The Gnats played up in Toronto last night. There was a very good crowd of over 40,000. It was Loonie Night. A loonie, you may know, is a $1 Canadian coin. What made it Loonie Night is the Blue Jays were selling hotdogs for just a loonie. They called them Loonie Dogs. The scoreboard showed how many loonie dogs were sold by the eighth inning. Wanna guess?
Over 70,000.
That ducklike bird on the loonie is, of course, a loon (duh). The coin is an eleven-sided Reuleaux polygon, i.e., the sides are circular arcs. Reuleaux was a German engineer. That lady on it is Lizzie — not our Vermont Lizzie, — the other one, from England.
The Gnats won 5-4 — a brilliant game that meant nothing to them and everything to the Blue Jays who are in the playoff hunt. The Gnats are playing solely for the love of the game and for each other. For an old jaded baseball fan like me, it’s beautiful to watch. I can’t remember enjoying a baseball season as much as I’ve enjoyed this one.
The Gnats threw a rookie into centerfield — Jake Young, a good-looking young man who played college ball at U. Florida, started the season in the low minors and steadily worked his way up, arriving in DC just last week. He turned 24 four days ago. An early 5-1 Gnat lead was cut to 5-3, and Toronto had a runner on third in the eighth inning with only one out. The runner was Alejandro Kirk — a good hitter but chunky, and very slow afoot. I wondered why they didn’t pinch run for him since he represented a key run and it was getting late. But they didn’t. Sure enough, the batter hit a fly ball to medium center field. Young catches it and Kirk tags and starts waddling home. Young let loose a gorgeous perfect throw to catcher Ruiz who caught it and slapped the tag on Kirk. It was incredibly close — any other runner would have scored easily. The ump called Kirk out, for the third out, but as the announcers were cutting to commercial you could hear that Toronto was challenging the call — they saw something on the tape that lead them to believe Kirk was safe. We held our breath and waited for the commercials to end. When they did, the call was upheld. The runner was out. Take a deep breath. It was still 5-3. Our closer Kyle Finnegan would nail it down in the ninth. No question.
Except he gave up two hits on two pitches and walked the next batter. Bases loaded, no outs. Arggggh. But he didn’t look rattled — he looked determined. The next batter, Schneider, had homered and doubled for Toronto, but Finnegan struck him out. Okay. That’s good. Now Guerrero was up — their slugger. He came in second in the MVP voting just two years ago. His dad’s in the Hall of Fame. He swings big but taps a slow roller to third. Vargas charges in. The runner from third was going to score, there was nothing Vargas could do about that, but he fired the ball off balance all the way across the infield to Dom Smith at first. Smith has to shift his feet on the base and extend his reach as far as he can to catch the ball with Guerrero bearing down on him, but he does it all like a dancer and the ump calls Guerrero out. It was just by a hair, but he looked out to me, and anyway the Jays used up their challenge on the call at the plate. The run that scored made it 5-4, but that out was the second out. The advantage swung back to the Gnats. Vargas and Smith had handed the game back to Finnegan. It would take a hit now for Toronto to tie the score. And Finnegan was done giving up hits. The next batter popped out and it was over.
In the post-game interview manager Davey Martinez was asked how Finnegan was able to work through the inning after getting into so much trouble and he just said “Ice.” He’s made of ice and never feels the situation is beyond his control.
Treat yourself to a Loonie Dog, Kyle — they’re only a buck tonight.
When I’m deciding whether to include a poem in the day’s chatter, I read it several times. It’s not a test, but it’s nice when I like it more each time I read it. This poem is from today’s Writer’s Almanac. It’s by David Budbill and is called “Invisible Visitors.”
All through August and September
thousands, maybe
tens of thousands, of feathered
creatures pass through
this place and I almost never see
a single one. The fall
wood warbler migration goes by here
every year, all of them,
myriad species, all looking sort of like
each other, yellow, brown, gray,
all muted versions of their summer selves,
almost indistinguishable
from each other, at least to me, although
definitely not to each other,
all flying by, mostly at night, calling to each
other as they go to keep
the flock together, saying: chip, zeet,
buzz, smack, zip, squeak—
those
sounds reassuring that we are
all here together and
heading south, all of us just passing
through, just passing
through, just passing through, just
passing through.
I really should read more stuff by Molly Ivins, or any, tbh. She was born on this date in 1944 in California but was raised in Texas. After studying at Smith and Columbia’s School of Journalism she spent her career as a journalist and humorist skewering right-wing Texas politicians. Low-hanging fruit for sure, but she was very very funny.
One time, she wrote about the Republican congressman from Dallas: “If his IQ slips any lower we’ll have to water him twice a day.” It reminded me of one of my favorite Barney Frank ripostes. He was at a town hall and a woman asked a question that revealed her to be a moron. Frank said, “Madam, talking to you would be like talking to a table.”
Ivins died of breast cancer in 2007 when she was only 62. How good was she? She could even be funny about that. “Having breast cancer is massive amounts of no fun. First they mutilate you; then they poison you; then they burn you. I have been on blind dates better than that.”
Thank you for lending your voice to the madness, Molly. Happy Birthday.
What do you say, folks — let’s remember her young, pretty, and alive.
It’s also the birthday of Mary Shelley (1797). Here’s how her novel Frankenstein starts:
“It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. … It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.”
The puzzle by Alex Eaton-Salners today was unusual and Rexworld exploded. There have been over 200 comments. Rex started it (well, duh) with: “One of the most unpleasant solving experiences of all time.” Ouch! The majority of comments piled on. I kinda liked it. What happened was every one of the across clues was a “fill in the blank” that told a story about a young couple meeting and falling love. The girl’s name was Ava and she falls for Dana, who could be a boy or a girl. A down clue for HODGES is: “Obergefell v. ___, Supreme Court decision legalizing gay marriage,” so I’m guessing it’s gay girls. Ava plays the Oboe and Dana the tuba.
All of the across clues/answers work together to tell their cute story of a young romance. The last three are: (68A) Ava and Dana shared their first kiss over cream SODAS. (69A) And of course THEY lived (70A) happily EVER after.
I don’t know why it was hated so deeply by so many. Here’s a typical comment. It’s by whatsername. (Lewis is someone who is always positive, and Nancy sometimes mentions throwing the puzzle at the wall in disgust.)
“A puzzle only Lewis could love. While I always try to appreciate the effort to do something different, this inanity stretched the limits of my generosity. I almost pitched it at Nancy’s wall about the halfway point but decided to see it through. I’m not commenting on the content of the “story“ – I will leave that for others to discuss if they so choose – but this was like following one of those maze puzzles on paper place mats that restaurants give kids to keep them occupied. It felt insulting to have one handed to me as an adult.”
I chimed in with: “C’mon folks — how about a little sympathy — the kid played the tuba. I’m in the thumbs up camp – ah, young romance — there’s nothing like it, in any format.”
In addition to the concept, Rex hated some of the clues/answers. 24D was “Like buses and bicycles,” and the answer was RIDABLE. Here’s Rex on it: Nothing to say about this one. Oh, except RIDABLE, LOL, what? RIDABLE!? A risible answer. Is that even a word? “Is this bus RIDABLE?” “No.” “Uh … but …” “Sorry, no, UNRIDABLE. You want the 15 Northbound.” [Door closes in would-be rider’s face] [End scene].
Pabloinnh mentioned yesterday that his wife and he were celebrating their 53rd anniversary so many of us offered congratulations and today he thanked us and said: “We had a low-key day but learned something from our five-year old granddaughter, who informed us that she ‘wears stretchy clothes to bed in case I get wider.’ Bet you never thought of that.”
Yup. It happens.
Poster Gary Jugert shared this non-puzzle note with us: I am back home from travels in Wyoming and Montana. Stunningly beautiful places. You can still drive 90 miles an hour for hours and see absolutely nothing. And did you know that 100% of hotels allowing dogs and offering free breakfast also play Fox News blaring really loud, and according to the shows and the commercials supporting the shows … this came as news to me … liberals are bad. So apparently, if you’re woke, you should stop doing that. I saw a young woman in Thermopolis wearing a t-shirt reading “0% Woke and 100% sick of their shit.” When I was her age I wore t-shirts that said, “Pink Floyd.” These days I wear Carhartt t-shirts because they last longer.
Yesterday, poster Gill I. mentioned her 2004 Ford Taurus that has 200,000 miles on it which she hopes to take to the grave with her. It prompted me to share this joke:
This very rich guy in a small town in Arkansas puts in his will that he is to be buried in his white Cadillac convertible. So he dies and the undertaker sets his body up in the Cadillac. Two local kids are watching the burial from a nearby hill. As the Cadillac is lowered into the grave, one turns to the other and says, “Man, that’s livin’”
I told Phil I’d be using that joke and here’s a shot he came up with. The guy’s incredible. In the photo, it’s a 1973 Pontiac the decedent requested to be buried in.
Let’s close today with a sweet song by Nanci Griffith. It’s called “One Blade Shy of a Sharp Edge.” Rex shared it as part of his grumbling over “Curtain trims, e.g.,” answer: EDGINGS. Sadly, Nanci died two years ago at the age of 68. She was a Texas girl.
See you tomorrow! Thanks for popping by.
The Wellington Files 