Almost Perfect

Shortly after my 10th birthday, I went to game six of the 1980 World Series and saw Tug McGraw strike out Willie Wilson to win the championship in what was at that time, and for the next 28 years, Philadelphia’s single greatest baseball moment.
In the 30 years since then, I have been to many more games, many more post-season games, including the 1983 series losing game to Baltimore, their return to the playoffs in 1993, the playoff clinching win in 2004.

Tonight I saw one of the most rare accomplishments in baseball, so rare, it has only happened twice, ever. Roy Halliday threw a new hitter in the playoffs. The last time it happened was in 1956, baseball fans know it, Don Larsen’s perfect game.

Halliday was one walk short of perfection. In fact, when he walked Jay Bruce in the 5th, it was almost a relief to the crowd. One less thing for all of us to worry about.

And we were all worried.

Something happened in the 4th inning. Halliday struck out someone, and then there was the feeling that something special was going on. The feeling that this guy on the mound was in a rare place for any athlete, that place where everything was clicking, everything was moving, everything was connecting.

We felt it.

With each subsequent pitch, we felt the tension rise, the excitement mount. For a while we followed the old tradition of not saying out loud what we all knew was happening. That ended in the 8th inning. There was still superstition in the air.
Some guy from another section moved into our row at the bottom of the 8th. It upset the perfect balance of everything. Another person in the row said “No offense dude, you’re probably a great guy, and normally we wouldn’t care, but you have to go. We can’t risk it.” Everyone else nodded in agreement.

The guy smiled and moved without argument.

Less than 15 minutes later, in a play that made 42,000 people come close to passing out, Carlos Ruiz threw out Brandon Phillips in an excruciatingly difficult play.

42,000 people, mostly strangers to each other, high-fived, hugged, even kissed. The players did the same thing on the field. They took part in the magic, but really, we did too. In my row, we told the guy to move. In other rows people made similar contributions. At home, people watching on television wore their lucky hats, sat with their special team blankets. We waved our rally towels, booed attempts at gamesmanship by the other team, and cheered in a way that only is possible in rare cirsumstances.

It was a magic night, and we helped.

Here’s to Julie, Link and Pete

As I walked home from my delightful birthday dinner with my parents, I started thinking about long sappy things to write about them.

Now that I’m sitting down with the keyboard in front of me, I’m having second thoughts. Instead, I’m leaning towards simple and to the point.

40-years-ago, on a brutally hot September night, my mother sat down to watch the Mod Squad. She never made it to the end because she went into labor with me.

Since then, I have given them headaches and disappointments, but I believe I have also given them happiness, joy and feelings of success.

In return, they have spoiled me rotten, not with physical expensive goods, but with a life of love and comfort. They taught me to work hard and to be responsible, that the choices I make are choices I have to live with. My life is what I chose to make of it.

At the same time, they also made it clear that I would always have a roof over my head and a hot dinner waiting for me, in times good or bad.

I love them both and I know they both love me.

Here’s to another 40!

Should I Have Learned Something?

Let me just start off by saying that I know the real moral of this story: When it’s late on a Saturday night and you’re about to go to bed, just ignore the invitation for one more round.

In fact, this whole thing could be titled “I Know Better.”

After a lovely Saturday of sitting at an outdoor café, drinking lots of wine, and not eating nearly enough, I was ready to call it a night.

But then a pair of glamorous women called saying ”Join us!”

And so I did.  Already teetering as I walked, I grabbed a cab and met these ladies at a fancy, dark bar, on a high floor overlooking the city.

I like these two, and I know them well, have for years.  They are fun, deep down I think they are good and interesting and I have always enjoyed their company.  But, they are known for hitting the town and getting rich men to pay attention (and the bill).

Oh, and one used to be an NFL cheerleader.

As the night wore on, the non-cheerleader announced she was tired, and headed home.  I expected the cheerleader to do the same, but she wanted to stay and hang some more.

We sat facing each other, she made the occasional sexy comment, the conversation was entertaining, slightly intimate.  Reaching for something I accidentally brushed a breast.  It really was an accident and I immediately apologized.  She smiled and said something to the effect of “I kind of liked it.”  Things get hazy now, but I’m pretty sure I touched it again, on purpose, without getting smacked.

So the flirting kicked up a notch (if you’re touching a cheerleader’s breast in a public place, can it even be called flirting anymore?).  I blathered on drunkenly about how beautiful she is, but so smart too, blah blah blah… and she grabbed her bag, my hand, and said, let’s go.

Giddyup.

Or so I thought. 

I whispered something sweet into her ear in the elevator, brushed it lightly with my mouth, and then I went in for the kiss.

Rejection is too strong of a word.  It also would have been obvious what that meant.  Her reaction was more of a demure head turn in the other direction, enough not to be a kiss, but not enough to make me think I was barking up the wrong tree.

She gave me a lift home, and I tried again in the car… same result… but the same feeling that there was the possibility, if not tonight, next time.

Sunday morning, in addition to a text from her saying she had lots of fun and always done with me late at night, I found the receipts.  Sure I paid for drinks, but I also paid for her parking.

WTF?

2.0 – Part One

September 2001 was a bit of a blur for me.  I realize it was for most people, but in addition to the obvious, it was also the time when my wife and I decided quickly and firmly to call it quits.  In some parts of my brain it was in early September, but in other parts I remember that we had a birthday party for me at our house, and that would have been later that month.  Because I really can’t remember the date I showed up on my parents doorstep with a suitcase and a cat, looking for a temporary place to stay, I just consider September to the beginning of life 2.0.

What this means is that I have been single, again, for 9 years now.  In that time I’ve dated, slept around and had a couple of good serious relationships. 

To some, it may appear that I have not made a lot of progress in finding the Mrs. John.

They wonder, worry, ask why that wonderful John (and they do say wonderful, because, truth be told, I am) hasn’t settled down again.

My closest friends know the answer.

I am super picky this time.

I know exactly what I want, I want a lot, I do not want to compromise.

For a year or so I dated a woman I’ll call OP.  Our personalities clicked.  We had so much fun together.  Cracked each other up to the point of having breathing problems.  We were both professionally successful, we looked good together, our friends liked each other.  We were almost a power couple, except we weren’t all that famous.  It was a blast! 

There was just one problem.

We had the worst sex.

All of the chemistry we had was out of the bedroom.  In the bedroom, our movements were jerky, our timing was off.  When I pushed, she pulled, if she went fast, I desired slow. What I wanted to do didn’t interest her.  What she wanted to try did nothing for me.

It was the way sex was when I was a teen.  But back then I was a teen and just having sex was great.  We were now in our mid-30s.  

Eventually, it got to the point where at the end of the night I was hoping we’d go to bed at different times. Or be too drunk.  Or have intestinal distress.

Some people say that over the long run, it’s the chemestry we did have that wins out.  To them, I say, yeah, in friendships. 

The bad stuff doesn’t just suck within the bad stuff.  It bleeds into the good stuff.  Eventually the fun part wasn’t as fun because the shitty sex hung out there too. 

So we ended it. 

And now, several years later, we are fabulous friends.  When we’re out, people assume we’re a couple, they’re shocked when we say we aren’t. 

We know why.  And we know it’s much better this way.

Coming Up:

The relationships that were the opposite… waking up the neighbors, sex in cars and parks, inabilities to keep hands off of each other… and not an interesting thing to say over dinner.

A New Direction

Once upon a time I wrote a blog and friends read it, commented on it, told me I was like Hemingway*.

And then a couple of things happened.  I realized that some of the things I really wanted to write about were too personal.  There were things about myself that I wanted to touch on, but that I didn’t want my friends to actually connect to me.  There were also the more fun things that I thought would be fun to write about, but would include too much adult information, some about people who were also reading the blog.  Typing out the details of a great night in bed with a beautiful blond woman wasn’t all that cool since that blond might read those details the next day.

There was also the issue of the college stalker, the crazy woman whom I met in the fall of 1988, who started reading my old blog.  I don’t want her to know anything about my life.  Ever.  She’s messed up.  I’ll tell that story down the road.

But then a wonderful thing happened.  I reached out to another blogger (who is also my sole reader at this point) who encouraged me to re-enter this world, more anonymously.  Take a new direction.

And then she cracked herself up, and me, suggesting I take a nude erection.

A title was born.

I have a wonderful friend who knows I can’t help coming up with terrible puns and double entendres.  She can see the look in my eye, and then just says “here we go.”

The tag lines for A Nude Erection have been coming to me and I just know my friend would be rolling her eyes.

• It’s Big
• Guaranteed To Satisfy
• A Perfect Entry Every Time
• Sometimes Things Get Hard
• Slipping You Something Good
• It Will Make You Feel Good
• Coming At You
• A Perfect Fit
• You’ll Get The Point
• I’m Excited
• You Know You Want To Look
• It Fits, I Print
• Gulp
• Never Too Big, Never Too Small
• Never More Than You Can Handle
• Probing Deep
• Harder Than Ever
• Wow!
• Dropping Loads… Of Information (ok, that one’s too much)

Do you have a favorite?

*No one ever told me I was like Hemingway