Friday, October 26, 2012

The Dejected First Base Coach.

The Dejected First Base Coach.
a short story written to use my different written expressions chronologically from maybe around fourth grade through the present.

The first base coach saw the ball hit high into the sky.  The farther away the ball got, the smaller the ball appeared.  The lights above the stadium blinded the first base coach, who was coaching in his first World Series ever.

As the ball descended, the coach began to get nervous.  “It is coming down on the infield,” He thought.  Then he noticed it was coming down toward him and toward first base. 

The first base coach suddenly moved without thought. It was as if his body was a mechanical robot. Within mere moments, he found himself punching the first baseman on the field. He didn’t know what came over him, but he now knew that guilt was coming over him.

The crowd may have increased in volume, but the first base coach wouldn’t have heard them.  His ears were ringing and his sight was getting hazy.  His eyes tried to focus on anything when they finally landed on blurry white object.

As his senses began to amalgamate into focus, the first base coach was amazed to see that he was staring at the baseball on the infield.  His mind then synergized focus with his other senses and he slowly realized the implications of what he had just done.

Though those implications had already begun to encircle him, the first base coach had difficulty in understanding what he had just done; and why he had just done it. “Had I punched the first baseman before he caught the final out to try to keep the game alive?” he conjectured.

A conjecture is a proposition that is unproven. Karl Popper pioneered the use of the term "conjecture" in scientific philosophy.[1] Conjecture is contrasted by hypothesis (hence theory, axiom, principle), which is a testable statement based on accepted grounds.

so teh conclusion to this story is gonna be tht he punched the 1st baseman cuz he didnt want the world series to be over and he couldnt see the final out caught. (EVEN THOUGH THE BATTER WUS already OUT CUZ F THE INFIELD FLY RULE..WTF)

While security dragged him away, the crowd threw their trash in his direction.  Hapless and weak, the first base coach would have fit right into a frame in an animated strip.  ‘The dejected man lies on the field along with other trash’ narration would read.

If they knew.  If anybody knew.                   the troubles

            he had seen.                                    the failures

            he had seen.                                    the loss

            he had seen.                       
If they knew. If anybody knew.                                                    
                                                                  they would know defeat.

Life is ball. But not one you dance at.  You can’t see any more loss when you have already seen it all.

The first base coach saw the ball hit high into the sky.  The farther away the ball got, the smaller the ball appeared.  The lights above the stadium blinded the first base coach, who was coaching in his last World Series ever.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

[Chronicles] If I had $1,000,000.00 dollars

Here is an old entry written in High School (2002) [From the Chronicles] after I got in trouble for buying candy bars at box stores and reselling them to my classmates for profit:

The Barenaked Ladies song "If I Had a Million Dollars" preaches poor financial planning. One Million certainly isn't a lot any more and purchasing all those needless items is not very provident.  I keep trying to make $1,000,000.00 but it's difficult given my lack of support. I was trying to sell M&M candy packets for profit in High School to raise money for, well, myself.  But I got a suspension. Apparently my High School doesn't award entrepreneurial interests and, in fact, disincentivizes them. I wonder where my class will be at our 10th year reunion? I hope somewhere nice like a ballroom or a pond. I would hate to have an accidental reunion at the soup kitchen we all find ourselves at after years of negative Pavlovian repercussions from trying to make money.

Tuesday, February 21, 2012


HUNGRY AS A WOLFF COOKBOOK: SPAGHETTI: Don Wolff Boil water Add spaghetti to boiling water Cook spaghetti till done In separate pot, heat a jar of Ragu When spaghetti is don...

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Ecuadorians found to be the world's best at doing Ecuadorian things.

Recent reports out of Quito, capital of a tiny South American country notable for being located on the equator, have concluded that, as a whole, Ecuadorian people are, generally, very talented at doing most things considered to be innately Ecuadorian. Reports show that while no one particular Ecuadorian is the best at doing any one single Ecuadorian thing, the country as a whole is generally the best at things like singing the Ecuadorian national anthem. "Among other things that Ecuadorian people are a little better at doing than anyone else in the world are making traditional Ecuadorian food, driving on Ecuadorian roads, and sleeping with Ecuadorian women, although they're losing ground on that last one to the Italians" Clemson Cultural Anthropologist and amateur photographer Stephen R. Peckham stated. He continued, however, by saying that, "they're not too good at much else, like moving their economy, playing soccer or at paying attention to the "Por favor, no molesten" sign on my hotel room door."

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

The Windy City Quartet at Mammoth Cave –Sold Out Show- Part 3

The Grand Ave Tour had been an impressive few hours of sights, spectacles and sounds, but the closer we drew to the main event the emptier my stomach felt.

My three friends, Ben, Bocheng, and Mikey, and I were scheduled to perform an underground performance as a quartet in front of the 80 others in our tour group. The only reason this was considered underground by any measure was that we were, in fact, a couple of hundred feet under the ground in Mammoth Caves. The forthcoming show had all the elements of being a wondrous one. The setting was perfect, the audience was large and excited, the promoter, our tour guide, was setting the stage. The sole problem lay in the small fact that not one of the four of the performers knew how to sing a note.

As a result of that and the fact that no two of us knew the lyrics to the same song, we figured that the performance couldn't be pretty. Yet, we were continually reminded of how pretty it should be every 15 of the following minutes as the tour guide would promote the upcoming show.

"I know this part of the cave is difficult to climb, folks, but we have quite a surprise for you later in the tour," he winked in our direction. We didn't wink, we just cleared our throats.

Our discomfort was tangible. I could see it exude from the others and I'm positive they could see it from me. To describe the looming performance as fear-inducing would be to fall just short. We were ascending a giant roller coaster as we climbed up through the cave. Ahead lie what promised to be a steep and very fast drop.

Our fear of follow-through was only amplified by our tour guide's continual reminder of the upcoming surprise as to be the consolation or even the purpose of the lengthy battle against these miles of caverns. Never in my life, even when it was due to me, had my actions ever been promoted this frequently and enthusiastically. 'Why should it now?' I asked apostrophically.

"What did we get ourselves into?" Mike asked the rest of us, "Are we going to sing?" Each of us individually had great hesitation, but together, as a whole, we just couldn't decide NOT to do it. So, forward we went as the last hour of the journey melted into a prolonged amalgam of angst and impatience. Here we were in the most carefully carved cavern system with both backbone and epochs of persistence and we trembled with restless steps. Upon walking into the next room it was clear to see why; our feelings had been given measurable weight.

"Here we have what is called the New York Hippodrome" the tour guide bellowed to the lot of us, "This is one of the largest rooms in all the caverns. It is 250 feet in width, 300 feet in length and 85 feet high. The sound here is wonderful enough, with natural acoustics, that cave owner George Morrison would have opera performances in this room for visitors from the east coast. Thousands would come from afar to watch performances in this room by some of the greatest voices of the day. You, my guests, have the same delight."

He looked over toward us, "Are you gentlemen ready?"

To see the response of us and our audience follow this blog or catch up a couple of days when I post the last part of this steamy memoir.

Thursday, January 6, 2011

The Windy city Quartet at Mammoth Cave -Sold Out Show- Part 2

We descended Mammoth Caves with eighty others in the tour group and despite the presence of all the humanity it was an awesome sight. We were dwarfed by the massive creation 10 million years in the making. Together we learned of this lengthy history, the patience of its formation and the odd fact that there were, indeed, no actual mammoths roaming the depths of the cave.

The strange and various rock formations did yield a good tour and a number of interesting facts. It was when we arrived to a section of the cave noted for its acoustic sharpness that this story, itself, becomes as intriguing as the cave.

"Here," the young tour guide spoke in fitting drawl, "is a beautiful point in the cave which highlights wonderful acoustics. Does anyone care to sing and demonstrate?" Of all the people listening, not one dared to volunteer to sing in front of the rest. "Well, I'm not going to sing either. I sound like a hound dog," the tour guide spoke as we laughed.

Of course though none had volunteered to sing in front of the rest, no shortage of the group hesitated to sing aloud as they walked by this point. This included the four of us as we walked. Each of us stopped and sang a short diddy. I danced too, but acoustics couldn't help me there. We heard the echos ring.

"La La Laaaaa," Ben (I don't know if I can use the word) sang in baritone.

"Oh! Do you gentlemen sing?" the park ranger tailing the group asked us from the rear.

"Uhhhh...." Mike hesitated as I interjected,

"Yes. Yes, we're actually a barbershop quartet!" we laughed.

"Why, that's great news. Nice to meet you," she excitedly said, "I'll be sure to let the guide know on our next stop."

We undulated, all of us afloat upon this little bit of fiction. Wavering, but without words, we collectively decided to tread ahead and go with the flow.

At lunch we ate sandwiches that had been carted down in the only elevator shaft constructed in the the cave system. We were enjoying our ham and cheese when the tour guide approached us,"I've been told that you gentlemen are musicians?"

Because it couldn't be farther from the truth, I spoke up to correct him, "Well, we're just a quartet."

"Golly! And where are you from?" he inquired.

"We're from Chicago," Ben answered and from there we just let the guide do his job lead us ahead into a false story.

"And when you perform in Chicago, do you go by any name?"

"Yes, we're called the Windy City Quartet."

"It would be a great honor if we could have the Windy City Quartet perform for us in the caves, wouldn't it?" He asked.

Going with the flow? I thought. "Right, It would be our honor, we'd love to."

"Wonderful, I'll let you know when we're ready."

Again, Ben looked at Mike and Mike looked at me and I looked at Bocheng and Bocheng looked at Ben. Collectively we gulped, pulled our collar from our neck, shrugged, and moved on with the tour not knowing what to expect.

And neither do you know what to expect! Keep posted, or follow this blog to find what happens in part 3 of this mammoth tale.

Monday, December 27, 2010

The Windy City Quartet at Mammoth Cave –Sold Out Show- Part 1

The four of us arrived at Mammoth Caves on a Friday.  The air was chipper and the wind cut through our jackets.  Though it was November, it was the beginning of the month, and something about heading in the direction of south gave us a deceptive sense of warmth.  We hadn’t prepared for the late Kentucky autumn.  Yet below ground, under our parked car, lay the longest cave system in the word where the temperature, regardless of time of day, season of the year or of the year itself was always a consistent 54°. 

We reared to get below the damp and chilly ground and into the damp and chilly caverns.  Ben, Mike, Bocheng and I had signed up for two different tours. We would save the lantern tour for the second day as we figured to begin our exploration of the National Park/World Heritage Site with a lengthy and general historical tour with a large tour group.

We pushed into one of the two buses that took us to a manmade entrance. Our tour guide, a young college student from nearby Bowling Green gave us a bit of information about the tour in a southern drawl.

“While we hope to have a light and cheery tour, I am obliged to remind you of the precautions we must take to ensure the safety, welfare and satisfaction of everyone else on the tour,” Bocheng looked at Michael and Michael looked at Ben and Ben looked at me and together we all smirked. “We’ve merged two tours together today, and due to the large size of our tour group, we have to be especially courteous to others and respectful to the cave. I hope you can manage this.”

We hoped so too.  Stay tuned for part two of this tale where we find out if the four of us were able to manage courteously and respect.