I’ve spent a lifetime of halves on a sideline.
More than that, if you count the days as an athlete. Back then I warmed the bench. I had a uniform, though. I loved sport. I sucked at it. But I loved it. I romanticized it and I relished it. And I could do it just well enough to make the team. Not an atom more.
I tend to stand on the field a bit, which is illegal.
I’m short. I have to do it. I get out of the way when the ball comes my way. Unless I don’t. One day I was slow to retreat. The ref gave me a look. The opposing coach hopped and pointed fingers like I’d just stolen his fortune cookie.
The ref warned me to stay off the field.
Every time the ref turned around, I took one deliberate step back onto the field. My coaching nemesis hopped up from his sideline chair and pointed more. When the ref turned toward his noisy voice, I’d already stepped back to safety.
This went on for most of the first half. I love it when an opposing coach brings such a fragile psyche. I can’t remember if we lost or won. I do remember that I enjoyed yanking his chain.
1. What’s on the sideline where the coaches stand?
So much on an NFL sideline.
There’s benches, for sure. Some are heated. Some, equipped with misting machines. In Denver, they come with oxygen tanks. A lot have knobby protrusions for players to hang their helmets. (Thurman Thomas wishes he had this in the Super Bowl.)
There are also equipment carts this Chargers punter mistook for a urinal.
There ought to be snacks, I’ll tell you that.
They call the area where a coach can roam a sideline the technical area. A ref in Murphy yelled at me for being out of the technical area. I pointed out that the paint didn’t stop until over there. Technically. (He didn’t take kindly.)
There’s usually barking where there should be instruction to players on the bench. There’s vitriol between grown men leading opposing teams where there should be accord and reverence.
There’s doubt and self-blame where there should be replenishment and study.
2. The Rockies have a game every day?
In a perfect world, they would.
They’ll all be played in spring-training nonchalance, at spring-training ticket prices. Afternoon tilts. With taco stands and colored jerseys. There’d be interaction between players and fans before batting practice and autographs for kids after.
It takes six months to play 162 games. Usually, teams get about four days off a month or so. They’ll play a Monday-Wednesday series, maybe take Thursday off, then play Friday to Sunday. Give or take. Sometimes, that Thursday is part of a four-game series.
You’ll be 13 by the time the Rockies have another off day, Camdyn. They’re stomping the dodgers 9-1 at the moment, and will play three more in Los Angeles through Sunday. Monday through Thursday, it’s on to Arizona.
Then it’s back home for three games against the Padres.
The Rox will take Monday, Sept. 18 off before heading off to San Francisco. Hopefully by then they’ll have caught those dastardly diamondbacks in the wild-card hunt (and you’ll have not broken or lost many birthday presents.)
3. What’s that yellow stuff where they make pizza at Domino’s?
If you Google what’s that yellow stuff? you get intuitive searches that end with:
- In my throat
- In my underwear
- You cough up
- On my tongue
- In my ear
If that doesn’t make you lose your appetite for pizza, who knows what will?
It’s probably a mixture of cornmeal and flour. It helps keep the dough from sticking to everything. The cornmeal makes a crust a bit crispier. It can become a problem if cooks are allergic to cornmeal. Also, using straight flower can wreak havoc on air conditioners.
Pizza rendering is a dangerous mission sometimes.
4. Do you know how to make margaritas?
Boy, do I.
Well, I used to. I scarcely know how to mix a rum and Coke these days. Back in my college days, I was a server at Acapulco Mexican Restaurant, back when Harris Boulevard was Delta Road. (Hear me, Charlotte peeps?)
We had to mix our own drinks.
Once, a friendly and pretty woman sat in my section with her surly boyfriend. I knew right away he didn’t deserve her. That’s how it goes though, right? So they both place orders for margaritas. He’s acting like it’s a prison sentence.
Even with chips and salsa in front of his mug and his pretty girlfriend across the aisle.
So I made two margaritas – one top shelf, which means it has the best tequila in the house. The other is regular, the ‘rita equivalent to the poor people’s menu at Burger King, with microscopic burger patties you could shine candle light through.
She raved about the delicious margarita I made (which might have had a bit extra Patron in it.)
Oscar the Grouch, on the other hand, has a watered down version, and can’t understand why gorgeous over there loves hers so much. He’s a mouth-breather, and never thought to try a sip of hers, or I’d have been made.
Wonder if those two made it in the long run.
5. Is this live?
Note: The song was Collide, by Howie Day.
I don’t remember, but I love this song.
Here’s a live version of it:
Man, the memories. What I love about live music is that it’s usually the current snapshot of a progression that every piece of music, performed over and over, has an inherent timeline. Each time OneRepublic performs Something I Need, it evolves, for instance.
Same for All-American Rejects with Gives You Hell and Brittney Spears with I Wanna Go. Presumably. (Wonder if the Goo Goo Dolls and John Mayer do this.)
It’s like this with many songs. For some, it’s better than others. I heard Eddie Money’s Two Tickets to Paradise this week, live, and it had gained some complexity and details that weren’t in the original recording.
For all it’s magic, Aerosmith’s Dream On seems to fall flat on the live stage. Maybe because the pinnacle of its magic was found in the recording studio. Just theories.
All art evolves. My sideline antics, for instance. I’m sure that given the seasoning I’ve absorbed since my sideline tease many moons ago, I could add some complexities to such a taunt.
I can’t tell you what, though. You’ll have to come buy a ticket.
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