WEST PALM BEACH, FL – It’s that time of year once again. If it’s August, then me and the fam must be down in Florida (or what Ozzie Guillen likes to call, “Fidel Castro’s Rec Room“) visiting my wife’s family. This is the first time ever I can recall coming to the Sunshine State to escape the heat, as New York has been setting all kinds of pit stain records this summer not to mention all those bursting-at-the-seams ass-sweat levees. Anyway, though I usually come down here to drop out, disconnect, and drink dark n’ stormys, I’ve been checking in on the world of sports here and there and been up to other relaxing pursuits as well. Here my Sports Report From God’s Waiting Room.
Permanent Vacation? Funny thing, but ever since I left New York, the Mets are showing signs of life (R.A. Dickey must get to 20 wins. We can’t have Frank Viola being the last Mets 20-game winner. It’s wrong.), the Yankees are stumbling a bit, and the Mariners have won 5 in a row… even as they continue to trade away their team. If I knew it was this easy, I would have gotten out of Dodge weeks ago. At this rate maybe by the time I get back Mayor Bloomberg will have already shot Jason Bay out of a cannon and put James Dolan in one of those old-timey medieval stocks outside MSG for public ridicule. I’ll stay away forever if it gives any hope to the Vikings.
Blazing Paddles. Hit the beach yesterday with the extended family. In between my nephew and daughter dumping wet sand on me in the shallows and calling it dinosaur poopy (a joke that never got old) my sister-in-law took a moment to try to teach me how to use a paddle board. If you’ve never seen one of these things in use, you basically look like a surfing gondolier, standing atop a large board with an equally unwieldy paddle. For those with the grace to operate this particular aquaratus, like my aforementioned sister-in-law, you can effortlessly zoom up and down the coastline like Theodore Calvin’s Island Hopper chopper on Magnum P.I. As for myself, I’d say I looked more like a short bus silver surfer. Fewer clumsy dives were taken in the last World Cup and Euro 2012 combined. I finally did make it up for a spell and felt a certain pride in that. Though I was more concerned with not braining some floating geezer than I was with any style points (note, there were none). Anyway, I’ll work on the Co-Ward-ination and hopefully take another crack in a few days.
Garbage Time! A couple of days ago, my father-in-law asked me if I wanted to take a run over to Total Wine with him to pick up some beer for that night’s BBQ. I thought that would also be an excellent opportunity to pick up some Gosling’s so, needless to say, I was in. A couple of minutes into the ride my chauffeur somehow managed to steer the conversation to Florida’s garbage problems. He mentioned that many of the state’s dumping sites were out of control with waste piled stories high. He then asked if I wanted to see what he was talking about. As I responded “No, I really don’t want to see a mountain of trash,” he countered with “It’s only ten minutes away,” while making a sharp turn towards the on-ramp, all in one amazing move. It was fairly impressive and one of the greatest bait and switches I’d ever witnessed. You just can’t get mad at something like that. And how many people get to say that they visited a dump/methane gas facility on their vacation?
OK, times up. Need to get a beer and get on out to the pool. More of my Sports Report from points south next week. Cam James, tomorrow.
