Sandhill Fields has a free-to-fly vibe

Sandhill Fields - I see a gazebo and I know it's there as an open-air outdoor gathering place for people to meet and greet and eat homemade sandwiches. It's a family thing. The smaller the gazebo the more likely you are to be bazooka-ed off the bench if you stop to eat a sandwich. See Silver Lake where even the parrots took off. But seriously, Sandhill Fields is a true community resource, and thanks to Joe Schell for making that happen and and making it accessible to everyone. Its’ a great venue for afternoon cross country races, soccer and, here it comes, pickleball.  

Mind bender gender - I don’t want to get too far over my skis here because if I fall on the slippery slope of sports commentating, I will shatter like a white walker-talker playing Game of Thrones without leaving my three-bathroom house. When people say to me, “You've been around sports all your life and know a little about coaching, so let me ask you something,” I stop them in their Crocs or Bass Weejuns, “Are we talking boys? Because I understand nothing about coaching girls who compete like women when they are 12.” I cover girls’ sports, and I’m never surprised if an eighth-grader takes over a varsity game or race. I reflect back to swimmer Janet Evans, who broke world records when she was 15 and won Olympic golds in the 1988 games in Seoul as a 16-year-old. A longtime high school coach of boys (off the record) said to me, “Our girls are just tougher. I tell guys to go watch them then try to level up.” The phrase “only a freshman” has little relevance to me when covering girls’ sports because I know when they are ready to rock, you’d best just get out of the way.  And, yes, big girls do cry. The emotions quickly escape from the bag of restraint and control. And now back to the beginner’s slope for Grandpa Fredman. 

Brokenhearted - Major League Baseball players are professionals who compete hard over a long 162-game schedule. There are teams fighting for 12 playoff spots with just 16 games left in the regular season. The flawed Phillies have the best record in baseball with a .603 winning percentage and 30 games over .500 with an 88-58 record. There is the quest for the division title and the drive to finish in the top two to get a bye and home field advantage in a five-game series. All the teams not in contention take joy in derailing the journey, like the .220 hitter who breaks up a perfect game in the ninth inning.  

Stream of consciousness - I am your grandfather's Facebook. That is where I and my 5,000 friends play, except the political crazies who are not aware they have been snoozed for 30 days. When I hear of platforms, I think of diving horses and seals and all the way back to Lionel trains at Christmas time. I go to college sports rosters to see how local athletes are doing. I just look for participation and minutes played. But social media is like peeling the blooming onion at Outback or while driving an Outback. There are just all kinds of things to learn on Instagram and X, the platform formerly known as Twitter (Homey never tweeted, just sounds weak). If your college athlete appears on Truth Social, just assume they have switched their major to geriatric studies.

Snippets - Comments for coach Fred: “Coach, I believe I could get with that mile if it were a lap shorter.” A runner grabs the back of his leg and says, “Coach Fred, take me out of that mile relay. I think I pulled a groin.” I once tried to be funny and asked a girl in my class who wanted to leave early for lunch, “How much does a 12-pound shot weigh?” She answered, “Ain't nobody know nothing about your dumb old track team.” There is only one Steven A. Smith and a hundred imitators. Jim Rome has switched his radio program “The Jungle” to X, a three-hour simulcast. I have no idea where that is or how to get there, so adios, Romey. And what is with all the fancy promotional photos of high school athletes? Your kid doesn’t actually look like that, so please stop! Go on now, git!