Home run with the ’56 Corvette

I certainly hope you enjoyed all of the great Morgan Hill Independence Day festivities. I know Lady M and I did. The music, the races, the martinis – oops. And of particular fun was the parade on the Fourth. You see, that was the coming out party for the latest edition to the Miller family. It was the first time that our ’56 Corvette, “Beauty,” was on display for all to see. And I not only got to drive the parade route during the Classic Car Cruise with our friend, Jim, but I chauffeured another friend, Santa Clara Valley Water District board member and former mayor Dennis Kennedy, in the parade. What a kick.
To top it off, the nice folks at Dutchman’s Pizza and Pasta – probably the best sit-down pizza parlors in town – selected our “Beauty” as their favorite car, so we were awarded a beautiful plaque. Now how can you top that?
But, unfortunately, not all was roses that day, or during the rest of the holiday weekend. You see, it was Wimbledon weekend. That meant Lady M would spend her spare time being enthralled by the play of tennis’ best. Although I enjoy watching tennis for a few nanoseconds, I prefer to spend a goodly amount of time watching baseball games. Now don’t get me wrong, baseball is America’s and my favorite pass-time. But there are some things about baseball – players’ habits in particular – that make me think. And when I start thinking, well, that’s always dangerous.
For example, why do ball players feel compelled to litter their dugout with sunflower seed shells, tobacco juice, and other expectorants? (Probably the guy with the worst job in baseball has to be the one who cleans up the dugout after the game.) Couldn’t the players use some kind of receptacle? Maybe even a spittoon.
But that’s not the only thing that makes me wonder about our heroes of the diamonds. Why can’t baseball team owners buy uniforms for their players that fit better. Now I’m not talking about the length of their pants. I’m talking about how their pants fit. Ball players are constantly adjusting the – ah, let’s call it the inseam – of their pants. After virtually every play, a hand goes down and adjusts something in their pants. I know you’ve seen it. Unless you’ve never watched a ball game.
Then there is the batting gloves. After each swing of the bat, most batters unfasten the Velcro straps on their gloves and re-attach them. Why is that?
Now for the part that I worry most about. So far, we haven’t been subjected to watching hockey players, football players, basketball players, or participants in any other sport I can think of, spit seed shells or anything else on the floor in front of their bench. (The one exception is hockey players who seem to spit frequently. But that’s different. I assume they are trying to make the ice a bit thicker so skating is smoother. Well, it’s possible.) Back to apparel. None from these other professions that I have ever observed feels compelled to undo any part of his or her anatomy or clothing after each shot, first down, score, or whatever.
Now let’s think about the future of women’s sports. Can we anticipate watching a woman’s basketball game or maybe a volleyball game, or even a golf match where after each shot, spike, or putt, we will have to witness these lovely damsels spitting, or adjusting an article of clothing? Now that conjures up some interesting visions, doesn’t it.
So you see my friends, I am worried about the future of the sporting world. What will be next? And who will really enjoy watching it?
Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not picking on baseball players. After all, they must all be very holy – even sanctimonious – people. Many of them bless themselves or look skyward to give thanks for letting them get a home run, or whatever. Certainly shows what kind of people they are. And that’s great. But some of the other baseball players’ traditions don’t fare so well. Like the Oakland A’s pushing pies in one and others faces after a big win. A little silly, don’t you think?
One really good thing: in hockey and occasionally in baseball, when the last game of the championship is decided, and after serious attempts to maim or disfigure their opponents, players shake hands and say congratulatory – I hope – things to each other. Now to me, that’s class. and a heck of a lot better than a pie in the kisser.
Henry “Hank” Miller is a retired rocket scientist, he has an interest in classic automobiles, good  conversation, martinis and community affairs. Reach him at

ha******@gm***.com











.