Published April 13, 2009 | 
Goodbye, Harry Kalas. I am so glad you lived to see your team win the World Series again.
From the time I was 12, Harry Kalas was the voice of the Phillies. Whenever we made the playoffs, I resented the national broadcast team who took over from the local guys. Why should someone like Kalas, who called wins and losses steadily, for decades, have his place usurped when the team was finally getting some glory?
If Harry wasn’t calling the plays with Richie Ashburn, it wasn’t really a Phillies game. Richie’s been gone a few years, but now his old partner has rejoined him. They’re both in the Hall of Fame — Kalas as broadcaster, Ashburn as player.
Harry Kalas collapsed in the broadcast booth shortly before the Phillies game with the Nationals. He was 73. Philadelphia won’t be the same without him.
Published April 10, 2009 | Emily Dickinson can wait a day. Today Mike Ford would have turned 52.
A poem from the comments at Making Light:
Goetia Naturalis
from “Wolfgang Puck of Pook’s Hill”No one sees us when they dine;
Loudly the forkfuls go past,
A bird and a bottle of wine,
And a tablet goes fizz in a glass.
No one knows that we are there,
They munch without question or pause;
We crouch on the haricots verts,
And lurk like a thief in the sauce.We are the condiments, we,
To julienne, chiffonade, grate;
But set us aside and you’ll see
The void that we leave on your plate.
We sit on the rim of the dish,
The spices nobody can name;
We stand by the meat and the fish,
Some bloke in a toque gets the fame.Eggs folded into a flan,
Sausages steaming in brew;
Chicken stretched on the divan,
How they must love what they do!
Yes — and we seasonings too,
We are as tasty as they;
We are the salt in the stew,
Watch as the chanterelles play.You may think we are not strong;
We know habaneros that are;
Some Worcestershire helps things along,
You know what wasabi is for.
Still we shall sit on the side,
Court-bouillon and bouquet garni;
Your tastebuds will not be denied;
No quarter and no MSG!
A toast to you, and may you feast forever at the right hand of Will Shakespeare.
Published August 22, 2008 | Dottie Wiltse Collins, one of the best pitchers in women’s baseball and the moving force behind the alumnae organization of retired players from the women’s leagues, died on August 12 at the age of 84.
A powerhouse pitcher who could throw overhand, underhand, and sidearm, she pitched two no-hitters within a seventeen-day stretch. Collins won more than 20 games each of her first four seasons as a pro. In her best year, 1945, her record was 29-10, with a 0.83 ERA and 293 strikeouts. She once pitched — and won — both halves of a doubleheader, and in 1948, she played until she was four months pregnant.
Her work to gather and preserve the history of women’s baseball inspired the movie A League of Their Own. More important, the memorabilia she helped gather is enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame at Cooperstown, NY. Where she belongs.