And as a baseball bonus, we return you to Riccardo Muti, from 2012 when he threw out the first pitch at a Cubs game. I find it adorable that Muti seems to love the Cubs, particularly since he's from Italy and didn't grow up on baseball or perhaps ever played it at all. But we know now that he's a lefty. Not the same form on the mound (or front thereof) as on the podium, but he did get it to the plate. By the way, listen closely in the background as he walks to the mount. The P.A. is playing Beethoven's 5th Symphony.
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I assume that most people watched the big sports event on Sunday, and sat in pure enjoyment at the amazing, exciting, fingernail-tight game. And most notably above all, celebrated as I did the utterly remarkable victory when the beloved Northwestern basketball team beat national #1 Purdue -- the first time ever in the school's history that they beat a current #1 basketball opponent. Clearly, this got swamped by the other sports news of the day -- in fact, I'm almost shocked that anyone would even schedule a sports event the same day as the Super Bowl (though at least it was earlier in the day and didn't overlap) -- but it was still really big news. Not just because it was the beloved Northwestern, but any time a #1 teams loses to a big underdog, it's big news. After two dismal seasons in a row, Northwestern has had a pretty good year -- their record is 18-7 and actually have a chance to get selected to the post-season tournament for only the second time ever -- so, it wasn't an otherworldly win. Just an unexpected huge one. And glad it got played in Evanston, so the students were able to go crazy throughout the game. And most especially at the end. Today is my Aunt Joan's 95th birthday, and it reminded me of one of my favorite tales that I posted here five years ago the day after a surprise party for her 90th birthday. So, I thought it appropriate to post it again in her honor. I unfortunately wasn't able to attend the party my cousin Susie put together this time around, but we did talk, and she's still the spitfire I refer to in the article. (She said, "I'm so glad you remembered it was my birthday!" I replied that I've had a lot of practice...) The only things different from what I wrote in the article are that her husband Dick, who I refer to, passed away in the interim after a long, terrific life together, and she's not on all the committees she was at the time, feeling it was best to let others have a chance to take the responsibility -- though she still consults and gives her opinion. Of course. Surprise Yesterday was the surprise party for my Aunt Joan 90th birthday, though her actual birthday isn't until Tuesday. It went very well, wonderfully organized for months by her daughter, my cousin Susie, but the logistics were dicey because she’s still very dynamic, and it required maneuvering her to do things uncommon for her because she likes to be in control and without her guessing she was being maneuvered. I've always said that if I’m ever in a war, I want her in my foxhole – even today. She's still that vibrant. I occasionally get phone calls from her at 10:30 at night...but that's in Los Angeles. She lives back in Chicago, so it's 12:30 in the morning. She's usually working on some project at that hour, "And I don't want to go to bed until I get it finished." Her husband has long-since been sleeping, but she's working away. And it's not a little project for herself, but for some organization she's working with. She's also the head of food committee at the independent living residence where they are -- she's wanted to quit that, but the managers keep asking her to stay because she's so good at it. She went back to school in late-middle age to get her Masters degree (at the beloved Northwestern) and then ran a family services social program there. She's quite the dynamo -- so maneuvering her around without her guessing was no easy task. Part of the plan was to get her to the curb outside her residence and have her daughter (my cousin) call to say she was running 20 minutes late -- and not have her decide to go back upstairs to wait. Instead, a few of us had set up the idea of visiting a room across the street where an earlier party had taken place that I hadn't been in town for and wanted to see, because the room and view were supposed to be so nice. That's where our party was taken place. There were some hiccups along the way, but we tapdanced though them and got her across the street, into the other building and going up the elevator. And it all worked – but came apart with 50 feet to go. That close to the promised land, she saw a server in the doorway, and thought someone else was having a party there. And she wouldn't go in. In fact, she stopped dead in her tracks. I said I thought it would be okay, and would check. But she didn't want me to do that, and when I kept heading towards the door to "check," she got very blunt about it. She saw the coat rack and knew therefore that there was indeed a party. I tried to noodge her on, but you don't noodge Aunt Joan. "There's an unwritten rule at the residence," she said forcefully, "that when someone else is having a party, you do not intrude in any way." And the more I said it should be fine, the more I could see her not only shutting down, but starting to get angry. And took a few more steps closer, and it looked like she was about to implode, insistent that I stop. "I live here," she said through clenched teeth, "you don't. I deal with these people all the time. Stop." What I realized was a double problem: that not only did I have to get her in, but if she imploded too much she wouldn’t enjoy the surprise. And we were on the verge of that. She had that Aunt Joan Look. So I quickly decided that I had to blow the secret. I walked back to her, leaned in close in a very personal, quiet way, and said, “There is a party. And it’s for you. It’s a surprise.” She was bewildered for a moment and said that it couldn’t be because she’d just gotten a call from her daughter who was 20 minutes away. “No,” I said, “she’s here. In the room. that was part of our ruse.” When I moved her forward a little bit and she saw an easel at the doorway with pictures of her, that's when it finally clicked in that this was real. However, she was still slightly uncertain about it all. But walking through the door, even with the surprise being blown, that turned out to act as a sort of set up, and once inside, she was overwhelmed to see how many people were there, filling up the place, and kept saying, “Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh, my!!” So, it worked out. And she had a wonderful time. And was all smiles at the end, appreciative of the ruse. Phew. O joy! A moment of personal privilege. I listen to at least part of about 150 Chicago Cubs baseball games a year. In part because I love the team, but also in part (even when the team is deeply far out of contention) because I love their radio play-by-play announcer Pat Hughes. In fact, when I watch games with my MLB.TV account I use their "overlay" feature so that I can synchronize the TV video with the radio audio, just to hear Pat Hughes instead. It's not that I don't like the TV announcers -- they're good -- I just love Pat Hughes. The team has had some legendary announcers in the Baseball Hall of Fame -- notably Jack Brickhouse and Harry Caray -- and Pat Hughes fits in with them, calling the team's games now for over a quarter of a century. So, it was a joy to read today that Pat Hughes was named the Ford C. Frick Award winner by the National Baseball Hall of Fame and will be entering the Hall of Fame in July. As the Hall of Fame announced -- “Known throughout the Midwest for his easy delivery and unparalleled knowledge, Pat Hughes has called some of the biggest moments in Cubs history and has provided the narrative for one of the most successful eras in the history of the franchise. Since arriving at Wrigley Field in 1996, Pat has served as the radio voice for nine postseason teams – matching an ardent fan base with his own passion in every broadcast. His reverence for baseball history and gift for storytelling have made him one of the game’s broadcast treasures.” I love the charm and humor of his announcing, but also the profound decency he shows on air, dealing with his radio partners, guests and audience. Upon hearing the news, I immediately put on WSCR (which carries the Cubs games on radio) and caught the end of their live interview with him. His last comment was pure Pat – saying that "Talking about this seems like I'm talking about another person." I'll leave it at that and just embed a brief congratulation video the Cubs put together in his honor, with some of his great moments -- ending with his most memorable: calling the last out in 2016 when the team won their first World Series in 108 years. As a bonus, this is a lovely moment from last year. That's when Cubs President of Business Operations came to the radio booth to announce the two player who had been voted into the Cubs Hall of Fame -- and then finally surprising a totally unsuspecting Pat Hughes that he too had been selected. Marquee Sports split the screen so you could watch his reaction and almost tongued-tied comments while watching the play-by-play. Oh, okay, one more bonus. Here's Pat Hughes' full radio call from 2016 of the final pitch when the Cubs won their first World Series in 2018, synched together with the TV video. This is the Halloween broadcast of Kukla, Fran & Ollie I mentioned the other day that aired 73 years ago tonight, on October 31, 1949. It follows up on the episode a few nights earlier, when Beulah Witch was preparing for her fellow alums and teachers from Witch Normal college coming to town for a Halloween convention – but a small crisis comes up that she has to avert. As things develop, the other Kuklapolitans excitedly prepare for trick-or-treating, and sing a bunch of songs along the way – my favorite being Beulah Witch’s rendition of “That Old Black Magic.” The episode also shows off Burr Tillstrom’s artistry well – though it’s subtle because he does it with such ease. The first is the opening of the show when music director Jack Fascianato plays the KF&O theme “Here We Are Again,” and he’s joined by two Kuklapolitans accompanying him on toy pianos. It’s amusing and generally just plunking on the keys, except if you listen closely he actually is getting some of the theme music correct. (And made all the better because one of the two is my fave, the lunatic Cecil Bill.) And the other comes later in the episode when Kukla, Fran and Ollie sing a trio – with Tillstrom going back and forth with the two voices. As I said, it’s comes across with such natural ease, but it’s no small trick singing a duet with yourself. By the way, I noticed a bit of information posted with this video. Over 700 episodes of the show were transferred to digital thanks to funding from the Burr Tillstrom Copyright Trust and fans of the show – as well as, most interestingly, the Jane Henson Foundation. As I’ve written in the past, Jim Henson always said that Burr Tillstrom and Kukla, Fran and Ollie were one of his big inspirations to get into puppetry and ultimately create The Muppets. And his wife’s helping to fund this clearly supports that. Special thanks were given, as well, to the Chicago History Museum for its invaluable help in the process. And now – trick or treat! A couple of weeks ago, my bank switched ownership, so I went in to do some paperwork. As I waited, the guy behind me started chatting. It was perfectly normal – I wasn’t particularly interested in chatting, especially since he was a little rude to the staff, complaining about the wait (it was longer than I preferred, but at that point when he arrived it was just the two of us in line!) and a bit of a know it all, but fine, whatever. He was older than me, so he wasn’t a Spring chicken and pretty set him his opinions, some of which were responsible, some more of the role your eyes variety. And it turned out that he was originally from Chicago, so I figured we at least had that as a topic of conversation. I should jump ahead here somewhat. That’s when I later heard him make some derogatory comment about Dr. Anthony Fauci. I wasn’t sure I could have possibly heard him right (especially since is West Los Angeles, where my Congress rep, Karen Bass (who is now running for mayor won her previous race with 89% of the vote. And I’ve since been redistricted, and my new rep is the even more liberal Ted Lieu), so I listened more closely, and he made an even worse comment about Dr. Fauci, basically that he should be in jail. I had zero interest in getting into a political debate standing in my bank line – let alone one that was insane – but I didn’t want to let it pass as if it was accepted. So, I said that I didn’t remotely agree with him and couldn’t believe he actually felt that way, but I had no intention of debating it. Him: I can’t believe you feel that way. Me: (thinking, “Gee, what a great comeback that was.”) I’m not going to debate it. We just disagree. Him: He’s the reason we’re in this mess. Everything he’s said has been wrong. Me: That’s not true at all. But I’m not going to debate it. Him: I hate that Fauci. I call him ‘Dr. False-y.” He should be arrested. Me: I am not going to debate it. Eventually he got the hint. He stopped, and happily it was my turn to go to a teller. It was also a conversation that, given how our earlier exchange (which I haven’t told yet) had utterly bewildered me, I thought now -- ah, ha, got it! -- in retrospect, was made oh-so much more clear. So, okay, back to earlier, when we were having our more normal conversation, which I preferred not to have, but okay, so be it. As I said, he had grown up in Chicago, and when I mentioned that I had, too, he asked which of the two baseball teams I followed. I starred at him for a moment and thought to myself, “Wait, what?, are you serious??” I tried not to let my reaction give that away, but I have no poker face, so I’m sure the silence was unexpected, as was my scrunched-up expression. And yes, I know you’re probably thinking that he and I were total strangers, so it was a normal question, and there’s nothing wrong with asking it, that I was being unreasonable to think he should somehow magically know my favorite team. But no, I wasn’t. Because this is how I was dressed. So, I starred at him a moment longer, trying to figure out how on earth I was supposed to answer him. And finally, I didn’t say anything, but just held up my right index finger and very slowly moved it up to my hat…and pointed. And left my finger pointing. It took a moment to kick in, but after a few seconds, he finally realized that, oh, right, you’re wearing a Cubs cap, and said, “Ohhhh, right.” That exchange did two things. First, it got me to move off chatting with him more than was necessary. And second, when he started his rant about “Dr. False-y” and arresting him and putting him in jail and how he was wrong about everything, it put all that in proper perspective for his grasp of reality and the world around him staring him directly in the face, which he wilfully ignored. Sometimes, life delivers perfect metaphors. |
AuthorRobert J. Elisberg is a political commentator, screenwriter, novelist, tech writer and also some other things that I just tend to keep forgetting. Feedspot Badge of Honor
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