Sunday night
Dream 1: Practice Makes Perfect
A Japanese-American police officer sat in his cruiser on a hill about a block away from my old high school. He was probably near the bottom of Harrison Street, just before it crosses Little Falls Road, but somehow it looked a little different than it is in reality. Anyway, the cop was there for a reason. Ronald Reagan was visiting the school, and this officer was one of many who were positioned around the neighborhood to protect him. Reagan had no idea that he was there, of course, and wouldn't have been able to see him anyway, as a wooded children's park separated his side of the block from the school, and besides, he was parked down the hill. Reagan walked over to the school's baseball diamond, and paused at home plate. For no particular reason, he decided that that was a good place to practice his golf swing by hitting a bucket of balls. He was nothing if not consistent; his shots beat the shit out of that police car.
Dream 2: Champs
Two kids, a boy and a girl, each about 12 years of age, had just won a Ping-Pong championship, and were being interviewed on TV. They beamed as the sportscaster looked into the camera, holding a large microphone in one hand, and their weapons of choice in the other. He said, "And this is how they did it -- with sandpaper paddles!"
*****
Dream 1: Practice Makes Perfect
I recently drove around the ball fields at Yorktown in Arlington, and saw that they've been completely revamped. There's a new football field surrounded by a track, and there were two or maybe three baseball diamonds. You could certainly tell that folks in that area are well-off. I've never played a round of golf in my life, aside from Putt-Putt.
Dream 2: Champs
We played many, many games of Ping-Pong in the basement playroom at Mom and Dad's, and we had sandpaper paddles as well as more sophisticated rubber ones. I played a few games of Ping-Pong with the nieces and nephews over the Christmas break, and was surprised to see that they had the exact same 1968 table tennis set that we had; same goofy teenage guy showing off on the cover, same adoring teenage girlfriend in the background, complete with light blue headband and bobbed hairdo.
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I drove by a small 9-hole course near the house this weekend - a place where I've hit on the driving range a couple times, and played a single round of awful golf.
I was thinking that it might be nice to go hit a bucket of balls (on a nicer day) sometime.
I've got clubs (custom-made by my buddy Roger), but am missing the talent.
Having tried it out, I think I well understand the attraction of playing the game (and making deals with the rich and powerful must add a real kick to it...), but I'll never, never ever understand the attraction of watching the game on TV. Just don't see it.
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