funny and interesting and often touching. So, please, keep writing.

I just have one simple request:

Please stop writing so many blogs that sort of end, “and then I cried”.

IT’S PATHETIC!

Some recent examples:

“Erin called me jerkface. Then I cried”. (or was it Hearn?)
“One of the kids I coached in baseball had a couple of kids who played baseball, and I cried”.
“Maureen made me my favorite meal for me, so I cried”.
“Manny cheated? I cried”.
 

COME ON, MAN. THERE’S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!

 Even that crazy George guy stopped writing you.

 Maybe if you weren’t crying so much, you’d be writing more. 

 You are GOOD at this. People LOVE reading your stuff. 

 So, help me people. I probably committed a serious crime hacking into Doug’s website…”but it was all for a good cause, your honor”…

 Let’s all get Doug back into the game, ok?  Is ANYBODY out there?

 Daria?
Goofy?
George?
Anybody?

Let’s hear it! Come on!!!
JB