Dan Uggla

Dr. Kevorkian is dead, and while Kurt Vonnegut may want God to bless him, I don't know how I feel. Sometimes, I think that there are too many babies being born into this world, and then I think that my wife was #10 out of 11 kids, and I'm pretty dang happy that her parents kept procreating. But then I go back to Jack, and he's dead, and nothing is going to bring him back. Nothing is going to stop the terminal illnesses of many of his patients, those that wanted or got his help during those times. Nothing is going to help the ones who suffered painfully from the same thing that Lou Gehrig suffered from. And I can't say that I would want to go that way, and I wouldn't want anyone I loved to suffer that way either, but I don't know if I'd want some creepy old dude with a suicide machine setting me up for my final end.

Just press this button and it will release poison into your veins through the IV that I've set up.

And maybe we've gone on in life as a people long past the point where we're truly ripe. Joseph Heller said something about that, too, when he wrote Catch 22 and spilled the secret of Snowden all over the plane. Life is everything. Being able to live and do the things that we want to do before we get too old and too feeble to go to the good places. I think of my dad not wanting to be alive if he can't hunt and fish. I think to myself of all the joy I get through the physical exercise of hiking while experiencing the beauty of the woods and the world around me as my legs carry me to waterfalls, slot canyons, and mountain views. I wouldn't want to live if I was chained to a chair in the living room of my house, rocking into a slumber that seemed to take ages to get to. Somehow, I believe there has to be a point where we fulfill our need, and that's that. We make peace with the universe, and like Allen Ginsburg, we go "toodle loo."
My neighbor's husband died of a prolonged death just recently. We've lived in this house since November of 2009, and we saw him a few times. He never made it to the porch. A couple of times, I went in the house to help move him. He just died slowly, and it was sad watching how much it took out of my neighbor as she witnessed the end of her husband of 50+ years. She never knew it was the end - even when the hospice team came in. He just slipped further and further out of consciousness as his body filled up with toxins, and eventually, that was it. He was gone. Now, she's lost and angry as he isn't there to give her support to do the daily tasks - even though she's done them for ages now. She's trying to fill up her time, and we talk to her for companionship and because she's a good person, but the bitterness of having a person that was so loved gone is hurting her as she spends more time remembering the bad things that were done to him. She still remembers the struggles that they went through and perhaps there is a sense of "looks like we made it," but there's also a sense of we had a hard life.
And some do, but...
The days just get harder and longer, and thoughts of writing out his life's memories are lost to her (the kids aren't interested in this - even if that's now, and you never know what they'll feel years later - I say this as I have stored the memories of ancient times of my own family - 80-90 years ago and those from 70 years or so ago).
And sometimes, it's all about the giving up that seems to be the answer to living. I remember being around my neighbor at times when you could see how much it hurt her to watch the man she loved suffered, and she eluded to feeling like she wanted his suffering to stop - ashamed in part - but still understanding that the man she loved wasn't there any more. But still she held onto his belongings because they were his. She fixed his car up - even though it was old and gone and she really wasn't using it. She still wanted to believe, and she didn't want him to see his life given away before it was gone.
And there is nobility and love and honor in what she did. Now, she just has to move on to accept death and grief. It won't be easy, but it will lead to something good - hopefully.
+++
For the baseball metaphor of all of the things that have gone and are no longer as they were before, we can only look to Dan Uggla. He's hitting .172 with 7 home runs propping up his 37 hits. Sure, 15 of his hits are for extra bases, but he's batting .172! He was killing me for keeping him in the lineup. I bounced between 2nd and 4th place (out of 6 teams), and as soon as I dropped him - acknowledged the end - I went into first place.
It wasn't easy to say goodbye to Uggla. I've liked him. A lot of the players who come up with Florida are really likable and good players, but sometimes, we have to say goodbye. Like Mike Lowell before him... sometimes, the end comes.
The Baseball Project sang of Willie Mays.
There was the sad end of Ken Griffey Jr.
I wasn't the same after the 2001 season of Mark McGwire until the Angels went to championship glory.
Death isn't easy. The cycles of life aren't easy.
I'm not saying that saying goodbye to a loved one is as easy as moving out a fantasy player or bidding goodbye to a favorite player, but in life, all of the things we love, whether human, animal, or larger than life heroes we never see in our daily lives, are important to us. They make us who we are.
They're not easy to put aside, but there comes a time to understand that we have to help them and us when the time comes and to confront things as realistically as possible - whether we want to believe the end is here or not. I wish my neighbor would have seen the signs a little clearer. That would have made this time now a little easier for her.

Ryan Braun

Our Ryan Howard garden gnomes went off on e-Bay last night with a $34 and $34.33 bid from the same person. Whether it's a dealer or an obsessive fan, I don't know, but let's say we were paid handsomely to see the game. Now, we'll have to wait for our Cole Hamels garden gnomes and the Carlos Ruiz "CHOOCH"ing owl.
Yep... this is real.
So money, money, money... we live in a world that is consumed by it. Some of us earn our money, some of us don't earn enough of it, and others of us flaunt it so that other people feel entitled to it. It's an endless cycle of what makes the world go round, and when it's there, we feel entitled to talk out our asses about whatever stupid thing we believe in in a way that makes us feel we're entitled to run for President of the United States as a Republican... even if the Republicans and all sane people don't want us. In the end, Trump represents a choice so bad that he makes the Obama we know look better (but still not good).
But all the same, it's nice when good people wake up with lots of money for doing what they have to do, day in day out, and representing the face of their company, and for that, it's nice to see the 5year $105million extension of Ryan Braun to stay with the Brew Crew until 2020 represents a team making a decision to reward and identify their team long beyond the current now. Off to a .359 start in the obscurity of the land of Laverne and Shirley, Cheeseheads, and not much else that doesn't have good fur for insulation, there are a lot of guarantees from Mr. Braun. In his last 2 years, he's done 100 runs a season (but not the first 2). He's missed 100RBIs once, 30 home runs once, and .300 once. In this, he's not Albert Pujols, but who is? He's soaked a mascot in beer as many as 37 times a year, while he's also stole 20 bases in a season (never dropping beneath 14). And while he's good for over 100 whiffs a year, he's young and he's likable - kind of a Richie Cunningham with a big stick and a trio of MVPs and Silver Slugger awards since he beat out Troy Tulowitski for the Rookie of the Year in 2007 (and people figured out who he was, which just goes to show what East Coast bias (or not playing in a major metropolis on either coast) will cause you not to do... (after all, Joey Votto only went as a final vote winner and Carlos Gonzalez didn't go at all).
But that's the nature of the game... we sell our stories that the most possible people will buy. We sell the ones that we've sold forever. After all, Big Sluggi did end up on the All Star team and the beginning of his season last year was worse than the beginning of Punch Drunk Love (didn't care to see what happened at the end of either of them). And as we're sold the stories, we stick with them... even if there are better stories yet to come... from more obscure places. And for this, when the World Series (or whatever sporting event we are into) doesn't yield Yankees vs. Red Sox or either of those guys vs. the Phillies, nobody watches because they don't know how to follow a game that doesn't have stars that they have to like the game to know.
I was in a discussion with my dad last night regarding this. He's a Dale Jr. fan that shuts off NASCAR if Junior isn't competitive, and for years, that's what it's been. And I get that Dale Jr. is a popular driver. His dad was great, but so was Kyle Petty's dad Richard, and let's be honest, you can't sell Petty memorabilia if your life depends on it, so we need drivers that we can push - because some day, the guy we're pushing is going to be gone, and then where will we be (see Baltimore and Cal Ripken if you have any questions. They haven't been competitive since 1997, and he stuck around for 4 more years and held down a spot that could have been given to a younger player on a 162-game basis for another full year). Where will NASCAR be if Dale Jr.'s losing streak continues? Will we see more editorials like the one he was talking about where both drivers get credit for a win if they tandem draft together?
It's the same for baseball. We have 30 teams with 25 players on each. Some are old. Some are young. Some are having breakout seasons. Some are crapping the bed. We need to give everyone who is good a moment in the light. How else are we going to sell our mid-season game?
Let alone an expanded playoff scenario.

Ron Santo

When I was younger, I always thought that my dad's father died of yellow fever. I don't remember what actually killed him, but I was told later that it wasn't yellow fever. In much the same way of being confused by what I thought I heard, I always thought that my dad's favorite player when he was a kid was Ron Santo, but it was actually Richie Ashburn. I didn't learn the truth until I talked to my dad after Ron Santo died on December 3rd.
Interestingly enough, the Cubs have declared that my dad's birthday, his 64th, will be the celebration of Ron Santo's life and the new statue that will be displayed outside of Wrigley Field for this 3rd base great.
Santo and his 342 home runs and lifetime .277 average over 15 seasons (9 on all-star teams), were never enough for the Hall of Fame, but true fans know. Santo was a true fan of the Cubs, the team he became famous while playing on. He celebrated their trials and tribulations as a player and announcer and always seemed to believe that the Cubs would end their drought and the Curse of the Billy Goat, the stupidest curse in history, would be over.
All the same, heart problems, cancer, and losing both of his legs to diabetes took their toll on this baseball great first.
On August 10th, Chicago will play a low key game that very few people will care about. They're taking on the Nationals, and neither team will be fighting for playoff glory. It will just be another August game, but to the Wrigley Field and a few sportscasters and some die hard fans, we will take notice of a man who was truly great.
We're not asking for special favors like being let into a McDonald's in the wee hours of the morning to use the bathroom, which results in the temporary firing of an employee who gives into his star status.
We're not talking about a man who had questionable relationships outside of marriage and must wear a scarlet S on his chest as he tells neighbors where he lives in order to avoid jail time. Even football players fear the pokey. I know that I would.
We're not talking about a man who profiteers off of making animals fight each other to the inevitable death of one of them, but who deserves a presidential thank you to the coach who took his "chances" on hiring him again, despite the fact that there was nothing to lose in hiring a former all pro quarterback.
And we're not talking about how an entire town remembered his greatness because it led them to 2 Superbowl victories and moves them towards a third victory despite the fact that the only reason he's not in the slammer is because the evidence against him couldn't differentiate consensual violent sex and rape.
But Ron Santo is not Adrian Peterson, Lawrence Taylor, Michael Vick, or Ben Roethlisberger. He's just a baseball player from a different generation. He's not the kind of person that leaves the average person star struck. He's just a man and a great gamer from a different era who still inspires enough respect to be immortalized for all who care to find out the back story of a statue that will one day join other Chicago Cubs statues of Harry Caray, Ernie Banks, and Billy Williams - note that Ryne Sandberg isn't even on this list.
Somewhere is reverence for truth, justice, and the American way.
That's why baseball will always be the national pastime.