The Good 9/11

I've sold out? Ok, so if you don't use Adblock, you've probably noticed the ads. They're up there at the top, screaming desecration, a hideous eyesore ready to gouge your soul. But that's food money where I am going for awhile - I'll have more about it when I have the plane tickets in my hand. Hey, I'm a baseball fan; I am superstitious by nature! Just please click on the links every now and then, and if you feel like doing a good deed, turn Adblock off for my page. Remember - beer is at stake!

Happy anniversary of 4192! Listen to Marty's historic call. Gives me goosebumps every time.

The day was September 11, 1985. I was eight years old. My grandfather's birthday was on this day, so my family had gathered at my aunt's house to celebrate. My grandparents, aunts and uncles, my mom, and I were watching the Reds game in anticipation for The Hit. This was my first concrete memory of the Reds, one specific event that is very clear in my mind. Not only did I understand that I had just witnessed something important in baseball, but it was also the first time I realized how baseball is much more than a game, that it is more than wins and losses and batting average and strikeouts. Pete's hit was a joy my whole family shared, and the Cincinnati Reds always gave us an excuse to get together to take in a game.

You can dwell on the bad things about today's date, or you can choose to remember the good things in life. Dwelling means they've won, and I'm sure not ready to throw in the towel.