Highway One

Driving California Highway 1, known to some as the Pacific Coast Highway, always makes one think about a variety of issues, matters, thoughts, philosophies, political events, and life decisions. I am never empty of thought when I take the Pacifica CA-Highway 1 South exit off of Interstate 280., preferably with a hot coffee in hand from It's a Grind or Martha Bros. The caffeine gives an extra mental spark when coinciding with the Pacific and fog off the coastline. My Sony CD-player from late-'99 is playing a Don Henley or Bob Seger classic as a drive my Toyota Avalon assisted by a tape adapter of course. Though my drive is consistently 15-20 minutes longer than the typical 101 to 85 to 17 drive, my drive down the One is one of my sanctuaries.

The other day I drove down the One with my cup of coffee in hand, thinking about how close I was to leaving for Prague and reminiscing about how special it is and how lucky I am to have the friends and family I have. During the course of the last few months, they have been incredibly supportive about my departure, a bit subdued and saddened to see me leave but also excited and happy for my new adventure, one in which others have traveled in a similar manner over the years. It is those folks like Nick, Patty, Bob, Jake's brother, Marc's two buddies, and the thrill of seeing and living in another culture that has driven me to depart and see where the road, rail, and air takes me.

Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" is pumping in the speakers through Devil's Slide now and I am thinking about how cool it is and how sweet a gesture it is that Nick is going to let me take and read his copy of "The Book of Basketball" by Bill Simmons as my farewell gift. It is on this particular drive as well as numerous others where I think about how Nick was a person who taught me the value of staying in touch with friends and nurturing those special friendships. There have been times where I have taken friendships for granted or did not spend enough time nurturing them whether it be phone calls, going to lunch, having a beer on the town, or just hanging out watching a ballgame. Though I did not visit Costa Rica during his Peace Corps time, and could and should have in hindsight, I hope to see Nick and other friends of mine after I get settled into a teaching job in Prague. I think it would be a delight to have the opportunity to spend time with my closest friends and family in Europe over a Pilsner or black coffee.

Highway One makes me think about the other achievements I'd like to tackle: Halfdome, a bike ride down the One from San Francisco to Santa Cruz and eventually to Los Angeles via the AIDS ride or with other ambitious friends who just want to take the trek. Then of course there are thoughts of the basic things I'd like to obtain, like NBA League Pass, a little bit of square footage rather than a studio, a quiet place to lay on the couch and read, a healthy food store close by, and it does not even need to be in San Francisco. I would not have seriously pondered that thought six months ago, but now with my testing of a real winter in Prague perhaps I can even contemplate cold-weather cities like Chicago, D.C., Brooklyn, or Philadelphia in addition to Seattle, Oakland, Denver, and Portland. But time will tell and first things first, I need to get to Prague and test the waters. 7 days and counting.

Baseball Musings

So I am in the car today driving down to Santa Cruz from San Francisco, thinking about baseball. Witnessing on live TV Jimmy Rollins' double to win game 4 off Jonathan Broxton and Alex Rodriguez's Hank Aaron-esque, quick-wristed home runs to right field against Minnesota and Anaheim started giving me flashbacks to the great swings of my modern era. I am thinking most specifically about the sweetest swings I ever witnessed as a fan of 20 years. So I go through a mental roladex of swings starting in 1989, and here are a few names that come to mind:

Will Clark. "The thrill." The swagger of the bat and the sauntering Fat Joe-esque "Lean Back" on the left leg. You could see Will smoking a cigarette at the plate daring the pitcher to throw 96 mph cheese at the belt or letters. Mitch Williams knows that feeling a bit. October 1989 did not treat Mitch too kindly thanks to the swing through the zone in the NLCS.

Ricky Henderson. I loved the stutter-step before touching first even more, but everything from Ricky's strike-zone diminishing crouch to his eye at the plate to his explosive cat-like quickness exuded an aura of dominance. Over 80 leadoff homeruns with that quick, lightning stroke finished with a bat slap between the shoulder blades consistently replays in my mind.

Mike Piazza. Mr. "Pert Plus" broke my damn heart so many damn times I could chastise him eight ways 'til Tuesday. But I wish he could have been a Giant. Salomon Torres, why did you throw the fastball over the outer-part of the plate? The man could hit bombs over any part of the field at any time. Using a larger bat than most and swinging it forcefully through the zone, it was quite a sight to witness when he would connect on the barrel. That does not, however, excuse his scraggly arm - Johnny Damon could throw out a runner behind the plate at a higher percentage and that is no pat on the back there.

Darryl Strawberry. Best player to never make the Hall of Fame. So much talent wasted on drugs, women, alcohol. Seemingly nice guy, but dammit he could have been one of the 20-25 best of all-time. His swing through the zone was so fast for a man his size and stature. I still remember the ball he tattooed to the 2nd deck of the 'Stick on April 21, 1992 - my 10th birthday. Though gravity did pull that baseball down in reality, in my mind that ball has still yet to land. Just a moon shot.

Ken Griffey Jr. Obvious pick yes, but there is still to this day nothing prettier than seeing Junior in a Mariner uniform pull a fastball to right field in the Kingdome and watch it fly out. So smooth, so steady, such eloquence. It is as if God, Buddha, and Allah were behind those swings. Not that I enjoy occasional exaggeration.

Manny Ramirez. Maybe it is the hair, braided and frolicking. The smile, the aloofness. But when he swaggers his way to the batters box, motions his bat toward the pitcher with those intensely focused eyes and swollen cheek full of chew, you wait for the 2-run double or 3-run jack explosion. The RBI king of my era rarely has a dull moment at the dish.

Chipper Jones. I'll just say it, it pissed me off just looking at this guy. He looked like that arrogant athlete who knew he was better than you and because of it would not give you the time or day because his head was so far up his ass. Maybe I felt that way because he was a Brave - very possible. I disliked them probably more than the Dodgers growing up, and it wasn't even Chipper's fault. Can you say "Tomahawk Chop" without me wanting to strangle someone? No, you can't. But he makes the list nonetheless, one of the best players and sweetest swings ever.

There are many more, but these are a few of the names that stick out.

Sports and its Importance

I am a 6'4", 205 lb white male. 27 years old, single. Never married. I have grown up in predominately white neighborhoods, went to private college and public K-12. I've played numerous sports including baseball, volleyball, football (though briefly), and notably basketball. 

Basketball. A sport dominated professionally by African-Americans. The NBA is a league that is ~80% black, a league dominate with white ownership even though the likes of Robert Johnson and Michael  Jordan do exist. It is a game played predominately by individuals from disadvantaged backgrounds - single-parent homes, welfare checks, Section 8, violence, drugs, lack of opportunity. Examples: Leon Powe - the oldest sibling helping raise his brothers and sisters while being homeless at a young age. Carmelo Anthony - the rough streets of Baltimore. LeBron James, raised by a single mother in Akron, Ohio. Stephon Marbury, raised in the dilapidated section of Brooklyn known as Coney Island. These are just a few examples, though certainly not the only. There are certainly those who were better off - Grant Hill was raised in a two-parent middle class home with a father Calvin playing for the Cowboys in the 1970s.

What brings these two disparate types of individuals together? Sports like basketball. A kid like myself, raised in a good community with two parents happily married and making a solid living on the financial front, can connect to individuals similar to those described in the paragraph above because of the game of basketball. Basketball and sports in general blur racial barriers as much or more than any human outlet I have witnessed. Music perhaps lives on the same level, but sport is the example I've lived to see. 

I've lived to see French soccer teams with Senegal-native players joining white French players in the World Cup, Larry Bird and Magic Johnson reviving the NBA in the early 1980s and becoming not only fierce rivals but dear friends, a Spokane, WA-raised John Stockton being attached at the hip with Louisiana born and bred Karl Malone. My own experience has been playing basketball in San Francisco leagues in which I have been the only white player in the gym without getting stares of bewilderment. An individual I met at USF named Kato, who is black, saw me play and liked my game. It led me to an opportunity playing in a competitive league in Potrero Hill. I loved the league, it brought the passion back into the game. Certainly there was a bit of the initial "who is this guy" vibe based partially on my skin color, but it faded quickly. I earned the respect of my competitors based on my play first and eventually my personality. Without basketball, the various connections I made likely don't happen. I recently went to a Starbucks and Jamba Juice in South Central LA during the day-time and was given a double-take more than one time because of my skin color - all I was doing was trying to get coffee and Jamba and get to the I-110N and avoid I-405 traffic. Basketball in my life has broken that barrier on more than one occasion.  

Sports allow people to get to know one another beyond skin color and what is known in history books. It allows people to share their experience in life - food, music, sport, family. If Gary Payton never made himself the basketball player he is, does he gain the ability to love and respect and admire his former Sonics coach George Karl? And vice versa? Many conversations with individuals of other races have started with sports, talking about local teams or local players, or even perhaps just the game. Just the NBA and how much we both love it. It is an icebreaker. It leads to music, then it may lead to discussion about women, or the woman at the end of the bar with the sweet curves in all the right places. Perhaps it leads to race relations, or what kind of beer someone likes. And more times than not, the connection started with sports. 

My Life

For about the last 3 years I have pondered where my life is going and how best I can go about changing my outlook on my career. Because I have yet to come up with any answers that seem to truly suit my fancy, I've decided to write about my life growing up in order to try and remember what was important to me before my parents tried to influence me one way or another.

Growing up in junior high and most notably in high school I was someone who always wanted to please my parents. I got good grades and enjoyed having my parents proud of me for my achievements. Even though I may not have been the best student as in getting a 4.0 every semester, my parents always told me  how proud they were of me and would tell me that I was going to go places. "You have the work ethic" or "you have the personality and study habits." Funny  thing considering that here I am at another crossroads with an accounting job that quite frankly I really do not enjoy all that much when I think about the various other joys in life that I seem to have to sacrifice just to make a damn fucking paycheck. 

When I majored in accounting I did not know what else to do. I thought of broadcast journalism - my childhood dream - with the intent of being the next Hank Greenwald, Bob Uecker, Duane Kuiper, Vin Scully, Dan Patrick, Bob Costas, Jim Nantz, etc. Marv Albert, Hubie Brown, Dick Stockton, Bob Ley, Chris Berman. I always thought it would be so fun to talk about sports all day and get paid for doing it - that isn't a job, that is just straight up awesome!! I would pretend to announce games in the shower, pretend I was doing the post-game interviews with the players. Pretend like I was in a roundtable discussion about the Warriors late-season demise or early playoff success. I left the field of Media Studies when I started at University of San Francisco because I was afraid that there would be no opportunities for me after college. I wrote for the school newspaper and was afraid to talk to the athletes and ask them questions about the games that when it came to reality seemed silly. The USF men's basketball team were by a majority, but perhaps just my perception, a group that could care two shits about the school they went to and a school newspaper writer asking about how it felt to put up a double double against Pepperdine. It did not seem important, what seemed important was writing for a major league team. I did not quite understand that you have to start somewhere - even from the very bottom - and work your way up in anything you do. I thought to myself, "Why do I want to write about these guys?" Looking back, I probably missed an opportunity to display some creativity in my writing and in my relationships with players at USF. 

But my confidence was sorely lacking when I was in college. Though I had friends, and seemingly a lot of them, and a lot of acquantances, I did not have the confidence to try out for the men's basketball team. I thought I was not good enough to make the team, I was nervous. I was intimidated by being in the presence of an all black team and being the only white guy when in all honesty I had probably Division 2 talent. I was 6'4" and 195 lbs, a post player in college with limited ball handling to say it lightly with average speed, decent jumping ability, an inconsistent jumper, but a willingness to work hard on the court because I was competitive. Looking back, do I wish I tried out for the team? Perhaps I do in a sense for it would have been a challenge that even if I never was able to accomplish at least I could say I tried out and gave it a shot. I would have to have been in good shape and ready to go, but if they said no than they said no. They could not say that I did not try to get in shape and be as ready as possible. It was the unknown, thinking that I was not good enough or strong enough or athletic enough or black enough. These dudes were not in my inner circle and I was certainly not in theirs. 

Why did I not have the confidence to go forth and achieve such a goal? I am not sure, but I can say that growing up in high school I felt like a big fish in a small pond. Though I may not have been the very best I was recognized for my efforts and the bit of talent that I had both on the court and in the classroom. I liked the attention, it was nice being the guy on top. At USF, I would have been the 15th guy on the bench and though I could not say from experience at the time it just seemed like it would not be worth warming the bench, spending all that time at practice, and spend that much time with a group of guys who I was different from and not comfortable with based on not only the fact I was not in anyone's circle but I was not as good as them either. And I knew it based on their athleticism, build, size, and sheer experience. 

But life is about choices you make and don't make, and all the decisions and no-decisions have helped me grow exponentially over time more than I could have imagined. I currently have great relationships with my family, friends, and have the confidence in myself that I did not have 8-10 years ago that slowly developed in my 20s. My confidence has allowed me to seriously explore teaching English overseas - perhaps in Istanbul, Colombia, Argentina, or Prague - which would not have been the case even two years ago let alone in college for there was certainly no chance of that happening back then. I have spoken with a career counselor about some of the struggles this decision has brought upon me as I go toward the next step in my life. The discussions have allowed me to let go a bit and let life's journey unfold. A buddy of mine once said that "life happens while you're making plans" (John Lennon quote?). I never thought that to be true at all until about four months ago when I thought to myself, "Perhaps there is some partial truth to this good 'ol saying." Why did I have a change of heart? Think about the girl you may have met on the bus, or at an art exhibit, or perhaps at a ballgame - a chance encounter that you did not plan. Perhaps she becomes a girlfriend, or maybe your wife. Did you plan for that? Hell no you did not. A walk home from work through Union Square and toward home on Polk St. - a random call to grab a glass of wine with friends and you strike a conversation with a random stranger at the bar who took a chance and left a profession that provided a lot of money and no happiness, providing a bit of confidence knowing that you are not the only one who is or has gone through such a decision. 

After pondering all my career options at this point, I can say that I am not ready to make a decision about what direction I want to go in. What I can say is that I need to take a chance and venture out of my comfort zone, use a different side of my brain for awhile - and perhaps it will be taking a year overseas to teach English to allow me the opportunity to clearly think about my next move. Or perhaps it won't clarify a thing. But I am only young once in life and I have an itch for new cultures, travel, and a confidence level to try something different and unique that I never had before. It took some bumps in life along the way to get to where I am today, but I am okay. And I am going to be okay and I look forward to the next step in life's journey. 

Detroit - coming home to SF

Detroit is a place like none other I have ever seen in the United States. Traveling on the various roads - on Mack Ave. from downtown to Gross Pointe, MLK Blvd. during the evening time with Justin, General Motors Blvd., Woodward Ave., etc. - you notice that Detroit is a place where you have to find a nice place essentially. Though downtown has seemingly received some money from city coffers, the area still lacks a vibrancy that you find in San Francisco, New York, and Chicago. There is not the kind of foot traffic (and car traffic) that you may expect of a city with a population of 850,000. That's the other thing, this is a city that is over 2.5 times the area of San Francisco and built for 2 million people - yet since 1950 the city has lost almost 1.15 million people to the outlying suburbs and sunbelt states most notably. You see it all over the city with regard to the infrastructure. Building after building after building, dilapidated with crumbling brick, boarded up windows, weeds overgrown for years. You'll see blocks where people live in a house and the three or four homes around it are completely abandoned with weeds and grass overgrowing on the surrounding lots. If you took Detroit's square mileage with 1950 population, you would have almost as many people per square mile as you do today in San Francisco, or roughly 15,000 folks. Now think about San Francisco with the same infrastructure but only 42.5% of the capacity. That is current day Detroit. 

The day after I got back from Detroit, walking San Francisco took on a different experience. The occasional smells of urine on the streets on my walk to work were not as potent, the sun shined a bit brighter (though it did shine bright before as well for I love walking to work when I am working in SF), I smiled a bit more at the locals I passed by. The homeless men and women and shady looking characters I may pass on a day-to-day basis did not bring upon the same level of mixed emotions. I kindly declined to give the man at Walgreens on Polk and California money but I looked at him in his eye and told him to have a good day rather than not look at him or ignore his request. I was more thought-provoking and open-minded toward the scenery around me. I was able to come more to grips with the fact that no matter what city or town you live in each place has its own set of issues and problems to improve upon. The levels of those issues is the matter that strikes a different chord here in San Francisco and California as a whole. We may have budget issues, the recession has not been kind to us given the subprime loan crisis, San Francisco has ongoing troubles trying to solve a homeless crisis that becomes seemingly unwinnable as time keeps passing, downtown people and car traffic is lighter than I can ever remember it, and certainly the extremely liberal SF Board of Supervisors (and mayor Gavin Newsom as well, who I hope finds a way to keep the 49ers in SF) seems to bother me more and more as I get older and pay more in taxes. But I'll take those issues and the new 9.5% sales tax. Why? Because I love San Franciso, I love California, and there is still no place like it even with all the travel I have done. I have not been everywhere, but I've been to New York, Boston, Chicago, Seattle, South Africa, Western/Central Europe, Hawaii, and others (big shout out to Milwaukee baby!!). The natural beauty of San Francisco, the various strong economic sectors and hard working individuals that fuel the engine here day in and day out, the arts and creativity and the sheer activity and movement of those who live and visit here continue to inspire me to want to achieve more everyday in various aspects of my life. It makes me want to travel more, read more, write more, reflect more, appreciate the arts more, take in someone's personal story, appreciate my friends, appreciate my family, and more. Visiting Detroit allowed me to explore a city I've always wanted to see for myself - its good, bad, and ugly - and I still have hope that Detroit will see brighter days. I have a soft spot for the city given its great history and for all it has done to strengthen this country since the beginning of the 20th century with its vast contribution to the automotive industry and heavy industry as a whole. The visit also allowed me to appreciate my second hometown a little bit more. 

Detroit - The Emotional Toll

I am not 100% sure as to why the city of Detroit has had such an emotoinal effect on me during this trip. I initially took this trip to see if what was read about and seen image-wise was true to its form. Was it that abandoned? Did it really contain the level of poverty that is constantly written about? Were there a ton of empty lots full of weeds? Was it a company town like what has been documented? Some answers I received thus far, some I have not. I am certainly convinced that this is a city made for 2 million people with a population of 850,000 or so. I am convinced certainly that there is a lot of land abandoned, full of weeds and blight and structures empty but still standing (some better than others, many boarded up and/or with broken windows). I can't say for sure that this is strictly a company/industry town, though if I had to put a wager on it in Vegas (or Detroit for that matter), I'd say that it very much is. Listening to the news today, reading the Detroit Free Press while eating a breakfast crepe snack, and exploring the GM Headquarters at the Detroit Renaissance Center overlooking the Detroit River into Canada, it became very apparent how engrained manufacturing - notably automotive - is in the fabric of Detroit and the greater Michigan. CEO Fritz Henderson spoke today after Barack Obama addressed the nation in regards to todays Chapter 11 bankruptcy announcement in New York. He talked about the new GM that will come about given the clean balance sheet GM will have if they are indeed able to rid themselves of both the level of debt owed to lenders and the legacy costs of paying pensions and health care benefits to those now retired workers. But in the process, they will close 12 plants, including one in Pontiac, Flint, Ypsilanti, and Lavonia. There will be an additional closing in Grand Rapids but the first four were the ones discussed in the most detail given the proximity to metro Detroit. A UAW labor rep in Ypsilanti talked about how this will devastate the community. Analysts and executives agree, however, that even though the decision was difficult it was something that had to be done. And my feeling has been the same since the government started lending GM money. It is a corporation that really has not competed from a cost perspective for decades and though the quality of vehicles has improved the last few years to levels on par with the Japanese, GM has a repuation that needs a huge facelift. All of this information came during my morning in downtown Detroit area and my drive to Flint, Michigan where I was going to the Alfred Sloan Museum to see the exhibits about Flint and the automotive history of the town.

Michael Moore turned me onto Flint like many others I am sure, putting a camera lense on a community that had been so ill affected by the plant closings GM instilled during the 1980s and early 1990s due to NAFTA and free trade notably with Mexico. Plants were being moved south of the border for cheaper wages and overall costs at the sacrifice of American communities like Flint. The museum told the story as to the great number of years in which Flint agreed, "What is good for GM is good for Flint." They built Buicks, Chevys, tanks during the second world war. It was a community that grew so fast in the 1920s and the 1940s that some migrants and immigrant labor had to sleep in makeshift tents because of a lack of housing. In 1960, Flint had a population of 196,000 while today that population is closer to 114,000. Driving through Flint initially, I was surprised to see the amount of activity in the civic center area when coming off of the freeway - good 'ol I-475. It was nothing special really in the sense of its beauty or outlandish desolation, but there were people roaming about with a purpose and though the area looked a bit tired the activity made the structures and landscape seem more lively. I took the wrong off-ramp, however, and headed toward the next exit which was the cultural center exit. My experience at the Alfred Sloan museum certainly tells the story of Flint like a brief summary of American history - industrial revolution with the automobile at the turn of the century, huge growth in the urban areas in the 20s, depression in the 30s, war industry in the 40s, consumerism and boom time in the 50s, de-industrialization, white flight, and sunbelt migration starting the 1960s along with new minorities moving in (in the case of Flint, Puerto Ricans in addition to the black population already there).

But after my museum trip I did two things - I went to a local diner to grab a sandwich and I drove around the area outside of the university and cultural and civic centers. Though the level of abandonment and decay was not on the levels like I saw in Detroit, it existed. Poor blacks sitting outside decayed and run-down homes, roof and pillar structures tipping on their sides as if it they're going to collapse. And of course the weeds. The lunch spot I went to was another example of what I noticed in large sections of both Ohio and Michigan - an older population and a poor young population. The waitress was probably no older than me, working in this small, local cafe that probably hasn't had an update in 30 years. There were six other people besides me in the cafe and they were two older ladies and two older gentlemen - three of whom smoked - who were watching the television watching the day go by slowly, a middle-age gentleman in front of me a few booths, and myself. You walk outside and it was a gray day on this flat terrain of one-story buildings. Though time never stops, time has certainly slowed a great deal in Flint. I departed back to Detroit metro to meet Justin, to catch up on the day and discuss more tales of urban decay and how the California Bay Area is so different.

Detroit - Day #1 and mixed emotions

Detroit – Rolling up I-75 on my way to D-town and I am getting butterflies not knowing what to expect. Of course it would have been nice had there not been a detour to Michigan highway 24 because I-75 was closed up for a portion of it. But it all worked out, and I arrived in Southfield, Michigan at the lovely plush Candlewood Inn and Suites. Okay, the place was awful and slightly depressing and Justin said the same thing before I even mentioned it. He laughed, slapped me a five and a hug, and said, “This place blows doesn’t it?” And it was bad, but hilarious at the same time given that this is a suburb of Detroit. Nothing like office parks, flat landscape, empty parking lots, and the good ol’ Candlewood Suites. We instantly dropped the stuff off and explored Greektown Detroit. We drove down Woodward Ave., tried to find some areas of where boarded up mansions were located just south of 8 mile (and came up short), and witnessed some of the depressing aspects of Detroit along its most popular road that heads toward downtown. There were stretches of it that just had nothing in it, people squandering around with no intended purpose, boarded up houses, grassy lots with no buildings – just depressing. It was something really that I had never seen before. Pictures on a computer is one thing, but seeing it - even in a car - was kind of unreal.

It was not the worst place I've ever seen considering I've traveled to 2nd and 3rd world countries before. But in America, it seems that this kind of economic depression would not exist. But it does in Detroit. But safety wise Justin and I were okay given that this is one of Detroit's main drags. Once you hit Wayne State and the Detroit Institue of Art, things start to brighten up somewhat. Then there is the Theatre District with the Fox Theatre, Comerica Park - home of the Tigers - Ford Field where the Lions play, and eventually the financial district. Justin and I parked the car over in Greektown and got some grub over at Pegasus Taverna, but because we parked over at a Casino parking lot we had to test whether we had a gambling problem or not when we passed through to get to the outside. We passed the test with flying colors though and enjoyed our quick jaunt through the smoke-filled casino at Caesers (I believe). We both enjoyed a solid Canadian brew called Labatt. It is very tasty, smooth, quite riveting actually. The food was solid - not great, not bad - but the funniest part of the dinner was the waiter's reaction to the fact that I did not order any meat dishes. He asked, "You vegetarian?," with almost a look of contempt on his face. I said, "No, just don't feel like any meat." "Okay...," he said. I kind of shrugged my shoulders after he gave a vegetarian recommendation and left our table - apparently you are on the "that guy" list for not ordering a meat dish. Of course coming into the casino prior to our arrival was another moment of hilarity given that they ID you and here are two men in there 20s rolling through together to go to dinner with California ID's - rather San Francisco ID's. I can only imagine what went through the head of that dude as he looked at the both of us after swiping through our identification.

The two bars we hit up on Woodward after dinner were Hockeytown and the Magic Stick. Prior to this though we took a little external tour of Comerica Park, home of the Tigers. This park from the outside was beautiful and looking into it through the gates it looked like more of the same inside. Both Justin and I made note that we both wanted to go to the game Tuesday against the Red Sox because seeing a game at this ballyard looked like a great experience. There is a huge Tigers statue out front to greet you and well-sculpted Tiger heads around the gates of the park. You can truly tell that the city of Detroit, the park designers and construction team put in a lot of time and effort to get this thing right. We'll see if I feel the same after Tuesday's game, but I must say that with all the depressed landscape I saw this was a lovely bright spot.

My airport buddy in Akron recommended seeing Hockeytown, so Justin and I hit it up and drank in the Detroit sports bar experience. Given that it was Red Wings-Penguins, game 1 of the Stanley Cup you knew it was a busy night. This bar, let me tell you - nothing like this in San Francisco and I am kind of glad in a sense. There were about 4-5 floors, about 3-4 rooms on each floor to watch the game - one or two large bar areas, private party-esque area with TV's and a projector screen, restaurant-type area with multiple TV's - a movie theater area to watch the game on the ground floor, a roof-top bar to watch on a projector, and a grassy knoll area outside to watch as well. All with volume from the television and loud as hell, which is great because if you're watching a big game you need volume. No music people playing while you're watching a big game, I need to hear the announcers in order to get fully engrained. But this place was over-the-top. Red Wings jerseys everywhere, life seemingly in the balance with every turning point - the dudes in front of us on the ground floor bar exasperated when the Wings got hit with a penalty leading to a Penguins power play. I had seen these jerseys everywhere prior to and during the contest (and thereafter as well for the next 48 hours). Men, women, children, everybody with jerseys. I told Justin, "I don't know about you, but I am rooting for the Pens - this is ridiculous." Justin's comment: "Fuck the Red Wings, go Avalanche." Loved it.

After Justin and I explored this place and the crevices of it - interrupting private parties, walking in front of televisions, checking out the roof-top bar - we headed to the Magic Stick. Got to love a bar with a bowling alley that takes you back circa 1976 with the DJ playing some funky tunes. Stayed for two rounds, kicked it, drank in the scene, called it an evening and headed back to the car.

Along the walks we took in downtown and toward Mid-town and Magic Stick we were asked for change about four times and one woman asked us for a cigarette. Given I don't smoke and Justin does, Justin kindly provided the lady a cigarette. She was visually seeming to have a rough night, perhaps a rough life. If I had to put money on it, I think she was a hooker who had a drug problem given a few things - it was a relatively warm night and she was freezing with layers on, she was on the corner alone, and she asked us what we wanted for the cigarette in a way that didn't seem to be money-driven. Prior to our arrival to Hockeytown, a young kid asked us for bus money so that he would not get in trouble with his parole officer since he was on probation. I was not about to take my wallet out, but Justin kindly put a little change in his hand and reached out and quickly dropped the money in his hand. He asked for some kind of directions or location of a bus stop, and we played dumb. Later after our Magic Stick excursion, a guy pulled over and asked us if we knew where a particular location was. We both said we didn't know, and I looked at Justin and said, "Do you think he asked that to see if we knew where we were and what the hell we were doing out here?" Justin: "I don't know, but I kind of got that feeling too." We were fine though, made it to the car in one piece. It is probably just me, but when you are walking through a new place that is unfamiliar, even on a main drag, in a rough city with a rough reputation and being white kids in a very poor and predominately black city, you just don't know what to expect. With all the racial tension and race-related matters that have occured in Detroit - 1967 race riots, white flight, Coleman Young's controversial tenure regarding white/black race relations and the increasing white flight during his administration, police brutality being the #1 issue seen amongst Detroit residents pre-1967, whites being paid more than blacks for the same work in the automotive industry, the razing of black neighborhood(s) to build Interstate 75 in the 1960s, the drastic economic effects on the uneducated and unskilled black population in and around Detroit due to de-industrialization - the issue is very prevalent in this city in particular. But seemingly like anywhere, if you know where you are going and mind your own business, you are generally going to be okay and we were. Day #2 starts with the Arab-American Museum in Dearborn and the Detroit Historical Museum in Mid-town next to Wayne State.

Goodbye Cleveland, I'm heading to Detroit, MI - but not without some culinary delight.

Today, May 30, concluded my journey of the Cleveland metro area, notably downtown Cleveland which is where most my time was spent. I had a mental agenda of Starbucks (done), some breakfast (done), and finally a venture to this Superior Deli joint that homeboy in the airport was talking about in Philly on our way to Akron.

It was certainly a struggle to get the day started given the comfort of the bed I was sleeping on. But I could not stay in my room all morning and do nothing. I mean come on, I am in freakin' Cleveland, Ohio folks and it is time to get the day crackin'!!! Great stay though at the Hyatt Regency on Superior St. between 3rd and 6th - a retail value $550 room for $54 before tax on HotWire and I think I conclude that I shot and scored on this one. Nonetheless, it was time to get a move on it and head over to PJ's luncheonette as recommended by the ladies in the lobby working the hotel checkout.

Not that the experience of PJ's was that memorable - average potatoes, toast, and Western omelette, nothing special or anything; however, reading the Cleveland Plain Dealer while waiting for a good thirty minutes or more for my food due to the eight-deep crowd of pretty-boy Yankee fans getting their order in before mine was quite an experience. The reading of the Saturday issue sort of brought me full circle with regard to life in Cleveland these days with all the economic cuts and my observations of the lack of young people compared to San Francisco and the Bay Area. Check out these stats - 1 in 7 people in Ohio are on food stamps and in order to qualify you have to be at 130% of the poverty level or lower. There has been a 16% increase in folks applying apparently. In addition, the Ohio state government is deciding to make cuts on programs related to education and job training that would have supposedly helped to keep young people in Ohio and stop the "brain drain." In all my time in Ohio, whether driving on the roads or hanging out in general I noticed that there was not nearly the amount of 20 and 30 something folks like SF and it was interesting that the paper noted something to help prove my visual observation.

After a Starbucks run and getting the Chevy Cobalt out of the parking garage, it was time to walk with destiny and see what this Superior Deli was all about. I'm driving and driving, fully knowing it is a little ways outside of downtown and there it is on the right hand side just past the 90-W on-ramp to Toledo. Nothing fancy, slab of a building, not much of anything really around other than some old brick buildings and an Apple Cart food stand a few blocks down. But the moderate population of cars told me to park, leave the coffee in the car, and get prepped. So I head on in and start hearing the Eastern-European accented voices and people saying "corn beef with," and I am thinking "follow the locals." I got a little nervous - with what, mustard, swiss, onions? Shit, I don't know and I am in no mood nor place of comfort here to start looking like a California tourist jack-off. These people are hustling to make a dollar, and then I notice that the folks standing in line are getting it for takeout. But I am staring at the counter thinking "I want the fat ugly woman with a pink shirt, awful-fitting jeans, and a short hair-do with a hunchback to be my server. So being the sweetheart I am, I politely ask her if I should order with the cashier if I want to sit at the counter and she says, "No, you can order here but we close at 1:30." Meanwhile, it is 1:28 and I am thinking this brod is slying telling me to get back in line, order, and take the sandwich back downtown or something. I say, "oh, I can get it to go if you're closing," but to my delight she says, "No, don't worry about it. We got people in here who just sat down as well - you want some water?" Awesome, and she asked if I was ready and though she assumed corn beef sandwich, I went with the Reuben and subsequently asked for a side of onion rings. She gave that look of "I don't know," but she yelled over to the dudes in the kitchen and got the go-ahead. "It'll be a few minutes, okay."

That reuben came out boy and with the first bite it was greasy culinary heaven - just freakin' phenomenal like Jordan at the buzzer, Montana to Rice, Stephen Jackson draining 30 footers unconciously. And then I just started laughing at the unintentional comedy of this joint - my waitress pissed off at whoever she was talking with on the phone with a disgusted and annoyed look. Meanwhile, I notice she has a wedding ring and I am thinking "what man can handle this woman and her personality." Then there was the 28-30 year old cohort of hers who looked 44 and most likely had very few "peak years" when it came to levels of fitness. She was the sassiest of sassy. She was just laying into one of the regulars who went behind the counter looking for a steak knife - here is a tidbit of the conversation.

"What you doin'?"
"Looking for the knives."
(Annoyed) - "They're right there in front of you."
"Where are the steak knives."
"Steak knives - right next to the regular knives." (total smart-ass remark). "You know, if you didn't scare your waitress away she would have got your steak knife for you."

I think she said this in a bit of a playful way, but her accent was just so sharp-tongue like and it was all part of the experience. Then of course there was the dude cutting corn beef and laying the mustard on the bread. "Dining room is closed, tell the people coming in the dining room is closed," in his Eastern European descent/fourth generation Cleveland or mid-west native tongue. Can't describe it properly without impersonating probably but I could not help but just drink and eat it all in. Such a hilarious cultural experience - the sassiness, the accents, the ripping into one another and busting of each others balls. I thought I was in a Seinfeld episode of some kind or something.

So if you're going to Cleveland, sit at the counter at Superior Deli and Restaurant. Your heart and digestive system may have to put in a little overtime, but it is worth the unintentional comedy alone and the taste is delicious. Off to the land of the automobile, Bob Seger, Motown, Thomas "Hitman" Hearns, and oh yes "Detroit Red" himself Malcolm X. And of course so much more. Detroit here we come. Time to put on some Springsteen and Seger and hit the road.

Youngstown

This was a journey that I was really looking forward to, so upon my departure from the good 'ol Doubletree in Cleveland with my coffee in hand I hit the road toward Ohio state highway 422-E toward Youngstown and all the small towns in between. On my journey though I was again dumbfounded at the amount of green foliage there was in Ohio and though it was rural, quiet, slow-moving, I was moved to just drive through this part of the country with Springsteen on as I drove through towns like Auburn Corners, Parkman, Southington, etc...When "The River" played on my CD I just about lost it and belted the tune out at full tilt. Rural Ohio does not inspire the same music as home does and something about Springsteen just fits this driving scene of being out in the country going toward an incredibly hard-hit part of the United States. Blue collar America and hard times equates to the Boss my friends.

Upon arrival, my eyes pretty much sealed up what I have read on Wikipedia and essays about Youngstown - rough times, older buildings with the majority needing renovation and the smell of rubber wafting from one of the mills operating in town (or at least it smelled like rubber). I just said, "wow, wow, wow." I made sure to park my car in a lot with other cars and did not want to leave it anywhere given the luggage in the trunk. Being in a town with 25% of folks below the poverty level, high crime rates, economic hardship, and no signs of good times in the future I just wanted ot make sure my stuff was cool. And what do you know, the guy who was working the lot said his dad lived on Geary Blvd. in San Francisco. He saw my CA license, asked where I lived in CA - and there you go, connection made. I don't remember asking him about the cross street, but he was a nice guy and I felt okay about him taking care of the car. I was starving and asked for a spot to get a sandwich - which I never did find - and he recommended a "awesome burrito place in the food court down that direction," but there was no way I could eat a burrito in Youngstown, Ohio. I love Mexican food, but in Ohio? I am thinking that this is Youngstown, where is the soul food, Polish sausages, Jew Deli - not burritos. Unfortunately I did not find anything in the downtown area and I was so starved I settled for a Spicy Italian Combo at the Subway up the street from the Ohio Historicl Society's Youngstown Center of Indstry and Labor. Not what I would have thought this, but when you got no choice in the heat of being starved you just got to settle. Good news though, I grabbed a copy of the weekly Youngstown State newspaper and a copy of Friday, May 29th issue of the daily Youngstown Vindicator. Good bedroom and bathroom reading my friends - looking forward to it.

The Center of Industry and Labor was an interesting one in that I was the only person in this facility who was not working or making copies of pages out of books on the 2nd store mini-library (an older gentleman and his wife were making copies of pages out of a book revolved around the town and the history of labor and industry in the area). The museum was great though in providing the background of the Mahoning Valley and its boom and subsequent bust. The plethora of iron ore, the backbreaking labor, the injuries and deaths due to the searing heat of the steel-making process, the labor unions, the riots, the immigrant population topping out at over 70% during the boom times - Hungarian, German, Irish, Polish, Slovakian - blacks moving from the south during World War one due to the labor shortages. Youngstown always thought that they'd be living like the 1940s and 50s would continue forever apparently and when the economy turned it hit them like a ton of bricks. In the 1970s, the town tried to buy the mills in the area from US Steel and run them themselves. The courts did not allow it though, and you got the sense from the videos in the musem that perhaps the men who so proudly did not want to stop working really did not understand the cost and effort it takes to actually run the business and turn a profit from a business point of view rather than just working at the plant itself. Maybe I don't give some of the folks credit, but when steel production declined Youngstown's lack of affordable and cheap transportation bit them in the behind. This land-locked region had no water transportation like some of its competitors but it did not matter when steel demand was hot. Now it was unprofitable, and the leaders of the steel industry closed up shops over time and the community bled a slow demise. Youngstown went from a high of 168,000 in 1950 to a current estimated population of 73,000. Driving outside downtown though surprised me in that the town itself seemed to have some decent homes and a good amount of them appeared taken care of and all. A reasonable number of homes had lawns cut and though the roads could have been a bit better with fewer potholes and random gravel, it didn't seem all that bad. But this was a Friday at like 4-5 o'clock and I could definitely say that there were a lot of people not working during this time. A lot of slow-movers, unattractive buildings that need a little cleanup, and a plethora of empty buildings and plants all around.

The drive back was in order so I could make the Yankees-Indians game. The road back took me to I-480 and I-80 because I just had less room to dilly dally and what did I see to my right? What is that? Holy crap, it is a monster GM plant. Lordstown GM plant - home of the Pontiac G5 and the Chevy Cobalt and soon to be home of the Chevrolet Cruze. Massive, just massive. My jaw dropped. But life keeps moving forward though as well as my drive, and Jacobs Field here we come!!!!

A long, arduous day - day one, Rust Belt USA

Nothing like starting your day by waking up at 2:45 a.m. to pack so you can make a 4:10 taxi in order to get to BART for the 4:39 SFO train ride; however, life could certainly be worse. First of all, I could have been running "late" this morning. Of course who's the smart guy that decided to go to bed at 11:00 without packing and wake up a little early in order to get some rest? Yeah, that was me - I thought three hours and forty-five minutes of sleep was going to really do me some good. Think again Beveridge....



But I made it to the airport on time and was able to get an aisle seat on the first leg of my flight in addition to the second. Being 6'4" and flying cross-country is no fun task when US Airways tries to stick you in the middle - and Lord knows who I would have had sitting beside me. We've all had that wide-shouldered 275 lb guy or the obese woman with her ass rubbing up against yours for the duration of the flight. With the aisle seat, you only risk one-sided mayhem - and that aisle is the life saver if you are exposed to a wide-body.



Lucky for me, as I munched down on a Pete's Coffee and a Roast Beef and Cheese sandwich and six thirty in the morning (Breakfast of Champions, I know) I had a lovely woman sit next to me named Saana - pronounced like "sauna," - a Scottish-born woman who spent some formative years in Hawaii and Virginia with a Finnish name. She told me her connecting flight was to Norfolk for she lived in Virginia Beach. I first spoke with her briefly in the terminal, asking her if the PA had called my zone number - which they had - and at that moment I could see that her ticket seat appeared to be next to mine. I did not say anything at the time but to my slight but pleasant surprise, she sat next to me on the flight. Immediately I was in the zone, making dumb jokes about whatever nonsense and making her smile and laugh. She truly had a gorgeous smile and laugh, which for me are two prime things when it comes to my attraction to the ladies. So while I am in the zone for a good 45 minutes or so, I unpleasantly heard Saana mention the dreaded word "husband" (though she had no ring on - hmmm......) as in her husband. And I instantaneously went from "on fire" to "fuck!!" Of course, I should have known better I guess - did she look good for her age? Absolutely. Very wholesome looking, almost a young Jane Seymour type is how I can describe it. How old was she? Well lets just say that we were still in the thick in Vietnam - though toward the end of US involvement. I'll give the reader a few hints before I spew off the answer - the A's won the World Series, Roe v. Wade ruling became reality, and the Yom Kippur War started. Stumped - 1973. Another 35 and over lady - I can't stay away from them!! It is a vicious addiction that I absolutely enjoy thoroughly.



But Saana was fantastic, and since she is going to be spending time working in the SF area we exchanged emails and will hopefully meet up for a drink or perhaps dinner. It's always great to meet a new friend. And I got to give it to her, she is a hard-working lady employed at one of the great American companies - General Electric - and trying to make a good living. Respect.



But this is the part of the day that I wish could have gone much more smoothly. With a mental goal in mind of getting to Cleveland by 7:00-7:15 to sit down at a downtown bar, order food and a beer and enjoy the Cavs-Magic game with the locals, certain events had to happen: 1) Flight from Philly to SFO on time (check), 2) Flight from Philly to Akron relatively on-time - BUST!!! 4:25 departure turned to 5:26 and then 5:56. This one hour and twenty two minute flight was going to have me land in Akron/Canton at 7:18 and I had a 50 minute drive ahead of me to Cleveland. And of course I had to pick up my one checked bag, get the car at Enterprise, and hope to God that the rain that was suppose to drop in Akron in the afternoon let up now that it was evening time.



Being the observant person that I am, however, I happen to notice that our plane is a dinky looking piece of garbage. If you have ever seen the movie Major League, just think of the plane the Indians ride in during the thunderstorms - "I think I need of them bags," Willie Mays Hayes says to Ricky Vaughn while Dorn sports eye covers. I stepped onto this plane and immediately had to duck for it was made for the 6'0" and under - nothing like a cheap US Airways flight from SFO to Philly to Akron freakin' Ohio. What the hell Beveridge, next time get a flight more than two days before departure so you can get a good price on a direct flight you moron rather than flying to the Eastern seaboard and back. You live and you learn. And oh wait, did I mention that once we sat down around 6:05 or so that we were sitting in runway traffic for 70 minutes? Awesome - there goes my plans of watching the whole Cavs game with the local faithful.


But if there is any good out of such situations it is the conversations you have with people. I spoke with two gentlemen during the Akron flight - one white gentleman who suggested two things - "Go to Hockeytown in Detroit and Superior Deli on Superior Street in Cleveland - corn beef sandwiches like this (a good two to three inches worth stacked!!)." We talked basketball a bit, but focused a great deal on hockey - "What's great is that your two hours from Columbus (Blue Jackets), two hours from Buffalo (Sabres), two hours from the Penguins (Pittsburgh), and two hours fifteen from Detroit (Red Wings)." He was great, very informative. A nice Ohio gentleman hanging with a few business colleagues, one of whom bought a round of smoothies and wanted to make sure everyone was getting a brain-freeze. Though the smoothies looked awesome, the business colleagues did not budge and get a second round when he made the offer. The other gentleman was a brother who rocked two cowboy hats and a leather jacket. He had the slight "soul glo" thing going and was happy to be getting home after a week in Vegas with his daughter's boyfriend and his family - a Hungarian kid who's family had a penchant for expensive vodka. "Let me tell you," he said. "I woke up Tuesday morning.....mmm mmm mmm. Man I was hurtin'. Toast to this, toast to that....lets have a toast..." He was a quiet man, very kind and much more annoyed than I was that we sat in the plane for well over an hour. But he closed his eyes, calmed down, fell asleep, and we all made it home in one piece. Even the kid sitting to my right with the Richard Pryor shirt could finally let his hands off the armrests due to his high levels of anxiety.

So we get to Akron-Canton airport and I get my car - none other than a Chevy Cobalt. Nothing spells rental like a Chevy, but I am happy and I find the game on AM 1100 since it has just started. I debated hitting up an Akron bar, but decided against it and just listened to the game as I rolled up I-77N to get to Cleveland by the lake. But eventually I turned the game off awhile to observe the terrain - lush green all around, much more than I ever would have expected even if it was in the middle of seemingly nowhere Ohio. Trees and green just continuosly, until arrival to the Cleveland suburban areas. Cleveland mind you is only about 45-50 miles from the airport, and with little traffic I arrived in abour an hour or a bit less. I tried to manage my speed on the road as the vast majority of locals did unlike my fellow Californians (and myself included at times). Last thing I need is some Ohio state trooper pulling me over and noticing a CA license as he prepares to hand me a ticket. I could only imagine what homeboy would have said if that happened - "perhaps in California you drive like that, but out here in the great state of Ohio we obey the law and that includes you California boys visiting our state" - or something of the sort. Granted I don't think the Ohio folk are hicks or nothing, but they certainly seem to drive with a bit more caution and respect than us California folk.

Heading into Cleveland I decided to say "screw the map" and just find my cross-street as I arrived into downtown. Upon arrival, a few things stuck out - Jacobs Field (or Progressive Field as it is called now if you want to be a dick about it - who wants to be named after an insurance company, honestly?), the Q - or Quicken Loans Arena, home of the seemingly soon-to-be loser of the Eastern Conference Finals - , and the massive "Witness" billboard. Witness? That's correct, we are all witnesses and this town shows LeBron some serious love. In the ad, his arms are spread wide as LeBron looks toward the sky in a God-like black and white pose. Truly a stunning picture and ad campaign by Nike, and I mean that with all honesty. It is pretty breath-taking to be in Cleveland seeing this ad of a man that continues to mesmorize me everytime I watch him.

After fooling around and having fun getting lost in downtown Cleveland, I arrive at the lovely Doubletree hotel on Lakeside Ave. near 12th past the Browns Stadium, a simply designed but beautiful football stadium right on good 'ol Lake Erie. Luckily there was no snow affect due to the lake on this day - my weather sensitive California ass would have froze at 35-40 degrees let alone in the teens or twenties with snow. But I was dying for some grub and more importantly I wanted to see the Cavs-Magic game. So I hit up the Harry Buffalo, the closest restaurant to the Q. If I wasn't getting in the arena, I was going to hang with the locals and watch some ball. So I sat down, got my menu and a 22 oz Budweiser ($4 on tap - awesome!!). You notice a lot of things when sitting solo in a bar while 95% of people are with a crew of folks. In this case, it didn't seem that the folks in Cleveland wanted to initially speak with me. I tried to be nice and start up random conversation with a couple Indian (as in India) folks but truly I got the vibe that my talking to them did not attract them all that much. They were friendly, but it was that sort of "I'll talk to you a little bit to be friendly but I am really not comfortble about it" vibe. You win some, you lose some. Everyone stayed with their crew, not a lot of inter-group interaction until a couple high-fives occured across tables as the Cavs were closing the game out.

The other thing though was the plethora of women rocking Cavs gear. Now I would expect dudes to do so - almost a given. But the ladies in Cleveland girls in little LeBron t-shirt T's of all colors and styles - Mark Price era blue and orange, modern crimson with gold. The old-school colors I saw with the blue and orange screamed of Craig Ehlo, Larry Nance, Brad Daugherty, Mark Price, and of course who could forget Danny Ferry - honestly, come on. Best bald white NBA player ever (okay, I'll shut up now). But you saw so many fake-tanned 40 year old brods and twenty-something gals rocking their best jeans, shoes, and LeBron t-shirt jerseys. Hysterical and a bit of culture shock considering this does not happen in San Francisco nor the Bay Area all that often - Giant games consist of $250 jeans, leather jackets, and top-brand shirts, shoes, and accessories. T-shirt jersey sightings are fewer and further between back home. And these Cleveland girls were all business - they were into the game, pissed when LeBron jacked up twenty footers or when Dwight Howard complained (again and again) about an obvious foul call. I was waiting for them to talk about Anderson Varajeo's stats versus teams south of the Mason-Dixon line after the month of January during games between Wednesday and Saturday.

Though I secretly was hoping that the Cavs would lose and that perhaps some Cleveland fan or two would tell me a sob story about how Cleveland can never produce a winner and how all great players leave the "mistake by the Lake," no dice. Not on this night at least - Cavs 112, Magic 102. And let me tell you, the whole town thought that it was GAME 7 OF THE NBA FINALS THEY JUST WON!!! I shit you not, here it is Game 5 of the semi-finals....the semi-finals people!!...and the Cavs fans are going nuts, slapping high fives outside the arena after the game, hooting and hollering at the bar at the top of their lungs with glee written all over them. I mean honestly, overkill. I know the Browns have not won since '64, Indians since '48, and the Cavs never, but come on!!! Shit, I know the economy has been in shambles since the 1960s and the weather is miserable eight months a year, the mosquitos won't leave you alone after a rain-storm or during a humid day, your wives and girlfriends have a tendency to be over-weight and/or look 5-10 years older than their biological age due to stress, job loss, environment, lack of vegetables or fitness, too much meat, beer and potatoes or whatever may have you - but come on!!!! I was in shock - SHOCK. Never would happen in Boston, New York, L.A., or the Bay Area. It would have been, "one at a time, lets get 'em in Game 6," some high-fives for a good victory, perhaps we would have mentioned that the Magic fans are hideous and Florida shouldn't be allowed any professional sports teams. But in no way would this kind of reaction fly in Philly.

Entertained? Yes. Exhausted? Absolutely. I arrived back at the hotel, ready to crash and start a new day. Day two will be a Starbucks coffee, perhaps a little breakfast, maybe read the local Cleveland Plain-Dealer, but most definitely an adventure to Youngstown, Ohio - the heart of the Mahoning Valley and a centerpiece of U.S. labor and industry. Some of my friends and even myself included ask why the heck I'd look forward to such an excursion - this is not Hawaii or Paris or New York City were talking about here I realize. But I find it special to see a different side of this great country. Being in the Bay Area of California, we are so far away from the centers of heavy industry, union labor strife, steel mills, and life of the everyday blue collar families. Not that California is a complete bubble or anything, but I've read all my life about the boom and bust of the Rust Belt, seeing how populations jumped with the rise of heavy industry in the 1850s through the 1950s and the subsequent bust as the United States went into post-industrialization during the 1960s and thereafter. This old but significant piece of the United States and its history has seen its time pass slowly the last 55-60 years, but it still fascinates me to this day to read about the auto and steel industry and how the demise of these industries and heavy industry in general has affected cities and towns across the Rust Belt portion of the United States. I just want to see with my own eyes what I've read about time and time again in books, newspapers, and magazine articles and I feel pretty lucky to be able to check out a important part of United States history. Similar to what Sean Connery says in the Rock, "Forget Maui," tomorrow starts with Youngstown.

NBA Playoffs - Bulls-Celtics and the greatness that is young vs old

As I watch this series unfold between two of the NBA's great franchises - the legendary and king of the hardwood Boston Celtics against an upstart Chicago Bulls squad seeking to make a name for itself beyond the Jordan days of a decade-plus ago - I can't help but keep my eyes away from the television. At one moment it is Derrick Rose - 20 years old, rookie, point guard, Chicago born and bred - driving the lane past another rising star in Rajon Rando who has stamped his name amongst the Boston legends not only for last season's spectacular display of patience and headiness during the Celts title season but for being the driving force in a season of injury and hardship for an aging Celtics squad similar to what was seen in the '87 playoffs. Later on Rose goes to his left hand, and this time even 6'11 Kendrick Perkins is unable to stop the oncoming locomotive in the 6'3 195 lb Rookie of the Year. And for all the hype that Rose has received from people like myself - and deservedly so - who is averaging a triple double in the series?? His counterpart Rondo, who at 6'1 and about 170 lbs has the length of a man five inches taller and the smarts of a player 10 years his senior. 

In a Game 4 overtime victory over the Celtics, I made a comment to a friend about the statistics displayed on the television - Rose was 10-17 with 23 points and somewhere around 7 assists and 6 boards while Rondo was 9-16 with 26 points and 9 assists. I said, "Man, these guys are both just playing to a draw. Unbelievable." And when I said it, it was in the most complimentary of ways. After Rose's 36 point, 10 assist stamp on Game 1, I thought, "a legend was born today." Call it my Bill Walton moment, but I think not. Meanwhile, Rondo comes back and dominates in both games 2 and 3, in fact getting a triple double and a near triple double respectively. And then a supposed Game 4 draw until my friend says, "Dude, Rose has 7 turnovers, Rondo has 1." And it all flashed back to me - 2008 NBA playoffs. For all the glory and deserved love and admiration splashed on Pierce, Allen, and Garnett - three aging superstars still at the peak's edge in the their respective careers - the supposed weak-link Rajon Rondo kept the Boston team alive with great ball-handling, keen court awareness, crisp passes, and the most important aspect of all - limited turnovers and getting all players involved including those not named Paul, Ray, and Kevin. 

Did I take for granted just how good of a point guard Rajon Rondo is? I think my answer is yes. Looking back to 2008, this guy had more pressure on him than I ever realized for he was seen as the guy who would either be the catalyst or the weak-link. He stepped up to the plate, outplayed a great three-time champion role-playing point guard in Derek Fisher, and stamped his season with a 16 assist barrage on the Lakers to close out the series. And he did all of this as no more than a 22 year-old point guard (give or take a year, perhaps two). And as for 2009? I don't anticipate this Celtics team getting beyond the conference finals, and heck they may still lose this series to this young upstart Bulls team led by Rose, Noah, Hinrich, Sallmons, Thomas, and Gordon. But in this era of the NBA where the point guard depth seems to be of deeper proportions than ever - with the likes of Chris Paul, Deron Williams, Tony Parker, Rose, Chauncey Billups, Jason Kidd, Steve Nash, Baron Davis, Mo Williams, Russell Westbrook, Fisher, Devon Harris, Jameer Nelson, Mike Bibby, amongst others - it is Rondo who is standing out amongst his contemporaries when it matters most. The only players to average a triple double in a playoff series you might ask? Former Denver Nugget All-Star Fat Lever, Wilt, Kidd, Magic, and the Big O. Not bad for a so-called "weak-link."

Growing up in California in the late '80s and early 1990s, I knew Detroit for only a handful of things: my father's Oldsmobile was built there (or at least I was thought to believe it was), the Cecil Fielder-era Tigers were in full swing, and the much-hated Detroit Pistons were putting beatdowns on their opponents - most notably my beloved Michael Jordan-led Chicago Bulls. But what really perked my mind about Detroit was a brief passing through my father's 1995 World Almanac in the "U.S. Cities" section. The data read something like this -  

1950 - 1,849,568

1960 - 1,670,144

1970 - 1,514,063

1980 - 1,203,368

1990 - 1,027,994

The numbers seen above equal the population of Detroit for the respective years listed. So I continued to look at the top 100 American cities and noted a similar decline in neighboring "Rust-Belt" cities like Pittsburgh, St. Louis, and Cleveland. Even Chicago, which in the last 15-20 years has seen a greater stabilization of its population due to a heavy influx of Latino immigrants in conjunction with gentrification. 

But Detroit, as even ABC news and Forbes put it in a February 10, 2009 posting (1), was listed as the 7th most miserable place to live in the United States. Reasons you may ask? Nothing new by Detroit standards - high unemployment, one of the highest foreclosure rates in the country, a former mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick, getting jailed for four months due to his involvement in a sex scandal, and U of M having its first losing football season in 40 years. Could it get worse? Sure it can, the Lions had a big zero in the win column this year - the first time an NFL team has gone winless since the Carter administration of 1978. I was so young thirty years ago I was not even a twinkle in my mother and father's eyes. 

Mitch Albom, a former columnist for the Detroit Free Press, noted in a fine Sports Illustrated article posted in a January edition how Detroit has been consistently kicked and kicked and beaten and beaten by society at large over the course of four or five decades. While Congress and president-elect Obama wager partisan war in Washington over the current tax rebate/infrastructure bailout valued now at $787 billion with the majority of the population in support of its passing, what has been the reaction to Detroit automakers requests? Anger. Vehement "No auto bailout" responses by the public at large. Even the United Auto Workers union conceded on an array of items, including the elimination of paid "idle" hours and restructuring of pensions, wages, and benefits for incoming and present employees - which were seemingly unheard of even two years ago - for the benefit of the auto companies as a whole. Does this matter? Not to the majority of us in this country who have seen union membership decline from a clip of over 35% of total private employees (1) in the mid-1950s to 12.5% in 2008 according the Bureau of Labor Statistics. 

Do I understand this reaction to the auto companies? Absolutely. I am not a supporter of a company, in this case GM, that has ran a bad business for the better of 35 years being the moderately conservative economic individual that I am. A few good years due to the high margins brought on by SUV sales in the 1990s does not erase the company's inability to adjust to the times. Even though some American cars (i.e. - Ford Focus) have actually received equal or better safety and standard ratings than some top flight Japanese cars, many people still know Ford as "Fix or Repair Daily" for a reason. Just ask my mother and father who had the unfortunate experience of driving an '87 Ford Aerostar for a number of years or the people who's Ford Pinto's blew up in the 1970s when they were hit from behind.  

But the workers in Detroit and the other surrounding Michigan cities deserve dignity and respect. Those blue-collar men and women who go to work every day to a Chrysler or Ford factory in order to make a living, they deserve having the chance of a decent pension and respectable health benefits that are reasonably affordable like Barack Obama hammered home on his campaign. And it is those people, like the ones Michael Moore depicted in his documentary "Roger and Me" (if you haven't seen it, please do - his most complete story told on film), who have been consistently kicked. NAFTA did not help their cause, but neither did the auto companies' leadership - a leadership that consistently refused to seriously invest in future technologies like fuel-cell and hybrid vehicles early-on while rivals churned out Prius after Prius after Civic Hybrid after low-maintenance/high-mileage internal combustion vehicle. Granted all the money GM invested in Cadillac Escalade's, GMC Yukon's, and Suburban's was profitable and a sparkle to people's eye for a short while, but didn't they read study after study that consistently showed that yes, gasoline and oil are finite products in which their is a declining supply. And what happens when there is less supply with inelastic demand? That's right, prices increase GM. Time to invest some capital in well-run, high mileage vehicles? You'd think so, but not at GM apparently. And the leadership that made such long-term errors - the Roger Smith's of the world - will still sit pretty like the bank CEO's while the autoline workers who worked in the plant everyday to build the vehicles their leaders envisioned will keep conceding and conceding with less and less to show for. 

My hope is that these workers will find brighter pastures through government-funded job re-training or find employment in the green technology fields that the United States plans on seriously investing in over the next 4-8 years. It's just too bad Detroit's autoworkers and all part suppliers like those working at Delphi will be kicked around more in the near future with only a glimmer of hope in sight. Meanwhile, that census-estimated 2007 population figure of 916,952 - a 50+% drop since 1950 - will most likely continue to go in the direction of the US auto industry and Detroit as a whole - in a tumbling downward spiral. One only hopes that this city once built for 2 million people, this crown jewel of the 1950s union days, will keep its spirit flickering with that glimmer of hope in mind. Lord knows that sometimes hope is all we have in this world. Just ask those who voted for our current president. But it is the people's hope and spirit, in the face of Detroit's most desperate times, that Mitch Albom wrote about in that January SI article that I hope to witness one day with my own two eyes - pen and camera in hand to document and witness it live.