Woe, Canada

In honour of our colourful neighbours to the north, I'll use Canadian parlance when describing the play of the Montreal Expos so far in my 1991 APBA baseball replay.

They're not doing too well, you betcha. Eh?

To put it more succinct, and more American, the Expos simply “suck.”

Since I began this replay in August, the team has won one game out of 18. They are 1-17, 12 games behind first-place leading Pittsburgh, as of April 27, 1991. In the real game, the Expos were 5-13 at that point. Their style of play rhymes with their orange mascot of the day — Youppi, an orange fuzzy thing akin to the Philadelphia Phanatic. Alas, the Expoos have been “poopy” during this 18-game stretch.

Six of those loses have been by one run.

Those of you who are not initiated with the APBA replays, the game company issues cards for each player of various sports seasons. The cards contain numbers, based upon the players' actual performances of that particular season. Players roll dice, match results with the numbers on those cards and compare them with pre-printed game results. Those more compulsive and geeky — i.e. me — replay entire baseball (or football, basketball and hockey) seasons, using actual schedules, lineups, etc.

Usually, the game-results somewhat mirror the results of the actual season. But on occasion, as in this case, there are those anomalies. I've found while doing these replays since 1977, that one team either plays well above its real-life potential, or falls short in a season. In a 1957 baseball replay I did a few years ago, the Chicago White Sox blew away everyone, including the real American League winner New York Yankees, to take my replay World Series that year. In a 1987 replay, the Minnesota Twins, the actual seasons' champions, lost the American League West Division by 10 games to Kansas City. In fact, I've only had one replay season out of nine feature the actual opponents of a real World Series. In 1942, the replay St. Louis Cardinals defeated the New York Yankees in five games to take the World Series as they did in real life. And, as an oddity, the Cards edged the Yanks, 4-2, in the fifth game of my replay Series — the same score as the real St. Louis team won in their fifth game.

And maybe Montreal is not such an anomaly, winning 71 and losing 90 during the real 1991 campaign. At this rate, though, the replay Expos will end up winning only 15 or 16 games.

Larry Walker leads the replay Expos with a .312 batting average and two home runs. Lead off hitter Delino DeShields is batting .164 with eight stolen bases and Marquis Grissom, while leading the team with 11 swiped bases so far, is clubbing .284. The entire Expo team is batting .222. (I know... me keeping stats is an anomaly in itself!)

The pitching is also a tad weak.

Starter Chris Nabholz has an ERA of 7.62 and relief ace Barry Jones' 6.13 ERA doesn't shore down the bullpen.

Dennis Martinez has Montreal's lone win, a 4-0 victory over the Pirates on April 24, ending their opening 14-game skid. The Expos, revved by the accomplishment, promptly went out the following day and, when finding themselves trailing, 2-1, to Pittsburgh, gave up eight more runs to lose, 10-1.

It's like the team was hit by a "monster poleax" whenever it takes the field, which, by the way, is what you get if you rearrange the letters in “Montreal Expos.”

It's still early and the reverse anomaly could fire up. Montreal could run off a string of victories and balance out that won-loss record before too long. Probably not the next game, though. Nabholz is taking the mound in St. Louis and that 7.62 ERA of his won't keep the Cardinals from scoring a few runs.

The Vacation

It was the way vacations are really supposed to be, I guess.

We travelled over 1,600 miles through five states in 11 days and crossed four rivers in full flood. We saw palm trees in balmy Shreveport, La., and I shoveled snow in shivering northern Illinois. We were stuck in Interstate 55 just south of St. Louis for five hours because of the rising Meramec River and we watched a DVD on New Year's Eve at my house while the burning oak logs in the fire place provided a stress-free ambience. We tried on glasses at a Memphis optometrist's business and we bought a nasty chocolate fried pie at a central Arkansas convenience store that I feared would be robbed while we were there.

And, we even played an inning of APBA baseball.

Yes, it was a perfect vacation and it solidified my notion that my Illinois girl — the woman that frequent readers of this blog thing have met over the past few months — is probably the best person I've ever known. If you can sit in a car inching along an interstate for five hours while cement mixers and police cars sped by in emergency lanes without either going crazy, leaving the car or beating me senseless, you may be as close to perfect as you can be.

After I visited my Illinois girl twice since late September, we decided she should come down to see me in my own element. So, on Dec. 30, as I wrote about the flooding Mississippi River at the newspaper where I work, she boarded a train from her home and headed to a town near me. Unfortunately, because of the flooding of which I scribed in the paper, the train could only make it to St. Louis. Further south the train tracks were underwater, making rail travel impossible. I headed to the Gateway train station in downtown St. Louis to pick her up that evening.

And we began the adventure.

Traffic stalled on I-55

On the return trip home from the station, we became stuck in stalled traffic in the southbound lane of I-55 10 miles south of St. Louis due to the rising waters. Authorities funneled five lanes of traffic down to one lane that was yet to be encroached by the flood. We inched about 2 miles in those five hours, and watched as at least 12 cement mixers roared past us to supposedly build emergency levees and helicopters hovered overhead. It was like being in some Irwin Allen disaster movie, but at no time did my Illinois girl lose her patience. Instead, she joked about it all and looked beautiful despite having not slept for nearly 24 hours.Officials finally shut the roadway down and turned us around. We crossed the Meramec in Arnold, Mo., just before the bridge there was closed and we eventually made it to my home at about 6 a.m.

A day later, we hit the road again, heading to Shreveport to pick up an antique bookcase she left when she lived there three decades ago.

Fish at Bass Pro, Memphis

And then, three days later, we drove to Memphis and got an appointment with the eye doctor. We later went to the Bass Pro shop in the former Memphis Pyramid, looked at huge catfish and other things in tanks and ate in a restaurant.

There was some slow time where we weren't in the car for hours. One day, I showed my Illinois girl how to play the APBA baseball that indirectly led us to getting together. (See http://lovelifeapba.blogspot.com/2015/10/leaving-swamp.html ) I let her roll an inning of a 1991 replay game between Philadelphia and New York. She seemed vaguely interested in the mechanics of the game, but it may only have been because we are still in the early, polite stages of this.

Still, she is a sports fan and the interest in the game may have been honest. Later, after the vacation, she called me up to ask about former Cubs' outfielder Andre Dawson and his odd batting stance and if Atlanta burned out pitcher Greg Maddux' arm before he returned to the Cubs in 2004. I know. Cool, ain't it?

Originally, our plan was for her to take the train back from a nearby town. The flooding kept the trains from running there for several days. But, rather than have a tearful departure at the St. Louis train station, we decided to drive back to my Illinois girl's town 554 miles away where we spent three more days together.

In all, it was the longest vacation I ever had. It was also the most adventurous, the most rewarding, the most fun thing I had done in decades. I was later teased by a friend when I told him how I even enjoyed going to Wal-Mart with my Illinois girl because we could turn it into a bonding, fun experience. Guys don't normally talk like that, I guess. Supposedly, when the guys gather, we're all supposed to banter about clubbing buffalo on the plains while wearing loin cloths and not share memories about buying lotions and makeup.

The APBA replay was far away those several days, but like always, it still was waiting for whenever I returned. I've been on the 1991 baseball replay for about six months and have only rolled 210 games so far. It's the slowest progress I've ever made in a replay, but I've made much more progress in another realm.

2015: Year of the Heart

In less than 18 hours, I'll be in St. Louis at the train station across from the Scottrade Center picking up my Illinois girl and bringing her back here for a week. I've been doing the countdown for seeing her for the past few days, constantly checking the clock and acting like an over-anxious kid before Christmas.

The countdown shifted suddenly today when we learned the train would not make it all the way into Arkansas because of flooding on the Mississippi River. It would only go as far as St. Louis. Oddly, and ironically as it were, when I discovered this tidbit of information, I was writing a story for the newspaper where I work about flooding and how the swollen Mississippi River was delaying crests along the Arkansas River.

Instead of picking her up in a town about 30 miles from here at 3:30 a.m. (depending upon Amtrak's promptness), I will now be in St. Louis at 7 p.m. It gives me eight more hours with her than had the train made its full journey and for that I am glad.

It's been that kind of year lately with unexpected changes and as 2015 draws to a close, I reflect upon the events of this year, the top stories of my life and whatever theme I can come up with that encapsulates the way this run went.

I do it every year. It's probably a news thing; each year the Associated Press sends out ballots to editors to select the top stories of the year. The state wire service does the same thing and, although us reporters don't vote, we do consider the year's legislative actions, the sensational trials, the horrific crimes, the deadly storms and all the other news when debating about the impacting stories of the year.

My personal year, my tour of 2015, has a simple theme. It's “Heart.”

I opened the year with a heavy heart. On Jan. 24, my cat, May, had to be put to sleep after she suffered scores of seizures. I had that cat for seven and a half years and, although I didn't consider myself a cat person at first, I bonded with that pet more than I've done with most humans I've known. It was yet another loss that I seemed to be getting quite experienced with. I deal with abandonment and sadness a lot; it broke my heart losing her.

Later in the year, a friend of mine had a series of medical issues that was somewhat nerve-wracking. Another friend became seriously involved with a woman and I became his consultant during their two-step dance of love, regret, reconciliation and angst. Then, my editor at the newspaper, the best person I've ever worked with, quit and moved off. The heart took a beating with all the changes.

But life soldiered on and in the late summer, my heart woke again. I began talking with my Illinois girl on Aug. 23, and in September I drove the 554 miles to see her for the first time. Everything changed after that. Not to get all mushy here (People can see in the bio on the right side of this post about me being a romantic dreamer), but this girl has made my heart beat again.

The APBA game realm, for which this blog is named, has seen some changes as well. I began a replay of the 1991 baseball season in August but, because of my own changes in life, the pace of the games has slowed. That, in itself, is a change from the norm. But the heart is still there when I do play the occasional contest or two on some days.

So, 2015 began with a broken heart and is closing with a mended one. I will be with my Illinois girl on New Year's Eve and she will be the first person I speak with in 2016. That's a good sign for the upcoming year.

How will this relationship play out in 2016? I have no idea. I am sure there will be many unforeseen changes ahead for the upcoming year, but at least it's beginning with a good heart.

Christmas night 2015: 38 years later

Thirty-eight years ago tonight — at about this exact time — I began the APBA journey that I'm still on. Like many of us sports replay game-playing aficionados, we probably became acquainted with the APBA games on Christmas Day as kids.

I was 17 when I unwrapped the large box containing the APBA football game. It was the last gift my parents handed me from under the Christmas tree. It was the “headliner” gift of the holiday and it was well received. I had played electric football and baseball before, along with simple games that involved dice and spinners as a youngster.

But this game was different. The APBA games were far more complex; they utilized cards with real players' names on them and those cards replicated those players' actual statistics for the season. We could select our lineups, play the games and watch them as they unfolded before us. It was, in a sense, a step into being a grown up while still playing a game.

So, I opened the football game for the 1976 season and looked over the cards. There were Fran Tarkenton, Chuck Foreman, Gene Washington for the Minnesota Vikings, which, because I lived in Minnesota for a while, became the team I followed. Terry Bradshaw, Roger Staubach, Kenny Stabler, O.J. Simpson and others were also carded. I was holding in my hands the heroes of my day.

I stayed up late that Dec. 25, 1977, reading the instructions for the football game, rolling dice, checking charts, learning the game. I selected the New York Giants and the Washington Redskins to play. It was complex and it took hours to figure out. I wanted to play the Vikings, but I needed to first learn the flow of the game. Obviously, I wanted to replay the previous Super Bowl in which Oakland beat the Vikings. I had to set things right.

I have never been one to sleep much; when I was 16, I worked at a bar and restaurant deep into the nights, so I was fine with figuring out the football game during the late hour. My parents slept while I tossed the dice that Christmas night and referred to the cards. I knew I'd be playing it the next day, and the day following. Even then, I understood the lure of this game and the long journey it would take me on.

I am sure so many people embarked on similar journeys on Christmas nights. And I hope more are doing so this night, 38 years later. And that they will play the game for at least 38 years like I have so far. It's one of the mainstays in the life I've run through.

Today, like I've done five times in the 10 years since my wife passed away, I worked Christmas Day at the newspaper where I am employed. Today, I wrote a story about an arson fire at Bill Clinton's birthplace home in Hope, Ark. In the past, I've scribed stories about homicides, a plane crash, snow storms and other mayhem on the holiday. The Christmas night APBA games were always was a respite for the long day. While others spent time with their families on the evening, I came home, left the harshness of the news outside and rolled a few games.

Tonight, later, I'll roll a game between Pittsburgh and Montreal in my 1991 APBA baseball replay and then another game between Detroit and Toronto. I'm still playing the game 38 years later, the longest thing I've consistently done. I've tabled the football game and didn't get into baseball until 1998 when I bought the game — for my own Christmas present that year.

The games keep rolling. They've done so ever since that night in 1977.

Life Happens

I'm not one to necessarily quote musicians much, but Beatles songwriter John Lennon is credited with a saying that is apropos, somewhat, of the APBA replays we all do. Lennon said, “Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans.”

The Fab Four guitarist could easily have been talking about doing these long-running APBA baseball replays that take months or even years to play out. Your own life happens while you're rolling a season that can go on for quite some time. 

Even the most enthusiastic replayer will spend nearly a year recreating one of the earlier baseball seasons that feature the eight-team American and National leagues. Later seasons — post 1968 that include two divisions for each league incorporates more teams and, thus, more games. So, it takes much longer to play those seasons. Hence, life has more of a chance of changing during a replay.

I've seen that in many of my previous replays, and it'll happen again as I am in the early stages of the 1991 APBA baseball season I recently began. We roll the games for seasons that have already happened; we know the real outcome of whatever season we're recreating, and we know the schedule of games, playing them one by one.

But then, life steps in with its unpredictable changes. To create a visual, metaphorical image of this, think of a linear procession of the games we play and the wavy lines of life, much like a seismograph that records earthquakes, or a criminal trying to bluff his way through a lie detector test. The games provide the baseline, life creates the waves.

Cases in point: I got married while replaying the 1992-93 NHL season that APBA released. Later, my wife's health deteriorated due to kidney failure as I did the 1957 season. I bought the house I'm living in now and moved while replaying the 1987 baseball season. And in the solitude after her passing, as I tried to adapt to a new lifestyle alone, I rolled the 1932 baseball season. The games go on as predicted, but the life side is always changing. Things are resolved over the length of a replay.

So, yes, life happens. Unforeseen things, changes, alterations. I covered a school shooting and its subsequent lengthy court proceedings in 1998 for the newspaper where I work that changed me all the while replaying the 1990-91 NBA season. I lost a lot of weight as I tossed the dice for the 1942 baseball season.

Even now, as I have just begun the 1991 season, things changed yet again for me and the wavy lines of my own life are moving yet again.

I began this replay on Aug. 16. One week to a day later, on the evening of Aug. 23, I called a girl I was interested in and talked to her for three hours. A month later, I drove 554 miles to see her and set change, I hope, in motion.

I am playing the games in this replay a bit slower than usual. For once, my own life has taken precedence over the daily routine of rollin' the games. I'll see how my relationship with my Illinois girl will grow during this 1991 replay.  The replay will take months, but life has time and will move along with it. This relationship I've embarked upon will be more defined and, I pray, a hopeful future will be ahead, by the time I roll the last game of the season. I'm doing a refinancing of my home as well and it, too, will be resolved well before this 1991 season ends.

So, we roll these games working a straight line in the season, knocking each game out one by one in that linear procession, while life comes at us with its wavy lines.

1991 First Update: April 22, 1991

Yes, the 1991 APBA baseball season is underway. I've not forgotten it. However, it's been a much slower process this time around, what with changes in my personal life. I began rolling this season on Aug. 16. A week later, I made a phone call to a girl that changed things in my world. Since then, I've been to visit her twice; the games have been placed on hold for at least 12 days during those trips. And, I'm dealing with strep throat now, so I haven't felt much like rolling the games lately, either.

That said, I still find a bit of time to roll a few games and now, four months later, I've reached April 22, 1991.

I mainly embarked on 1991 to replay the Minnesota Twins' World Series year. Also, after more than three years of replays (1942 and 1950) with no East or West divisions, it's a nice change to return to divisional play.

So, with only a few weeks of the actual season replayed, it's hard to get a feel for much. Montreal is really bad so far. They've found ways to lose each of their 13 games. Only 4 were by one run and none was in extra innings. In each replay I've done, I've found one team that defies statistics and either achieves well above expectations or simply plays below them. It looks like the Expos are the doomed team in this replay. Their next six games are against Pittsburgh and St. Louis, which are first and second now in the National League East. They still are a ways from beating the worst start in a baseball season. The 1988 Baltimore Orioles opened their season losing their first 21 games.

Here are the standings as of April 21, 1991

AMERICAN LEAGUE

EAST      W   L    GB

Toronto     8    5    -

Boston       6    5     1

Detroit       5   6      2

Milwaukee 5   7    2.5

Baltimore   4   6    2.5

New York   4   7    3

Cleveland   3   7    3.5

WEST       W   L   GB

Minnesota    9   3      -

Kansas City 8   3     .5

Seattle         8   4     1

Texas          6    3    1.5

Chicago      5    5     3

California   5    8    4.5

Oakland      3   10   6.5

NATIONAL LEAGUE

EAST          W    L    GB

Pittsburgh    10    3      -

St. Louis       9    4     1

New York     8    5     2

Phil'phia       7    6     3

Chicago        5    8     5

Montreal       0   13  10

WEST        W    L   GB

Atlanta        7     3     -

Los Angeles  7   5    1

Cincinnati     6   5    1.5

Houston        6    6    2

San Diego     5    8   3.5

S.Francisco   4    8    4

It's still early to get a feel for the leaders as well. Danny Tartabull of the Kansas City Royals and Kelly Gruber of Toronto lead the American League with five home runs apiece. Howard Johnson, who led the New York Mets in the actual 1991 season, has clubbed eight home runs so far and leads in this replay as well.

So, the progress may be slow this time, but the games will be played eventually.  

The Homeless Philosopher

DALEY PLAZA, CHICAGO — I pulled out my wallet to give money to the homeless guy who accosted us the other day while we were in the southeast corner of the plaza. He approached us quickly and began babbling about needing train fare to visit some family for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday.

I was intrigued. I wanted to hear his story; as a newspaper guy, I spend most of my days asking questions of people, gleaning tidbits of information and observations from them to compile stories. This was an opportunity to get a behind-the-scenes look at the man's plight and how he got into his situation; a front row seat to one of society's issues.

So I took out the wallet.

And that was a really stupid move akin to opening a can of tuna fish in a cat shelter, or throwing one chunk of steak into the lion's den, or telling a horde of Black Friday shoppers that whoever can get to the huge flat screen television first can buy it at 80 percent off cost.

I had returned to the area last week to visit the Illinois girl who has changed my world. We decided to take the Metra commuter train into the city and spend the day walking around the Loop. She, since having lived there for years, acted the normal urban person. Me, on the other hand, gawked and pointed at buildings and came across like some southern hayseed. A rube ripe for the takings.

We had difficulty finding the Plaza. A street map app on my phone kept misleading us in different directions and by the time we ended up there, we were a bit worn out. Also, we couldn't actually get into the plaza because vendors were setting up for a large event there and instead, we had to sit on the perimeter. And that's where the man found us.

I handed the guy $10. But that wasn't enough. The train ticket, he said, cost something like $14.95. My Illinois girl gave him $1, thinking it was a $10 bill, in an effort to get rid of him. He became adamant, wanting more money. She gave him a $10 of her own.

“I don't have any family,” he said, welling up fake tears and beginning to whine. He needed the money. Needed it desperately. I didn't think at the time to question his contradiction. No family? Just moments ago he said he needed a ticket to visit family.

Instead, I reasoned with him. “I don't have any family, either,” I said.

“You got a wife,” he pointed.

“Not yet,” I countered.

“Well, you got love,” he replied.

And, by gosh, blurting out of the mouth of an obvious guy with some mental issues came forth an observation I couldn't contest. I paused, almost stunned by the beauty of it.

But then he snapped me back into reality. He offered to trade places with me and made an exaggerated high-stepping motion, like he was becoming me, taking over my role. In my mind I wanted to tell him to be careful what he wished for. He wanted to be me? With a career in newspaper — one of the worst financial forms of employment — and a home mortgage with Wells Fargo? I was tempted to make the switch with him merely for economic reasons.

But then it got weird.

He made kissing faces and said he would marry my Illinois girl. He stepped toward her, but never got too close and I got between them, acting as buffer for her safety and to deflect any marriage proposals. I mean, I've known her for only a few months and never got that aggressive. If this homeless guy who probably lives in an Amana refrigerator box somewhere by the Chicago River could sweep her off her feet and away from me, I may have to change my strategies.

We left quickly; he remained in the Plaza, talking about having love and all.

The Chicago Coalition of the Homeless estimates there are close to 90,000 people living in the streets of Chicago. It's hard to get an accurate count because of the transient nature of the homeless. But of those 90,000 or so, we came across the philosopher who espouses love, all the while pleading for cash.

So, was it worth it? Maybe. We saw something different, got an insight into homelessness and received a memory. Although I kicked myself for putting my Illinois girl into any harm's way by being stupid and country.

Later, as we sat in the Ogilvie Transportation Center and waited for our train out, a young guy approached us and asked for $10 to “stay in a hostel.” I started to say something, but my Illinois girl, who opted to stay with me rather than fall for the Plaza guy's advances, quickly took over and told him we had already been hit up on by another guy and we didn't have the cash.

This time, I knew to keep my mouth shut and forego getting any story.