When I was in Chicago, I had the blessed opportunity to see the Detroit Tigers @ US WEST Cellular Field. It’s a great park and I’ll never forget the long walk there from downtown. Uneventful, relaxing, and gave me a great feel for the city. Got hella carbs (Italian food and beers at some random hole in the wall) to fuel the journey through several neighborhoods.
The game itself was both a hoot and a holler. Miguel Cabrera had hit two homers in the game, something I’d never seen live, off of Chris Sale of all pitchers. One was to left field and one was to left center. Both cleared the fence pretty easily. Verlander was late 2016 solid.
But my personal highlight came after my 8th beer when Big Lunch and I toured the park around the 4th or 5th inning. There were two men in scoring position, but I don’t remember if the bases were loaded or if that was an empty Miller Lite can clouding my vision to first base. One of the White Sox’s off-season free-agent hitting acquisitions was Todd Frazier. The White Home Run Hope of 2016. The at-bat ended up being a 3-2 count with Todd and freaking Justin Verlander locked in.
Either way, Todd Frazier took a strike that was slightly above the letters to end the inning. He was pretty upset and I would have been too if I were a White Sox fan. But I’m not.
By the time he got his next at-bat, I was back in my seat right above the Visitor’s Dugout. First pitch was a called strike right above the letters. And I couldn’t help myself but yell, “SAME PITCH THAT STRUCK YOU OUT, TODD!!!”
He broke a slight, but muted, smile. Todd Frazier, you no doubt had to stifle your admiration of my amazing timing and explosive wit. I’m sure of it.
Eisen Wor’sha > Woohoo, as of today I am celebrating 3 years of EVE life. I want to thank my computer, my parents, my Internet provider Comcast, and the abundance of free time life has afforded me.
Rhytmn > Congratulations Eisen Wor’sha
Cheapshot Calamity > 3 years or 3 years logged in?
Eisen Wor’sha > I’m putting on my birthday suit for this fleet. WOOOOO!!!
HypnoTode > congratulations 🙂
Ravans > wearing a onesie
Ravans > :\
Cheapshot Calamity > hey my kid is wearing a onsie
Cheapshot Calamity > what a coinkydink
Ravans > dad stop joining my alliances
Sinq Liason Region – Nexus Constellation
Gabrielle Reeve’s family had been mining Gallente space for several generations. She was assigned the Alillere system by her father and CEO of Reeve Industries. Her brother and sisters were healthy distances away from each other and identically equidistant from their parents’ hearts.
But Gabby, of all the siblings, had been handed the prize assignment by virtue of being the eldest. Alillere was a beautiful system with a diverse range of moons, an enthralling view of the Gallente nebula in the Verge constellation, and a sea of asteroid belts that furnished the incomes and profits of hundreds of mining corporations.
Allilere’s white sun, a 1.3 billion year-old F 0, blinded a few novice pilots stupid enough to stare, but didn’t aggressively reflect against the various ores found in the system.
Because Reeve Industries operated only in high security Gallente space, Gabby had the luxury of letting her attention lapse into more enjoyable routines. As she accurately guided mining lasers mounted on her Retriever, a thin-skinned boat of a ship affectionately named “Big Mouth Bernadette,” Gabby sang to her drones and watched holoreels produced within the Federation. When wine clouded her judgment, she placed substantial bets on gravball matches.
Typical days were uneventful, filled with the sounds of lasers breaking up chunks of asteroids and the crash of ore against ship hulls. Despite what they say, space is noisy.
Today, Gabby gently guided her ship between two massive plagioclase asteroids and noticed a couple of Serpentis scouts on the peripheral edge of the belt after a few cycles. Her sensor automatons would have sent alerts to her implants and to the bioware on her wrists that make a slight mechanical tick. But because Gabby habitually checked her directional scanner, she was spared nagging subsonic pulses and gentle thrums.
Reeve watched a Serpentis scout buzz her ship without firing and recalled her mining drones. Her light combat drones, Hobgoblin I’s, were deployed the nanosecond the miners docked. Gabby pulled her raven-black, long hair into a ponytail and pursed her lips in a creased frown.
Her comms lit up shortly after with, “We’re not wantin’ any troubs,” in a masked, digital voice.
“You’ll get it if you come that close to my ship again.”
“Tough talk, love. But fer sure, jus’ keep your space.” The Serpentis scout killed the comm link and sped away.
Gabby kept her eye on the scout and followed its trajectory to a Harvestor off in the distance, collecting small chunks of floating ore as quickly as possible. She checked her scanner again and stared as she saw nothing to indicate the Serpentis harvester’s presence.
A little unnerved, Gabby sat looking at the obvious profile of a modified ORE (Outer Ring Excavation) ship, drumming her fingers on the scanner. It was troubling for a few reasons because it meant either the Serpentis were able to beat the standard sensors she had installed on all her mining vessels or that the Harvestors weren’t really there. And if either were true, why were they using this technology to pick out small bits of resources from a high security part of New Eden, or make it appear so?
Before Gabby could think too hard on it, her comms lit up again, but with the live image of her youngest sister, January.
A beautiful, small face with the most popular hairstyle in the Gallente Federation, and all of her mother’s features, filled the frame of Gabby’s dedicated comm screen.
January Reeve blinked intentionally a few times and tilted her head slightly to the right.
Before the awkward, silent exchange ran any longer, Gabby asked, “Yes?”
“Father wants you back in Dodixie. He won’t say why,” was all January said in her quiet, even voice. And the screen went dark.
I started a spiritual journey that many do when they’re suffering through loss. Whether the destination is an absolute or a negotiated middle-ground is irrelevant to me. I have to believe in something higher than myself in order to get through hard times and this is what I’ve come to believe.
For me, “God” is the divine intelligence. It is the natural law and order we describe in the laws of physics, math, etc. Like any divine entity, we cannot fully understand or perceive it, though we know of it. As with the universe, there is a beginning and an end to it, though it is infinite as it continues to expand.
An inexplicable divinity underlies and underscores everything we observe.
I also believe that “god” or the divine intelligence expresses itself through probability. Everything you see, confined and explained by science, is a product of probable occurrences, where extremely improbable occurrences are “miracles.”
But the divine intelligence does not intervene in our personal lives except through the random, probable acts of “its” creations. It is detached as it is all-encompassing.
At least to me.
October 2nd, 2016 was an absolutely beautiful day in the Forty Niners’ new home city. A few drops of rain came down, but this was a perfect opportunity to get a lot of sun.
Based on how many fans were wearing navy blue and silver, it felt more like a Cowboys home game. The optimism shared between Dallas fans about their up-and-coming rookie phenom, Dak Prescott, was the opposite of the muted pessimism felt among the “Faithful.”
We kept our tailgate low-key and had it catered by a nearby Togo’s. The bathroom there didn’t have a lock, so I dropped deuce faster than I ever have in my life. I clocked it at a minute forty nine seconds and owe it all to the dried fruits and veggies I had on Saturday.
Before the game, our conversation kept veering towards the Ryder Cup because my parents are huge golf fans. I thought they were discussing the sailing competition we have here in the San Francisco Bay Area, sponsored by Oracle. Nope, turns out the British are still butthurt about the American Revolution so they decided to change golf to a team sport and challenge us.
As far as the game goes, it was close and entertaining. The Niners jumped out to an early lead in the first quarter with two touchdowns. Every time they got a first down, male Niners fans with a BAC above .08 acted like Spartans from 300 and did the “HAAA–OOOOOH, HAAA-OOOOOOH.” It was just a coincidence they only got 300 yards in total offense.
Things turned around quickly in the second quarter after a “bullshit” roughing penalty that gave the Cowboys a clutch first down into Santa Clara territory.
By the third quarter, Dallas looked in control. Cowboys fans began doing their own completely-out-of-sync Spartan impression for every first down. A demoralized Niners fanbase initially found it humorous but became silently irritated. They had to stomach Blaine Gabbert go full mediocre, like a warm, stale beer, running some of the most unimaginative play-calling this nosebleed-seats reporter has ever seen.
I had to ask a Niners fan, “Do you call him Gabbert like Q-Bert or Gabbert like Steven Colbert from the Colbert Report?”
“Dunno, man. I think it’s Gabbert like Bert and Ernie. Frankly, I wish they’d call him “Released by the Niners.”
Up in Section 418, my father took it upon himself to announce to everyone that the United States had won the Ryder Cup. Not many people cared, but no more than a minute later it was displayed on the Jumbotron. Then, doing his patriotic duty, my dad started a rousing “USA USA USA” chant that gained some steam and lasted longer than most of Santa Clara’s offensive drives.
At this point, I figured out that this woman with a Dez Bryant jersey sitting in front of me was sitting in the center of what looked to be 10 – 15 friends spread out, almost in a circle from her, throughout our Section. For whatever reason, they couldn’t get seats next to each other but made an attempt at the Guinness World Records for awkward, long-distance high fives.
The Cowboys would tie it up and eventually go up 21 – 17.
Before Dan Bailey put Dallas up a full seven points with a field goal, Blaine Gabbert found an open receiver downfield who seemed so transfixed by the goal post that he never saw the ball until it was over his head and in the arms of the lucky Dallas cornerback he blew past.
It was probably the best game I’ve ever seen in my life. Or at least as special as the overtime victory by a Drew Bledsoe-led Dallas Cowboys at Candlestick less than a decade ago.
September 11th, 2016 - Somewhere in San Jose or Texas
The Roughnecks organization, with half a dozen franchises scattered throughout the southwestern part of the United States of America, has deployed standard pressurization wells across the gridiron.
Owner Nico Lopez stated flatly, “We’re going to win. And we’re going to win big. Every week. The whole game. Ever fucking second.” Friend and informal family member, Jerry Jones, beamed with pride as he looked on the thirty-something protege.