Victorious because of their righteousness and holiness (and some pretty good pitching...and then there were those clutch hits), the Cleveland Indians celebrate, tastefully at The House
That Ruth Built. The Old Curmudgeon is reminded of an old boss that used to advise him that he Tribe could never really enter the post-season because they "can't beat the Yankees." It seemed he was right at the time. This recent turn of events is causing The Curmudgeon to review many of this fellow's other (many and varied) pronouncements.The Old Curmudgeon acknowledges that staying up half the night listening to the rather faint radio signal trying it's best to reach Indiana from WTAM in Cleveland has left him rather fatigued today. Perhaps that couch in the office this afternoon if things are slow...
10 comments:
I am rarely an American League fan, but will be cheering for the Indians as they hopefully take the next step toward the World Series. This in spite of the fact that my own denomination (whose offices are in Cleveland) have chastised the owners for Chief Wahoo -as a mascot which degrades our Native American brothers and sisters.
A few thoughts: 1. Thinking of how Uncle Clark would feel makes me smile. 2. Hopefully you have reminded the former boss of what he said. 3. The denomination of my beloved brother should have more important business to deal with besides Chief Wahoo : >) 4. Is a trip to the Jack now in the plan?
Ah, Chief Wahoo. The logo some people love and others love to hate. I must admit to an urge to defend our beloved Chie.f Growing up in Cleveland, as I did, the Chief was ubiquitous. He was seen all over town on hats, jackets, shirts, flags, posters, advertising. Everywhere. Especially at Cleveland Stadium, where a giant, neon-outlined Chief Wahoo rotated in perpetual readiness to slam a home run. The remarkable thing about the Chief is that he was always happy -- always smiling at you. At the beginning of each televised game in C-Town, a muscular animated Chief would swing three bats a few times, toss them aside and stride to the plate where he happily faced an "off-camera" pitcher. He got a solid hit on each pitch (as the announcer revealed all the sponsors for the day's telecast -- one for each hit) The Chief's pre-game appearance provided hope that the Indians would play well that day. He was energetic and optimistic. Even when the team' didn't prevail (and that happened plenty in those days), the Chief was never depressed, never bitter. He smiled that smile at you and you knew he was saying, "Hey, it's ok. Don't worry about this stuf. We'll be ok. We'll try again next time." It saddens me to think that some find our beloved mascot to be offensive. But like most bigotry, my guess is that it emanates from people who don't know the Chief like I have known him. If the church officials spent less time with their noses in the Bible and more time watching baseball, I think they would find their attitudes transcending this kind of petty pandering to discontented trouble-makers. I would also like to point out that my Aunt Eib has assured me that I am descended from a Cherokee Chief. Being raised as a European American and having Cherokee ancestry gives me the balanced perspective to make an authoritative assessment of this situation. Once while visiting Sante Fe New Mexico, a local questioned me on the merits of the Chief Wahoo logo on my wind-breaker. My response to her was that I didn't get bent out of shape about Homer Simpson. She thought I had a good point. In closing, the misguided may succeed in pulling Chief Wahoo's likeness from our ballpark and our sports-gear, but they will never be able to remove him from our hearts.
And, unfortunately, there are no plans to visit the Jake at this moment. (sad face).
I too feel the Cherokee blood coursing through my veins. If you didn't notice, a rather racist comment was included in my French Lake photographs (learned at the knee of Pete Williams) Anyway, when ever I see a fire I tend to dance and begin chanting. My last post didn't come up so this is basically a repeat.
Game 1: Ouch!
Yeah. You wouldn't know C.C. was a Cy Young candidate from the evidence he provided last night. I have my hopes that the REAL Indians will escape from their captors aboard the Mother Ship and show up for tonight's game.
Game 2:
"Let the 'Curse of Trot Nixon' stories begin, here and now."-Mike O'Malley, actor, writer and fervent Boston Red Sox fan,
Game 2: Hey ye ye ye ye ya ya ya ya ya. (drum sounds in background) Hey ye ye ye ye ya ya ya ya ay. (smoking rising from fire)
Game 3: Could it be? Could it be?
Top of the eighth with the Tribe down by 3. Bases loaded. If The Old Curmudgeon were walking, there would be a noticeable lack of spring in his step. He is trying to stem the tide of flashbacks to years past. Why does not the Great Spirit Moneto hear our cries?
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