He was more interested in putting my brother and I to work around the house, landscaping, cellar waterproofing, log splitting and horse manure collecting. Free labor for him. And character building backbone for us.
As a child of the Post-Depression era, he was all about work, work, and more work. If there was anything he encouraged me to do, it was accountancy. He was a CPA. His brother was a CPA. And my brother is a CPA.
I had as much aptitude for accounting as I did for little league.
That is not to say I never dreamed of playing sports. Years ago, after watching so many politicians, movie stars and internet celebrities throw out a first pitch at a baseball stadium, poorly, I thought, no I knew, I could do better.
I dragged my 8 year old daughter away from Hannah Montana, grabbed a video camera and a few baseballs I had laying around the house and we headed to the baseball fields behind the pool where I now swim almost everyday. There, with the camera rolling I stood atop the pitcher's mound -- more like a spit of dirt -- wound up and threw a beeline fastball (maybe 45 MPH) that went waist high right over the plate.
It was a thing of beauty. I actually surprised myself. I have it on video and wrote about here years ago but now I can't find the posts among the 3000 or so that occupy this digital galaxy. You'll just have to take my word on it.
I bring this all up because last week Ms. Muse brought me to her company (USC Rossier School) Christmas Party. It was at SoFi Stadium. And since I had never been to SoFi and don't foresee taking out a second mortgage on my Stay-Out-Of-A-Dirty-Nursing Home home ever going there, I leaped at the opportunity. Especially since it included an opportunity to get out on the astroturf and tour the facility.
The place is enormous. And thoroughly impressive.
Less impressive however, and you probably saw this coming, the staff had arranged for the partygoers to take their best shot at kicking a simple field goal from the 20 yard line. The results were humbling.
I got out there early when I spotted the yellow mat in front of the goal. Several men had already lined up and were giving it their best Jan Stenerud. They were shanking balls left and right. Topping the ball like a bad golf swing. Or even missing the ball completely with the lame swing of their leg.
"What is wrong these old geezers?" I said to myself.
Then realized ALL of them were younger than me. I know the calendar says I'm 65 but sometimes I have to remind my brain and body of that sad fact. When it was my turn, I measured three to four steps back, gave myself ample room to approach the ball on a curved path as I've seen so many on Monday Night Football, Thursday Night Football, Friday Night College Football and Sunday Night Football do.
I steeled myself know that a gaggle of 20-30 people were ready to laugh. And let loose with a mighty kick.
There was an audible gasp as if I might be the first one to put it through. Followed by an audible, "awwww."
I missed it wide left. I had the distance. But I didn't have the angle. Nor it turns out did I have the height. The ball kind of lined drived itself past the lower crossbar.
I walked away, humbled but not completely humiliated.
That came on my second attempt, which we won't go into.
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Update: Found the video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lJt5-XJqcDE
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