Hey, no one is perfect
A GRIP ON SPORTS • Happy Father’s Day. Do we have stories? You bet. Are we going to share them. Sure. Read on.
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• After toiling over a hot computer for hours this morning, I finally found a Father’s Day story worth sharing. It comes from one of my favorite writers, Bill Plaschke of the Los Angeles Times, and it concerns one of the best young players in baseball, Joc Pederson (pictured). It’s worth your time this morning, or this evening if that’s when your home quiets down. As for Father’s Day around here, I sat down at my computer to write this morning and there was a present sitting just above the keyboard from my youngest son. It was pretty funny, a soft drink of sorts, with an Alice-in-Wonderland touch, the words “drink me” attached. I’m afraid I’d shrink, son, so I’ll pass this morning. But it did get me to thinking. I don’t remember any of the Father’s Day gifts I got my dad. Yet, I’m sure, if you could ask him he would recall them all. Or at least the stupid ones. The odd thing is, the greatest gift that comes out of Father’s Day is memories for dad of dad, if that makes any sense. The day kind of forces you to think back on your days as a kid and the things your father did for you. And to you. Hell, no dad is perfect. My father screwed up many times. I screwed up as a dad just as much. But, as my dad used to say, there was only one perfect person ever born and they crucified him. Mistakes are a part of being human and a big part of being a parent. One of the biggest mistakes I ever made as a kid happened when I was 16. I wanted to use the “good” car to go somewhere. That would have been my mom’s Toyota station wagon. But dad said no. Told me to take the Scout car, a box on wheels with a three-speed and as much comfort as Fred Flintstone’s ride. So I took the Scout car and immediately drove to where my mom was and sweet-talked her into switching cars with me. And, you guessed it, within 15 minutes I had gotten into an accident. Rear-ending a guy in of all places downtown, in full view of a bunch of people who knew my dad. What an idiot I was. And guess who I had to call to come get me? Yep, dad. He had to walk the 10 or so blocks to where I was. My guess is when he left the house he had steam coming from both ears. By the time he got downtown he had cooled off some. Enough, I reckon, to bite his tongue. To let me suffer waiting for the ax to fall. His lack of anger toward me scared me more than any outburst. I started envisioning the explosion that was sure to come. The torture devices he had planned, the blood that was going to be spilled. But none of it came to pass. After we got the car running, banging out a few dents, he drove me home in complete silence – I do remember him taking a roundabout way home and I figured he had dug my grave somewhere in the hills and was headed there – and let me imagine my own demise. It worked. When he finally talked with me I was all ears. The punishment was severe (I don’t remember exactly what, but I do know I was bumming rides for a while) and well deserved. But the word he said that hurt the most, that cut the deepest, that always bothered me, was simple. He was “disappointed.” Disappointed that I would disobey his direct wishes and talk mom into using her car. The car she loved. Then he left me alone. Wow. What a surprise. My butt didn’t hurt. But everything else did. How could I have been so stupid? As I sat there contemplating the depths of my idiocy, I realized one thing. He hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t whacked me. He had just taken me apart with softer-than-usual words. Really, I realized, I was lucky. I was in one piece. I had survived. Then my mom came home.
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• WSU: The only news out of Pullman yesterday was really big news. And really sad news. Elson S. Floyd, the long-time president of the university, died after a battle with colon cancer. The outpouring of grief over his passing was remarkable but understandable.
• Indians: Greg Lee was filling in yesterday and has this game story of the Indians’ 6-3 loss to Hillsboro. ... I missed Chris Derrick’s blog post from the night before but it is still timely considering how poor Spokane’s defense was Saturday night.
• Shadow: Another match, another win.
• Golf: Jason Day went down in a heap with half-a-hole left Friday afternoon. He picked himself up, finished the round and headed back to his RV. Now, one round later, he’s leading the U.S. Open. Jim Meehan has that story as well as a column and notebook from Chambers Bay. ... Three rounds in, the golf course is still the star. Or the villain, whichever way you want to look at it. But the limelight hasn’t strayed too far away from the course.
• Preps: I couldn’t find this story from Greg yesterday online, but I another look today turned it up. It’s not the type of high school sports story you expect to read.
• Mariners: Two down, one more to go. If the M’s can finish the sweep of the Astros today, I’ll have to start being a bit more optimistic. I promised. Last night’s win came courtesy of a strong Taijuan Walker start and another offensive “eruption” by the M’s. They won, 6-3. ... Before the game, the M’s reassigned hitting coach Howard Johnson to the minor leagues and dipped into their past for the new one, Edgar Martinez. How M’s of them. ... Mark Trumbo hit his first home run as a Mariner.
• Sounders: Some group of guys wearing Sounder uniforms lost to San Jose 2-0 yesterday, capping one of the worst weeks in franchise history. ... As you could expect, the Earthquakes were ecstatic and the Sounders, including coach Sigi Schmid, were a bit ticked off. ... Portland won again. The Timbers are on a roll.
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• When I wrote in this space I wanted a new edger for Father’s Day, I think the Mariners’ brass misread it as, I want a new Edgar. So they gave me one. How nice of them. Until later ...
