It has been a dizzying two and a half weeks. We rushed back from Spring Training unseasonable early heat in the Valley of the Sun, Phoenix (I know we all think of Phoenix as h-o-t, but this was even more than "normal" for the first week of March), to busily getting ready for another jaunt out of town.
Did anybody else get caught up in the energy and celebration of the World Baseball Classic the last two weeks? They were fun, incredible, full of Latin celebrations and Americans masquerading as "Italia" (my wife loved the latter--21 of the 22 roster members were born in the U.S. but have Italian ancestry).
The evening-game schedule totally disrupted the regular house routine, which was already thrown into a flurry with the two-trips-within-a-month situation.
I was keeping score (I haven't done that in two years) of every night game in the WBC during the knockout phase, then going to bed late-ish, and still trying to substitute-teach. What an enjoyable period, but very hectic.
Did I mention my "esposa" is not into sports? But the Italia bit really grabbed her attention, when that entry survived pool play and made it into the quarterfinals for the first time in the six WBC's that have been held since 2006. (I attended a game at Petco Park in either 2006 or 2009, and that really fired my already-inflamed fascination with Latin America, having lived in Mexico City for over a year decades ago.)
She was asking for backgrounds on different players, beginning with team captain Vinnie Pasquantino, who set the whole tone by giving home-run hitters espresso in the dugout, then kissing them on both cheeks. (I called it the "double kiss".)
Molto bene, and all that stuff. After a good play on the field, the Fox broadcast showed a teammate in the dugout extending the folded-hand salute. So classical Italian.
A big hit in the household was analyst John Smoltz's describing his Italian family dinners as a kid (I guess he is Italian on his mother's side), tasting the sauce, which you put on everything, including the spaghetti, lasagna, even the bread. "You never went out to eat," was his comment--which totally corroborated my wife's experience as a child, when her grandmother was furious a member of the family bought pizza takeout. The next day she was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on "real" pizza, the whole family eating in. She had been insulted that her cooking role in the clan had been disturbed by the restaurant-bought pizza.
Congrats to Venezuela, which, amid all the country's turmoil, beat the U.S. to win its first WBC title. They played well to get to the final, then played well in a close 3-2 win in the final.
Which brings us to what follows the WBC: a hangover with adrenaline to get all sorts of things done in the little time remaining. I took photos of my first La Jolla High diving meet yesterday (March 19) in two years, having missed last year. I have been enjoying late-evening girls lacrosse--the boys don't play for another month. Odd.
Kelly Drobeck's girls beach volleyball has become a staple. The Beach Cities Invitational starts for the boys court team this afternoon (Fri., March 20). Badminton, with a new coach, got a nod Wed., March 18. It is an exciting, sports-packed spring, with something like 17 teams (counting all levels--I usually only cover varsity) in play.
Track to continue with the Jim Cerveny VIII meet at Mission Bay tomorrow--a personal friend of my wife and mine.
The past Sunday, a friend managing his men's baseball league at Orange Glen High way up in Escondido. A lot of heat, and lot of athletic endeavor--some pain, some injuries, but a lot of re-creation.
