Continue reading »]]> “The story I am writing exists in absolutely perfect fashion, some place, in the air. All I must do is find it, and copy it.” – Jules Renard, 1895

Did you ever receive a nudge from the universe, a feeling or a knowing that you absolutely must do something?

Well this week, I didn’t have a simple nudge, I had a shove, and it all had to do with writing a book that exists in “absolutely perfect fashion, some place in the air”.

I got the message—it’s time for me to write down that book, a true story that lives in my head.

The story begins in World War II along the border between northern Italy and what was then Yugoslavia, a politically volatile and dangerous area in which a third world war almost broke out. It’s a tale of unrequited love between a colonel and a Red Cross captain, of danger, redemption and reunion, core elements of any good ‘page turner’. I like to think of it as a blend of “Saving Private Ryan” and “Bridges of Madison County.”

But let’s back up to March of this year when I wrote a column about entering “Pitchapalooza Redux – The Book Doctors Return”, a contest sponsored by Rainy Day Books at Unity on the Plaza. There a panel of publishing experts gave a limited number of participants one minute to pitch their book ideas. Think of it as American Idol for books, if you will.

Suffice to say, I didn’t win the prize, a meeting with a publisher. However, I was awarded a 20-minute telephone interview (that happened this week) with the “Book Doctors”, a husband and wife author-agent team.

Enter the nudge; no make that a shove, from the universe.

“The Book Doctors’ actually remembered my pitch from Pitchapalooza on the Plaza. One of them, after giving the promised guidance and advice, asked me to submit my manuscript. That was not promised by them and never expected on my part.

“Uh, manuscript,” I mumbled?

“This book exists “some place in the air’, but is not on paper yet,” I admitted with just a little bit of embarrassment.

And thus began 20 minutes of clear, bullet-point guidance from ‘The Book Doctors’ who made it so much easier for me to figure out how to begin, what to send to them, even if it is only a chapter or two, and how to organize the book. They will wait on me, and therein lies the ‘shove’.

When I wrote the column in March about my Pitchapalooza experience, I quoted award-winning novelist Toni Morrison who once said, “If there’s a book you really want to read but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”

And so, I guess I will, or at the very least, I will try.

With that dear readers, I must tell you that I have decided to take a leave from writing my weekly column. Let’s call it a hiatus, “a break in something where there should be continuity.” I wish I could provide that continuity, but for now I will need to take a step back from writing Full Circle in order to devote my full creative energy to the book. Let’s just blame it on aging and not being able to do multiple things at once anymore. Those of you of a certain age will completely understand.

The Examiner has graciously agreed to this plan and will run some of my favorite archived Full Circle columns as we go along. And from time to time, I will check in with an update on the progress of the book. And, you can always find selected archived columns and future updates on my blogsite at www.kayhoflander.com.

It will be an arduous journey, writing down that book in my head, but it’s time.

Continue reading »]]> “You love the Red Sox, but have they ever loved you back?”
–from the 2005 movie ‘Fever Pitch’

I read several sports stories the other day devoted entirely to how Royals fans are dealing with the fact that the Kansas City Royals are bottom dwellers in the Big Leagues early in the 2012 season.

The Royals’ arguably ill-timed slogan, ‘Our Time’, doesn’t help.

Is it a jinx? Do we fans need therapy?

I think I do and will have to rely on my tried and true method—movie therapy. Suffice to say, I use it when life throws me a right hook, i.e. Royals. I will explain more later about how watching movies helps me cope.

I love the Royals; don’t get me wrong.

If any of you dear readers recall, I waxed poetic back in March about the Royals after attending spring training in Surprise, Arizona. The Royals looked good, promising, exciting, and clicking on all cylinders, as the saying goes.

I believed that it absolutely would be our time, finally.

That bubble burst for diehard fans like me on opening day when the Royals dropped an embarrassing game, leaving fans like me with an undeniable, worried oppressive feeling of impending doom.

Sorry to say, we were right. The Royals went on to lose 12 out of their first 15 games, and not since 1994 has there been one winning season. They could be baseball’s answer to the NFL draft’s ‘Mr. Irrelevant’.

Sometimes I don’t want to watch the Royals games on television anymore; it is too painful. My powder blue Royals jersey hangs unworn in the closet on most game days.

I feel guilty because I love these guys—Hosmer, Butler, Gordon, Francoeur, Moustakas, Pena, Duffy, Chen and all.

And I cannot begin to fathom what JP (on Twitter @LilFrenchie21) must think about all these losses. Incidentally, if you do not tweet, you may not know that J. P., a 7-year-old Kansas City Royals true-blue fan, has become something of a sensation in Twitter world. Is JP sad? I guess not because he recently tweeted this: “I still wear my Royals shirts to school almost every day! I don’t care if people tell me they are losing. At least I GO TO GAME!”

Now, I feel even guiltier, especially if a 7-year-old is this loyal. I should be, too.

But back to my movie therapy I promised to explain.

I started by watching Major League, a comedy aired in 1989 starring Bob Uecker and Charlie Sheen. In this film, the Cleveland Indians are in last place in the Majors, and inexplicably turn their miserable season into a winning one. Sidesplitting humor. I felt better.

Over the course of the next week, I watched ‘Money Ball’ three times. Yes, three times, mostly, because it was based on a true story. It ranks right up there with ‘Miracle’ and ‘Secretariat’ for me, and gets me out of the doldrums fast.

Remember Billy Beane, general manger of the Oakland Athletics who took that team out of the cellar to victory and into the history books by changing the way the game is managed. Now, I was feeling hopeful.

Since Money Ball is based on the Athletics’ true story, it could be possible, in my way of thinking, for the Royals to find success, too.

Finally, I watched “Fever Pitch,” the 2005 comedy about a diehard Boston Red Sox fan Ben Wrightman who never gave up on his team. He never lost faith despite the fact that the Red Sox could not overcome the 86-year-old “Curse of the Bambino” that legend says blocked them from ever winning the World Series because they sold Babe Ruth to the Yankees.

Ben’s friend Ryan asked him in frustration one day, “Why do we inflict this on ourselves?”

Ben’s answer: “Because they haven’t won a World Series in a century or so? So what? They’re here. Every April, they’re here. At 1:05 or at 7:05, there is a game. And if it gets rained out, guess what? They make it up to you. Does anyone else in your life do that? The Red Sox don’t get divorced. This is a real family. This is the family that’s here for you.”

Ah yes, movie therapy. I’m all better now and wearing my blue again, but I might have to watch Money Ball one more time.

It’s still bad at the bottom folks.

Continue reading »]]> “You got to be careful if you don’t know where you’re going, because you might not get there” – Yogi Berra

“If you think Missouri isn’t beautiful, then you should take the drive Bonnie took me on last weekend”, my friend Paige said.

Who is Bonnie, I wondered, thinking I’ve never heard Paige mention a ‘Bonnie’?

“She is my GPS,” Paige answered and added that somehow Bonnie knew exactly what she needed that day—a peaceful and serene drive through the beautiful landscape of Missouri back roads.

“I was going from Kansas City to Jefferson City and Bonnie told me so confidently to turn off of I-70 onto Highway 87 and take that to Highway 179, that I did. It is as though she knew I needed my emotional batteries recharged with a picturesque drive in the country where I saw rolling hills, gorgeous flowering trees, green, green grass, cattle grazing in the valleys and charming farm houses and barns.”

Paige continued, “How did she know that is exactly what I needed?” I think Paige meant that rhetorically, but I answered anyway.

Well, I said, “She isn’t Suri, so you couldn’t ask her why, because of course one cannot have a two-way conversation with a GPS as one can with Suri.”

We laughed, and Paige then explained more of her story, “Bonnie was patient as though she was listening to me and intuitively taking me through a ‘road less traveled’.

“Part way there, “ Paige said, “I stopped for coffee and water. She didn’t like it as we know that no GPS wants us to veer off course or stop. I let her rant for awhile because she probably needed to, and after all, she had not had a chance to say anything for a long time.”

And thus, we have a perfect example of how we form relationships with our GPS, sometimes love and sometimes hate, or more likely annoyance and dependence.

It’s the GPS racket that bothers my husband.

When we drive out west, we take a short cut because we know it goes directly to my brother’s house. Dominique, our GPS, does not know this and fusses at us incessantly with the familiar admonition “recalculating, recalculating”.

Finally after enough of this noise, my husband will ask me to turn down the volume. She annoys him, but because of the love-hate relationship many of us have with our GPS, he also misses her reassuring voice and wants to be sure he is on the right road. Dominique will know. Then he asks me to turn up the volume.

I found an online story by Anna North about some interesting relationships people form with a GPS.

She writes: “More than one dude has fallen in love with the female voice on his GPS unit. She’s so trustworthy, so calm and reliable.”

North gives an example of such a case. Bruce Feiler of the New York Times wrote that he had “fallen for my GPS voice”, and says he knows several guys who have developed a crush on the disembodied voice that tells them where to turn. Wives and girlfriends might be lifting an eyebrow at that one as we speak.

Additionally, we know that couples often argue about whether to take the GPS lady’s directions or not because she is not always accurate.

I have met business travelers who say they would never leave home without her, knowing that she has saved them at the last minute when they were late for a meeting. However, she has also sent them down tangled dirt roads to the hinterlands.

Even though that soothing voice is almost human, we begin to wonder at times if my Dominique and Paige’s Bonnie are simply ignorant, out of touch or behind the times.
Sometimes they simply cannot find the shortest, fastest route. Goodness, it can be maddening.

Although we may love and hate our Global Positioning System and its voice, we must admit that these units, similar to any other technological device, are indispensable.

The problem is that the minute the devices leave the factory, the maps are outdated.

A business traveler’s guide I found gives a solution: there is always the old-fashioned way if one is lost. Ask a local, and switch off your GPS, just so she knows who is boss.

But somehow, I don’t think my Dominique would approve.

Think of it this way. If your GPS lady had a Facebook page, she would have to say on the profile page under ‘relationship”—it’s complicated.

Continue reading »]]> “I read a lot – and I read a variety of genres” – Nora Roberts

The young man ahead of me in line at the movies had his nose in one book and was holding another one.

Hunger Games, I asked, fairly certain of his answer.

He grinned and said, “Yes, I am reading Catching Fire (book two in a series of three), but I am almost through with it so I brought along the last book Mockingjay.”

“Ah, can’t wait until you get home, right,” I offered.

And thus began a rather engaging conversation about how we both could become so absorbed in a good book that nothing short of Mega Millions would entice us to stop reading. Perhaps, not even a slapstick, side-splitting movie like The Three Stooges, the one we came to see.

The young man’s sister laughed and explained that he did the same thing with the Harry Potter series.

“So did I,” I admitted, “I read them during dinner and once or twice on trips across Kansas, but I don’t believe I ever read any book during a movie.”

As we laughed about that, it occurred to me that the wildly popular Hunger Games series had a familiar ring to it. Reminds me of a short story I read in high school years ago, I told the young man.

The story I remembered was titled The Lottery, written by Shirley Jackson and first published in 1948. Initially, it was not well received, no doubt because of its shocking subject matter in which the ‘winner’ of a lottery drawing was stoned to death.

Similarly, Hunger Games is about a lottery in which people must die. However, unlike The Lottery, the Hunger Games trilogy was well received and quickly became a runaway blockbuster.

I can see why The Lottery upset folks because it haunted me for days after I read it. By the 1960s, however, it was considered to be a remarkable short story, one that high school English classes studied.

No, he had not heard of it, the young man said: “I pretty much just read young adult science fiction.”

“Well then, you might like that short story”, I suggested and began to tell him the plot.

The head of each family in a fictional small town drew a piece of paper from a black box. If the slip had a black spot on it, that family was selected as the winner of the town lottery. The family members then drew slips of paper among themselves until one slip with a mark on it was drawn. Sadly, the mother in the ‘winning’ family drew the marked slip. Immediately, she was led to the center of town where her children and husband were expected to stone her to death along with the rest of the townspeople.

“That is one shocking story,” the young man said, clearly horrified.

“So what else do you read,” he asked, changing the subject.

“I read from a lot of genres,” I answered. “ Lately, I guess you could say humor, guidebooks and cookbooks are my favorite genre.

“What, they are all one genre,” he asked?

The young man stared blankly at me and nearly became comatose when I related, from memory, the titles of three books I am currently reading and enjoying so much they make me laugh out loud (Authors: Gayden Metcalfe and Charlotte Hays).

Title 1—“Being Dead Is No Excuse, The Official Southern Ladies Guide to Hosting the Perfect Funeral.”

Title 2—“Somebody is going to Die If Lilly Beth Doesn’t Catch That Bouquet: The Official Southern Ladies’ Guide to Hosting the Perfect Wedding.”

Title 3—Some Day You’ll Thank Me For This, The Official Southern Ladies’ Guide to Being a Perfect Mother.”

The young man’s nose went right back into the Hunger Games book when I told him about the recipe for the perfect egg salad sandwich that I found in the some-day-you’ll-thank-me book.

I think we might have a generational gap here, although we both loved The Three Stooges movie, and I have no idea what to make of that.

Continue reading »]]> “April is the cruelest month” – T.S. Elliott

Admit it, don’t we usually think lovely thoughts about the month of April? We don’t think of it as cruel at all. We think about the advent of spring, sunshine, flowers, the opening day of baseball season and the end of the school year finally in sight.

Yes indeed, all good thoughts about the month of April.

But not so fast, I guess I don’t think that way. Here is what I mean.

Yesterday, as I was leaving Wal-Mart with both arms loaded with jugs of weed killer, so much that I had trouble carrying them, I walked with a spring in my step. I was actually giddy at the fact that I was about to tackle April weeds and could not wait to get on with the task.

True I was excited, but it was not about the glories of April, it was about destroying, no annihilating April weeds, those cruel, remorseless, persistent, mean and nasty wild noxious things that pop up everywhere this time of year. Believe me, they can inflict pain and anguish and bring about great suffering for gardeners.

Once, I was so distressed about spring weeds that I wrote an entire column on the horrors of Creeping Jenny, thistles and trumpet vines. What can I say, I live in the country, and we know about these things.

All right, I realize I might hear from weed lovers and that there could possibly be a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Weeds out there somewhere in the world, but please don’t write me about that.

By now you may be wondering how I got started on this rant?

I was reading the April issue of Successful Farming when I saw the headline “War on Weeds” in a screaming bold all caps font. Naturally, I flipped right to the story and read with great interest every idea they put forth about killing weeds (I am always looking for a new way to whip them into submission).

Not far from that article was another one just as interesting. Cheryl Tevis, farm issues editor, wrote quite the convincing piece about how April is the cruelest month in her opinion. She explained how April weather teases us and asked her readers, “How many times have you felt the stirrings of spring, only to be yanked back into the throes of winter?”

She bemoaned the ritual of spring housecleaning that arrives in April along with the rainy, mud season that afflicts many locales. Tevis also lamented the fact that the asparagus isn’t ready yet in April, nor are strawberries or rhubarb, with which I totally agree.

So there you have it, Tevis’s reasons and mine for why April could be indeed the cruelest month of the year, although for me, the invasion of April weeds trumps them all.

When I finished writing this article, I looked out my window only to discover unhappily that I missed quite a lot of chickweed, and oh no, Creeping Charlie and a large patch of clover, both of which will choke out the grass and take over my flower garden.

Cruel April, this is war! Somehow, I don’t think I am winning.

Continue reading »]]> “What a wonderful thing is the mail”?– Author Unknown

I like picking up our mail at a post office box instead of home delivery.

It’s a wonderful thing, actually, and picking up our mail gives me a chance to go to the post office first thing every morning where absolutely anything can happen.

You might think that I missed my morning coffee when I tell you that the post office, at least in our little town, is a friendly place. I realize that elsewhere this may not be a commonly held opinion, but I truly enjoy going to ours.

The other day, for instance at the post office, I encountered a delightful conversation that turned effervescent and animated when my friend Linda and I stood in the lobby and chatted excitedly. I don’t see her much anymore, but when I do, it seems to happen at the post office.

Another thing about our post office that I find interesting, especially this time of year, is that it is a noisy place. Boxes and boxes of little chicks are waiting to be claimed and taken to nearby farms, where I presume the chicks will one day lay dozens of eggs. In the meantime, these chicks chirp a lot.

I should introduce you to my postmaster friend while I’m at it. His name is Jim, and he is an outgoing, engaging sort and knows without asking where I will likely mail my packages, which I do often. He might ask me, “So how is your son in 85042 doing? Does he miss the whirlwind life of 20036?”

Last year our postmaster asked me this question, “Has your other son gone back to school yet, the one up there in that 46383 lake effect country? Wonder if they will have another bad winter?”

And when I mail a package to the son who lives the closest to home, Jim might say, “Bet you’re glad to have one son live so close by, the one in the 64111 neighborhood. How does he like it up there?”

I guess I had better tell him that the son in 46383 moved to 64111, and the 64111 son moved to 66205, but knowing Jim, he will figure that out soon enough.

There is a clerk at the front counter who is one of the cheeriest people I ever met. She smiles, laughs, and greets me like an old friend. No wonder I enjoy going there.

Sometimes while waiting in line, I cannot help staring at her long hair, braided expertly into one long rope that travels down the full length of her back. Her beautiful hair reminds me of my Great-Aunt Bess, who wore her hair much the same way. I mentally speculate about this nearly every time I see her and wonder how can she possibly braid that long head of hair by herself? It gives me something to do while I wait.

Occasionally, I see the ‘iris lady’ at the post office. She ships packages of iris roots ‘by the boatload’ that she sells online. I find myself wondering, as I stand behind her, how much time does that take to address, label and seal all those boxes. And who are all these people buying iris roots, anyway? I like irises and applaud her entrepreneurship, but she ships a serious amount of roots.

I try to pick up our mail when the counter opens so as to see the “8:30iers”. I call them that because the folks are always there at 8:30 a.m. sharp, the moment the window opens and mail is put out in the post office boxes. It is fun saying hello to them and receiving their good wishes almost every morning. Wouldn’t want to miss it.

Thus day after day, I continue to marvel at the sights and sounds of our local post office.

OK, I know what you are thinking by now, “Why don’t you have your mail delivered and save yourself a lot of time dawdling around the post office?”

And miss something? I don’t think so, and besides, anything can happen at the post office.

Continue reading »]]> “Eventually all things merge into one, and a river runs through it”.
– Norman Maclean, professor and author

In February of this year, a news story about finding a message in a bottle in the Missouri River caught my eye.

It was published in my hometown newspaper, the Mound City News, a northwest Missouri weekly. I saved it figuring one day I would try to find out more about this intriguing story. This week, I finally did.

I spoke with Adam Johnson, publisher of the Mound City News, who related how the story touched a lot of folks in the area bringing a small measure of joy to a county hit hard by the ravaging flood of the previous year. The message in the bottle made folks smile nearly two decades after it was written, and what happened as a result of finding it did, too.

The original news story, written by Lisa Yocum, explained how a man who was cleaning up debris along Weber’s Levee in Holt County, Missouri, found a bottle with a message inside, written by two little girls who left their names and addresses on their note nearly 18 years ago.

As it turns out, the bottle traveled 250 miles before Levi Acton of Forest City, Missouri, found it in a pile of flood debris. Levi wasted no time giving the bottle to his father, Doyle Acton, knowing his dad would want to see it.

Local speculation is that the Missouri River Flood of 2011 deposited the bottle with its message, still dry and safe inside, in a pile of mud and flood debris that eventually made its way to Weber’s Levee.

Perhaps, the bottle lodged in the river bottom for years before raging floodwaters carried it away. No one will ever know.

However, as Lisa Yocum concluded in her story: “How the floodwaters impacted its travels will remain a mystery, but one thing is sure—an 18-year-old message in a bottle found in the middle of flood-ravaged land in Holt County served to brighten spirits and rekindle the simplest of childlike ideals (such as putting a message in a bottle and hoping someone finds it).”

Take a listen to the delightful message below that was composed by two little girls many years ago on now brown and wrinkled paper but still intact. Can’t you just see those giggling little girls?

“Hi, my name is Kays. I’ve got lots of cats and one dog. If you find this note, put it back in the bottle and send it down the river. My pen is running out of ink.’’

The little girl’s cousin Becky took over the task and included more information about their pets as well as their names and addresses.

We can only assume that Becky found another pen with sufficient ink left to finish the letter.

As cute as this is, it is not the end of the narrative. As Paul Harvey used to say, “Here is the rest of the story.”

Turns out over the years, Doyal Acton put a message in a bottle himself from time to time and sent it down river. Understandably, his son’s find immediately intrigued him.

According to Lisa Yocum, “Doyal then composed his own letter, added it to their letter, and then dropped them both into one of his own wine bottles, corked it, and placed it back in the Missouri River at Payne’s Landing.”

Further, Doyal decided to write to the girls at the address they included in their note and tell them his son found their bottle. Although, neither of the girls lived anymore at the address given on their note, Doyal’s letter somehow reached Becky’s mom at a different address, no doubt a blessing of living in a small town.

The Mound City News reported that Becky’s mom wrote Doyal the following letter that supplied more details of the mystery of the message in the bottle.

“Dear Doyal and son: You made my day with your letter! The girls put the bottle in the water while camping with their grandpa. They were west of Gavins Point Dam on the Missouri River. As to when it was put in the water, I’m guessing Becky was probably around 6 or 7, she is now 25. The floods this summer must have helped it go through the dam and on down the river. They were camping on the Nebraska side of the river. I guess we’ll see if someone else finds it again! – Becky’s Mom

And thus as we speak, Becky and Kays’ original letter, now accompanied by a letter from Doyal, is making its way downstream in one of Doyal’s old wine bottles somewhere in the Missouri River waiting to be found once more.

And as Norman Maclean once said so prophetically, eventually all things do indeed merge into one, and a river runs through it.

Continue reading »]]> “If there’s a book you really want to read but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” – Toni Morrison

Nearly every one of us at some point in our lives has said, “I am going to write a book about that.”

Most of us never do.

Yet, the romantic notion remains for some of us. It is the doing, however, that is our bugaboo.

Pitchapalooza to the rescue!

This week I took a ‘leap of faith’ and attended “Pitchapalooza Redux – The Book Doctors Return”, sponsored by Rainy Day Books at Unity on the Plaza.

Yes, I have a book idea, one that has simmered for quite awhile.

At “Pitchapalooza”, panel of publishing experts give a limited number of participants one minute to pitch their book ideas. Think of it as Shark Tank, ABC reality television show in which amateur business entrepreneurs pitch their plan to successful business magnates. Contestants hope that they will get a ‘leg up’ on the competition from these shark-like moguls, but mostly are pitching for big time investment cash.

Or, think of Pitchapalooza as American Idol for books, not as lively granted, but for authors, just as good.

Typically, one would go prepared for such an event and write out one’s one-minute pitch ahead of time.

I did not.

Truth is, I was not planning on making a pitch so I came unprepared. Nevertheless, the excitement of the moment pushed me to sign my name on the list, the last one of 25 would-be authors to make a 60-second speech.

I sat there for an hour-and-a-half with my good friend watching 24 writers go before me. They were good.

Other writers brought notes, laptops and iPads from which to read their pitch.

In our precious minute, we were advised to include the type of book we wanted to pitch, for example, an historical novel, a personal memoir, biography or how-to book.

The panel admonished us that we must give the plot, explain who’s story it is, describe characters, show the panel we can write and let them know what is new and different about what we have to say in 60 seconds.

That is a tall order even if one is prepared. If one isn’t, let us just say it is not for the ‘faint of heart’.

As we watched the participants give well-prepared pitches selling their ideas strongly and effectively, my friend begged me to write something down. “Hurry,” she said, “it’s not too late. You can write something down at least before they call you. Try and make a list of key points.”

She was right, of course, but I could not focus and knew I had no choice but to wing it. Nerves had already set in.

When it was my turn, I stepped to the mic as the last wannabe on the program and began setting up my book idea, giving the basic plot, and a little about the characters as I tried to beat the clock.

I went too long.

To my surprise however, my story idea seemed to touch the audience and spawned a series of questions from the panel ending in a rousing round of applause from throughout the auditorium.

The panel of publishing experts sent me home with this stern advise–go home tonight and make the changes we suggest because you must write this book now.

Long story short—a published author won the evening’s contest after giving a perfect pitch about her next book in the exact amount of time allotted. Her well-deserved prize won her a meeting with a publisher.

The rest of us were awarded a 20-minute consultation with literary agent Arielle Eckstut and husband and author of 13 books, David Henry Sterry. The pair published “The Essential Guide to Getting Your Book Published” in 2010 and currently consult with folks like me and speak at events around the country similar “Pitchapalooza”.

If you, too, have a book idea burning inside you, please let me know. I would love to hear your 60-second pitch, but a word of advise first, you might want to write it down.

Continue reading »]]> “Baseball? It’s just a game – as simple as a ball and a bat. Yet, as complex as the American spirit it symbolizes. It’s a sport, business – and sometimes even religion.”
–Ernie Harwell, “The Game for All America,” 1955?

Last year, I attended our Kansas City Royals spring training in Surprise, Arizona, my first visit to the Cactus League. This, year I went back to what is clearly becoming my spring birthday week pilgrimage to the desert to take in the joys and surprises of spring ball. I don’t mind saying that I am hooked.

And just like a year ago, I found plenty of surprises in Surprise. Here are my three favorite surprises of this year:

Top of my list is the realization that the Surprise Recreation Campus is 10 years old this year. The stadium is the centerpiece, the jewel, of the complex that serves as the spring training home to the Kansas City Royals and the Texas Rangers. The Royals have been there 10 years and that fact alone surprises me. Furthermore, the stadium itself is indeed a sight to behold, but there is much more to Surprise than the stadium.

A decade ago, the Surprise area was nothing more than a small community surrounded by desert.

On its 10th anniversary, the Surprise Recreation Campus now includes a public aquatic center, a tennis and racquet facility that hosts American and international championships, a public library for visitors, a stocked Surprise Lake for anglers, Dreamcatcher Park (full-accessible facility for athletes with special needs to enjoy baseball, soccer and football), and doubles as an exciting location for high school football events and community programs.

I might be guilty of sounding like an exuberant travel agent here, but certainly, the complex surprised me again. Each year, the area grows and adds new recreational attractions.

Second on my list of surprises this spring has a lot to do with seat location and ticket prices. I’ll explain.

If you want to see the Royals in spring training, there still is time. The last KC game at Surprise is March 31st. Ticket prices range from $7.00 on the lawn to $35.00 for the lower dugout. Simply visit cactusleague.com or surprisespringtraining.com, select your seats and print out your tickets.

And speaking of selecting a seat, there is not a bad seat in the house. However because it was my birthday pilgrimage to spring training, I decided to buy my family and myself a birthday present. Good seats, nah, great seats!

The Royals game was almost sold out on the day we wanted to attend, but there to my surprise on the online ticket site were some seats left in Section 102, right behind home plate, $30 apiece.

When we got to the game, we were even more surprised to learn that we were sitting with the major league scouts. How fun was that! We bantered about with them, watched their radar guns record the pitcher’s speeds and eavesdropped as they suggested trades and recommendations for which players should be moved down or kept. Fascinating stuff.

So for $30, one can sit with the scouts in Surprise. I guess I just spilled the beans, but still what a surprise.

My third surprise is more of a quick observation. One meets the nicest people from all over the country at spring training games. Typically, fans visit several ballparks and watch as many teams as they can on their spring ball vacations to the Phoenix area.

For instance, sitting behind us this year were fans from the San Francisco Giants who were just delightful to meet– mom, dad and two grown sons, Barbara, Chuck, Pete and John. I told them I would give them a shout out in my column. So hello Giants fans!

Scenes like this repeat themselves over and over at each of the 11 ballparks in the Phoenix area. Everyone seems to be having a great time, no one really cares who wins, and most of us are there for the fun of watching pure baseball without any hype.

Oh, and did I mention that the grilled peppers and onions and Arizona-style ballpark food are irresistible?

I am blocking off the calendar for this time next year, as we speak, to see what new surprises are in store in Surprise. Hope to see you there Royals fans!

Continue reading »]]> “Basketball is a game that gives you every chance to be great, and puts every pressure on you to prove that you haven’t got what it takes. It never takes away the chance, and it never eases up on the pressure.”– Coach Bob Sundvold (former head coach at UCM and assistant coach at Mizzou and Missouri State)

I guess you could say that the game of basketball during March Madness is the way it is supposed to be played – flying high just like kites in the March wind.

During most of the regular season, basketball players know the pressure never eases up, and they know they have a chance to play well.

Normal everyday operating procedure for a ball team.

Come March, however, they know they have a chance not just to play well but also to be great, exactly what Coach Bob Sundvold said. And certainly, they know the pressure will ratchet up.

March Madness blows in with a fury each year when we flip the calendar from February to March, as though the weatherman just announced a severe wind advisory.

Conference championship tournaments begin, and miraculously and mysteriously, these very same players who played reasonably well during the regular season, now can fly and perform other inhuman feats, for one, levitating themselves toward the basket. Simply put, it is March Madness and flying happens, among other remarkable things.

We have seen it before, but we do not understand it.

Award-winning novelist John Edgar Wideman, described what basketball is like when it is played the way it is supposed to be played, especially in the month of March: “…basketball happens in the air; flying, floating, elevated above the floor, levitating the way oppressed peoples of this earth imagine themselves in their dreams.”

That thought leads me to an epic game played on March 12, 2009, at Madison Square Garden between Syracuse and Connecticut. Syracuse, No. 18, beat No. 4 Connecticut in six overtimes 127-117. According to an AP story at the time, everyone was left “exhausted, and except for the losing team, exhilarated.”

I know we were watching every minute of it in our household. When the game went into the first overtime, we thought we should call it a night, but just couldn’t quit watching. And according to my ESPN research, the game did not end until 1:22 a.m., three hours and 46 minutes after it began. I remember the exhaustion and the exhilaration.

Furthermore, I didn’t really care who won because it was the fact that the game was mesmerizing, played just the way it should be in March.

Not only were the players on Syracuse and Connecticut elevating themselves to astonishing heights and greatness, they were also enduring implausible pressure.

According to the AP account of the game, Jonny Flynn, a Syracuse point guard, inexplicably “had 34 points and 11 assists in a game-high 67 minutes, only three fewer than were played.”

The kid played 67 minutes without sitting down!

And that is why I love March Madness. They play the game the way it is supposed to be played—flying high.

Bring on the brackets!