Who Are You People?

One of the interesting features of my website package from Squarespace is the Analytics. Almost certainly designed for website commerce, it is still interesting even for just a blogger like me. It lets me know how much traffic I get (not much) and where it comes from. And that is where it gets curious.

As you might expect, I get most of my traffic from central Indiana. I have lived and worked here for decades, as have many of my friends. So that’s no surprise. Hits from places like Fishers, Carmel, Greenwood, Plainfield, and Indianapolis make perfect sense. Neither am I surprised to have visitors from Texas or northern Ohio, as I have family in both places. And frankly, there is no mystery (to me at least) about the visitor I had from China, who is now a visitor from New Jersey (Hi, Hank!). But there are three sources that have me stumped.

First, there are the two Mainers. One of the IP addresses is in Portland, the other in Jonesport. As far as I know, I don’t know anybody in Maine. And then there is the visitor from Ireland. And I don’t know anyone in Ireland either.

And these are not just one-timers. These are regular visitors. How did these three people in Maine and Ireland stumble upon my blog and what on earth compels them to come back? Or are they just bots? Don’t get me wrong, I definitely welcome the traffic. But I want to know. So here we go…

Dear readers from Maine and Ireland, please use my Contact page to let me know who you are and tell me your story. I’d really like to know. Thanks!

The Last Round and Other Musings on Golf

Last month, I played perhaps my last round of golf, but we’ll get to that story in a minute. I say last round, because over the last sixty or so years, I have developed what is colloquially known as a “bad back”, and have found golf to be an increasingly difficult and indeed painful pastime. I’m not complaining, just stating the facts.

It is an undisputed truth that no one cares about anybody else’s golf game. But that’s not really what this post is about. It is more about my relationship with golf, and not to go all Little River Band on you, but there will be some reminiscing here.

Let’s start with my dad. He was an avid golfer, and by all accounts, a pretty poor one. Generally speaking, he would be lucky to break one hundred. Like many hackers, though, he was capable of hitting a good shot now and then. Blind squirrels and all that. This made him a sought after teammate for club events. His occasional par would turn into a net eagle, and that is a good thing indeed. And he golfed A LOT. During my youth, we didn’t see him much on weekends. When the Catholic Church said Saturday evening mass could count for Sunday, I don’t think he ever went to Sunday mass in the golf season ever again. My mother used to complain that he put golf “in front of God and everybody!” Thing is, I don’t think anyone in the family really caught the golf bug. At least, not while he was living. And as far as I know, I’m the only one who caught it ever.

Back to the story of that last round. Earlier this year, I asked one of my friends, Greg Ruthsatz, to help me plan an outing at The Fort. Since I am the only retired person in the group, I thought it might be easier for him to coordinate. And he is a great golf planner, having been responsible for setting up some great golf trips that I am not allowed to talk about. The first rule of Golf Trip, you know. Anyway, after working through everyone’s schedule, there was only one day in all of September that would work. So the plan was to go out on Wednesday, September 30th to play The Fort. In addition to Greg and me, rounding out the group were our friends Scott Hickner, Mark Fugate, Steve Cox, Kaitlan Woolsey, Chris Corbett, and Clay Summers.

If you don’t know, The Fort is the golf course at the former Fort Benjamin Harrison. When the base was decommissioned in the early nineties, most of it became Fort Benjamin Harrison State Park. The golf course itself, originally designed in the 1930s, was redesigned by none other than Pete Dye. It is a beautiful course, winding its way through wonderfully wooded, rolling terrain, offering spectacular views at every turn. My favorite public course in the area, it is unusual for a central Indiana course because of the surprisingly hilly landscape, which is one of the reasons I like it so much. The Fort is just simply a most challenging course in a very beautiful setting, especially when the leaves are beginning to turn.

Fall Colors

Golf Story Interlude Number One: My First Round

In 1985, two of my work friends, Scott Lockwood and Cheryl Lawson, who were both golfers and one of whom would later agree to be my wife (that would be Cheryl, not Scott), convinced me to go out and play. One day after work, we drove the short distance to South Grove. Since there were leagues on the front, they sent us off the back. Now, if you don’t know South Grove, it is a very old course, established in 1902. Word has it that it will be turned into a park in the next year or two, but that is not germane to the story. And what do the Germans have to do with this? Anyway…  South Grove is built near White River in downtown Indianapolis. So while most of the track is pretty flat (Indiana, duh), there are some elevation changes because it’s close to the river. The 10th hole, in particular, features a tee box on the top of a hill.

In preparation for this outing, I had bought a book on golf, because nerd. I had some idea about proper mechanics, but no real experience or professional feedback. I also had my dad’s clubs, which were probably already twenty years old. Except for his driver, which was one of the new-fangled metal woods. Nevertheless, we teed it up on the 10th, and I hit my very first drive straight down the middle. That was almost certainly my best shot of the round. I don’t think I whiffed that day, but I struggled to make consistent contact. Finished my first ever nine holes with a 58. Apparently, I was not a natural. But I thought it was fun.

Back to The Fort. Our first tee time was 9:30. Since I wanted the round to be like a fun golf outing, my first order of business was to distribute the goodie bags. You know, snacks, a sleeve of balls, ball markers, tees, a mini bottle of Wild Turkey, just the usual stuff. Then we boarded the carts and took the first tee. I also devised an offbeat matchplay format with SIX different scoring methods and even involved changing up the foursomes at the turn. And a Spotify playlist, of course (embedded at the end).

Custom Scorecard

For the purposes of the outing, I flighted the eight of us. There were two “A” players (Scott and Mark), two “B” players (Greg and Steve), two “W” players (Kaitlan and Chris), and two “O” players (original gangsters, i.e. those of us 60 and over, Clay and me). The A and B players would play from the white tees, the women would play from the red, and the gangsters would play from the green tees (in front of the white, but behind the red). The format for the first hole was AW/BO Scramble Better Ball. What? Well, in this made up format, the A and W players play a two-person scramble, the B and O players play a separate scramble, and the foursome cards the better score. Simple. But that was not even close to the weirdest format of the match. Moving on.

Oh, and a quick note on the weather. The temperature was in the 50’s, but the wind was strong and steady, fifteen to twenty miles per hour. This made layers a necessity, and certainly impacted club selection. That is, unless you suck at golf and can’t hit to a specific number anyway. 

Golf Story Interlude Number Two: The Heavenwood

The first time I broke 50 for nine holes was memorable. Greg, Mark, Clay and I (I think) decided to play Riverside one day after work. Riverside is another of the three courses all built in downtown Indianapolis near White River. Whenever the river overflowed, which it did with some regularity, Riverside would always take the brunt. You could literally find dead fish on the course. The day we played though, was actually a nice day, and I think we chose Riverside because they had a good deal. What makes the round memorable was this. I had recently acquired a Calloway seven wood, also known as a Heavenwood. Clay, who sometimes worked in a golf equipment store back then, says it was called that because it was longer than a regular seven wood and would theoretically give you more distance. Anyway, on that day, he bet he could beat me with just the seven wood. I said sure.

Riverside, as it turned out, was the perfect course for me at the time. Let’s be honest, my golf technique has always been poor. I have never really had the ability to strike down on the ball, hitting the ball first and then taking a divot. I was always more of a sweeper. Tight fairways are hard for me. Riverside, being a city course, was not always best maintained. On this particular day, the fairways were, how do you say, a little shaggy. This played right into my poor swing mechanics. Even in the fairways, the ball would sit up a bit, allowing me to hit it cleanly. So, as luck would have it, I shot my best round up to that time and finished with a 47, edging out Clay, who I think went for 49, which is freaking amazing, since he played with only one club!

Back to The Fort. The format for the second hole was Best Drive Two Better Balls. Everybody tees off, but then they all play in from the best drive. The foursome cards the sum of the two best scores. Still, not the weirdest format. On holes three, four, and five, the formats were, respectively, Two Better Balls, Scramble, and Two Better Balls, none of which I think deserve explanation. On number six, we followed up with another AW/BO Scramble Better Ball. Then we come to the seventh, and the best format of them all, the AB/WO Alternate Shot Scramble, which required multiple reiterations of explanation. It is this: Everyone tees off. Pick the best tee shot of all four. If an A or B player hit it, then the next shot is taken by the W and O players. Pick the best of those two shots, then the A and B players hit from there. So it is an alternate shot format, with a scramble component. Get it? No? Sigh. I don’t care, I thought it was fun. The decision on which drive to take was definitely strategic. The A and B players can often hit it further, but they may be able to do more with the drive from the W and O players, than vice versa. Of course, if three of the players hit it in the woods, then the decision is pretty easy.

Golf Story Interlude Number Three: Hawthorns Number Three

Some time in the late 90s or early 00s, Cheryl and I joined the Hawthorns Country Club. I am not really a country club person, but that’s neither here nor there. We did meet a lot of people, some of whom are still friends. And we had some truly goofy, alcohol-infused neighborhood outings. Nevertheless. One evening, Cheryl and I decided to get in a twilight nine. I think the special was that carts were free. We were joined by one of Cheryl’s golf friends and that woman’s son. On the third hole, a short par 3 (137 yards), the son and I went to our tee box and hit. He went first. When I hit my shot, it landed on the green, rolled to the hole, then we couldn’t see it anymore. I thought it might be behind the stick. Cheryl and her friend were over by the carts talking, and had not seen the shot. After they teed off, we rolled up to the green and found my ball IN THE HOLE! A freaking hole in one. The rest of my round was crap, as I was so jacked from hitting a hole in one. At the bar, I picked up the tab, which was cheap since hardly anyone was in there. And my name is enshrined forever (not literally) on the hole in one plaque by the pro shop. As it turns out, my only hole in one. But at least I’ve got the one. And I’ve still got the ball. 

Yes, I used to use crappy balls

Back to The Fort. The final format first comes up on the eighth hole: Total Score. Since the eighth at The Fort is the 17th handicap (i.e. the second easiest), I figured we could all play our own ball and total the score. Perhaps this was not my best idea. I have to confess that on this barely 300 yard par four, that my team carded a 25. Yes, that is an average individual score of 6.25, double bogey plus. Oops! The ninth was a simple scramble, and then we get to change up the teams. But if you change up the sides, how will you decide who wins? Well the A&W players stay together, as do the B&O players. So in the end, each pairing gets a point for each hole its foursome wins. You just have to know which pairings were in which foursome for each nine, which is spelled out on the scorecards kept by the A players. Got it? No? Sigh. Anyway, the back nine was played with the same formats as the front nine. I am happy to report that my team carded a total score 16 on the par three fourteenth, so we reduced our individual average to bogey for that format. Still lost the hole, though. At the end of the round, we loaded up our cars and agreed to meet for a late lunch at a local establishment, Jockamo’s.

Golf Story Interlude Number Four: A Shot I’ll Never Forget (not one of mine)

In the early oughts, I thought I was consistent enough that I played in an after work league. The league played at our old friend South Grove on Tuesday afternoons. I still wasn’t particularly good, but I could generally shoot in the middle 40’s or so. My ball flight had a reasonably predictable shape, and I could play to that. I was a mediocre putter, especially on the slow South Grove greens. I have always preferred faster greens. But there was one round that I remember well.

On June 29, 2004, I was subbing in the league. My opponent was Jim Long, a long time friend. That day I was striking the ball pretty well. By the time we got to the par five seventh, I was dormie, i.e. leading by three with three to go. I don’t recall whether I reached in two (unlikely, but I did accomplish that feat a couple times) or just hit my third close. Either way, I birdied to win the hole and the match. But the two things that make the round memorable are these. On the next hole, Jim hit a nice drive to the middle of the 8th fairway and had about 150 in. He hit a terrific second shot, and it went in for an eagle! The only time in my life I have ever seen anyone eagle a par 4. The other memorable thing about the round was that I ended up with 39. The first time I broke 40. The funny part, of course, is that Jim shot a 38, his best round of the season, and carded an eagle, and still got beat by one of the worst golfers in the league. Thank you handicaps!

Back to the Fort. Jockamo’s is a pizza joint right by the golf course. Because of pandemic procedures, the only place the eight of us could sit together was outside. So we did. And it was time to compare the cards and total up the scores. The front nine was all square, four wins for each foursome, and only one tie. The back nine was also all square, with two wins apiece, and five ties. So the whole match ended up all square. Each twosome ended up with six wins. What a perfect result! And Chris presented me with a special memento of the day, an etched beer glass that she made herself! Amazing! We all enjoyed our meal (although the wind picked up and made it a bit chilly) and drank a few adult beverages. What a great way to end a great day out!

Golf is an unusual game. Anyone can play it, although it is hard to play well. But my enjoyment of golf never had anything to do with my skill level, as I was never particularly good. I mean, my best days were in my 40s, when I could shoot in the 40s. No, my love for golf has always been about the camaraderie and the fun you have on the course, both during and after the round. That’s why I have never really enjoyed playing golf with strangers. I am not the kind of guy to go to a course alone and ask to be matched up with other players. I was always too self conscious about my skill level (low), and it was just too hard to loosen up. Oh, and I want to blast music while I play! But if I’m playing with friends, I absolutely don’t care if I hit it in the weeds! It’s just a golf ball, and we’re all out there just having fun. I am so grateful to Scott, Mark, Greg, Steve, Kaitlan, Chris, and Clay for making the time to participate in this strange golf adventure with me. Maybe we can do it again next year…

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A Story About a Ball

I have an actual World Series baseball.

How did I get it, you might ask. Well, it can be a short story: I caught it at Game 3 of the 2004 World Series. Or you can read the longer story, which follows.

Take yourself back to 2004. At the time, I was working at OneAmerica (honestly, when wasn’t I?). As an actuary, I was in the unusual position of running the Administration area in Individual. That’s basically New Business, Customer Service, and Claims. My friend Jim Kellett was the Division Head. Because he was previously the Line Actuary, he maintained good relations with our reinsurers. For those that don’t know insurance, reinsurers provide insurance to other insurance companies.

Anyway, Jim was originally from St. Louis, and one of our reinsurers (RGA) was based there. Our reinsurance rep, Dave, knew Jim was a big Cardinals fan, and asked Jim if he’d like to go to one of the World Series games, if RGA had any tickets available. Why sure!

On Monday October 25th, Dave called Jim and said they had two seats available for the game on the next day. Jim, being the great guy he is, called me and asked if I wanted to go. Why sure!

Jim and I left Indianapolis around noon on Tuesday in the Brown Bomber (also known as my old 2001 Durango). It is about a five hour drive to St. Louis. On the way, Jim made some calls, and we worried about the weather. All the way through Illinois, it poured down rain. Jim got word from St. Louis that there was supposedly a window in the weather, and they ought to be able to get the game in.

When we arrived in St. Louis, it was still pouring. But with about a half hour remaining until game time, the sky started to clear. Looks like we’re having baseball! You cannot imagine my excitement. Although I am a Cincinnati Reds fan since birth, some of my best friends are dyed in the wool Cards fans. And this was the first (and so far only) World Series game I attended. Our seats were on the first base line, right next to one of those tunnels connecting the concourse with the seating area. Jim sat next to the tunnel, I sat next to him.

Jim, waiting for the game to start

First pitch was at 7:37 local time. Our pitching matchup was Jeff Suppan for the Cardinals and future Hall of Famer Pedro Martinez on the mount for the Red Sox.

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Baseball is happening!

(Please pardon the upcoming shift in tense. It seemed appropriate to me somehow.)

In the top of the first, Jeff Suppan gives up a solo home run to Manny Ramirez. 1-0 Red Sox. In the bottom of the first, one out, bases loaded, Jim Edmonds hits a fly ball to who else, Manny Ramirez, who throws out Larry Walker at home, for the double play to end the inning. Still 1-0 Red Sox.

The second inning is quiet, 1-2-3 in both halves. Still 1-0 Red Sox.

In the bottom of the third, the Cardinals threaten again, with Suppan and Edgar Renteria getting on base to start the Cards inning. Renteria doubled, so they are on second and third, no outs. Sadly for Cards fans, Larry Walker grounds out to second, and Suppan gets hung up between third and home and is thrown out by David Ortiz. Pujols grounds out to end the inning. Another rally crushed.

In the fourth, Suppan gives up another run. 2-0 Red Sox.

Now we come to the fifth inning, when the story actually happens. At about this time, Jim has gotten up to pick up some World Series souvenirs for his kids. Other people have also gone on walkabout. In the game, Suppan starts the inning by giving up two straight hits, a lead off double to Johnny Damon, and a single to Orlando Cabrera. So first and third, no outs. Up comes Manny Ramirez.

The first pitch to Ramirez is fouled off. It is one of those towering foul balls that everyone along the first base line thinks they can catch. And just like everyone else, I stand up. But hey, it’s actually coming this way! In the end, it looks like it will land on the other side of the tunnel. But hey, there’s no one there! The ball hits the concrete, bounces across the tunnel, and basically falls in my lap! I have caught a World Series foul ball off of soon-to-be Series MVP Manny Ramirez! Oh, and if Jim would have been in his seat, he would have caught it. Did I think for a second about giving it to him? No. Duh.

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The boy and the ball

(Full disclosure: It may have been the second pitch, which was also fouled off. But I rewatched the game to write this post, and the first foul is described as a “high foul ball” and the second as “slicing foul”. So I definitely think it was the first pitch.)

Anyway, Ramirez goes on to single, scoring Damon. Then Bill Mueller singles to score Cabrera. 4-0 Red Sox after five. Not much happens the rest of the game. Larry Walker hits a consolation home run in the bottom of the ninth. Game ends 4-1. Series stands 3-0 Boston. They would go on to close out the Series 4-0 the next day behind Derek Lowe in a 3-0 shutout. But frankly, who cares? The Cardinals have won 11 World Series. C’mon.

So that’s how I come to have a World Series ball. 

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The ball and the scoreboard

Force of Mortality - Joe Pearson

Chapter One

Michael Cooper was a killer, and he was good at it, enough so that he had made it his living. Born Mikhail Bondarev in Odessa, Ukraine to ethnic Russian parents, he discovered his calling early. As a teen, Mikhail became engaged with the street gangs and the distribution of drugs. When someone from a rival gang required elimination, it was Mikhail that got called upon. Word spread of his efficiency, and he soon got called up to the big leagues, working for the mobsters that managed the narcotic smuggling in that large port city on the Black Sea. In time, he sought better opportunities and greater potential, and like millions of immigrants before him, looked toward America. “In New York you can be a new man.” After plying his trade for the Russian Mafia for a time, Mikhail was determined to branch out and offer his services to a wider audience. So he changed his name to its American counterpart, Michael Cooper, and set out to make his fortune killing people. Now, it wasn’t like he enjoyed killing, it was just that it didn’t really bother him at all. Everybody has to die eventually, he thought, why not now? And if somebody got paid to facilitate a death, where’s the harm in that?

Mount St. Helens and the Drive of a Lifetime

In the spring of 1980, I decided to drive to Portland, Oregon to visit my eldest brother and his family.

I left Indianapolis on a cloudy May morning in my 1979 Triumph Spitfire. As usual, my companion on this trip was my car stereo. It had a decent radio and a nice cassette player. I had added after-market speakers so I could make it loud. It would strain the limits of credulity to suggest I could remember all the cassettes I took on the trip, but I do remember “It’s Only Rock ‘n Roll” by the Stones, and “In a Glass House” by Gentle Giant (which is a prog classic, believe me). I headed up and around Chicago, and then west on I-90.

On the morning of May 18, 1980, the radio told of a major eruption of Mount St. Helens in Washington state. This had been expected for some time, since St. Helens had been noticeably active and threatening since mid-March. Now, the big deal for someone driving west (e.g. me) was the eastbound ash cloud. Mount St. Helens blasted ash up to 12 miles into the air and kept pumping away for hours.

Driving through South Dakota and into Wyoming, I saw no sign of the event. In Wyoming, I-90 turns north into Montana, and this is where things started to get dicey. The further west I went, the worse the ash and visibility became. Eventually, the interstate was closed in Missoula, the home of Montana State University. I pulled into a gas station parking lot just off the exit ramp, tied a washcloth over my face, and slept in the car. Sleeping in the car was not unusual for me in those days, since I was an immortal twenty-something.

When day came, it was like a dense fog. You could drive on the surface streets, but you had to drive very slowly to keep from stirring up the ash on the ground, of which there was quite a bit. Everything I'd heard on the radio that morning said to go south. Of course there was no Google Maps back then, but there definitely were paper ones, and I was a map nut. I still have a long document box filled with them. I discovered that US-12 lead out of Missoula going south. At Lolo, Montana, seemingly beyond the ash flow, I could either continue south on US-93, or turn west and stay on US-12, which appeared to be open. It was the first east-west corridor that I came across that was not closed. There was a chance I would be stymied further down the road, but I decided to chance it. And I'm glad I did!

US-12 from Lolo to Lewiston, Idaho is possibly the most beautiful and scenic drive I have ever made. According to some on the internet these days, it possibly the most beautiful and scenic drive period. There are lots of YouTube videos of motorcyclists making the drive. It also has a significant history, but I didn't know that at the time. Lolo Pass is the route that Lewis and Clark took to get through the Rockies heading west. So there's that.

The drive climbs up through the majestic Nes Perce Clearwater National Forest, then down along the banks of the Lochsa and Clearwater Rivers. This is a fabulous drive, especially in a little sports car with the top down. It constantly winds along the bends of the rivers and is just an absolute blast. If you like driving at all, this is a bucket list drive.

Look Ma, I Made a Website!

Welcome to Joe’s Blog and Grille, your one-stop shop for all the stupid stuff rattling around in my brain. There will be stories from my life, thoughts about music (and playlists!), book reports, the occasional recipe, and maybe, just maybe, a rare editorial.

If I have to be honest (actually, I don’t), I must say that at this point, the writing is easier than the website design. Being a complete amateur doesn’t help, but at least it explains why it is so amateurish. Oh well.

Courage!