Garry Armstrong, reporting

We tuned in the Pats-Giants game with 1:47 left and the Brady Bunch facing a sixth straight loss to New York’s Big Blue. It didn’t look good. The Giants appeared to have the Patriots’ number. Again. Ready to end another New England run at a perfect season.

EAST RUTHERFORD, NJ - NOVEMBER 15: Tom Brady #12 of the New England Patriots celebrates a first down against the New York Giants during the first quarterat MetLife Stadium on November 15, 2015 in East Rutherford, New Jersey. (Photo by Elsa/Getty Images)

EAST RUTHERFORD, NJ – NOVEMBER 15: Tom Brady celebrates a first down against the New York Giants during first quarter on November 15, 2015. (Photo by Elsa/Getty Images)

Tom Brady was firing bullets under pressure but the clock was ticking down. What magic could the Pats use? 4th down and 6 seconds left. The Pats would try a 57 yard field goal while a stiff wind played havoc.

It was over … unless the New England evil empire had something up its slippery sleeve.

A deflated football? Secret microphones to pick up the Giants’ audio? Nude cheerleaders confusing the Giant coaches? Spies on the Giants bench? Valium in the Giants water?

The crowd roared as Stephen Gostkowski tried what would surely be a failed field goal. The kick was steady. The ball sailed high in the crisp November night.

Photo: Boston Globe

Photo: Boston Globe

It slanted left … narrowly making it through the uprights. The announcers weren’t sure whether or not it was a score … even when replays confirmed the kick was good.

What happened?

drone spy

In a blur, I learned the truth. Invisible Drones using penetrating laser beams had directed the football’s arc. The Pats have pulled off another one.

Stay tuned for more details on “Drone Gate.”


Some Old World Wisdom, by Rich Paschall

When thinking of blog topics, there is no shortage of subject matter. Some general areas offer a lot of topics.  With a bit of extra thought, there’s an endless supply. Consider well how many areas you can pursue if you are willing to delve into sports, politics, or religion. Each is bound to set some readers ablaze. Would surely bring lots of comments. You do want lively discussion, don’t you?

How lively do you want it?


Venture into a sports bar well into the evening and you are likely to find plenty of spirited discussions regarding sports.  These ideas should help you out.  Will the Cubs ever win a pennant?  Will the White Sox ever get the love the Cubs get?  Will the Blackhawks win another Stanley Cup?  Will the Bears defeat the hated Green Bay Packers?  Will the Bulls beat the hated ____________ (fill in New York team here)?  There is little reason get into crosstown rivalries. Dissing out-of-town teams only works locally.


We could always take off after the Yankees and A-Rod, the Patriots and _______ (name your alleged scandal here), or Jerry Jones and the Cowboys. But why alienate readers in New York, Boston or Dallas? Perhaps we should just write about the ridiculous BCS Bowl series or the commissioner of _________ (name your least favorite here).

A good informational, yet rather neutral article might find favor.  Others might concede that you are trying to make some point of view, like promoting someone’s stats for the hall of fame. A discussion of gays in sports or an Olympic diver coming out of the closet, might get up into your politics, so we may have to think carefully about those.  Yes, we will leave the political area of sports alone.


Speaking of your politics (or mine), perhaps we can find common ground there. I could write short stories with a political theme, or write about a run for office that brings victory, but no win for the candidate. Too improbable?

How about the death of democracy through campaign spending?  Imagine buying an election. Maybe this hits too close to home … or do you think it merely fiction or satire?  Political satire is sure to get people thinking and arguing, especially if you throw in climate change as the kicker. Then again, maybe no one will bother to read this stuff. Maybe a bad idea after all?

How about hitting the topics head-on in a nice well-researched article? We can talk about Democrats, Republicans, capitalists or socialists. On second thought, that could split the audience from the get-go. Better to look at the subjects of the debates and write a well-reasoned essay.

women's suffrage-2

Where to begin? Abortion? Immigration? Gay Rights? Civil Rights? Gun Control? Campaign reform? Welfare Reform?  Any reform?? National defense?  Can’t we all consider that without alienating people? There’s always alienating the aliens. Can’t go wrong with that, right? Well, maybe not.

If politics is too risky, how about the world’s great religions? They’re all rooted in love, are they not? We could discuss the philosophies that ignite the passions behind our beliefs and thus find common ground. Peace and harmony at last.

Except that so many people believe their god is the only way. Some believe their god is calling them to harm others which sets religion against religious … and alas, there’s nothing new about that. Belief is supposed to bring hope and joy … not more war.

God in on every side of every war, or so they say. Who goes into battle without the blessing of their particular deity? How can I expect to have a civil discussion in such an emotionally charge arena?  I have innocently had to extract my foot from my mouth before … maybe I should let the Dalai Lama write on this topic.

The "Dodge City Peace Commission", June 1888. (L to R) standing: W.H. Harris, Luke Short, Bat Masterson, W.F. Petillon. Seated: Charlie Bassett, Wyatt Earp, Frank McLain and Neal Brown.

The “Dodge City Peace Commission”, June 1888. (L to R) standing: W.H. Harris, Luke Short, Bat Masterson, W.F. Petillon. Seated: Charlie Bassett, Wyatt Earp, Frank McLain and Neal Brown.

Years ago, when one of our favorite innkeepers was still alive, we used to drop by his establishment.  It was a great place for lively discussion. If anyone got a little over-heated, the owner walked over with a wink to say, “No Sports, no politics, no religion!”

Seemingly a strange thing to say when a sports channel was almost always playing nearby, but he meant arguments, not discussions. If arguments got out of hand, he’d say “No Sports, no politics, no religion — or you’re out of here!”

That seemed a good approach to barroom politics. These were the areas of discussion that often ended with unpleasantness. Especially when dialogue was fueled by alcohol. Maybe it short-circuited a few lively discussions, but no doubt he cut off some brawls, too.

Let’s avoid them in the blog-o-sphere and cyberspace too. If Facebook is any indicator, that sounds like a plan!


They are celebrating in America’s heartland! The Kansas City Royals are the champs of baseball after defeating the New York Mets to win the World Series 4  games to 1.

The “Boys of Summer” finished the season in frigid football weather.


The suits of Major League baseball need to rethink this scheduling thing. The faithful fans shivered even though decked out in mid-winter clothing. You could almost see the vapors as they cheered on their teams in “the fall classic”.

Yes, it’s all about money. It’s not about making the post season accessible for more teams. It’s about increased revenue for the networks carrying post season games.


Cheers to the Royals for playing their splendid brand of contact baseball and winning it all with a modest payroll.

Cheers to the New York Mets for making it to the World Series with a rotation of marvelous young pitchers who hopefully will be around for years to come. It seems strange to peruse the New York sports sections and see little or no mention of the New York Yankees. Not that I mind …

A new order of parity prevails in baseball. Star-studded teams with mega contract rental “guns” are no longer guaranteed success.


The Cubbies are still waiting for that Frank Capra ending. But they are no longer joke fodder. They have become legitimate, and relevant. Kudos to Theo Epstein and his young Turks who made magic in Boston and moved to Chicago to do it again. 2016 could be the long-awaited “next year” for generations of Cubs fans.

Here in Red Sox nation, we wait to see what will happen. We’ve been through the good, the bad, and the ugly in recent years. We need men. Maybe 7 men. Pitchers who throw hard and accurately.

Til then, we’re just drifting.


Many of you know we recently visited Cooperstown and Baseball’s Hall Of Fame as part of our Silver Anniversary road trip celebration.

The shirt is from our previous trip, 23 years ago.

The shirt is from our previous trip, 23 years ago.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

Celebrating 25 years of marriage still leaves me astonished. These have been the best years of my life and all the credit goes to Marilyn who has seen me through some difficult times while surviving several life and death health crises of her own.


It was Marilyn who had suggested we return to Cooperstown for our anniversary. In a year of many family soap opera crises, Marilyn realized this would be the perfect spot for her husband, the lifelong baseball fan.



We entered the Hall of Fame with great expectations. This has been a year of baseball disappointment because of our under-achieving Red Sox. We would forget all the bumbling performance of this year’s team as we visited heroes of the past.



Team loyalty is on hold in the Hall of Fame. You are walking among the greats. These are the heroes of your youth and those who came before them.


An odd little souvenir shop cum wax museum exhibit down the street from the museum.

An odd little souvenir shop cum wax museum exhibit down the street from the museum. Garry with “The Boss.”

But something was wrong. We had trouble seeing the photos and exhibits in many of the rooms. The lighting was very poor. Non-existent in some places. Exhibits were all behind glass, crammed into tiny little locker-sized cabinets.


Many of the scenes recalled from our visit 23 years ago were missing. Access to the exhibits was severely limited and most of the interactive stuff has been removed. The intimacy that was so much a part of our earlier visit was gone.


There were no benches in exhibit areas. The very limited seating was confined to hallways near the exits and elevators. This created a rather hostile environment for anyone with mobility issues and ignored the needs of the older faithful (the majority of visitors) who had come to recapture memories.


Restrooms were difficult to find and required a guide. No signs pointing to restrooms or signs for the other exhibits. Which is unfortunate since the museum is labyrinthine. If we hadn’t stumbled on exhibits while trying to find the restrooms (then trying to find our way back), we’d have missed everything.

Is this the latest in museum design?


The final insult was the dreary gift shop. It had been a treasure trove in previous visits, full of unique stuff you could only get at the museum. We still have the shirts we bought there 23 years earlier. This time, it was all the usual stuff.

There’s a better selection at the shop on Yawkey Way across from Fenway Park. Marilyn — who can always find something to buy — couldn’t find anything. Sad.


Last time we were there, a life-size Babe Ruth with Abbot and Costello’s “Who’s On First” playing in a loop, greeted us on arrival. This time, nothing. It was just a museum with bad lighting and no place to sit down.

It seems like baseball’s main attractions had been scaled down. The museum, in an attempt to cram in more stuff, has lost understanding of what fans want to see.

Major league baseball, with billions in its coffers, is forgetting its showcase. Neglecting the fans who visit from around the world. I’m not sure whether or not this is a reflection of baseball’s internal problems. If so, it’s a crying shame.

There were some nice moments. Hanging out with baseball greats in fantasy sessions. Swapping chit-chat about how the game has changed and thanking them for those memories — frozen in time across the decades.

Maybe I should sympathize with the Hall of Fame as I approach the midway mark of the seventh decade of my life.

Then again, maybe not.

Which doesn’t mean if you love baseball, you shouldn’t go. You should go. Because for lovers of baseball and its history, it is the only game in town.

“It’s ain’t over till it’s over.”



Yogi Berra passed away yesterday, September 23, 2015 at the age of 90. His contributions to baseball are too great to even begin to list. He was the last of the living legends.

Yogi, we will always miss you!



We spent some hours in the museum. There’s more to the story, but now isn’t the time for me or Garry to write it. Instead, here’s a gallery of pictures from the outing. A little of this, a little of that.

We definitely have more to say on the subject. When we get home. Maybe a week or 10 days from now …


The Red Sox are playing the Phillies. Winning. They haven’t won often this year, compiling a record so awful I thought they had an unbreakable lock on last place in the American League East.


I was wrong. They actually have been playing well enough — while other teams play badly enough — to possibly, maybe slide into fourth place before the season is over.

The Home Run

The Home Run

Such a warm, cozy thought that, as the quiet day continued, I got to drifting into fantasy, thinking … What if they just keep winning? And suddenly, it’s the end of September and they have the wild card spot. And they go on to win the series …


It would leave the baseball world stunned. Probably leave Red Sox fans the most confounded of all …

I’m not saying it’s likely, but it could happen. Stop laughing. It could!


This week’s Frisbee Wednesday is about beisbol, the most American of pastimes in that most American of baseball stadiums, Fenway Park. 

This has been a sad, bad year for the Sox. To say they are playing poorly doesn’t begin to cover it. They are playing so badly they would have to win something like 20 games in a row to not be in last place. Pathetic. Awful.


Nonetheless, Garry was not going to miss an opportunity to spend a night at Fenway. Win or lose, an evening at the ball park is a great thing. Even if your team stinks.

You are welcome to use any of the included pictures, or of course, pick and write about any of your own photographs.

May your team be more succesful than ours in this 2015 season.


Photos by Garry Armstrong

The title is just a grabber. I ventured, courtesy of a good friend, to my first game at Fenway Park in over 15 years.


It was a steamy hot, muggy Monday afternoon into evening and night. It was just two days removed from the Red Sox back-to-back massacre of the Seattle Mariners. I was hoping, in this wretched season, they could continue their offensive fireworks for at least one more night. For me, the ultimately faithful fan.


The ball park looked wonderful. Just seeing it up close made me temporarily forget lots of things that clog our daily lives with angst. That’s the beauty of baseball and the cathedral known as Fenway Park.



Many of the fans attending the game only know the post-millenium team who won three world series in nine years. Younger fans expect  success and feel downright entitled express their anger over the team’s failure to perform.


History is related to ESPN highlights and not the decades of passionately embracing a team that always came up short, usually at the hands of the dreaded Yankees.


The curse of the Bambino is a blurred legend for many. Too bad.

On this night, as the Sox struggled against the Cleveland Indians, it was time just to absorb the sights, sounds and smells of baseball’s oldest major league ball park.

Time to look at the young players who hopefully are writing the prologue for a brighter future in Red Sox nation. They make wonderful plays to offset the mediocre efforts of the veterans.

The Home Run

The Home Run


There was even a home run by one of our new guys that briefly gives “the Olde Towne team” hope for victory. The applause was deafening and carried the faithful at least part way through what was to be another disappointing evening.


Strangers become instant friends during the game, sharing memories about other games, other years. Grandfathers become children remembering their first game. When? Where? Who started?



Sure, the game was different then, but Fenway transcends time. Mookie Betts or one of the other young players could one day have people talking about them, the same way people reminisce about Teddy Ballgame, Yaz, Pedro, Pesky, Fisk and all those heroes from our collective past.


On this night, it’s all about being there and enjoying OUR game.

Is this heaven? No, it’s Fenway Park.