When I established this routine of “Thursday Blog Day” it was by design, but the timing of it was pure chance. With the writing of “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” being my prime endeavor, and with three consecutive days of doing so seeming to be about right, each week, the blog slid safely into Thursday. Upon replay review, it was confirmed the blog kept its foot on the base and the ruling on the field was upheld.

What I didn’t realized, when Thursday became the day, was that it was perfectly positioned for looks both forward and backward. I’d always have the prior weekend and three days of writing to summarize, while the next weekend (and whatever it had in store for me) was just ahead. This blog is a perfect example of that neat positioning.

Last weekend was our second annual SIUE Baseball mini-reunion, featuring three of my longtime roommates and teammates. After that fun was over, this Monday through Wednesday included some of the more prolific and extensive writing I’ve done in the six months I’ve been tackling my book. Now, today is blog day. Then, this weekend kicks off the NHRA Western Swing, and although I won’t be going to Denver I will be watching some groundbreaking television, along with millions of others. Denver marks the first time we’ll not just go “live” on Sunday. We’ll go live on the main FOX broadcasting network. The big FOX. The one that airs content from little organizations like the NFL, and MLB, and the World Cup. Also some outfit called NASCAR.

We’ve already been in lofty ratings territory (yes, I still say and write “we” without thinking about it) on Fox Sports 1, but moving over to the big network this weekend, and for the rest of the Western Swing, will take NHRA Mello Yello Drag Racing to all new heights. I suspect we’ll see the best ratings in drag racing history. I can’t wait. But first, since Denver is this coming weekend, let’s look back.

Lance McCord flew in on Thursday and arrived right on time. James “Oscar” Noffke and one Bob “Radar” Ricker drove up, going the long way around from St. Louis to Kansas City then up to Albert Lea, Minn. on Wednesday, before arriving in Minneapolis on Thursday, as well. Radar dropped his son off with his daughter for the weekend, in KC, hence the circuitous trip. They arrived a few hours after Lance and I did, but not before the starter died on Oscar’s car in Albert Lea. $620 later, he had a new one. As he put it, in typical Oscar fashion, “I was thrilled.”

Lance and I headed straight from the airport to the hotel, the sumptuous Grand Hotel of Minneapolis, and checked in. We were both starving, and not sure when the other two guys would get there, so we walked a few blocks to The Loon, over near Target Center and Target Field, to grab a bite. By the time we polished off some fine grub and a couple of iced teas, the other boys were checking in at the hotel, as well.

We had a few hours to kill, before our 7:15 dinner reservations at Manny’s, so we decided to aimlessly walk around downtown for a bit, starting with a stroll down to US Bank Stadium, the gigantic new home for the Minnesota Vikings. It will be officially opening in mere days now, and the first event will actually be a soccer game, with Chelsea taking on AC Milan in an international friendly match.

And you know the drill with the photos. Click to enlarge!

While we were standing across the street from the stadium, admiring its large “Viking-ship prow” architecture, the light rail train went by before it stopped at the new US Bank station. Lance asked where it went, and I told him there were two lines. One line goes to downtown St. Paul, and the other to the airport and then on to Mall of America. Lance said, “Well, let’s go!” We were headed to MOA.

We walked over and bought our tickets (the light rail stations work on the honor system, and by all accounts the vast majority of riders do pay to do so) and waited for the correct train to arrive. We also decided our trip to MOA would be strictly “guy style” and there would be no shopping, per se. We were just going so they could see the mammoth place with its amusement park in the middle. The one exception to the “no shopping” rule would be any store that sold a wide variety of baseball hats. I needed a new Twins hat, and all of us can browse in a place like that for a bit.

We rode the train. We watched the scenery go by. We welcomed travelers and a number of flight attendants at the two airport stops, and then we disembarked at MOA.

It went something like this… Walk in, go straight to the amusement park. Stare in wonder at the size and scope of it all. Listen as I tell them some key facts about the place, including its average daily attendance of upward of 100,000 people, the fact the amusement park in the center has no heating system despite typical Minnesota winter weather, and that it sits right where old Metropolitan Stadium was. Turn around and spot the red stadium chair attached to the wall, where Harmon Killebrew’s longest Met Stadium hotel landed. Walk to the other side of the park and find home plate on the floor. Marvel at exactly how far away the red chair is. Get an iced tea or soda. Walk one lap around the Mall and stop at Lidz, a hat store. Buy new Twins hat. Get back on the train.

We are nothing if not efficient, and MOA was successfully checked off the to-do list for my three buddies.

Upon our return to the hotel, we discovered we were not the only baseball-related people staying there. A few fans were lined up behind ropes near the front door, with pens and memorabilia in hand, waiting to get autographs. For the record, they were not waiting for our autographs. I know that’s hard to believe. No, the Cleveland Indians were staying in the hotel as well, and they filtered in on Thursday after the four-day All-Star Break. Some of those guys are big.

We cleaned up as best we could, donning the best apparel we’d brought with us, and walked over to Manny’s for dinner. It was pretty spectacular. Okay, it was really spectacular. And when Lance picked up the bill before the rest of us could get to our wallets, I made it clear he wouldn’t be buying anything else over the weekend. My monthly mortgage payment is smaller than the Manny’s tab he picked up. And I’m not kidding.

Since we were on foot, we had a nightcap at the bar there at Manny’s, then strolled back to the hotel as a light mist fell. It was barely enough to get you wet, but it was just enough to make the downtown Minneapolis skyline fairly dramatic, even with just an iPhone in hand.

The guys had already decided they liked Minneapolis. They also quickly picked up on the fact the whole “Minnesota Nice” thing is real. Everywhere we went, everyone was very friendly. The view of the skyscraper disappearing into the mist was just a nice capper on the evening.

Once we were back at the Grand, we decided to have one more drink. Well, I decided to have one more drink. The other three guys apparently, according to what I heard in the morning, decided to close the place down. Hey, we were on vacation!

No one got up early on Friday. Our only appointment for the entire day revolved around a text message I got from Dave St. Peter, the President of the Minnesota Twins. It instructed me to wait to hear from a guy named Clyde Doepner, who would be calling me shortly with instructions for our guided tour of Target Field that afternoon.

We watched a bit of the British Open, in Lance’s room, then walked a couple of blocks to Key’s Cafe, in the Foshay Tower building. We have a Key’s out here in Woodbury, as well, so I knew it would be good and the portions would be large. Key’s Cafe is known for their incredible all-day breakfasts, so we dug in with authority. My omelet was the size of the Sunday newspaper. Including all the supplements.

Clyde called while we were there, and he sounded really excited to show us around later that afternoon. He told us to meet him outside Gate 29 at 4:00, a full hour before the gates would officially open. As we walked back to the hotel, I called Barbara and said, “Dave got us all set up with a guy named Clyde. He sounds like he might be an older guy. He’s probably a volunteer who helps do stuff like this.”

Once it got to be 3:00, we couldn’t watch any more golf and we were stir crazy, so we headed over toward the ballpark and bought a few soft drinks and an appetizer at Kieran’s Irish Pub, sitting outdoors on their 1st Avenue patio. I believe that’s called “dining al fresco.” I don’t know Al Fresco. Never met the man. Can’t vouch for him…

At 4:00 sharp, we approached Gate 29 and Clyde spotted us coming. When he introduced himself, he added that he’s the Twins’ official curator, in charge of all the club’s history and artifacts. He was not a volunteer. He was instead, one of the most critical individuals in the organization, when it came to preserving the team’s history, and he started his job in the 60’s, down at Met Stadium, after the Washington Senators moved to Minnesota to become the Twins. What a guy he turned out to be, too.

Clyde basically owns the place. Everywhere we went, people were shaking his hand and saying hello, and he knew everyone’s name. Secure doors? No problem. Private elevators? C’mon in. The story behind that Harmon Killebrew display, and how it was almost lost forever? He can tell ya. He was there when it was saved.

We went everywhere. All around the concourses, through the private Delta 360 suites area, into the curator’s private vault room, where everything not on display is stored and catalogued, out to the Town Ball Tavern above the left field corner, where amateur baseball is celebrated and the floor is historic. It’s the original floor from the Armory building a few blocks away. It would be the floor upon which the Minneapolis Lakers won multiple NBA championships, with their star big man George Mikan. If you ever wondered why the L.A. Lakers had such an odd name, playing in part of the country with so few lakes, that’s the reason. They kept the name when they moved.

We toured the press box, saw the TV and radio booths, and finally went down to the restricted areas below the grandstand. We walked down a long hallway, passed the umpires’ dressing room, and the light at the end of that tunnel was the camera well next to the Cleveland Indians’ dugout. A few steps later, the crunch of the warning track under our sneakers was a welcomed sound. The Twins had just wrapped up their extended batting practice, and the Indians were stretching and getting ready to take BP themselves. Despite the fact all of us have played a lot of baseball, and two of us played at the professional level, it’s still pretty cool to be on the field, just a few feet behind the cage.

Clyde was such an endless wealth of information it was staggering. He spent a full two hours with us, and when it was time for him to go to his next appointment, he stopped and came back with a few additional tidbits of Twins history twice, before he finally left.

It was sincerely an honor to spend so much time, doing so many cool things, with such a knowledgeable and friendly guy.

We had already purchased tickets for the game, so after another leisurely stroll around the concourse, we headed down to our seventh-row seats to enjoy the ballgame. I’d like to say our enjoyment of said game hinged totally on the play of the Twins, but it really didn’t. I was the only true Twins fan in the group, so it mattered to me, but the other guys are baseball fans. We were there for the experience. They are now fans of Target Field, as well. And Radar even bought a Twins cap.

Again, the friendliness of Minnesotans was on full display in the seats all around us. Everyone was overly friendly, very polite, and totally welcoming.

In the game, Mike Napoli of the Indians hit a ball into the upper deck in left. Had the grandstand not been in its way, NASA would still be tracking it. Final score: Indians 5 – Twins 2. Brian Dozier went deep for the home team.

Late in the game, a vendor came down our aisle selling hot dogs. I’d already told the guys that the hot dogs in the stands are better than at most parks, but with our box seats we had access to a private area under the grandstand, with a full concession stand, a bar, and restrooms. We had purchased the much better ballpark grub in there already, so no one was interested in a hot dog from a vendor, in the seventh inning.

And then we watched this guy work. Every sale was an experience, as he announced in a theatrical voice every step of the process, pulling out the wax paper and bun with a stage-acting flourish. Pulling out the hot dog carefully, and then dramatically adding the dog to the bun as if a Tony Award depended on it. It was hilarious. For one customer, he even stood back and held the mustard bottle above his head, perfectly adding just the right amount to the top of the dog, which he held at belt level. Radar said, “Heck, I gotta buy one. I don’t even want to eat it, but I gotta buy one. This guys is just too awesome.”

All the other fans around us were laughing and applauding. I think the guy ended up selling about a dozen dogs just around our row. He even had his own baseball card, which he gave to Radar.  If you search for “hot dog guy Target Field” on YouTube, you can find all sorts of videos fans have shot of him. He must make the most tips of any vendor in the park.

After the game, we walked back to the hotel and finally admitted we are, indeed, old. We went straight to bed.

The next morning, we headed over to Woodbury. Barb had sandwiches ready for us, and the guys enjoyed looking around the house and seeing the memorabilia I have on the walls. Then we sat down in front of the new 65″ TV and watched “Fastball”. It’s a fabulous new movie about the science behind the most powerful pitch in the game, and it traces all the great flamethrowers from Walter Johnson to Goose Gossage, from Bob Feller to Bob Gibson, and from Sandy Koufax to Nolan Ryan. It’s a fascinating show, narrated by Kevin Costner. If you’re a baseball fan, watch it. If you’re a science geek, watch it. It’s fantastic.

Later in the afternoon, Barb got to join the adventure. Lance, Radar, and I drove to downtown St. Paul and checked in at the historic St. Paul Hotel, while Oscar rode with Barbara. We’d be joined by plenty of others later in the day. And the view from the room Barb and I got was fairly spectacular.

After we got to our rooms, the guys and I walked around downtown for a bit, making an initial beeline for the Herb Brooks stature outside the Xcel Energy Center. Do you believe in miracles?

We then walked through the tunnel to the lobby of the arena, and browsed through the Minnesota Wild’s team store, known as The Hockey Lodge. All the gates into the arena were closed, but one young security guy was seated next to an open area on a folding chair. I said, “Any chance I can show my buddies the arena? We’ll just go in and out.”

He said, “Well, there’s nothing going on in there, but sure. You can go look around.” We did just that, and as we left I thanked the young man again. He said, “Thanks for stopping in to see us!” The guys got a kick out of that.

When we got back to the hotel, we met in the lobby for a bit, and Lance watched a tall gentleman with a handlebar mustache walk through with his wife. He said, “I was going to say that guy looks like Rollie Fingers, but it actually is Rollie Fingers.” Sure enough, it was.

There was a big charity benefit in the hotel over the weekend, and Saturday night was apparently the big keynote event. Rollie Fingers was just one of many famous folks who donned tuxedos and formal gowns for the fundraiser.

We had dinner plans, however, so we couldn’t sit around and idly gawk at celebs. The guys were still pretty bushed from our hectic pace in Minneapolis, but Barbara and I wanted to meet our friend Lynn Blake in Lowertown, so we walked down there, around 6:00.

Lynn and Terry Blake are former neighbors in the old neighborhood, and are dear friends. They’re our former neighbors who are just finishing the process of totally and utterly downsizing, now that they’re about to be empty-nesters. They sold their big house around the corner from where we used to live, and rented a two-bedroom apartment in the Lowertown section of St. Paul, in a massive building that used to be the main Post Office. We thought we were adjusting by moving to this place. I don’t know how we could do what they’re doing, but I’m a little jealous of what they’ve done.

We had glass of wine with Lynn at a sidewalk cafe, and then walked back up the hill to Kincaid’s, right across the street from the hotel. And much fun was had by all. It was off-the-charts fun.

Terry Blake arrived to join his wife, and we also welcomed Joe and Mary Beth Gillis, while Scott Meehan tagged along as well. It was a mini-Marsh Creek reunion featuring Lance, Oscar, and Radar as official guests. Most of us haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.

They put us at a private table in the back, which was probably a good thing for all the other diners, and we ate and imbibed while a major thunderstorm lit up the windows with lightning strikes, as the rain poured down on the streets. I had salmon, for those of you keeping score at home.

So, it was wonderful. I got to spend more time with my buddies, and we’re already talking about next summer. We’ve decided a Major League ballgame should continue to be a key part of the process, and right now we’re thinking of Seattle, San Francisco, or San Diego as 2017 options, but I’m sure there are other choices, as well, and we’re open to them all.

This time, it was really special for me to be able to have two groups of wonderful dear friends all join up for a great dinner and epic conversations. Like in “Ghostbusters” it’s not always safe to “cross the beams” like that, but I was confident our Woodbury friends and my SIUE buddies would all enjoy each other’s company, and it was a riot. Big thanks to everyone for spending the evening with us.

The only hole in the evening was that Neighbor Dave and Nichol couldn’t make it. Their daughter Alexa was in town with her hockey-player boyfriend CJ, and that was their completely understandable priority. Hopefully, we’ll get together with them very soon.

As for the book, yesterday was an unprecedented day. I had a great phone conversation with Whit Bazemore, in mid-morning, before I started writing. We enjoyed catching up on things and talking about our lives, what we’ve been through, things we’ve learned, and where we’ve come. Just a lot of great stuff with one of the more interesting guys I ever met in drag racing. He also connected a few dots for me, on things I remembered from our time together in 1996 but couldn’t completely nail down. Then I picked up where I’d left off with Chapter 25 and started writing. And writing. And writing.

Five or six hours later, I took a break. And I realized I’d not only finished Chapter 25, I’d just kept going and the last four or five pages were actually the start of Chapter 26! I’d never accidentally started a new chapter without realizing it, before.

So what does that mean? It means “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” is now into the Worsham years, and that’s really exciting. When I sat down, back out in Liberty Lake on the first Monday after the new year, the mountain I was about to climb was so stratospherically tall I had to force myself to not even think about it. I could only think of that first page, and that first chapter. Since then, I’ve been “going to work” four days a week to tackle chapter after chapter, always keeping the blinders on to focus on each week’s story. From childhood, to high school, to college, with baseball a constant theme until indoor soccer draws me in, it’s been page after page of memories. And then my first racing job at Heartland Park. Then working for the guy in New Jersey as his PR assistant, representing Mike Dunn and the late Chuck Etchells. I knew by then that my dream was to be a full-time PR rep and marketing guy for a top flight NHRA team, being fully responsible for my part of the organization while being trusted to do it all well. It was a dream I chased for many years, while a few detours kept me from it. The timing had to be right. The dream couldn’t be forced to happen.

In 1997, the dream presented itself to me. I’d still need to work hard and do well for it to fully come true, but it was right in front of me with the Worshams. Nothing would ever be the same for me, again. To now be writing about it, makes the hair on my arms stand up. I’m finally in the real home stretch, writing about the most important time in my life. And at the very start of it, in the spring of ’97, Lance introduced me to Barbara.

At the age of 40, I was entering the best and most important time of my life. And I finally get to put it all on paper.

Now, I’ll wrap this up and leave you with the vision of Minny and Paul, as they shake hands across the Mississippi, smiling as they oversee beautiful Target Field.

And I’ll turn my sights to the weekend. It’ll be very odd to not be in Denver with Dick Levi and his big group of friends, up on top of the hill overlooking the valley. But the chance to watch this race unfold on FOX this Sunday will be a day to remember.

It also looks like it’s going to be Denver hot out there this year. Over the years, we’ve gotten lucky a few times, but more often than not the July sun beats down on you up there on the mountain, before the afternoon storms roll over the hills. At that altitude, it can feel like the sun is about 15 feet above your head.

Next week I’m off to Sonoma and I got the great news last night that Barb can clear her schedule enough to come along. And, even better, we’ll be taking Vince and Mary Bienek with us, to get their first taste (and smell) of NHRA on Saturday. Another baseball reunion!

See you next week!

Bob Wilber, at your service with great friends all around.