Month: September 2016

Being in St. Louis is the most wonderful kind of nostalgic experience. The city grows, alters, changes, and adapts, but so much of it stays exactly the same, and it feels like I lived there yesterday. Growing up in a sports family, it’s a bit jarring that old Busch Stadium is gone, as is Busch II, and now we have Busch III, but it looks like it’s always belonged right where it is. The old St. Louis Arena is also long gone, where I saw concerts and attended hockey, indoor soccer, and basketball games as a fan, usher, and front-office executive, but across the highway is Forest Park, home of the 1904 World’s Fair, and just down Oakland Avenue is my high school, St. Louis U. High, where the main classroom building looks much like it did when it opened in 1924. Throughout all the change, the place stays very much the same.

To that end, you can still see elements of the 1904 World’s Fair in Forest Park, including the world-famous St. Louis Art Museum. And there is still a youth baseball field where old Busch (aka Sportsman’s Park) stood, on Grand Avenue. And on and on and on… 1904 Olympic Games? Yes, the main gate is still there, on the campus of Washington University, just west of Forest Park.

I arrived at Lambert Airport right on time on Friday and checked into the Homewood Suites, in Clayton. It’s the perfect place for me to stay, because I can get to the track in 15 minutes and get to Farotto’s in 5. Plus, I know every shortcut and backroad. Being there at 3:00 left me three hours until pizza with Kim and Chris, so I made a brilliant decision. I’d drive over to the track to pick up my credential and parking pass, thusly saving myself as much as 30 minutes on Saturday morning.

It was a bad decision. There’s construction on Highway 40 (yes, it’s I-64 now, but anyone my age still calls it Highway 40) and it took me one full hour just to get from the hotel to the Mississippi. Once at the track, things flowed a lot smoother, and I picked up my stuff at the VIP Credentials trailer with the sounds of Top Fuel cars serenading me. Yes, it’s a bit odd to be at a track and not actually go in, but by then I had to hustle to make dinner.

With my local knowledge, I skirted around the backed-up rush hour traffic on Highway 40 by zipping off at the Forest Park Parkway, taking it past the northern edge of Forest Park, then past Wash U. I took a left on Big Bend Blvd. (taking a look to my left to see the aforementioned Olympic Gate) and took that to Clayton Road, just a couple of miles from the hotel. You might want to print this out if you’re ever on your way to the Gateway City and need to get from downtown to Clayton while staying off the highway. You’re welcome.

Dinner was as marvelous as anticipated and, after we’d boxed up our leftovers, Kim and Chris invited me to see their home in Kirkwood, the same suburb I grew up in. I knew their neighborhood, but had never known anyone who lived there, so I had to follow Chris to make sure I pulled into the right driveway. Their home is charming, warm, inviting, and beautiful. I’m really glad I took the time to spend an hour with them there. Thanks guys!

On Saturday morning, I left the hotel a little early and hoped for the best in terms of traffic. Being a Saturday, though, I shouldn’t have worried. I never slowed down until I was at the entrance to the track. I wanted to get there a little early, because I also have enough experience to know that the Media/Gold Key parking lot at Gateway can fill up. It hadn’t yet, when I arrived, but when I went back to my car to get something a couple of hours later, there was a guy circling in his car, and he rolled down his window to ask me if I was leaving. The lot was full.

I headed straight for the Team Wilk pit area, to say hello to everyone, and that’s always a joyous thing. Krista Wilkerson’s hugs are legit. And, with this being the St. Louis race, the list of friendly faces was far lengthier than Sonoma or Brainerd. When I saw Jon and Susan Cagle in the back of the pit, and headed back there to see them, I was pleasantly surprised to see that Annette Schendel was there, as well. Annette and I joined the team in 2009 at the same time. We’ve shared a lot of mutual experiences, and nobody does hospitality management better than she did. It was great to see her. It was great to see everybody!

Shannon Heisler, who heads up marketing for LRS, appeared before my eyes and surprised me, because I had bought into the unsubstantiated rumor that she wouldn’t be in attendance. It was a pleasure and a privilege to work with her for seven years. LRS also has an auxiliary hospitality tent, trackside, at St. Louis because of the great number of guests and staffers they host at their “home race” so I went out there to see Shelley Williams, who was always so great to have with us whenever we’d have a “big race” in terms of hospitality. The definition of “big race” would generally be one at which Dick Levi himself would be in attendance, and that’s exactly what happens on Saturday in St. Louis.

Longtime Wilk friend and backer Tom Meyer has taken over many of my duties, in terms of the hospitality area, and he does a great job at it. He took the golf cart out to the main gate and escorted the limo (party bus) right to the pit. Well played, sir!

It was great to see Dick, and he smiled broadly when he saw me. He is, of course, the much-deserved center of attention when he’s at the track, so I spent a few minutes catching up with him and then let the masses surround him. Dick Levi is a class act. Period.

It was simply awesome to see everyone, including Andy Krug, Dan “Dozer” Hough, the Team Wilk crew guys, Leah Hook, and dozens of familiar faces in the hospitality area. At least two dozen fans shouted hello to me, in the pits, as well. It was good to be home.

It’s also great to be “home” with my former PR colleagues. Whenever I walk into the Media Center, it’s like I never left. Well, almost. As time passes, even just since this time last year, a few new faces have popped up in the room, and a few familiar ones are gone, off doing other wonderful writing and PR things (I’m talking about you, Kelly Topolinski and Pat Caporali.) Todd Myers, who doesn’t do the full tour anymore but did do the graphic design for the cover of my book, was there to do some contracted work for Rob Geiger, so it was awesome to see Toddly as well. Like a Todd bonus!

Elon Werner, Sadie Floyd, Cody Poor, Leah Vaughn, Laz Denes, Allison McCormick, Lee Montgomery, Jeff Wolf, Rik Anthony, John Procida, Scott Smith, John Bisci, Brandon Mudd, and everyone else I saw made it feel just like where I needed to be. And laughs were not in short supply.

I spent some time with Tim, up in the lounge, and once again it was like I’d never been gone. Good times. Dan Wilkerson and his brother Kevin were also there, but working on Brian Stewart’s car, so deja vu was in full force. In the staging lanes, I ran into Del Worsham and we chatted and laughed for a good 10 minutes. Del is being kind enough to write one of the “Forward” sections for my book, and we’re getting that done these days, as well. I spent 12 years with a very good man.

In terms of the racing, it was great to watch that happen from the Media Center, just to get that perspective on it. And it was incredible. The crowd was huge, right about at capacity, and the cars were flying. But, and this was the only downside to the day, the heat and humidity were pretty tough. It was St. Louis on full display, despite the fact it was the middle of September. It was the kind of day where your glasses would totally fog up the second you stepped out of any air-conditioned environment. I’d call that “blinding humidity” and I spent much of my life dealing with it, there. It comes with the territory. Here in Woodbury, it’s only 64 degrees today. And dry. I accept.

I stuck around until just before the final Funny Car session, and then beat the traffic getting out. Gateway’s staff does the best they can getting the traffic out after racing, but they’re mostly dealing with a lot of cars all trying to get out the same few exits, so it can be difficult. I had leftover Farotto’s waiting for me at my room. I needed to get there fast! One must be dedicated to one’s priorities!!!

On Sunday, I had booked myself on a late afternoon flight, just to have some options. When I got up, I knew I wanted to tour around some more, to see old neighborhoods and familiar places, but I also thought to check the Delta website to see if I could get on an earlier flight. Being Diamond Medallion (for a few more months) I can make same-day confirmed changes to my flights with no penalty, but only if seats are available. There was one First Class seat left on a flight two hours before mine, so I made the call. Getting home to Barbara, Boofus, and Buster was way more important than seeing old stomping grounds. And, since Barbara had to leave on Monday to go to Boston and New York, it was a good idea to get home and have a few extra hours with her.

I mostly drove around Kirkwood, the suburb I grew up in. On Sunday afternoon, the main downtown section, bisected by Kirkwood Road, was absolutely bustling. It was amazing. When I was a kid, we’d ride our bikes there and have the place mostly to ourselves. There was a Rexall Drug, a bakery, a hardware store, a couple of small shoe stores, a sporting goods store (Casey’s, where my dad worked during the baseball off-season) and an ice cream shop. Now, the whole area is full of bistros, restaurants, wine bars, and other cool destinations, and the sidewalks were packed. We call this “gentrification” I do believe.

I made a point of driving by Woodleaf Court, where I grew up, and I took this photo of 513 Woodleaf. It’s a little sad the basketball hoop is gone, because I spent endless hours shooting baskets out there, but the house looks fantastic. I also noticed that the house next door, owned forever by the Hargis family, is for sale. To say I was stunned to see it listed for $295,000 is an understatement. Our house cost $22,000 when my folks bought it around 1954. After they moved to assisted living and we put it on the market in the late 90s, I don’t think we even got close to $100,000 for it. The new owners have completely renovated and updated it, tearing out walls and ceilings to create a huge amount of open space (I haven’t stepped foot in it since we sold it, but I’ve seen photos online) and I’d think they’d have no trouble getting $300,000 for it if they put it on the market. Kirkwood is a really hot real-estate location now, and we know what sells. Location, location, location.

If the asphalt on that driveway at 513 could talk, it would have many tales of basketball, Wiffle Ball (home plate was right in front of the garage door and any ball clearing the middle of the street was a home run) and driving lessons. When we were little, and Dad brought home snow skis from the sporting good store, we learned to stay upright by gliding down the little hill next to the steps, then we graduated to the street, before we ever set a ski on a real slope.

Can you tell it was great to be back home again? I assume it’s pretty obvious.

I was happy to get back home to Woodbury, my real home now with my real family, and was happy my flight was right on time.

This week, my new passport arrived in the mail. That’s important because my previous one expires in January and I’m going to need a valid passport this winter. I’ll divulge that fun news at a later date, because our lives are alway in flux and you’re never really completely sure until it’s time to do something like getting on an airplane for a long flight to a place where you need a valid passport.

And, I’ve been waiting for my new Minnesota license plates to arrive and they came Tuesday. When we changed the registration for both cars about a month ago, I gave the clerk some options for new personalized tags, thinking maybe it was time to go with something baseball or music related. I tried 643-DP, and 543-DP, as well as YYZ2112 and 2112YYZ but the clerk kept saying “There’s no way that will be available” before she even looked. She was right. Just as I was about to take regular plates I asked about my old tags, NHRA FC. She looked that up and said, “Well, it’s still assigned to you. Do you still have the actual plates?”

I do, but they’re buried away in a box somewhere and I really didn’t feel like  A) Digging them out, and, B) Having to come back to the DMV to get them re-registered. So, she gave me a temporary tag and we had new ones made. I put them on the car this week. NHRA will be a big part of me for the rest of my life, so I might as well show that to the world.

As for the book, yesterday was a big day. I’d been struggling a bit over the prior 10 days, just not being happy with what I was putting on the page. My allergies were bad, and that made my head feel foggy, and it just wasn’t flowing as well as it had been for months. I was even going back and re-reading and thinking it was terrible, and that’s a bad frame of mind for a writer. Yesterday, the fog lifted and the logjam broke. I did some research in the morning, ate an early lunch, and at 12:30 sat down to do it. At 5:30, when I had to drive to the airport to pick up Barbara, I’d cranked out 16 new pages, and the flow was back. It felt good to get out of the funk, and I might just dive back in this afternoon after this blog gets posted. It’s time to get going on Chapter 33… Because the flow is back, BABY!

One of the things that’s hard to stay on top of are the two different applications I write in (not even counting email, which is a third). I write the book in Google Docs, and that has its own way of formatting and editing. I write this in WordPress, and it’s very different. For instance, when I hit “Return” to end a paragraph, WordPress jumps down two lines with one press of the key. When I do that on Google Docs, it only drops down one line, so I have to hit the key twice. There are a number of other little quirks like that, which succeed in keeping my feeble mind utterly confused. Basically, I’m constantly hitting the Return key twice here, then I have to delete one line to go back, because I write here once a week and I write the book the other four. I only have so much capacity left in my mental hard drive. What’s my PIN again? The struggle is so real.

So, here we are. The tour is already off to Maple Grove Raceway in Reading, where everyone can hope they don’t get soaked. Ah, the fond memories of the year we finished the Reading race on Wednesday… Good times.

I’ll be starting Chapter 33 as soon as I “recover” from this blog. It’s a lot of words and a lot of typing. Until I started “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” I never knew how physically challenging and mentally draining this much writing could be. Or maybe I’m just a wimp.

And, I’ll see you all next week!

Bob Wilber, at your service and home. Home is good.

 

In the interest of fair reporting, and honesty, I’ll admit that this particular blog installment has a chance to be a bit of a rambling runaway train. Why? Because I have a lot of little things to write about, but not one big subject. That’s the way blogging works, though, and I’m quite accustomed to sitting down at my desk without a real plan. Sometimes, the plan becomes clear once the words are on the page.

So, I’ll be getting on an airplane tomorrow, heading for St. Louis. There are all sorts of reasons why that’s a good thing. 1) I’m looking forward to seeing all of my former NHRA colleagues again. 2) I’ll be at the track on Saturday and that’s the single biggest day of the year for Levi, Ray & Shoup and Team Wilkerson, with Dick Levi in the house and thousands of guests at the race. 3) After I arrive on Friday I’ll be seeing my niece Kimberly and her husband Chris at Farotto’s for my favorite pizza on the planet Earth, with some epic toasted ravioli thrown in for good measure. 4) It’s my hometown.

The last time I lived in St. Louis was 1994. In March of that year, I accepted an offer to become the general manager of the Kansas City Attack indoor soccer franchise, and I left the Gateway Arch, Busch Stadium, Kirkwood, and Forest Park behind. But, and this is something most people can relate to, it’s still home and always will be.

I’ll spend Saturday at the track, reconnecting with some of the best people I ever worked alongside, and then I think I’ll switch to a later afternoon flight on Sunday, just to give myself a few hours to tour around town.

Typically, over the course of the many of the years we’ve been racing in St. Louis, I’d barely give myself enough time to see any of the old neighborhoods or landmarks, but this time I left myself the option of taking Sunday to do that. If that feels like the right thing to do, when I get up that morning, then that’s what I’ll do.

I always like visiting Woodleaf Court, the little cul de sac in Kirkwood where we all grew up. There’s no longer a basketball hoop next to the driveway in front of the house, but my footprints will always be associated with that strip of asphalt. Whether it was playing my sister Mary in a game of H-O-R-S-E or my buddy Mitch in an epic series of Whiffle Ball games, that driveway and I are forever linked. For the record, Mary routinely beat me at H-O-R-S-E but Mitch could not handle my sidearm slider. It was my go-to out pitch.

The weather forecast for the weekend calls for it to be pretty hot, like in the 90s, and I’m clearly not in shape for that. We’ve turned the corner to much cooler temperatures up here in Minnesota, and we’ve also had a lot of rain lately, so 92 degrees with typical St. Louis humidity is going to require quite an adjustment, as well as weather-correct clothes. When Barbara and I went out for a quick dinner last night, I almost grabbed a jacket.

And speaking of our home here in Woodbury, I’m proud to announce that for the first time in my life I’m now sitting on a Board of Directors, and not just one but two! Okay, they’re unpaid positions and nobody else seemed to want to do it, but it’s good experience and I feel like I’m helping the neighborhood.

Our new home here is in a large Woodbury development called Dancing Waters. Within Dancing Waters are a number of individual neighborhoods, ranging from large traditional homes, to townhouses, and detached townhomes (like ours). Each subdivision has its own board, and I’m now the Vice President of the St. John’s Village board of directors. We work directly with the property management company that acts as our Home Owners Association.

Each sub board also puts one director on the Dancing Waters Master Association board, and that’s me for the next two years. I’ve attended one Master board meeting, but I was just tagging along with my neighbor Jerry, to see how it all worked. After that meeting, I took over Jerry’s spot on the Master. We’ve also had one meeting as the St. John’s Village board, and at that one I was officially welcomed to the group.

When we moved to Woodbury originally, in 2002, the population was around 30,000. Now, in 2016, it’s over 60,000 and still rising. Dancing Waters was a big part of that population growth, as a fully pre-designed community, and it’s now almost completely built out. Seems like yesterday when Barbara and I would ride our bikes over here and walk through various homes under construction, trying to get a feeling for how it would all turn out.

The great news is we live in a fantastic neighborhood, and the entire development of Dancing Waters is very well kept and in great financial shape. It’s a great place to live, and we plan to make it even nicer.

One of my favorite things about this development is how they built it in harmony with nature. We have miles of trails, acres of native prairie grasses, dozens of ponds, and beautiful features that allow you to walk out of your front door and feel like you’re in the rural countryside.

I went on a walk the other day, when the weather was defined as “perfect” and just marveled at it all. So much of suburbia, even here in Woodbury, is basically just sprawl, where disconnected subdivisions pop up like mushrooms overnight. In our part of town, it’s all integrated into a lifestyle, and we try to take advantage of the trails all year long. It won’t be long before I’ll be able to take this same photo but ice fishing will be happening out there.

We also have no shortage of wildlife, and that keeps Buster and Boofus pretty busy. They sit out on the screened porch, or at the sliding door that’s behind me down here in my work space, and keep track of the little birds, the doves, the blue jays, and the squirrels. Every now and then, a majestic Bald Eagle will pay a visit, eyeing the ponds for signs of lunch, and although we no longer live directly next to a pond, like we did at our Marsh Creek home, we still get visits from herons.

This guy had Boofie enthralled for 10 minutes.

Dancing Waters is also totally designed to be a real neighborhood. People are always outside, walking their dogs (or in our case, cats) and interacting. In St. John’s Village, we all have covered front porches, and almost everyone in the neighborhood takes the time to sit out there and interact when the weather is good. It’s a wonderful place to live.

As for my full-time job of being the author of “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” I’m well into chapter 32 now. It starts with me joining Team Wilkerson, but that coincided with a long-planned Caribbean cruise vacation, so technically I started with the team by leaving the continental United States. That’s a great gig if you can get it.

We visited Aruba, Curacao, the Panama Canal, and Costa Rica on a trip that can only be described as incredible. That’s the last cruise we’ve been on, and it was eight years ago, so that tells me it’s about time for us to get back on a boat.

The Panama Canal visit was one of the most fascinating “bucket list” things we’ve ever done. Here’s a snippet from Chapter 32 that references that experience.

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After another day at sea, we arrived at the canal before sunrise. We awoke at 5:00 a.m. and walked to a forward viewing area on Deck 6, where the staff had croissants and orange juice waiting for us.

We staked out a spot at the railing, staring off into the distance as the running lights from dozens of freighter ships sparkled all around us. They were waiting to make their passage. Another large cruise ship was directly ahead of us, and we’d get the “express” lane trip. As the sun began to rise, it all came into focus.

We could see the canal in the distance, as we slowly approached. The first set of locks, which would raise our ship 85 feet, would get us to Gatun Lake. There are two “lanes” to get through the locks at each level, but the canal is not necessarily a strict two-way street. Ships are raised or lowered as the traffic demands, and we were going in with the other cruise ship right next to us. To see the giant vessel rise so quickly as the locks were flooded was astonishing. Within an hour after arriving at the locks, we were sailing into Gatun Lake. We stayed there a couple of hours, and then returned to the Atlantic Ocean by heading back down the locks to sea level. It was one of the most fascinating things I’d ever experienced.

———————  

Yeah, we really need to do that again. Over dinner last night, we were talking about these memories and how vivid they still are, and we both agreed that Costa Rica was as fantastic as the Panama Canal, but just in a totally different way. To be within 15 yards of a group of Howler Monkeys allows you to fully understand how they got their name.

And if you want to win a bet at a bar, just ask someone what direction they’d be sailing if they traversed the Panama Canal from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific. You’d be going west, of course. Except you wouldn’t be, because Panama has a tricky dogleg shape and much of the voyage toward the Pacific is southbound or even eastbound. That’s totally counterintuitive, but take a look on a map and you’ll see it’s true.

On a completely different subject, it’s worth noting here that this past weekend featured the final “Jersey Boys” show in Las Vegas. I’ve known Buck Hujabre since just before he landed his first “Jersey Boys” gig in the national touring company, and the first time we ever met face-to-face was during the touring company’s initial run in Minneapolis. I only know the guy as a performer, and now he’s a civilian. He’s not planning on doing whatever it takes to keep acting and performing, because he’s doing very well in real-estate out in Vegas and he’s been craving a more normal life with his wonderful wife Mary and their boys Gibson and Hudson.

As Buck put it, “When the boys were really little, it was the perfect job because I could interact all day with them and then they’d be going to bed right after I left for the theater. Now that they’re both in school, it’s just the opposite. They’re gone during the day and right after they get home from school I have to leave for the show. When I get back from work, they’re asleep.”

I can’t wait to see the entire Hujabre clan when I head to the Vegas race next month. Buck and Mary are two of the most genuine, and most wonderful, people I’ve ever had the pleasure to know.

So, as advertised this did ramble around in circles fairly well. Sometimes I just sit down and start typing and then I read what’s on the screen to see what I wrote. It’s a weird process.

So I’m off to my hometown to see all my peeps. If you’re going to the race, and you see me, give me a shout!

Bob Wilber, at your service and on my way to St. Loo.

What a great weekend Barbara and I had. Words like marvelous, outstanding, heartwarming, and terrific come to mind, because it was all of those things and more. It was also an honor and very humbling, but mostly it was just fantastic fun to spend a couple of days with a bunch of guys I haven’t seen in a long time. It was worth the wait.

We flew down to St. Louis on Friday, picked up my rental car (which, oddly enough, had Minnesota plates on it) and drove over to Collinsville, Ill. a few miles east of Gateway Motorsports Park. After checking in at our hotel, where a big dune buggy show was going on in the parking lot and multiple soccer teams were coming and going on luxury charter buses, we followed our emailed directions up to Dave Schaake’s beautiful home in Edwardsville. Dave and his wife Kathy live no more than a mile or two from our alma mater, SIUE.

When we arrived and parked out front, I saw James “Oscar” Noffke walking up to the front door and shouted his name. I’d seen Oscar just about a month ago when he, Radar, and Lance came to the Twin Cities for our annual weekend get-together, but most of the other guys I haven’t seen in decades. When I shouted Oscar’s name, I heard a reply from the tall guy he was saying hello to. It was my good buddy Stan Osterbur, and he said, “I know that voice” before he literally (I’m not exaggerating) sprinted full speed across the front yard to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. My hamstrings almost exploded just watching him.

Stan and I have a lot of history. By my sophomore year, we’d become friends. By my junior year, 1977, we were rooming together on road trips and had become very close friends. Somehow, because baseball scouting is an inexact science performed by mere humans, Stan didn’t get drafted after the ’77 season was over and we’d bowed out of the NCAA Div. II World Series, in Springfield, Ill. That wasn’t right. He was easily good enough to have been drafted by an MLB team. They all whiffed on that one.

He went off to play independent ball in Beeville, Tex. that summer, while I played for two different high-level collegiate summer teams. For a month, I went up to Seattle and played for the Cheney Studs where most of my teammates were from the University of Washington, Washington State, and Oregon. Then, in midseason I came back to the midwest to play for the Danville Roosters in the Central Illinois Collegiate League, alongside some great players from Texas A&M, University of Texas, LSU, and other top programs. I was proof you could go from being a Stud to a Rooster in one summer.

After my senior season, in which we as a team collectively stunk without guys like Stan, Dave, Mike Brown and a few other key players, I signed with the Detroit Tigers and ended up playing in the Appalachian League for the Paintsville Hilanders, in the coal mining hills of eastern Kentucky.

When our pitching staff was struggling to get left-handers out, and our manager recognized the lack of quality lefty pitching on our staff, I told him and the owner about Stan. They signed him and he arrived in Paintsville about 24 hours later. We’d be teammates and roommates once more.

I’d been living with two other guys in a one-bedroom place, so our owner found Stan and me a studio apartment in town. What a place it was, too. It sat atop a long-closed and abandoned drug store. Our door had no lock on the knob and no deadbolt, so we used a padlock on the outside of the door when we left, and then we put it on the inside and locked ourselves in at night. Not that anything nefarious was going to happen in little Paintsville, but still… We had a great time that summer.

We would never play or room together again, and we lost touch with one another for quite a while, until Lance and I put a reunion together in 1997. Before Facebook or LinkedIn, it was hard to find guys from the past and stay in touch with them. So, after that reunion we parted ways and again found it almost impossible to stay connected.

Then, Facebook did what it does best. We found each other there and have been in regular contact since, sharing stories and photos from college and pro ball, and catching up on each other’s lives.

Within seconds, after the mad sprint across the front yard and the big hug, we were talking as if it had all happened yesterday. He’s still got the same great sense of humor, and we can still crack each other up. Some friendships are built that way. They last forever.

The dinner at Dave’s house was fantastic, and a lot of the guys attended. I can’t say I recognized all of them at first glance, and some of us did have to put out a hand and say our names, but many of the guys look almost exactly as they did back then, 39 years ago.

Dave had a display in his living room, with tons of photos and clippings from his scrapbook. We enjoyed flipping through all of that and a number of other guys brought stuff with them, as well.

Now, about Dave Schaake. We were college kids. Most of us were goofballs. Dave Schaake was not. He seemed like a pro among amateurs, and he carried himself with dignity and class when the rest of us didn’t know what those two words meant. He was big, strong, and could just flat play.

The fact he also did not get drafted just reemphasizes the mistakes scouts can make. Dave was one of the best shortstops I ever played with. He was actually the very best shortstop I ever played with. He had all the tools. He could hit, hit with power, field the ball, and throw strikes to first base. And just like with Stan, all the scouts totally whiffed on him. I’m still shaking my head. Dave was also our leader.

His co-captain in the ’77 season was another team leader, named Mike Brown. Brownie did get drafted, by the Mets, and he absolutely deserved it. He played right field, and since I was the centerfielder we played next to each other that year. We both had our ups and downs, but in the end we helped the team get back to Springfield for the second straight year.

On Saturday afternoon, Barbara and I headed over to Radar’s house and hung out there for a while, with him and Oscar, enjoying one of the most unique “man cave” garage set-ups I’ve ever seen. Then we drove down to Oscar’s brother’s house, 20 minutes away. To get there, we had to drive through Highland, Ill.

In college, we mostly stayed right in Edwardsville when we went out, but one tiny little disco called Off Broadway lured us to Highland many times. It was just a small brick building, and very old. Within was a small dance floor and a few Christmas lights. I don’t know what we found so fascinating about it, but for some reason it was worth it for us to drive 25 minutes to get there.

As we drove through Highland, with Barbara and me following Radar, I told Barb all about Off Broadway, which (you’re not going to believe this) sat just a half block off the road we were then on: Broadway! (Get it?) And then I saw it and pointed it out to Barb. At the same moment, Radar put his window down, in his truck ahead of us, and pointed. I gave him a thumbs up. I hadn’t seen a lot of these guys in decades, but I know for a fact I hadn’t seen Off Broadway since we last danced to the Bee Gees there. Stayin’ Alive!

Before we knew it, we had to hustle to get back to the hotel and get dressed for the 2016 SIUE Athletic Department Hall of Fame Induction ceremony. It was fantastic to be back on campus, which has grown so much since I went to school there. There are more buildings currently on the sprawling campus that I have never stepped foot in than those that were there when I was a Cougar. The place looks marvelous.

Stan was there when we arrived, and we once again fell into our easy banter, telling the same jokes and insults like we always had. I think Stan, Brownie, and Dave win the award for being in the best shape and looking the best, nearly 4 decades after we all shared a dugout and bus rides with each other. They all look like they could put on their spikes and grab a glove right now.

And the truth is, we were all a pretty smart bunch of guys, as well. We took school seriously, we got good grades, and for the most part we’ve all gone on to great careers. At the induction ceremony, there were bank presidents, senior level executives, and guys with other outstanding resumes, plus one former PR guy who is writing a book. And they were all on the baseball team.

The word had spread about “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” thanks to social media and our interconnectivity these days, and the guys were peppering me with questions about it, including the single most common question: “When will it come out?” I sure hope the answer is before Christmas, but that’s still to be determined.

Speaking of that, though, one quick aside. I’m now on Chapter 32, in which I join Team Wilkerson in 2009. That’s how close we’re getting, and my editor, Greg Halling has been on fire lately. He’s extraordinarily busy as the Executive Editor of the newspaper in Ogden, Utah and for a while that’s kept him from keeping up with me. Lately, though, he’s firing the chapters back at a rapid pace. He’s right on my heels, and his work is priceless.

Now back to the ceremony…

Since a number of guys who couldn’t make it to Dave’s house were able to make it to the induction, it’s a good thing they gave us name tags. I didn’t need to see Steve Novak’s name tag, though. Steve and I roomed together for a couple of years. He hasn’t changed a bit and his wife Linda has simply not aged at all. They were high school sweethearts, so we all got to know Linda very well back in the 70s. It was great to see her and their son Ryan.

Steve’s been in the sports apparel business since we graduated, and for a few years he was an executive with a firm called Tehama, which was owned by Clint Eastwood. So there’s that.

As part of the ceremony, there were a number of individuals who accepted induction into the Hall of Fame, and one other team, the 1977 men’s soccer team. The final induction was for us, the 1977 baseball squad.

We watched a video that Schaake and Brownie had made, and it was by far the best video of the night. They spoke so glowingly about our coach, Roy Lee, and about the ’77 team itself. We were one big collective question mark, really, because Brownie and Dave were the only returning starters from the ’76 World Series team.

In the video, about two minutes in, they were talking about how the team shaped up and Dave mentioned the fact that Brownie played right field, which was the toughest outfield spot at our ballpark, because of the sun. Then he said something about how nice it was for Brownie that Bob Wilber came along to play center that year. Dave’s quote was along the lines of “Bob had, and he’ll admit this, a lot of confidence, and he could really cover a lot of ground…” When he said the word “confidence” he did it with a wry smile and almost a wink. Confidence = Cocky. I laughed out loud watching the video, and agreed with it fully. You’ll see. It’s worth watching.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DbMUMxxINsU&feature=youtu.be

What’s funny is that my memory is slightly different than the facts. In ’77, I had barely played any varsity ball for the Cougars. I played strictly on the JV my freshman year, and although I made the varsity as a sophomore I only played in parts of 10 games. I think I only had 14 at-bats, and most of my appearances were as a late-inning defensive replacement. Yet, going into my junior year in ’77, I fully considered the centerfield spot to be mine. There was no question about it, in my mind. I’d been playing at SIUE for two years, and at the time I felt like a veteran. I was actually still a rookie.

When we rode on the bus early in the season, coming back from having played University of South Carolina and Coastal Carolina, I saw an article that said “Bob Wilber appears to have won the centerfield position after a strong road trip.” I was incredulous. I believed it was mine all along. I was not short of confidence.

After the video, they brought us all up on stage to accept our framed photos and after some formalities the host asked if anyone wanted to say anything. When the soccer guys had been up there, no one seemed to want to speak, so I was ready. As I raised my hand and took the microphone, two or three guys said “Oh geez, don’t let him speak!” It’s been a long time since we’ve all been together, but they all still know me. Too well. I kept it short.

After I spoke, Stan wanted to add a few words as well. As always, you can click on any photo to enlarge it, and this one is the best candidate for doing that. I present to you, most of the 1977 SIUE Cougar Baseball Team. We are now official members of the school’s sports Hall of Fame. And very proud of it.

Although Radar was a few years behind us and therefore wasn’t on the 1977 team, everyone knew him and we considered him part of our inner circle, even back then. It seemed only fitting that he’d attend the ceremony to be with us and support us, and I’m glad he did. After the ceremony, a smaller group of us capped off the evening at a local pub for a bit. That allowed me (Wilbs) to hang out with Nove, Oscar, and Radar for another hour. It was terrific fun.

I hope we can get together again, at some point. As Dave said “We probably shouldn’t wait another 39 years to do this” and we all agreed. What’s certain is that the 1978 team will not be the magnet to draw us back together, unless SIUE inducts us into some Hall of Shame. We were, sadly but honestly, that bad…

Much to my chagrin, and counter to my pleas, Lance did not come into town for the induction, which is too bad. He was unable to stand up for himself as we laughed uncontrollably recalling the night he played third-base and threw the ball entirely out of the stadium at Oral Roberts. Out… Of… The… STADIUM! And Oral Roberts has an actual stadium. No, Lance wasn’t trying to do it. Novak was playing first and he initially put his glove up, but then watched it go like the rest of us did. It was a rather incredible sight.

It was a great weekend. I am very proud to have been a part of this group. They’re some of the best friends I’ve ever had.

Congratulations to all of you guys!

Bob Wilber, at your service and in the SIUE Hall of Fame.

 

Roughly one year ago, over the Labor Day weekend in 2015, my life changed in many ways. I was, of course, at the U.S. Nationals in Indianapolis, working for Team Wilkerson and doing my best to keep the PR standards high while I also interacted with our sponsors and guests in my ongoing attempt to keep everyone happy and engaged. It was my seventh U.S. Nationals with Tim and the team, after 12 consecutive years with Del Worsham. Counting some earlier forays with various teams I did contract work for, it was my 23rd U.S. Nationals overall.

My first order of business, upon arrival at Indy, was to speak with Tim and Krista, up in the lounge of the transporter. I’d been debating a major change in my life for months, years actually, and had finally come to the decision. I’m a believer in making these major life transitions in an orderly and helpful way, and Indy is generally the time when people start to announce their plans for the following year. I walked in and told the Wilkersons that I would not be back. It was time to write my book. I would, of course, finish out the year and even attend the NHRA Award Ceremony in Hollywood, but my notice had been given and that made the book project very real.

I’d been thinking about a book for many years. My mom and I, believe it or not, planned a Wilber family book when I was just a sophomore in high school. Her plan was for everyone in the family to write a chapter or two, about what it was like to grow up in a baseball/radio/PR family on a suburban cul de sac. She wrote quite a bit, and so did I. No one else got onboard, but my mom sent one of my chapters off to a St. Louis magazine and they ran it. It was the first time I’d ever “been published” and it taught me a lesson about editing. The magazine chopped it to pieces, so much so that I thought it was incoherent. From that point on, I always wanted to be in charge of what I wrote. I’d learn from great editors, who could fix my mistakes and elevate my words to a better place, but I didn’t want anyone chopping my stuff into bits just to make it fit on a page.

On that day, one year ago in Indy, not 30 minutes after my arrival at the track, the plan was official and it was in motion. Starting in January, I would be a full-time writer. “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” would be my job. I didn’t know how long it would take, and I didn’t know how long the book would be once it was done, but it was official.

I tried a few test runs during my free time, writing bits and pieces and trying out the muscles I’d need to take this on. It seemed like something I was meant to do.

I finally convinced myself that a Kickstarter campaign wouldn’t be a bad idea. After all, my wife Barbara was being gracious enough to allow me to quit my job in order to do this, but that didn’t mean it should also cost us a lot of money to publish the thing. She thought I might be able to raise $5,000 in six weeks. I thought I could raise more. A lot more. And in the end more than 100 people combined to contribute $22,500 toward the publishing costs. That’s been the entirety of my income this year, and it’s all been set aside to pay for the book. The process was nothing short of amazing.

After the holidays, during the first week of January, I went to work. I didn’t have much of a clue how it was all going to happen, but I realized on that first day that I couldn’t look at the mountain top. It was too high. I couldn’t even think about anything other than what I was going to write on that day. It was such a daunting task it was intimidating, but I went to work and began the process.

The chapters started to flow. The words would pour out of me on some days, and protest their arrangement on others, but week by week the chapters began to pile up. Month by month, I could see a book coming to life. Now, in September, I’m almost done. By the end of this month, I think I should be wrapping it up and then concentrating on editing, with Greg Halling, and layout/production with Outskirts Press, who will publish it. We almost have a book on our hands. What an incredible experience this has been.

After having that meeting at Indy, with Tim and Krista, I got ready for our qualifying session that night. Mother Nature had different plans. After lengthy delays, NHRA finally faced the inevitable and cancelled racing for the day. It was around 9:00 p.m.

I took an umbrella and walked to my car, parked inside the pits at the track. Every single second mattered, but I didn’t know it at the time. In a light mist, on wet streets, I worked my way eastward on US 136, aiming to make a left on Dandy Trail. Coming upon the intersection, I saw a long line of cars in the right lane, waiting to go straight or take a right. The left-turn lane, where I needed to go, had only a couple of cars in it, and as I got to the start of that dedicated left-turn lane, the green arrow came on. I drove forward slowly, passing the cars in the right lane as they waited to proceed. When I passed a large black truck, my car seemed to explode.

I’d been broadsided, and quite hard. The driver of the truck, who we will always refer to as Idiot Number One, had flashed his lights and waved through a young lady leaving the convenience store on the right, allowing her to make the left turn she was waiting for. He, obviously, never looked in his side-view mirror to see if anyone like me was there.

My initial reaction, at the split second she hit me, was anger. Despite the fact I never saw her coming, my brain knew what had happened, and I yelled “Dammit!” very loudly. Then the adrenalin kicked in. I knew I was in the middle of the road. I knew my rental car had been wrecked. And, I knew I wanted to get out of the road. Without really knowing what was going on around me, I put my foot down and drove around the corner, into the parking lot at the convenience store, and right into a space. With two flat tires and a broken right-front wheel assembly. It didn’t sound very good, but I was intent upon getting there.

My wallet, which had been between my legs (I don’t like sitting on it when driving) was on the floor. All of my credit cards were also on the floor. They’d been ejected.

I called 911, the police officer came, and I gave him my statement. Idiot Number One, in the truck, was long gone. I called National Rental Car and they said they’d send a wrecker. It never came.

Well past midnight, I called National back and told them exactly where the car was, and that I’d leave the keys on the driver’s side floor. A taxi took me to the hotel. They picked it up in the morning.

It took nearly three months for the insurance issues to be settled. The girl’s insurance company admitted her fault and covered 100 percent of it. My State Farm agent, out in Liberty Lake, was fantastic and very supportive, but I’m happy I never had to file a claim. The only person who knows who Idiot Number One was, is Idiot Number One.

That was all a year ago. Had I been one or two seconds quicker, she would’ve missed me. Had I been one or two seconds slower, I would’ve T-boned her right in the driver’s door after she emerged from behind the truck operated by Idiot Number One. That would’ve been a whole different deal.

I have never driven the same since. I’m now totally aware of where everyone is around me. I drive under the assumption that Idiot Number Two and a lot of other fools, are all about to do something really stupid. I trust no one to be aware of their surroundings, or to even look before they pull out into traffic. The idiots are all around us. I guess you can call me a fully defensive driver, now. I was blissfully ignorant of all the dangers that lurked on the roads until that smashing sound changed everything.

Putting the wreck behind me, I finished out the season and then got to work. It’s been eight and a half months. Greg Halling’s work has been fantastic, as he allows me to bring it all to life but points out places where it could be better. Not once, in eight and a half months, have I looked at his advice and thought “No way.” It’s all been good. No, it’s been great, and I’ve learned from it. I’m a much better writer today than I was on January 5, when I sat down and began this adventure.

And here we are in September. It’s almost done, but I’m still a defensive driver.

In the “here and now” I’ve had a great week. Last Thursday night, my buddy Scott Meehan and I made our first-ever foray to US Bank Stadium, the new home of the Vikings. We knew it was the final preseason game and that most of the players on the field were not going to make the team, but that didn’t matter. We were there to watch football and see this magnificent new structure.

It’s so dramatic and impressive it’s hard to even take it in when you’re there. It’s also huge.

And what I found interesting was the players. Once I let it sink in that final cuts would be coming in the days following that game, I felt a bit sad. So many of those guys were trying to attain what was surely a lifelong dream to play in the NFL. And for most of them, the dream was going to fizzle out and expire in just a few days. Some will make the practice squad, a few others will try again next year. Some might go to the Canadian Football League and others will play Arena Football. Most will do anything they can to keep the dream alive, and I bet a few will even get past all the enormous odds and make it happen.

Our reviews of the stadium were mostly stellar. They still have some kinks to work out, in terms of long lines at some concession stands and no lines at others, but I remember Target Field going through that process the first year the Twins were there. There’s a big difference between blueprints and the real thing, especially when you add 66,000 human beings to mix.

We walked all the way around the lower concourse, making a complete lap, and for the most part everything was moving smoothly. Before the game, outside the stadium, the whole area was one big festive party. Unlike a lot of stadiums, there are no huge surface parking lots surrounding the building, so the Vikings go all out to make the area a big interactive carnival, with a lot of football stuff for kids. And there was a lot of purple to be seen.

Just like the players we watched, I had a dream as well. I wanted to play Major League Baseball, following in my father’s amazing footprints. I was good enough to get a fantastic education from the game, at a great college, SIU-Edwardsville. I was fortunate to be on a team that played in the NCAA Division II World Series twice. The Detroit Tigers and Oakland A’s were interested enough to pay me to play for a couple of fun seasons in the minor leagues. But I never attained the dream. I felt for those players, out on the US Bank Stadium field. The dream dies hard.

Tomorrow, Barbara and I will head to MSP and get on a flight down to St. Louis. When we get there, we’ll pick up my rental car, drive defensively, and head to a hotel in Collinsville, just a few miles east of the track. For dinner, we’ll head to the house of my former college baseball teammate, Dave Schaake, for a cookout. Many of my buddies from the 1977 team will be there. On Saturday, as a group, we’ll all attend a ceremony to be inducted into the SIUE Athletic Hall of Fame.

It’s a neat honor, and I can’t wait to see these guys. I’m also thrilled Barbara will be attending with me. Our 1976 team was a little better, making it all the way to the final game of the NCAA Div. II World Series before we lost to Cal Poly Pomona. That team was inducted a few years ago, but I had a race that weekend. I had a race a lot of weekends for a lot of years.

In 1977, we received a bid to host our NCAA Regional, something the SIUE baseball program did regularly. It was the eighth consecutive post-season berth for the Cougars. We swept everyone away to earn our way back to Springfield, Ill. and the Div. II World Series, for the second straight year. We lost two heartbreakers there, but the accomplishment itself earned us another place in the SIUE Hall of Fame.  (Yes, you can click on the photos to make them larger. I’m fifth from the left in the back row.)

We’ll fly back up here on Sunday morning, and Barbara will just have enough time to unpack and repack, before she heads out on a business trip next Monday.

I’ll get up on Monday morning and go to work. Right here at my desk. On Chapter 32.

There’s a lot to look forward to.

Bob Wilber, at your service and driving defensively.

Somewhat unbelievably, today is September 1. Where on Earth did the summer go? Is it really time for the U.S. Nationals? Is that slight ache in the pit of my stomach a reaction to seeing school buses on the streets? Will it snow tomorrow? Can the “Infield Fly Rule” be applied if the pop-up drifts foul?

These are all pertinent questions. The answers are: Summer went where it always goes. Yes the U.S. Nationals are this weekend, with eliminations on Monday. Yes, the slight ache in my gut is a reaction to school opening again. No, it will not snow tomorrow (at least not here). And, no, the Infield Fly Rule only pertains to fair balls.

It’s also Minnesota State Fair time, wherein 100,000 people or more (per day!) stroll around looking at animals, butter carvings, and various foods on sticks. Barbara has spent the week out in Spokane, but hopefully we’ll have a chance to get out there this weekend.

As for my week, it’s Thursday Blog Day but it’s already been a big successful effort on the writing front. On Monday and Tuesday, I spent each morning doing research and then spent the afternoons cranking out the pages. Chapter 30 is done, and it gets us halfway through the Worsham-CSK era, so that means I’m on the home stretch. Or in drag racing terminology, I’m at the top end making a charge. Or in terms of baseball, I’m rounding third and heading for home. It’s pretty exciting.

It’s also interesting how the need for deep research increased once I got into the NHRA years, with “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts.” At first I thought that was odd, because this is the most recent stuff I’ve been writing about, but it didn’t take long to figure it out. With more than 20 races each year, for nearly 20 years, it was hard to remember specific locations or stats, and I wanted to make sure it was all correct (or as correct as my research would allow.)

So, each morning I flip the page on my note pad and start another year of digging. On NHRA.com, I hit the “Results” archive and go race by race, starting and ending at Pomona, writing down all the stats, qualifying positions, opponents, and final results from the season in question. When I need to remember what certain special-edition bodies looked like, or where we ran them, I go to AutoImagery.com and click back through their photo archives. The result of all that research is specific information, but it also usually triggers other thoughts and other memories, turning them into deeper stories, which is a good thing.

I wasn’t even aware that Del had a fairly well-detailed Wikipedia page, but once I found that I printed it as well. It has year-by-year records of round-wins, points positions, and race victories. It’s all handy stuff.

My editor, Greg Halling, is now only a few chapters behind me, in terms of “cleaning up” what I share with him. I think one of the things I’m most proud of is how well I’ve been able to not just understand how he tweaks what I write, but adapt to it and instill a lot of that into my style. He just finished Chapter 25, and it might have been the least amount of real editing he’s done to any chapter yet. Because, I’m learning. You’re never too old for that.

Another piece of the ongoing research is to go back and read my preview stories and post-event reports from races over the years. When I got back to 1999, when email was becoming the preferred way to communicate, my stories startled me. I had no formal training in PR or journalism, in college. I was a TV/Radio major in the Mass Communications school at Southern Illinois Univ.-Edwardsville. I had plans to be a Major League ballplayer and then possibly a radio play-by-play announcer, but no plans to be a PR guy.

I was always a good creative writer, and actually had my first feature published in a magazine when I was just a junior in high school, but I was clueless about structure and format. I was definitely clueless about AP style, and how real journalism worked. I just wrote what I felt.

Those early stabs at it for the CSK team were pretty amusing, as I dug back and read some of those stories for the first time in more than a decade. I wrote very conversationally, kind of like this blog, and in a lot of cases the stories were heartfelt but amateurish. As I got a little better at it, I started to pay attention to what the real pros were writing. People like Phil Burgess, Todd Veney, Susan Wade, and others I admired, wrote with panache and style, but in a cohesive format. They were actually following rules, instead of just writing what they felt. I tried to learn something from every story I read, and I picked up those writing rules through osmosis. Today, if I were to write a press release or a feature story, it would bear little resemblance to my post-event report after Team CSK won Seattle in 1999. That’s not to say my story then was bad, or hard to read, because it was actually a pretty fun one, but it rambled and it broke about every AP rule in the book.

And, watching Greg tighten things and improve my writing now, I’m still learning. That’s a good thing.

Okay, here’s a trip back in time. Just a chapter or two ago I wrote about our Hot Wheels promotion from the early CSK days. A guy approached me in the pits at Pomona, and he told me about the plans McDonald’s and Hot Wheels had, for the Happy Meal. I thought he was either kidding or an imposter. He was neither, and within 24 hours we’d nailed down our participation in the program. We were the only NHRA team to be a part of it, while the other Happy Meal cars were from NASCAR, IndyCar, or Formula 1.

Eight million (yes, eight MILLION) Del Worsham Funny Cars were given away. Each came as an interactive kit, and the kids had to take the custom decals and apply them to the cars in the right places. I was surprised that all of the other teams did very little to promote their sponsors or their drivers with the program. Maybe they were all such “big shots” they just approved the promotion and let Hot Wheels do whatever they wanted. I made sure CSK was accurately represented, and I made sure Del’s name was above the windows. I even managed to get small Mac Tools and Auburn Foundry logos included.

Each car in the program came in two versions. There was the current car, in our case the CSK Funny Car, and there was a “future” car, which allowed the Hot Wheels people to dream up what they thought a race car would look like far into the future. In our case, that meant a 12-cylinder rear-engine thing.

With my heavy involvement in the design, I built up a great relationship with the guys at Hot Wheels, and when it came time to design the paper bag the Happy Meals came in, they used our car on those as well, as a “thank you” for all the help I’d provided. It was a fun deal, and it was even more fun to go into a McDonald’s to buy a Happy Meal, with the actual human version of Del Worsham alongside me. The whole thing took us to the next level. And, I was still a relatively unknown PR guy at the time, so it pretty much put me on the map, as well.

Another fun thing that happened in the last week is shown here. Ruth Williams has been reading my blog pretty much since Day One. She lives in Santa Rosa, Calif. (which is not too far from Sonoma) and I’d often get to see her out there each summer. She sent me an email recently, wondering if she could have our home address because she had “a little something” she wanted to send Barbara and me.

When it arrived, I was blown away. There was a wonderful quilt, made by a friend of hers featuring lots of cats, two t-shirts, a bottle of lavender, and a pillowcase.

The quilt is already a favorite of the boyz. The pillow case will soon be on our bed, and it features photos of Boofus and Buster on both sides.

The t-shirts were the capper. She had my name and Barb’s name put on the front of the shirts, and the cover of my book put on the back.

What a marvelous gesture and a wonderful gift. Ruth included a heartwarming note, as well. Thank you, Ruth!!!

Tonight, I’m going to be heading to downtown Minneapolis with our friend Scott Meehan. We’ll be attending the Vikings final preseason game, and getting our first in-person look at US Bank Stadium, the Vikes’ new incredible stadium. Our friends Mary Beth and Joe Gillis have season tickets, which they couldn’t use tonight, so I jumped at the chance to take them off their hands.

Sadly, it’s been a startlingly bad week for the Vikings and Minnesota football fans. The team’s young quarterback, Teddy Bridgewater, appeared to be on the cusp of stardom, and great things were predicted for this season. As you’ve probably heard, he dislocated his knee and totally tore is ACL at practice on Tuesday. He’s out for the year.

He’s such a good kid, and all the coaches raved about how well he learned and what a sponge he was when they were coaching him. A lot of people expected the Vikings to make a deep run in the playoffs this year, and a Super Bowl appearance wouldn’t have surprised many of the experts. Now, we’ll just have to see. And the injury cruelly happened with no contact whatsoever. He was just on the field at practice, took a step, and went down. Once it was obvious how badly hurt he was, the coaches called off the rest of practice. Ugh.

Scott and I would be going down early no matter what, just to stroll around and explore the stadium, but the sports schedule in the Twin Cities tonight, as well as a ton of construction on major highways, make it imperative that we go very early. The game is at 7:00 and I’m picking Scott up at 4:30.

Why so early? Because the Vikings, Twins, and Gophers are all playing home games tonight, at roughly the same time and within a few miles of each other. It’s going to be gridlock, I suspect.

I guess that’s it for today. Chapter 31 will begin tomorrow. Here’s hoping for a fun time at the game and a chance to get to the State Fair this weekend. I need a pork chop on a stick.

Bob Wilber, at your service with Hot Wheels cars and many memories.