My Awesome Dream Business Plan

And when I say "dream" I mean literally--I dreamt that my husband and I started an awesome new business. Finally! My dream time is paying off (rather than digressing into nonsensical nightmare scenarios and quasi-Freudian non sequiturs). This business would fill a niche market that is not currently being taken advantage of: music purists who need personal documentation delivery and small appliance repairs. That's right, folks: we have a large and comprehensive collection of vinyl LPs, a value-added personal document delivery service (birth certificates! social security cards! credit report scores!), and, while you wait, my husband can repair or replace frayed power cables belonging to your well-used small home appliances (waffle irons! blenders! coffee grinders! ETC.!). A super-useful customer-oriented service provided by us for you, the consumer!

So come on down to Records Records & Re-Cords, LLC!

Please Stand By

We will return you to your irregularly scheduled programming soon(ish)

--MM Staff

4192: Pete Rose Makes His Case (Again)

Wow, readers: as promised I viewed the new documentary 4192 yesterday. It details the career of one Peter Edward Rose, a guy I have had a hard time loving--but even a harder time hating. Pete doesn't make it easy to feel either way about him, at least for the die-hard Reds fans, and this doc (if anyone sees it) makes it even more difficult to keep the long-held keep-the-bum-out public opinion going.

Look, I know there's been a lot of Pete Rose publicity stunts aimed at reinstating him into the good graces of baseball in the last decade or so, and I know he's sounding more and more pathetic and desperate (and guilty) with each one. But here's the thing: the guy was f-ing amazing. He was the real deal, which, in this age of 'roided up super-villain-looking cheaters, seems more rare, more genuine and a breath of fresh air. Pete was (and still is, by the looks of him in the film) a total troll: not by any means tall or muscled or agile or graceful--not an athlete at all, by most definitions. The fact that he was able to succeed like he did was no accident, stroke of luck or by-product of dirty-dealings: it was sheer grit, heart and H-U-S-T-L-E. That little troll was scrappy, he could hit from either side of the plate and would play any position he was asked to play with no complaints. Would any of that fly today with our current crowd of jacked-up prima donnas? I doubt Jeter would be so accommodating.

The film just lays it all out there for you: the numbers have always spoken very loudly about his (mind-boggling) accomplishments, but there were also some of the most accomplished and respected faces in baseball extolling Pete's virtues. Marty Brenneman, Mike Schmidt, and (Mercy Missile favorite) Tony Perez: all saying what a stand-up guy and astounding player Pete is/was. I dare you: go see this film, listen to the adorable Tony Perez talk about his BFF and try and tell me you still think Pete should be barred from Cooperstown. If you can do this than you have a heart of cold hard steel.

*Please note* I would be remiss if I did not warn you: about halfway in Pete does a cringe-worthy reenactment of that awful Aqua Velva commercial. Ye be warned!

Sparky Anderson, 1934-2010

A few days ago I learned about the death of Sparky Anderson--the beloved manager of the Cincinnati Reds during the empire years of the Big Red Machine (1970-76). Sparky was a guy who spent 40 years in baseball: entering the minors in 1953 and managing his last game with the Tigers in 1995.

I already knew the highlights of his career (the back-to-back World Series titles in '75 & '76), and I even knew the fun, fallen-out-of-common-knowledge puzzlers (like, that Sparky's nickname as manager was "Captain Hook." Only in baseball does a guy already known as "Sparky" get a nickname). What I didn't really know was anything about his career before becoming a manager, when he was just George Lee Anderson: minor league talent. It's kind of tragic, really--like that part in Field of Dreams when Burt Lancaster is telling Kevin Costner about his one half of an inning that he got to play right field in the majors, essentially an uneventful failure, but that it was okay because then he got to go be a doctor (*sob!*).

Check out his stats and tell me that's not sad: he was never a great batter, but he was consistently in the mid .200's, which isn't bad. He worked his way up the minor league pecking order pretty quickly, too, starting out in the California League, then on to single, double, and finally triple A ball, progressing one league up each year. So obviously someone thought Mr. Anderson was alright, at least good enough for a promotion each year. It's when we get to 1959 that we run into Moonlight Graham territory:

April 10th, 1959 George Anderson reported up to Philadelphia as second baseman; on September 27th, 1959 he played in his final major league game ever. We don't get much of a narrative in these stats-obsessed kinds of sources, but it's fun to try and eke out a story: he ended up with a kind-of disappointing-but-by-no-means-terrible-for-a-rookie .218 batting average, so we can assume the major league pitching had him a little rattled. He committed 12 errors, but he got to play in 152 games that season, so it looks like he was the second baseman in Philly that year (no riding the pine in '59 for this one). But then they sent him back down to AAA, where he finished out his playing career with the Toronto Maple Leafs (no, not a hockey team) in 1963. It's strange: you've got to think that plenty of other notable baseball players started out with stats at (or below) those of Sparky's, but maybe they got second chances for some reason or another and the good Captain didn't.

But then, of course, Sparky broke into managing and that's how he ultimately got to Cooperstown. Can't say it's a bad ending (we just won't think too much about those years in Detroit).

In memory of Captain Hook I'm making a trip out to my local cinema today for an afternoon matinee: 4192, which will undoubtedly feature amazing footage of Sparky's glory years.

Mercy Missiles Cocktail Hour

Readers, as you may have suspected, it has taken us a good solid week (and a half) to get over the bitter taste of defeat in the wake of the Phillies' commanding sweep of our beloved Cincinnati Reds in the NL pennant race. R.I.P., 2010 season: you were as surprising as you were exciting. Se la vie.

It's fitting, then, that I now bring you the next installment in our ongoing series of thematic cocktail recipe fun. This offering was served up last night for our viewing of the season 4 finale of Mad Men, a show which has given us a consistently good excuse to mix up some exotic drinks. Upon review of our liquor cabinet, I decided we should delve back into the instincts-defying world of scotch-inspired cocktails--both because of our recent success with the surprisingly good Blood and Sand we mixed up last week, and because we still had more than half a bottle of scotch laying around.

A little research brought an excitingly-named candidate to the top of our list: the Piper at the Gates of Dawn(!). Like the Blood and Sand, the first sip is kind of strange--but the Kahlua takes hold pretty quickly and the cream smooths everyone's rough edges while the maraschino liqueur--which, oddly enough, I had on hand--lends a warm, syrupy dimension to the back end. It's pretty nice, if a little heavy. You wouldn't really want more than one or two--definitely a cold weather drink. Here's the details:

Piper at the Gates of Dawn

• 1&1/2 oz scotch
• 1 oz Kahlua
• 1/2 oz maraschino liqueur
• 1/2 oz cream

Add all ingredients except the cream to a shaker filled with ice, shake until cold, then strain into an old fashioned glass over ice. Slowly pour the cream into the drink over the back of a spoon, so it floats on top.

Piper at the Gates of Dawn was released in 1967, so we can make this drink thematic by imagining the events in this season of Mad Men (along with the great clothes and swingin' mod-ness of the glass-and-art deco SCDP offices)--all of which takes place in 1965--as leading up to the sound and insanity of the Floyd album. This year we see the series kicking into the 60's ideal, & as one of my favorite tv blogs points out: what we generally think of as the American 1960's didn't really come about until there was a Kennedy in the ground and Beatles on the tarmac. So, you know, if you really need your cocktail to speak to you about your favorite tv show and its corresponding cultural environment via its own (probably arbitrary) moniker, then I guess you can think about it that way. Me? Yeah, I like things to be appropriately related to my beverages in that way, and this little recipe is pretty tasty to boot.

The Kahlua surrounds the icy scotch underground.

Ouch

Wow, that was heart-rending. The Phillies' Roy "Doc" Halladay (yeah, yeah, awesome name, I know) threw only the second post-season perfect game in baseball history last night--he's the first to do it in the National League--the Yankee's Don Larsen is the other guy, way back in 1965. Okay, yeah, great--but ouch, did it have to be against my Reds? In the very first game of the series? Pretty darn deflating, you guys.

If you need me today I'll be at my local candle merchant, stocking up on extra voodoo for the JB shrine...