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By education and experience - Accountant with a specialty in taxation. Formerly a CPA (license has lapsed). Masters degree in law of taxation from University of Denver. Now retired. Part time work during baseball season as receptionist & switchboard operator for the Colorado Rockies. This gig feeds my soul in ways I have trouble articulating. One daughter, and four grandchildren. I share the house with two cats; a big goof of a cat called Grinch (named as a joke for his easy going "whatever" disposition); and Lady, a shelter adoptee with a regal bearing and sweet little soprano voice. I would be very bereft if it ever becomes necessary to keep house without a cat.
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Coors Field Nugget Four - mumble, don't shout
The season is winding down, and I find it hard to find the will to write about what has really been a disappointing season. But last night late in the game came one of those moments which keep baseball endlessly intriguing - at least to me.
Top of the eighth, and the Dodgers were ahead by six runs. A steady rain had begun to fall. My co workers and I were fervently hoping that the umpires would not halt the action. We all wanted to get out of there and go home, and suspending the game on account of weather would have meant at least a half hour wait.
Dodger center fielder Matt Kemp was batting, and he tried to check his swing, with two strikes already against him. First base umpire Ted Barrett signaled strike three.
Kemp was not happy. Both Barrett and the home plate umpire received dark moody stares as Kemp slowly strolled back to the dugout, which at Coors field is on the left field side of the stadium. On the TV monitors, we could see that as he moved among his teammates, he was beginning to vocalize his displeasure.
Suddenly, Barrett, standing behind first base, quite some distance away from Kemp, signalled that he was out of the game. Watching the pantomine unfold, we had to laugh.
Clearly, Kemp did not lower his voice. I don't know what he said, but I can guess.
The moral of the story: When you are compelled to use the "magic words" in your diatribe, it's best to mumble, not shout.
Top of the eighth, and the Dodgers were ahead by six runs. A steady rain had begun to fall. My co workers and I were fervently hoping that the umpires would not halt the action. We all wanted to get out of there and go home, and suspending the game on account of weather would have meant at least a half hour wait.
Dodger center fielder Matt Kemp was batting, and he tried to check his swing, with two strikes already against him. First base umpire Ted Barrett signaled strike three.
Kemp was not happy. Both Barrett and the home plate umpire received dark moody stares as Kemp slowly strolled back to the dugout, which at Coors field is on the left field side of the stadium. On the TV monitors, we could see that as he moved among his teammates, he was beginning to vocalize his displeasure.
Suddenly, Barrett, standing behind first base, quite some distance away from Kemp, signalled that he was out of the game. Watching the pantomine unfold, we had to laugh.
Clearly, Kemp did not lower his voice. I don't know what he said, but I can guess.
The moral of the story: When you are compelled to use the "magic words" in your diatribe, it's best to mumble, not shout.
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