The Law of Large Numbers Prevails Again!!!!!

Wow! I can't believe it. The Red Sox have won the World Series. They caught the breaks, made the plays, and put together a string of wins. The demolition of the Yankees to get to the Series just makes it that much more incredible and satisfying.

This is a major event, a switch in total perspective. Nobody could come back from three down, but now it has been proved possible outside the NHL. The Red Sox will never win the Series, and now they have. The impossible has happened and it happened in beautiful fashion, with the Yankees choking in grand style, Curt Schilling pitching on a bleeding ankle, and everything else just happening as though it were destiny.

This is Big, very BIG, I need to think about this some more.

A Hunting we will go

I've never been the caliber of hunter who makes all his shots or could provide enough game to feed himself, even if I had been living in America prior to settlement. But it can be enjoyable; getting fresh air, taking the dog who can't hunt for a walk, trying to get in touch with the wild or some such thing, and occasionally getting a feeling of joy when all your nerves and muscles react in near perfect harmony, it's a shotgun so close counts, and you bring the gun up, aim, fire and have the bird drop. There is a certain amount of skill involved, and not just in the shot, though that is obviously important. Knowing where the birds will likely be at a given time of day, watching for movement in the grass, listening for the sounds of birds, being able to react in a short time, lining up the shot, and should you be so lucky as to down the bird, pouncing on it fast because a pheasant will absolutely disappear upon hitting the ground. If they have a faint pulse and two good legs, the will run and leave you as hopeless as Wiley Coyote. Not to say it takes a supreme effort to get a bird, but it isn't as easy as people who have never hunted tend to assume. Given the dull senses and lack of lightning reflexes, humans aren't exactly suited to hunting small fast birds, so they better know how to shoot.

With all this in mind, I was quite happy to have a successful hunt this afternoon. One bird, one shot, one meal, and one very happy puppy, after she got the heart and liver that is. I think she was a little upset that I wanted to head home after getting a bird.

Another thought that happens this time of year. Why exactly are Red Sox fans the most tortured group in baseball. Just sheer numbers should dicate that sooner or later you will have a string of luck at the right time. Numerical odds would say it is impossible for that team to catch as many bad breaks as it has. I won't go through the abominable history, but just the last few nights have been all too typical. In the casino of life, the Sox would seem to be the ultimate cooler. I know the Cubs and White Sox have gone longer since their last title, but no team seems to get teased as much as the Red Sox. Put achingly close, only to have it snatched away at the last minute. The Geneva Convention should have outlawed such forms of torture. Well, it is only a game, but a game that many people care about a lot, more than their children in some cases. In short one would think the Red Sox were more overdue than a college student's parking ticket.

Evolution

Why I ask myself, does it always seem to surprise me when someone I haven’t seen for awhile isn’t like I remember them. You try talking to them and seem to be coming up against a brick wall. It’s not that they aren’t friendly, it’s just that you seem to talking simply to be polite. In worst case scenarios you get the sense they aren’t listening to you but merely waiting for their turn to speak. Are they your friends? Were they ever? Or have your paths merely diverged to the point where personal communication just isn’t possible? Can you look back now and see the divergence beginning earlier than you previously thought?

It’s no secret that people change over time. I think most people are acutely aware of how much they have changed as reality has continually bored into them. So there’s no reason I should be surprised that someone else has changed. New perspectives, broader horizons, wonderful and horrific experiences; humans are dynamic beings in an ever changing environment. You yourself aren’t static, and neither is anyone else. The alternative side is that someone you rarely talked to before can actually become enjoyable to converse with. Life may not exactly have brought your paths to the same point, but maybe, if only temporarily, has placed you at two points that form a perfect whisper chamber where thoughts barely spoken are clearly communicated.

For most people in your life, you are only a momentary force, too small to affect the slowly rolling snowball that has built up with every experience and thought. This isn’t to say that it isn’t important to be kind. In fact, given all the people that you will interact with throughout your lifetime, you should try to make your efforts count in a positive way and change the world around you for the better. But the person whose course you have the most potential to direct is yourself. You can’t stop the change in yourself, short of hiring the world’s best lawyer to divorce you from reality, but you can maneuver it. Being subject to outside forces, it can be a bit like driving a bus on ice but it should be possible. If you don’t try, the person you want to become, your goal can slowly erode away at an almost imperceptible rate. You don’t realize what’s happened until a significant change has taken place, when it has become undeniable.

Speaking of rate, what is the pace of change? It seems like it has been incredibly fast in some ways for myself. But looking back I can see that seemingly unimportant decisions made years ago are still having an effect. It would seem almost impossible to totally alter my path, and even if I could I doubt I would. I’m not sure where I’m going, but I'll keep on moving. You only get to stop once, and it's way too early for that.

Dancing Rabbits

This weekend I got myself introduced to a familiar concept that I had never before practiced firsthand, tail gating. Set up shop several hours before kick off and saw all the sights. Frat boys with painted on T-shirts, kids playing football in the driving lanes while dodging traffic, campus brown shirts walking around trying to look intimidating while being armed with flashlights, lines piled up behind port-a-potties as though it were the phone booth with a direct connection to heaven, people driving around for hours just convinced that someone will get sick of this party and leave, and tons and tons and tons of empty beer cans.

Thanks to a generous soul I scored a 50 yard line (well 48 but close enough) 11 rows up, smack dab in the middle of the “fatty caddy” section. Translation: I was surrounded by alumni who were 2 to 3 times my age. Keep in mind I never even attended school at this institution and you get a feeling of my disconnection. Even in average everyday situation I sometimes feel more like an observer than a participant, as though I have built a wall of one way glass around myself. That sensation was mildly amplified in this case. What to do, should I jump in and try to give a damn, or sit back and observe. More of an instinctual reaction then a conscious decision really.

So I observed some more: the indignant fans who with every call acted as though the referee were giving them a personal prostate check, the redundant alumni who continually mutter instructions to the players as though they were Churchill directing the war effort, scantily clad college gals walking along the front row and ensuring that local chiropractors will be able to afford Christmas gifts once again, the opposing fans giving something resembling a Nazi salute every time their team got a first down, and the college pep bands battling each other from across the field. Sometime during the second half the visitors got ahead by a touchdown and things started to look pretty glum. The home team was able to get close but settled for a field goal before returning the ball to the opposition in what looked to be a hopeless effort. The visitors had a good running game and figured to be able to chew up the few minutes remaining. But the home defense suddenly stepped up and played as though possessed, or possibly high. After giving up a first down they set about attacking whoever had the ball and crumpling them like a Pinto between two cement trucks. The punt went into the end zone and the home team now had the ball at their own 20, down by 4, with just over 2 minutes on the clock. The first two pass attempts failed and the third came up four yards short. Fourth down, “this could be the game” remarks Churchill; “They better make this play” came the foreboding words from the Duke of Windsor. Lo and behold they did come through on 4th down, and again a few plays latter. With Zhen-like calm they slant passed their way down the field. Then a pass towards the middle and the receiver side stepped, dodged, and broke several tackles before lurching into the end zone with 40 seconds to go. The opposition was broken and unable to mount an effective drive of their own. Even their fans had had their plug pulled and were quickly flowing out of the stadium. Quiet the fun time for someone who showed up without any plans to even attend the game.

The weird part was that I think somewhere in the middle I became a participant. I was cheering, anxious, and cracking one-liners to the guys beside me. The ones with hearing aids even laughed.