Bob Gibbons TOC and Cameron Visit

A tradition for us on Memorial Day weekend is to head down to Durham or Chapel Hill to watch some AAU basketball at the Bob Gibbons Tournament of Champions. This annual event takes place around the Triangle with various facilities at Duke, UNC, and NC State used as well as some local high school gyms.

Typically the event brings some of the best rising Juniors and Seniors from across the country, though the talent level was significantly diluted this weekend due to the presence of a competing and conflicting Nike Elite Youth Basketball League event this weekend in Los Angeles.

The Gibbons tournament is in its 17th year. Bob Gibbons was a North Carolina high school coach, based in Lenoir, who pioneered the development of modern era national recruiting services in the late 1970s. Over 300 colleges subscribed to his scouting newsletters and reports. Once the Internet fireball hit, the whole marketplace exploded. There are over 75 national recruiting services in existence today.

I usually prefer to take in the games at the Smith Center (where 3 games are run simultaneously), But this year we headed to the games on the Duke Campus. One day pass is $5.00 with $10.00 for the weekend pass.  Games at the Duke Campus are held at Cameron Indoor Stadium as well as Card Gym and Wilson Rec Center right across from Cameron. 

It had been 5 years or so since I had been in Cameron and there are new basketball practice facilities adjacent as well as a new Duke Sports Hall of Fame. 

(The following slideshows from my Flickr Account require the Adobe Flash Plugin in your browser. When you start the slideshow, you can get a full-screen image by clicking on the control with four dots at the bottom right hand corner of the slideshow.)

Inside the Seating Bowl. The arena itself of course is a historic venue. 



Crow's Nest. Had been interested in checking out the Crow's Nest (an area basically carved out of the rafters where national TV crews do their business). I can only imagine how tightly cramped (and hot) those quarters become when you try to squeeze in a play-by-play guy, a color analyst like big Coach Rick Majerus or Lennie Elmore, and required production folks in that nest.



Concourse. Since my last time there the concourse had received a new makeover, but there is only so much lipstick you can put on the infrastructure of a building that opened in 1940. 



Hall of Fame. A recent edition is a new Duke Sports Hall of Fame (which is inside of Cameron).



These events are sparsely attended (even in basketball crazy North Carolina). As a result, you can often find yourself sitting by family members and acquaintances of the players.

In 2003, we had the unfortunate experience of sitting by the mother of Josh Smith. He was playing along with Dwight Howard on a loaded 17-Under Atlanta Celtics team. Mom may be a wonderful person when not watching Josh play, but she spent the entire game bad-mouthing the guards on her son's team. The thing that bothered me was that the kids she was ridiculing were playing hard and were not playing that poorly. They were mid-major prospects playing against a future NBAer in Jordan Farmar. Josh went pro straight out of high school the next year and he made $10.8 million last season. Mom is probably set for life now and couldn't give two cents about my opinion, but she reminded me of an obnoxious Little League Mom.

No issues with bad parents this year. Midway between the second game, Tyler Zeller (rising junior at UNC) and his parents sat down in our section preparing to watch another Zeller (Cody) play for the Indiana Elite team. (A third seven-foot Zeller brother - Luke - graduated from Notre Dame last year.) What in the hell do they feed those kids? Mom and Dad are big people, but seemed to be very relaxed and laid back and cheered for all of their son's teammates.




They were joined by a young man wearing Indiana University basketball shorts who had all the looks of an assistant coach. He made small talk with the Zellers the entire game. (I have been trying to figure out if he indeed is a member of Tom Creen's staff.) Of course, since this is a Dead Period for college basketball recruiting, in-person contact between a coach and a recruit is not permitted - but assuming he even was a coach, nothing wrong about being seen or making sure Mom and Dad are doing OK. 

Correction - The NCAA Recruiting Calendar for Men's Basketball shows this to be a Quiet Period . During Quiet Periods, a coach is permitted to have direct contact with a recruit only if the recruit makes an unofficial visit to that coach's campus. For on-campus tournaments held in the Quiet Period, a loophole allows, effectively, any one of the players in town this weekend (after being eliminated from the tournament) to stroll into the office of Coach K or Roy Williams and chew the fat. The rich get richer.

As if the cynicism quotient on this blog already isn't high enough, I have to go there one more time. Coach K is a Hall-of-Fame Coach. His teams always 1) Play hard 2) Play together. His record speaks for itself - think about 77-22 in the NCAA Tournament. But at some point he morphed into something more - a motivational and leadership guru with wisdom to impart to folks in all walks of life beyond just basketball. Fair enough. He certainly isn't the first coach to cash in on this gig and there seems to be no shortage of corporate suckers that will gladly lap this stuff up. ($40K+ an engagement plus travel expenses - only in America).

One of the offshoots of this more-than-just-a-basketball-coach thing is the K Academy. It is a fantasy camp where you pay $10,000 dollars and for five days, get wisdom from the master and play on a team coached by a Blue Devil great. Apparently, this is a big deal as K has elevated a K Academy Championship to a status just below an NCAA Title.



Amazing. So for 10K and five days of physical sacrifice at the Washington Duke Inn and Golf Course, some corporate titans can be immortalized in Cameron by leading Team Battier to a K Academy 'ship. I wonder how the players who are responsible for those real NCAA titles feel about the positioning of those banners.

For all I know, those K Academy banners may be temporary and only there in the summer for the upcoming 2010 K Academy, but I can't resist a good rant - it is my blog and I'll rant if I want to :-)

The seamy side of AAU basketball has been well documented. Street agents and handlers. Shoe company influence, shady coaches, and boosters. But all of that crap goes out the window at the center jump - then it is just ball. 

Sports in America is an incredibly meritorious system and nowhere more so as in basketball. These kids get to this point only with an incredible amount of hard work. Some of them will make it to the next level and an elite few to the NBA. It is fashionable to bash the quality of play - I bemoan the lack of mid-range game - everything is either dribble penetration or a three. But I saw four entertaining games on Saturday and it was a great time. Even got a chance to see Pitt Recruit John Johnson put up 35 or so in a losing effort for Team Philly.

Cool Runnings

In the spring of 1974, the Altoona  Parochial League held an Olympiad of track and field events at the BGHS practice field at Pleasant Valley. I did well. In the 50 yard dash, I finished second to Matt Schimminger from Our Lady of Lourdes and I think the other medal was gold for some sort of sprint relay with some other guys from McNelis. 

(I'd like to tell y'all that I was some sort of fast little white boy. But the truth of the matter was this was Altoona and the APL. Not exactly a rich fertile recruiting ground for high major athletes like, say, Dade County in South Florida.)

What strikes me about the above photo, beyond the obvious impression of what a dork I looked liked then, was what I was wearing. Dress shorts, some sort of weird tank-top, knee high tubers, and a belt! Geez, I am thinking if I had some proper running apparel, I could have maybe beaten Schimminger. You don't see Usain Bolt blazing away wearing a black leather belt!

"White, Discussion" in Charleston

 

I Talk of Freedom
You Talk of the Flag
I Talk of Revolution
You'd Much Rather Brag
And as the Decibels of This Disenchanting
Discourse Continue to Dampen the Day
The Coin Flips Again and Again, and Again,
And Again As Our Sanity Walks Away

"White, Discussion", Live, Throwing Copper (1994)

The capital city of West Virginia, Charleston, sits at the junction of I-79 and I-77. It is about 280 miles from Hillsborough and 230 miles from Pittsburgh so it makes a nice mid-way stopping point on the journey back to the 'Burgh.

On a trip to see the Pirates in August, 2005, Chris and I stopped for a night there to take in a West Virginia Power game at the (then) newly opened Appalachian Power Park.

This was a really weird evening. 

As usual, we got there just as the gates opened to check out the park. It was a warm and muggy Tuesday evening. We were staying downtown in a somewhat seedy area but it was within a couple of blocks from the park so we walked from our hotel.

Quick tour of the ballpark and its time to quench the thirst. Pull up to the concessions and see that they have a 32-oz domestic draft for $4.00. I am all about value (and I am not driving), so I go with that. At the DBAP in 2005, $5.00 would only get me 24-oz - do the math - prorated that is like 16 oz of free beer. Pay the man the money, grab my brew and exit left only to hear "Excuse me sir - this is Two-For-Tuesday - Buy One - Get One Free Night."  Yikes!

Beer is living proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. - Benjamin Franklin

At this point, I am a bit conflicted and the gears in my mind start grinding. I have never been able to slam or binge beer and have never had a real large capacity. Free beer is a gift, but warm beer is icky. On the other hand, wasted beer is a tragedy. Screw it, I grab my sixty-four oz and head to our seats.

We were sitting a couple of rows behind the visitor's dugout. It was still an hour or so before first pitch when I started attacking the first beer. No one else was sitting in our section but there was a group of five middle-aged guys standing on the concourse behind our section. From their looks, they appeared to be suburban middle-manager types (trust me, I know the look) who had started getting their drink on much earlier than I.

A couple of minutes later, one of the visiting players, a Latin American who looked like he was about 17, emerges from the dugout and heads down the line to join some teammates stretching and throwing. It is still eerily quiet when one of the middle managers (a portly Michael McDonald-lookalike with grey beard) yells to him:

Hey Martinez! I slept with your sister last night! She was awesome!-Michael McDonald-lookalike

To the kid's credit, he just smiled and kept walking. This would go on the entire evening. Relentless. Persistent. Creative. These guys were all over the visitors. Free beer and West Virginia make for a potent combination. (I am really glad that I didn't wear any Pitt paraphernalia that evening.)

But we are just getting started. Around the second inning and well into the second 36-ozes, I notice the smell of burnt hamburger buns wafting over from behind home plate. I also strain to make out what sounds like an organized chant when a Power pitcher strikes out a batter.

At the end of the half-inning I walk down to that section to check it out. Sure enough, there is this dude in the first row by the visitor's dugout with loafs of bread and a toaster (sitting on a little table) plugged into a full-duplex receptacle. I am in the presence of the legendary Toastman.

Atr this point, I am thinking that if I hadn't already purchased Bucco tickets for the next 2 days, I might just stay here for the remainder of this series.  Free beer, Michael McDonald, and the Toastman. But the main event was still yet to unfold.

Around the top of the sixth, Chris and I leave our assigned seats and take a walk to get vantage points of the game from different locations. (We often do this.)

We settle on a position behind home plate, standing on the concourse to take in an inning or two. Within seconds, it is apparent that a couple of late thirty something men (within 10 feet of us) are having a spirited discussion about politics.

On the Left, we have a short, thin, balding guy with a vague resemblance to Jeff Van Gundy. Kind of soft-spoken compared to his opponent. On the Right, there was a black-haired husky guy with a beer belly and a beard. Imagine a slightly toned-down version of Stan Van Gundy with a beard.

For the next 50 minutes and 2 1/2 innings, these guys went hard at each other in a classic mano-a-mano. Think Borg-McEnroe on Centre Court in 1980 for 5 sets. Twice the frantic action was interrupted as the participants drained their weasels and restocked on that free West Virginia nectar.

About 10 minutes in, I looked at Chris and asked him if he wanted to head back to our seats, but he was hooked as well. "Nah - I am good here". Even at age 15, kid knew he was witnessing something special.

Liberals and Conservatives. Now there are a couple of 4-12 teams. - Dennis Miller, before he fixed his business model.

Every imaginable, superficial, talking point was levied in this battle. Every easily debunked myth was fired. Every opinion echoed as fact with 100% certainty in its purity of truth.


Clinton was responsible for 911. USS Cole. Clinton apprehended and jailed the 1993 Trade Center bombers. Wag the dog. Bush ignored the PDB. Yellow cake. Reagan emboldened terrorists by bailing in Beirut. Reagan single-handedly won the Cold War. Carter's incompetence. Reagan's imperialism. Cheney and Haliburton. Cheney is no longer with Haliburton. Cheney still has stock options. We are fighting them over there so we don't have to fight them here. Why is Haliburton uniquely qualified to do no-bid construction projects? Why don't you support the troops? We armed Saddam Hussein. You are either with us or against us. Bush lied and people died. Why don't you want the people of Iraq to have freedom and democracy?

Geez Louise! This was just on the War on Terror piece of this marathon. Clearly these guys had a long-standing relationship from the tone of their heated discussion. After 15 minutes or so, as they transitioned from topic to topic, I would (internally in mind) arrange a check list to see how many predictable themes I could identify before they brought them up in their enlightening discussion. I was batting 80% when I stopped trying.

The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter. - Winston Churchill

Things got out of control at the end when the discussion moved on to a vote that WV Senator John Rockefeller had made in support of funding for education and contraceptives to curb teen pregnancies. Stan remarked that he'd wish that funding was in place when Jeff's mom was trying to conceive Jeff. No he didn't! Oh snap! Jeff got right into Stan's face, Stan pushed Jeff back and they tussled for about 10 seconds before a security guard escorted Stan out. (Why Stan? Yet another chapter in the book of the Conservative Persecution Complex.)

What a Night!

Digging for Gold

One of my earliest mentors in IBM was John Jones. I was hired into IBM in the same department as John in the Federal Systems Division in Gaithersburg in July 1984. For some reason, John took me under his wing, taught me the ropes, and always kept an eye out for me. In fact, he was instrumental in getting me into my first Software Engineering position in IBM (I was originally hired as something called a Systems Engineer).

From what I recall (it has been 23 years or so since working with John), he was raised in Virginia (Richmond, I believe), had a wicked and acerbic Southern wit, spent some time in the Navy, and had spent a number of years as an IBM Customer Engineer before moving into FSD. 

John despised corporate-speak, pretense, and political correctness. He had high personal standards when it came to the quality of his work products and expected his peers to match his standards. If you didn't, John would have no problem calling you out. He didn't suffer fools gladly and he relished challenging authority if he thought he was right - the dude had major stones. In thinking back, he was personality-wise sort of an edgier (almost nasty) Shelby Foote.

He could also bust chops with the best of them.

Before going through a near-death experience in the early 90s, IBM had accumulated lots of older folks who were riding the proverbial gravy train, just waiting for retirement. From the IBM Jargon Dictionary:

gold-coaster n. Someone who is “coasting” until retirement. This term is especially applied to such a person who acquires or applies for a transfer to Boca Raton or Tampa, in Florida. The local tourist agencies’ name for that part of Florida is the “Gold Coast” [hence the nice double meaning]. See also IPR, ROJ.

The department that John and I worked in was tasked with building a configuration and costing management system (CCMS) that would be used to prepare hardware and software configurations, estimate fixed costs, and calculate monthly lease charges for large scale DOD logistics programs that IBM FSD would bid on. We had 5 or 6 on the team, but John and I basically did the bulk of the work. John was the lead designer and I was the lead developer. We also had a good sub-contractor on the team. The other folks on the team were along for the ride and that used to piss John off to no end.

One of the guys, let's call him BL, was truly dead wood. BL had a bad habit of sometimes falling asleep after lunch. He had a private office with his 3279 workstation on the wall opposite the wall with the door. So he would sit facing his tube but with his back to the hallway (napping in an upright position, which is actually pretty hard to do). From the hallway, walking by, it appeared he was working. Unfortunately, for BL, John sniffed this out.

John and I and one other gold-coaster shared an open office that was a good 35 feet from BL's private office. If John detected that BL was snoozing and he was walking by, he would grasp BLs office door handle and, with some serious force, slam that mother like there was no tomorrow. (The first couple of times it actually startled me - I can only imagine what it did to BL!) Sure enough, 10 seconds or so after that crack of thunder, John would stroll into our office with a shit-eating grin.

In FSD, every quarter or so, we would have all-hands meeting for our area where the executives would cover the state of the business. Since this was before the age of teleconferencing and Web Meetings, we would actually physically congregate in the Building 181 Auditorium at the Gaithersburg Site. This was a large room with theater-style seating into which you could probably squeeze 500 or so employees.

On one such occasion in 1985, when I was in IBM Rockville, I car-pooled with John for the short trip north to Gburg. I don't remember anything about that meeting, but I'll never forgot the return trip back to Rockville.

John was driving and so we get on I-270 south at the MD-124 exit for the short trip down to the Shady Grove Road exit. About halfway between the two exits, John (who was driving in the right hand lane) looked at me and said "Nedimyer, I think that is Geno ahead of us." John always called me Nedimyer. Geno was GC, a telecommunications guru on our team. Decent guy, middle-aged, bearded, balding, and pleasant enough. GC was in the second lane from the right.

For some reason, John pulls up almost parallel to GC but a foot or so behind him - right in his blind spot -  and just hangs out there looking over at GC. Fate then intervenes - GC takes his index finger, and, you got it, inserts it into his nose. (Unlike Jerry, this was definitely inside!)



At this point, John looks over at me and sighs "I'll be damned". I just looked back at John and placed my palms face-up with a "What the hell do you want me to do about it?" look.

Without a spoken word, John slowly pulls even to GC and gives a gentle tap on the horn. GC looks over and gives a pleasant wave back to John. John waves at GC, smiles, takes his index finger, and jams it up his nose. GC returned the middle finger.

I almost wet my britches.

Strange Bedfellows

What Joe Said?

• I'd really love to do a long-term home-and-home with Pitt, but we just can't fit it in - it has nothing to do with me being a bitter old man. 
• When I chased down and accosted that referee (without penalty) in 2002, I was just trying to get him to relax like this.
• Of course, I support inclusion of Pitt for the Big Ten's next round of expansion.
• I am 23-7-1 against Pitt and I am going to die 23-7-1 against Pitt.

What Dave Was Thinking?

• This Penn State logo behind me looks more like a chipmunk than a lion.
• I am a 57 year-old man - could you please take your hands off of me! 

(This was actually a press conference where Paterno and Wannstedt announced support of a proposal to allow spring foootball practice in PA high schools and a rotating clinic for high school coaches.)

IBM Locations At Which I Have Worked

Useless trivia, courtesy of Google Maps. Some of the main locations within IBM at which I have worked over the last quarter century.

1. IBM Gaithersburg - 800 North Frederick Avenue Gaithersburg,MD - Main Site Bldg 181. July, 1984 - November, 1984. This was the longstanding main IBM Gaithersburg site. B181 was showing a lot of wear and tear when I was there and the spiffy new Bldg 183 (part of the same complex) was just opening up. But this building still retains sentimental value
2. IBM Gaithersburg - 778 Quince Orchard Rd, Gaithersburg, MD - November, 1984 - May, 1985. This was one of a collection of I believe 3 or 4 satellite buildings down the road from the Main Site that sat between Quince Orchard and Firstfield Rd. Seems that IBM hired so many people in 1984 (and thank God for that), they didn't really have any place to put them. This was definitely temporary quarters (2 stories with a tiny soup and sandwich cafe in the basement). Since my apartment complex was a couple of hundred yards behind it, it worked great for me. Walking to work. Imagine that!
3. IBM Rockville - 1301 Piccard Drive Rockville, MD - "Calculon Building" - May 1985 - November, 1988. When Federal Systems branched off into Systems Integration Division, this was the location to which the SID projects were moved. When still living in G-burg, this was a longer commute, but not too bad - avoided I-270 and took MD-355 to Shady Grove Road. When we moved to Frederick, I would have to leave my apartment by 6:00 AM anyway to beat the mess on I-270.
4. IBM RTP - 3039 Cornwallis Road Durham, NC - 002 Complex - Bldg 062 - November, 1988 - April, 1993. This building housed the development lab for NetView and other network management products. It was part of the massive RTP main site complex, which bordered the Durham Freeway and stretched from Alexander Drive down to Cornwallis Road.
5. IBM RTP - 4205 South Miami Blvd Durham, NC - 500 Complex. April 1993 - February, 2000. This complex almost was brand new when I got to RTP - I think it opened in 1987 and was the primary programming lab for all the major Networking Software products within RTP.
6. IBM RTP - 4400 Silicon Drive Durham, NC - IBM had leased a couple of these buildings off Chin Page Rd adjacent to Cree Semiconductor. I only spent about half a year there in 1994 when our group was being moved between 062 and the 500 Complex.
7. IBM RTP - 3901 South Miami Blvd Durham, NC - Bldg 510 - February, 2000 to Present. IBM bought Tivoli Systems in 1996 and plans were put in place to build a dedicated development lab for the system management products developed as part of the Tivoli brand in RTP. Right across the street from the 500 Complex, but, for awhile anyways, was the envy of all of RTP with free perks and a really nice cafeteria.

Just in looking at these satellite images, I am struck by how much more pastoral (and calm) Research Triangle Park appears to be when compared to the I-270 Technology Corridor.

While living in Montgomery and Frederick County, I had become increasingly disillusioned by the traffic, congestion, and cost of living in the outer suburbs of DC.

In Frederick I was commuting 35 miles one way just to get to work in Rockville, which was still 25 miles outside of DC. At this point in time, I-270 was undergoing massive construction, so if I didn't get to the I-270 interchange in Frederick by 6:00 AM, I was screwed. The commute home was always an adventure.

The DC Metro area has a ton of advantages (all the aspects of living in a major cosmopolitan area and an incredible array of varied high-tech jobs). But I could never get past the congestion and cost of living hurdles.

That, combined with a desire to move into commercial product development within IBM and away from federal work, led me to the Carolinas. RTP had all the professional advantages for a software engineer at a much lower cost of living and at a much more measured pace.

True Warriors

Snake bit. Really no other way to look at it. Garrett Jones Hospitalized - Food Stuck In Throat. What do you think he was eating?

"It wasn't severe," Russell said before batting practice. "It was just that he swallowed something and it wouldn't go down. You know how when there's swelling in that area and you can't get something down and need a drink? He just couldn't get it down. I think he's had this before -- not this severe, but he swallowed and it wouldn't go down."

I hope the skipper was as uncomfortable saying those words as I was reading them.

When I read that story I couldn't help but think of that scene from Slap Shot where team announcer Jim Carr was interviewing Dave "Killer' Carlson. (Carr was based on real-life Johnstown sport's anchor Bill Wilson, all the way down to the bad toupee.)

Jim: With us in the press box is injured Chiefs defenceman, Dave Carlson. Dave, is it tough sitting here watching your team lose like this?
Dave: Definitely, Jim.
Jim: You injured your knee in a game.
Dave: No.
Jim: No? I thought you had.
Dave:No, I have a cold. You know, the runny nose and the sore throat. I went out in that storm there last week to start my car. I didn't have my jacket on. I think it's settled in my kidneys.

Separation of Church and Baseball

Since I haven't been up to PNC Park to see the Pirates since the 2007 Season, I was scouting some potential games at the Pirate's web site. I realize that they have recently been outscored by 72-12 in a 7 game losing streak over the last week or so and all indications are that this may be a historically bad year for the Bucs, but I guess it is something in the blood. A trip to PNC is always a blast (win or lose). 

One thing I have noticed in this year's promotional schedule is the paucity of bobblehead-related promotions. But then again, with the scarcity of major league talent on the roster, the pickens are pretty slim (beyond Andrew McCutchen). In the past, a bobblehead or fireworks promotion on a weekend date has always been good for 30K or more at PNC.

Maybe the Pirates need to think outside the box and consider introducing biblical-based promotions like the one Chris and I encountered on one of our minor league baseball trips in 2006.

On a pretty consistent basis, the boys and I schedule in a trip to a couple or three minor league baseball teams each summer. We are within comfortable driving distances of many of these baseball towns, with the South Atlantic League being a major presence in our region. We have been to Asheville, Lynchburg, Greenville, Charlotte, Charleston, and Kannapolis among others over the last few years. We stay at cheap motels but have a blast and the affordable cost of minor league baseball is easy on the wallet.

After hitting Kannapolis (and the Dale Earnhardt-inspired Intimidators) in 2006, we made the trek to Hickory, NC for a SAL game with the (at the time) Single A affiliate of the Pirates, the Hickory Crawdads.

Our game was a Sunday evening tilt in June and, as we walked to the gates at LP Frans Stadium from our parking spot, I heard several of the youngsters surrounding us clamoring about the Moses Bobblehead that they would be receiving.

Since I am totally oblivious to most things spiritual, I started racking my brain trying to come up with baseball-related legends with the name Moses that might be associated with that afternoon's promotion - but I was coming up dry. So I figured it must be some local legend of Hickory minor league lore, like Crash Davis of the Bulls. 

We approach the gate and receive our bobblehead packaged in a plain white box. We tear into the box and stare in amazement at the following:

 

Ever the perceptive one, I am barely through the turnstiles when I begin to understand that this is some sort of Christian Youth day at the old ballpark. On the main concourse behind home plate there is a folk group rocken out some evangelical tunes (nothing like that to get you fired up for the game) and of course the usual posse are handing tickets out for God and meeting and greeting.

At this point, a terrible chill runs down my spine at the thought that there may not be beer available at this event.

 

My fears were assuaged however as I encountered no problem accessing suds that day (though the lines were shorter than usual - imagine that.)

Sorry, but I was a bit put-off by the whole deal. Sort of like the scene in Bull Durham when Nuke gets the call up....

• Nuke: I'm going to the Show. They're sending me up to finish out the season with the Big Club. I'm going to the Show!
• Nuke's Dad: Let's have a quick word of prayer, right here, to thank the Lord for all this--
• Annie: Oh let's not...

I guess some folks won't be satisfied until their idiotic Culture Wars have infiltrated every aspect of this country. Would it kill these people to let some of us have three hours of isolation from this ongoing battle between Good and Evil?

The next day, I sent an email to the Crawdads asking the team when they would be hosting bobblehead promotions for the Prophet Muhammad and Joseph Smith and suggesting that maybe they just go all in and get John Travolta lined up for an old Scientology Night at LP Frans. (Assuming that the big guy can't be beamed in.)  No response. I was fishing but they weren't biting. 
If you can't beat them (or ignore them - apparently I can't), I guess you have to join them. I am thinking that the Pirates are going to need all the help they can get over the next few years in getting fannies into the seats. So maybe these promotions would do the trick.

1. The Virgin Mary/Franco Harris Immaculate Conception/Reception - Bobblehead Night. This works on so many levels. Anything associated with the Steelers of the 70s will bring folks in Pittsburgh out, but incorporating Mother Mary and one of the most famous events in sports history takes it to a whole other place. I bet you this would kill in the Catholic Markets. Sponsored by Sanofi-Aventis with free samples of Clomid to the first 5000 fans (females that is). Variations of this (without the Virgin Mary) would also play well in Utah.
2. Job Bobblehead Night. Can any collection of fans in all of sports identify more with this poor guy than Pirate's fans? This simple figurine would consist of Job with his best "Why Me Father?" look in the front with the Pirate's losing records (from 1993 to 2009) etched into the back of the base. Maybe combine this with a classy pre-game ceremony honoring (or ridiculing?) those fans who have had Pirate's season tickets since the 1993 season. 
3. Lucifer/Bob Nutting Bobblehead Night. Not much needs to be added about this one. As a twist, we can have a pull-cord that, when yanked, spews some of the Pirates's owner's best quips like the one about the Pirates possessing  "the single best management team in all of baseball, maybe in all of sports". On the downside, I am thinking that, mixed in with large quantities of alcohol, we could have an unfortunate scenario unfold where those bobbleheads get chucked onto the field. (Hell, Dave Parker was coming off back-to-back MVPs and he was dodging batteries thrown at him in right field at Three Rivers in 1979.)

Of course, if none of these ideas take hold and the Pirates continue to struggle on the field and at the gate, some can certainly take a cue from this little guy.