Just Hard to Get

I’ve had something I’ve wanted to write about for awhile now, since June, in fact… but I just couldn’t do it. It always came out maudlin, or self-serving, or critical or polemic or just foolish. And that wouldn’t do, not for this…

I lost a friend back in June. As far as I’m aware, he’s the only guy I knew who was in Iraq, and he got blown up by a mine. He was a 44-year-old Navy reservist, a Seabee. He had been in the Army as a young man, went back to school, spent some time in higher ed (which was where I met him), and then decided to re-up as a reservist. Our wives are closer than sisters, and he has two daughters near my daughter’s age.

And no, this is not the place to debate the wisdom of his decision, though God knows I have done it over and over again. He was doing what he enjoyed, what made him who he was, and more important, he was doing what he thought was right.

But I haven’t been able to frame it yet, haven’t been able to really understand it, haven’t gotten any peace about it. Until tonight. I was listening to some Rich Mullins… perhaps ironically, the last album he wrote before he himself died. This is the song, “Hard to Get”:

“You who live in heaven
Hear the prayers of those of us who live on earth…
Who are afraid of being left by those we love,
And who get hardened by the hurt.
Do you remember when You lived down here, where we all scrape
To find the faith to ask for daily bread?
Did You forget about us, after You had flown away?
Well, I memorized every word You said…
Still, I'm so scared, I'm holding my breath,
While You're up there just playing hard to get.

“You who live in radiance
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in skin.
We have a love that's not as patient as Yours was…
Still, we do love now and then.
Did You ever know loneliness? Did You ever know need?
Do You remember just how long a night can get,
When You were barely holding on,
And Your friends fall asleep,
And don't see the blood that's running in Your sweat?
Will those who mourn be left uncomforted,
While You're up there just playing hard to get?

“And I know You bore our sorrows,
And I know You feel our pain,
And I know it would not hurt any less,
Even if it could be explained.

“And I know that I am only lashing out
At the One who loves me most…
And after I figured this, somehow,
All I really need to know:

“Is if You who live in eternity
Hear the prayers of those of us who live in time?
We can't see what's ahead,
And we cannot get free of what we've left behind.
I'm reeling from these voices that keep screaming in my ears,
All the words of shame and doubt, blame and regret…
I can't see how you're leading me,
Unless you've led me here,
Where I'm lost enough to let myself be led.

“And so You've been here all along, I guess.
It's just Your way,
and You are just plain hard to get…”

Happy Birthday, Gary… I’m comforted knowing that you’re having a better time now than I’ve ever had in my whole life. So until that day…

Exits, graceful and otherwise

Well, the Dodger season is over, and it was a heckuva ride. Going further in the playoffs would have been a blast, of course, but I can't believe that anyone who carefully examined the Dodger roster can really be disappointed. A rookie catcher, a rookie left fielder, new faces at short, center, and first, no real third baseman until August, and a bullpen rebuilt enroute... this is not a playoff recipe. It reminded me a lot of the early 70's, when Campanis pieced together veterans (Dick Allen, Frank Robinson, an assortment of bad catchers) to keep things together until the golden prospects (Garvey-Lopes-Russell-Cey) arrived. Then things got better.

I have the same hope for this bunch; the kids that are up now appear to be for real, and there are a couple more hitters and several pitchers ready for their auditions. The next five years ought to be great fun.

And it helps a little to be able to say that LA went just as deep in the playoffs as the Yankees. The Boss' response was classic: he first issued a statement saying that the season was "not acceptable," then released a revised statement 90 minutes later, saying it was "absolutely not acceptable." Good thing that the housing market has cooled a bit now that Joe Torre will be shopping for west coast property again...

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So i guess there are fanboys, and there are boyfans. The latest spin on beloved Rep. Foley, the smooth-IM’ing Florida boyfan, is that he was abused by a priest when he was a kid. But, according to his lawyer, that (of course) doesn’t excuse his behavior… but (of course) it’s worth mentioning at a press conference, because (of course) it would explain why he’s such a damaged soul and such a victim himself (of course). Can you imagine the lawyers' conference: “Hmm, we’ve played the clergy abuse card, we’ve played the rehab card… can we put out a statement saying that he's 1/132 Iroquoi? Hey, if we could just leak that the LAPD planted DNA to frame him, we might not get Oprah, but maybe we could get Ellen!”

And while I’m reading this story, I’m listening to some old Oingo Boingo…

Only a lad, You really can't blame him
Only a lad, Society made him
Only a lad, He's our responsibility
Only a lad, He really couldn't help it
Only a lad, He didn't want to do it
Only a lad, He's underprivileged and abused
Perhaps a little bit confused

It's not his fault that he can't believe
It's not his fault that he can't behave
Society made him go astray
Perhaps if we're nice he'll go away
Perhaps he'll go away

Yes, Mr. Foley, please go away; perhaps in November we’ll send some more Grand Old Poseurs off with you… What? Oh, I’m sorry, did I forget to include the final line of the song? Well, I’ll let you find that yourselves…

Around the Dial...

So I'm driving around L.A. tonight, as I'm wont to do, listening to tunes. I used to listen to sports talk radio on these drives, but after some personnel changes on "the sports leader," well... I went out and bought myself a new mp3-capable CD player for the car. That's been a year ago now...

And tonight about 9:00 or so, the CD player starts buzzing, and humming. Not good...sounds like Ashlee Simpson's electrolysis lab. Then it starts to clunk and grind, like a garbage disposal. Then it does nothing. Somehow the nothing is more ominous than the buzz and hum and clunk and grind.

Damn. I start pushing buttons... can't get the CD out, but at least the radio still works. I start scanning for some music... but my now-acrid-smelling unit won't switch out of AM. Double damn.

So I start scanning AM, and I hear it. Familiar voice. Can't be... probably just sounds like him. Then he laughs. Son of a gun, it's him. Way down there on the other end of the dial. Son of a gun. Todd Wright is back on the air.

His departure from ESPN radio (almost exactly a year ago) is not something I have any inside info on, but apparently his contract was up, he was tired of working the ‘third’ shift (after nine years), tired of the network interference into his show’s elements, and they were tired of hearing him complain. So one night he was just flat out gone, like the DJ in the Kinks ‘Around the Dial,’ and there was a new guy in his chair. I was shocked, shocked, to find things like that happening in the radio business…

So it's great to have him back, even if it’s on the fiscally-precarious Sporting News Radio Network. Hopefully he'll have some resources and some freedom to shape the show to his liking, although his carefully worded barbs at his overseers in Bristol (he did his show from Florida) used to be pretty funny. You know, there is a theory out there that the best art arises out of adapting to the constraints put on it...

Anyway, I hope he’s having fun. And I'll probably get my CD player fixed, but now there's really no rush... so if you're in LA, he's on AM 1540 from 7-11 pm Sundays-Thursdays.

PS: and speaking of those who make their living from sports without being able to play a lick, Bill Simmons is diarying (??) his way through the baseball playoffs. I might give up a body part to write like Simmons, as long at it was something like an earlobe or my Isles of Langerhans.