Brutus on Parade!

The Columbus Dispatch reports that The Ohio State University is sponsoring an only-in-Columbus fundraiser: seven-foot tall, individually-decorated Brutus Buckeyes. For just $20,000, you can sponsor and keep one of the 250 statues. The money raised will support the renovation of the William Oxley Thompson Memorial Library on The Oval.

There are limits on artists' creative expression, though:

Artists will have some freedom about decorating their Brutus, although corporate logos, sexually inappropriate designs and, of course, anything related to the University of Michigan are out.

Nice.

Election Match Game

With the Iowa Caucuses coming January 3, I decided to play USA Today's Candidate Match Game: 11 questions about national issues (war, immigration, tax reform, health care, marriage) to see which candidates are best for me. My top three:

1. Bill Richardson
2. Joe Biden
3. Hillary Clinton

I've been a quiet Richardson supporter; he has a sensible plan for the war and and for global warming. He also had the funniest campaign commercial series.



The most surprising was that Biden was my second choice. I've felt that Biden is a one-issue candidate, banking that his position on the war will create enough traction to merit serious consideration of him as a presidential candidate. I guess I'll have to take a deeper look at him.

I was also surprised that Hillary was my third choice. I have been reluctant to embrace Hillary's run because her campaign platform seems to be this: "I should be president of this country because I want it more than all the other candidates." Desire and ambition (and even the experience that she has touted more recently) does not make one a presidential nominee. Nevertheless, I'll give Ms. Clinton a second look, too.

ALCS Game 6

I've explained how to get into a playoff game. So what was it like? Amazing.

I exited the Kenmore Square Station at dusk. Already, the area was buzzing with excitement; the Red Sox staved off elimination two nights earlier in Cleveland, still trailing the Indians 3-2 as they returned to the friendly confines of Fenway Park. Before checking out the activity at Fenway, I needed to scout out the Boston University Bookstore, site of the my alumni event the next afternoon.

Before walking down Brookline to Fenway, I needed something to eat: I had left Grinnell early that morning and hadn't had a real meal since arriving in Boston that afternoon. I picked up "dinner" -- a Snickers bar and Reese's Pieces" at 7-Eleven -- before standing in the shadows cast by the bright lights of Fenway.

There are people who lament the decline of religion in American society. I think their concerns are misguided, as religion is alive and well. Instead of worshipping the triune God of Christianity, they participate in relious rites at cathedrals of sport. Here, at the corner of Brookline Avenue and Yawkey Way, thousands of faithful had flocked to worship together.

Two hours before the call to worship, the streets surrounding Fenway Cathedral were awash in people dressed in the temple vestments - jerseys, sweatshirts, t-shirts, hats. The few cars that braved these streets crawled at a pedestrian pace. Some passed out tracts - scorecards, tabloids previewing the service, "K" posters to track strikeouts. Though this church frowned on the practice, some in the fold were willing to sell their seats to the service. Storefront churches surrounding the Fenway Cathedral had lines stretching longer than a basepath offering parishoners the sacraments once they entered: fried food, beer, and 100 televisions broadcasting the service. Already, Fenway Cathedral had begun playing the prelude to the service: Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.

I saw a line of people waiting to enter Fenway at Gate E. I asked one if they were waiting to enter.

"No," one replied. "We're waiting to buy tickets."

"I thought this game was sold out."

This Cathedral sells a some tickets to the faithful the day of the game. "I got here at 11 a.m. The people at the front of the line arrived last night."

I had my chance to worship -- during high holy days, the playoffs -- in one of the great cathedral in all of Sport. I found my way to the end of the line and hoped for the best. One hour later, I was at the front of the line. An altar boy let me into the outer court. I made my way to a window, bought my ticket, and entered.

Almost immediately, I found my way from the narthex into the sanctuary. It was still nearly an hour before the call to worship; other altar boys were readying the sanctuary: raking the infield, chalking the baselines and batters' boxes, placing the bases.

As revered as Fenway is, its reputation is larger than its size. This service was a sellout -- 37,163 (official capacity is 36,102). Even with luxury boxes, the upper deck is modest. My "seat", standing room only on the first base line (section 5), had a great view of worship leaders in the infield (assuming the other worshippers were sitting down). It terms of proximity to the action, it felt like being in the nosebleeds for a hockey game at Staples, Arrowhead, or Nationwide.

One of the things I enjoy about a baseball service is the opportunity to strike up conversations with other worshippers. This time was no different, though worshippers at Fenway have an almost fanatical devotion to their Red Sox priests. They see worshipping any other team as abominable. Knowing this, I engaged in a little apostasy, an Ohio State hat the only sign of my loyalty to the Indians. Even that was enough for the faithful to question my loyalty to their red-socked priests.

In a baseball service, the spirit moves in mysterious ways over 54 outs, with pitches, catches, hits, tags, and baserunning. In this particular service, the mystery evaporated as soon as J.D. Drew launched a baseball over the Green Monster in left field. The worshippers left happy, recessing to The Standells' "Dirty Water".

The next night, I returned to soak in the atmosphere before Game 7. I left after the 6th inning, just as the riot police were bracing for post-worship celebrations.

A long month of travel

September 28: Grinnell to Columbus by car, 605 miles.

September 30: Columbus to Grinnell by car, 605 miles.

October 3: Grinnell to Eastern Iowa Airport (Cedar Rapids) by car, 77 miles.

October 3: Cedar Rapids to Las Vegas by air, 1315 miles.

October 4: Las Vegas to Denver by car, 773 miles.

October 6: Denver to St. Louis by air (with a stop in Kansas City) by air, 767 miles.

October 7: St. Louis to Columbus by car, 424 miles.

October 11: Columbus to Grinnell by car, 605 miles.

October 20: Grinnell to Eastern Iowa Airport (Cedar Rapids) by car, 77 miles.

October 20: Cedar Rapids to Boston (with a stop in Detroit) by air, 1059 miles.

October 22: Boston to Cedar Rapids (with a stop in Detroit) by air, 1059 miles.

October 22: Eastern Iowa Airport (Cedar Rapids) to Grinnell by car, 77 miles.
_______________________________________________________

Total miles traveled (air and car): 7443 miles.

(Driving mileage courtesy of Google Maps. Air mileage courtesy of Landings.com).

How to crash the Game 6 of the ALCS

1. Unwittingly schedule regional alumni event in October in a city with a MLB team.

2. Chose venue that is in close proximity to the Park of the MLB team.

3. After scouting the venue for the event, decide to take in the pre-game atmosphere.

4. Strike up conversation with others and learn that this MLB team actually sells game-day tickets.

5. Get in line. Wait my turn (about 45 minutes).

6. Spurn scalpers (scalping is illegal in this MLB city, by the way).

7. Make it to the front of the line, pay $40, and enjoy playoff baseball!

8. Take pictures. Lots of pictures.

9. Go back for Game 7 to see if lightning strikes twice. It doesn't.

Moving Brian Robey

Brian and I arrived in Denver about 9:30 p.m. MDT. Here's a recap of his final hours as a Las Vegan:

Wednesday, October 3, 8:30 p.m.: My flight from Cedar Rapids, Iowa arrives. The flight was on time and uneventful. My seatmates, aided by multiple rum & cokes, enjoyed the flight to the point that everything was funny to them. Nice.

8:55 p.m.: Brian drives me to the In & Out next door to UNLV for a quick meal. While in line, we see a hearse in the parking lot with the license plate QUITTRS. Turns out it is owned by our drive-thru cashier, Marc. The vanity plate is for his band, The Quitters. Brian asks if it helps with the ladies. It does; Marc has a girlfriend.

9:10 p.m.: Brian and I visit the Bonanza for a dice clock. (Sara and I need a clock to complete our Vegas-themed living room). We had several to choose from. We choose a winner and take a final drive down The Strip.

The Strip has changed significantly since my departure. The Stardust? Gone. The New Frontier? Closed. Trump has finished his golden phallus of a tower (though the "UMP" was missing tonight), and Wynn and Sheldon Adelson (The Venetian) are making progress on their new towers. The CityCenter Project (MGM-Mirage) looks otherwordly, with a dozen cranes sprouting out of rebar and concrete arranged in exotic curves.

During our trip up The Strip, we see a few quintessential Vegas scenes. At one traffic light, the driver in the SUV next to us sips from a can of beer. At the traffic light in front of Treasure Island (TI), tourists jaywalk through parked traffic. In front of the CityCenter construction site, smut peddlers offer their pamphlets to pedestrians. Ahh...Vegas.

10:00 p.m.: After missing the unmarked intersection of Decatur and Blue Diamond, we arrive at the home of Kehrin Thomas, old grad school friend and host for the night. Kehrin recently visited her husband stationed in Korea; she shows pictures of her rainy trip and I show pictures of Grinnell. We go to bed and get some rest.

Thursday, October 4, 1:27 a.m.: I wake up and realize, "Hey! I'm in Vegas!" I return to sleep.

6:02 a.m.: I wake up before the alarm rings on my cell.

7:05 a.m.: Kehrin leaves for work; Brian and I, packed, leave for breakfast. We lock the doors and close the garage.

7:07 a.m.: I realize that my cell phones are still on the dresser.

7:08 a.m.: I call Kehrin's cell and get no answer.

7:12 a.m: We try and figure a way to get inside with no luck.

7:25 a.m.: We purchase provisions for the drive: Redvines, gummi bears, pretzel rods, nuts, Powerade.

7:40 a.m.: Breakfast at the Silverton's Sundance Grill. I order steak and eggs; Brian orders hotcakes. We play Keno battleship while waiting for our meal. The game ends in a draw. (There are no winners in war, even in Keno battleship.)

8:02 a.m.: I find the number of Kehrin's employer in the phone book. I reach her and get the code to the garage. Hooray, I get my cell phones!

8:25 a.m.: We resist the siren call of the roulette wheel.

8:39 a.m.: En route to Kehrin's (for the phones), we see a banner hanging on a wall: "3-story house - elevator included!" Brian and I shake our fists at the sign and our heads in disbelief. We also see that Clark County is getting around to hanging road signs.

9:00 a.m.: Full bellies, full tank, full car. Hit it.

Brian's iPod plays our Las Vegas recessional as we head north on Interstate 15. "Viva Las Vegas," then "Leaving Las Vegas." In 20 minutes, the city can only be seen in our rear view mirrors. Remembering Lot's wife, we don't look over our shoulders.

10:27 a.m. (102.0 miles, milemarker 15 on I-15 in AZ): We encounter construction in the Virgin River Gorge. My spidey-sense tingles; I tell Brian to obey the s-l-o-w 35 m.p.h. speed limit. Sure enough, the Arizona Highway Patrol has pulled over a car with California plates.

10:53 a.m. = 11:53 a.m. because we're in Utah, which uses Mountain Time.

11:53 a.m. (130.7 miles, milemarker 15 on I-15 in Utah): We open the Redvines. Could be fresher, but they hit the spot.

12:32 p.m. (173.3 miles, Cedar City, UT): I spell Brian at the wheel. We ate subway and topped off the tank. We also saw a giant cow on top of a nearby restaurant. We called PETA -- that poor cow had no food or water!

195.4 miles (I-15 in Utah): 54 miles to I-70! A pick-up truck has a goat? Sacaja what???

210.5 miles (I-15 in Utah): First tumbleweed.

1:53 p.m. (246.7 miles): I-70!!!

249.7 miles (I-70 in Utah): Denver: 506 miles. Ugh.

430.5 miles (I-70 in Utah): The road keeps going...we had an 108-mile stretch of highway with no services. We pulled off at a ranch exit to "water the natural fauna."

450 miles (I-70 in the middle of nowhere): Light at the end of the tunnel -- 295 miles to Denver.

489.8 miles (I-70, 40 miles east of the middle of nowhere): Those clouds on the horizon...they're brooding! The storm ahead looks ominous.

5:39 p.m. (498.8 miles, Grand Junction, CO): Sara gave us a storm report - rain ahead. Ate at Wendy's; my sandwich was good, Brian's was not as good. I couldn't find my chapstick, so I settled for Sara's shimmer lipgloss that I found in my backpack. (I swear, it's Sara's.)

5:53 p.m. (513.8 miles, I-70 CO mile 39): First signs of rain. The next exit after our Wendy's and gas stop had a Chick-fil-A. (D'oh!)

6:04 p.m. (526.3 miles, mile 51): First tunnel, which is a respite from all the water that has ponded on the road.

6:07 p.m. (528.0 miles): Westbound I-70 backed up because of a truck with one trailer upright, the second trailer on its side.

I suggest in-car entertainment. Poker, perhaps? Brian declines.

6:42 p.m. (571.0 miles, mile 97): Still raining, and we crossed the Colorado River...again. Denver: 178 miles. Passed a motorcycle...wonder if the rider is regretting his choice of vehicles?

6:50 p.m. (580.2 miles, mile 107): What drought? In the rainstorm, a field of alfalfa is irrigated. Nice.

6:58 p.m. (587.0 miles, mile 114): Rain ends.

7:07 p.m. (597.7 miles, mile 124): We enter the Glenwood Canyon. Brian shares that this road was built to fit in the narrow canyon (in spots, it sits on top of itself). They were able to build it without closing it to traffic.

7:28 p.m. (619.1 miles, mile 145): Eagle, Colorado, plays host to Mighty Mite football. Because of the team's attire (green jerseys and pants, white helmets), they look like they are an army of Great Gazoos.

7:56 p.m. (651.9 miles, mile 180): Denver: 94 miles. Getting closer to the Eisenhower Tunnel, as we just drove past the "Road Closed" gates. We're gaining elevation; ears are popping and I'm feeling lightheaded.

8:05 p.m. (661.8 miles, mile 190): Vail Pass - 10,603 feet.

8:28 p.m. (687.4 miles, mile 216): Eastern slope! We're out of the Eisenhower tunnel.

9:30 p.m. (....miles): We've arrived at Wes and Pauline's! Brian is reunited with his wife and son, who flew to Denver from Vegas yesterday. We made it!