Why the World Cup Matters

Football is the world's sport.  No, not the American version, which might better be termed "Tackleball," but the more aptly named game that enthralls billions.  Some of us here in the US of A are fortunate enough to understand the reasons for the love of the game, even if we do call it "Soccer."  Here are a few.

It is a simple, simple game.  With the exception of the offside rule, nothing takes much explanation.  People do not need to speak the same language to play on the same team.  In the formalized rules provided by FIFA, the world's game-governing body, there are only 17 "laws," and several are procedural, relating only to organized games.  The essence is this: Get the ball into the other team's goal without using your hands.

No equipment is necessary.  Yes, in fortunate places, we use cleats and shinguards and goalie gloves and uniforms and regulation size goals with nets into which we try to place the regulation size ball, but none of this is really needed.  On beaches and in alleys and in fields all over the world, people kick a ball (or even a substitute like rolled up socks) back and forth between each other, trying to get that object between the dual discarded shirts or other debris that make the goals.  

Law enforcement goalkeeper.  Beat the Man?

The people of all ages who play the game need not be of any particular size or shape.  The game does not discriminate against those of us who might not be particularly tall or wide or muscular or fast or graceful.  Over the years, many of the world's best players have been quite small.  Lionel Messi is the current embodiment.  Yes, quickness and speed are certainly beneficial, but not absolutely required in the way that size is demanded for so many sports.  Even with speed and quickness being advantageous, the game has a place for those who tower over the small and quick as long as they learn to use their strengths to advantage.  And for us more average physical specimens, intelligent play can be at least as effective as physical prowess.

Excellence in football is not limited to rich or powerful or large countries.  In 2018, the slightly more than 300,000 citizens of Iceland were proud to cheer on their team in the Cup, while the teams from the Netherlands, Italy and the USA stayed home.  Croatia's total of 4 million people root for their team in the final.  Every country has a chance!

Coolest postage stamp sheet ever, but they should all be soccer balls.

It is an inclusive sport.  All countries are welcomed, but each has to prove its worth to make it to the world's stage.  The qualifying process takes 2 years with multiple rounds and games, so it is very unlikely that any team making to the final 32 of the World Cup is not deserving.  The matches in the 2018 Cup are particularly demonstrative.  Previous winner Germany did not make it out of the round robin stage.  Perennial power Brazil did not get to the semi-finals.  Japan came Oh-so-close to eliminating powerful Belgium.  

Every fan in every country can unabashedly support his or her national team.  In 1994, when the tournament came to the US, the joy of watching one's team play was obvious.  The Argentinians came painted and caped with flags.  The Bolivian fans chanted Bo-LEEE-via as one of their own pounded out the rhythm on an oversized blue and white drum.  When the Italians scored, fans came from all over the stadium to kiss the meter-tall Madonna statue carried by the man a few rows in front our seats.

Politics matter little, if at all.  Once the whistle starts the game, your national side must prove its value.  And any team that makes it to the final 32 is just that...a team.  Star players can help, but there is no substitute for teamwork.  Though players on the roster for each country may be separated by geography, language, religion, race or any of the other wedges we use to divide ourselves, if the players are not working as a team, defeat is inevitable.  All must be singing from the same hymnal, even if it is not the one preferred.

The trophy.  Not everyone gets one.

And there is no shame in defeat.  All understand that not everyone can win, and that an inch here or there can decide a close game.  Every "weaker" team knows that if they can stay in the game until the very end, there is a chance that they can do something brilliant and win.  The only way that any team or player need be ashamed is if they did not bring their absolute best effort to the field.  If they've done their best, they've represented their nation as well as they possibly can.

So while there is only one cup winner, fans all over the world have every reason to be proud when their players represent their nation with a great effort...a united effort where all are elevated by incorporation into an effective team.  An effort that is the best they can produce.

The world beyond football has much to learn from the World Cup.

Another Adventure with Pete

"Get your camera.  We're going."

"Uh, going where, Pete?" I asked as I put the finishing touches on a masterful combination of chicken wire and sticks that will undoubtedly protect the garden from all animals.  Or at least from dogs who like to anoint green plants.

"Here.  Look at the map.  We're going to House Rock."

Look for the dot left of center.  Easier to find on the map than in the woods.

  Pete had described House Rock many times.  Back in the woods and huge.  A short hike across private property gets one to the place where it resides.  And evidently, today was the day.

Camera dutifully in hand, I hopped into Pete's vehicle.  It was a short drive down Stewarts Landing Road to Phil's place.  We parked across the street and Pete immediately told Phil that the adventure was imminent.  "Get your boots on.  We're going to see the rock."

After some head scratching and orienteering via Pete's map, we headed over to see John, Phil's brother, who lives across the road beyond where we parked the car.  His was the private property we'd need to cross.  Another head scratching session ensued on John's porch as Pete explained the inconsistencies between the front side and back side of the map that he used when applying larvacide to the local streams in an effort to minimize the black flies.  While I generally like to let nature take its course, I'm happy that Pete is working to keep the little bastards stillborn.

Both Phil and John had heard of House Rock, but had never seen it.  Pete the Persuader soon had the four of us bushwhacking north from John's place.  Somewhere out there was the fabled rock.  The search was somewhat less daunting than the 2015 hunt for 2 escaped convicts from Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora, but some of the same principles applied.  In the fully leaved woods, one usually can't see more than 50 feet in any direction.  And if a convict or a rock wants to hide, the searchers can come within a few feet without ever knowing what's been missed.  Our only advantage was that the rock was, well, as big as a house.  And not moving.  And unarmed.  And not dangerous.  And close by.

We spread out and headed into the forest.

Blue dot tree.
Either some weird fungus, or someone was marking a property line.

Many mushrooms on the forest floor.
Also some on the trees.
It's a pity not to know which are toxic.

We passed a pair of VW Beetle sized rocks, but Pete assured us these were nowhere near the size of our prey.  Further on, there was an intersection of old stone walls pointing in what we found later to be the correct direction.  The wall was formed long ago when some unfortunate settlers tried to farm this land.

The junction of the two walls is difficult to see.  
I should have taken a 3-D shot.

I once suggested to a friend who farms that creating these walls from rocks in the field must have been back breaking.

"Hah," he laughed, "it wasn't a problem for the farmer.  His kids, on the other hand..."

Pete's shirt indicates the tumble he took on the way in.

Hearing shouting, I turned away from solitary photographic pursuits to head toward the noise.

Phil had found it!  
Covered with vegetation and surrounded by trees, he had detected it nonetheless.
And it was as big as a house with 1 and 1/2 baths and 2 small bedrooms.
No garage.

It's not the size of the prey or the length of the search that matters.  It's the excitement of the hunt.  While not exactly Georgia's Stone Mountain, House Rock is a good size glacial erratic, and worth a few bug bites for the privilege of a view.

Not rolling.

The rock was split near the center.
Pete insisted that it was all in one piece when he saw it years ago.

John was able to scramble up the smaller chunk.

Capturing the scale was quite difficult since the trees and brush surrounding the rock obscure the view.  Winter is the time to be rockin'.

John atop the smaller section.

No longer a mystery, the attractive force of the rock soon dissipated, and we left.

Not sure what this lovely piece of heavy metal was used for. 
You never know what you're going to find in the woods,
and once you find it, you still may not know.

Pete's knee was bothering him as the result of his fall, so we helped him get out of the woods.  His balance also seemed to be affected, so it took quite a while to emerge.  The deerflies were very pleased at our slow rate of progress.  Now I know what a smorgasbord feels like.

Concerned that Pete might also have damaged his brain, Phil took it out to have a look.

Carefully handled and inspected.

"It appears to be working normally," declared Phil.

Though none doubted Phil's diagnosis (after all, he had been the one to find the rock), we thought it prudent to apply test equipment to insure proper function.

Still hard headed.

Still seeing a few stars.

Yep.  Completely normal.

Power to the People

Six years later, another weekend of Cinco De Mayo loonacy at the camp with the construction-minded Loonatics.

Yep.  Cinco de Mayo and still snow remaining in the massive pile
that gets created when the weight of the roof drift
overcomes the friction on the north side of the garage.

Don't ever stand here.

Look at all that debris emerging from the snow.  Forgot all about having to take care of that.  In honor of Cinco de Mayo, and the brave and outgunned Mexicans who repulsed the French, that will be dealt with...mañana.

Pretty much sums it up.

Each of the Loonatics has received a fabulous team logo hat, which also features his camp name, so that death and destruction do not result from ownership confusion.  To be completely truthful, each Loonatic except Chowdahead has received a hat.  He whines incessantly about not having one, even though he did not join the fowl band until after the most recent distribution.  Perhaps patience will be rewarded in the future.  But is waiting with whining really patience?

The two you see adjacent the sign are for Thing 1 and Thing 2.  These are provided to honorary loons during the time they are on-site.  

We often joke, "A bunch of amateurs with power tools and beer in the woods. What could possibly go wrong?"

Now we know.

Don't stand here either.
Windstorms like the one we endured Friday evening
have a habit of knocking trees down,
occasionally with ill effect.

This is not a backwoods religious symbol.
See the ceramic insulator on the left end of the yardarm?
See one on the right?
Gone with the wind.

The windstorm took down the lines and the power went out for the weekend. The damage was not limited to this one little pole. Since we're near the end of a dead end road with very few residents, the power company elected to go to other poles of priority long before patching our pickle.

Since we're not Amish, we rely on electricity to work. And most of us drink beer, but that's just an evil side effect of electricity, as the Amish will tell you. So off went the provisioning party to petition the purveyor of impermanent power. The ride out of the hills was rewarded with a brand new Champion Generator from Tractor Supply.

Just moved the snowshoes to the garage last week.
This generator was the preferred model because it came with a free t-shirt.
Upon seeing the shirt, Mary said, "Let me know when you're going to wear that thing
so I can be elsewhere."

A fine addition to the wardrobe,
which contains much worse.

Though we had to do a bit of juggling to run power to multiple buildings, we powered tools and the fridge, so all was well. Except the for the pump in the well, but who needs a shower, anyway?

Make one of these, and all of your troubles will be over,
especially if you put your fingers in the wrong place.

Remember to flip the main breaker to off so that the double-male contraption above can carry the power from the generator to the panel and the house without trying to power the grid.  Or have the generator all wired in and automatically substituting for the grid so that you hardly even know there is a power outage.  Hah!  Where's the adventure in that?

The answer is that the adventure is in your bank account.  There have been enough of those adventures lately.  So this expensive wired-in, auto-switching, auto-cycling (gotta run every so often, too) solution can wait.  At least 'til some figurative mañana.

Since any generator can only create a limited amount of power, numerous opportunities for creative solutions arise.  One such solution is shown below.

This ancient radial arm saw was placed on casters
so that it could be rolled closer to the generator.
At 2 extension cord distance, there was not enough current to start the saw.
A single cord away, the blade lazily ramped up to cutting speed
in a few seconds.

Yes, of course, we could have moved the generator, but that would have meant putting the fridge on the long cord run, or not powering it at all.  Remember the part about us not being Amish?

And yes, certainly we could have skillfully placed the beer in the remaining snow, but that would have meant walking ALL the way to the back of the garage when thirsty.

And yes, unquestionably, we could have dug snow out of the bank and filled coolers or other containers full of beer, but that sounds like work.

And yes, undoubtedly, we could have purchased ice on during a trip to civilization, but that melts all over the refrigerator and makes a mess (it did).  And there was food in the fridge as well, although a secondary concern.

Both hungry and not Amish.
Also quite brilliant when that headlamp is on.

What else could go wrong?

Really not what you want to see when you're many miles from a garage.
Yeah, the spare did not look much different.

Thankfully, the generator-compressor combination
made the this problem less of an issue.
And since there were other vehicles around,
sloth and lethargy allowed this fix to be done without the generator.

Since misfortune tends to happen in threes, the triad of calamity was completed by the last minute scratch of one of the members.  As a responsible owner of commercial property in far away New Hampsire, Mr. Bud Lightnin' had leased a meeting-place building to a Church Congregation.  The Pastor had prepared a powerful sermon which brought to life the travails of Noah, who with his family and non-human friends, braved the cleansing flood of the earth.

So powerful was this sermon that even before its intended Sunday delivery, a similar cleansing flood inundated the building (via a burst pipe). Our own diligent Bud Lightnin' subdued the longings of his heart and dutifully remained where the citizens live moisture-free or die, cleaning the building after the flood, just as Noah and his family must have done for the ark.

But even with all these tribulations, a good deal was accomplished.

Basement entry door upgraded to a steel exterior door.
Fie upon the rodents and drafts.

Lovely flashing has been applied to the underside of the deck
to divert water elsewhere.
Now the space can be used for storing fireplace wood,
or for spreading out a blanket and singing the Drifter's,
"Under the Board Deck."

"This knotty pine in the garage upstairs room looks really great," said the blind carpenter...

...as he picked up his hammer and saw.

Shortly before all arrived, a matching metal insert was fashioned
to provide a finished look over the fridge.

And the leftover material provided augmented tanning capabilities.

All in all, a confusing and tumultuous but productive weekend.  The power returned just after all the work was completed.  Later, the tale of the triumph of the Loonatics was related to Mary. 

"Oh sure.  You get a generator for your Loons, but not for me during all those times I've suffered through outages."

"All you had to do was pick up a saw!!!"

Big News in Greece, NY

Recently, I've been notified that there has been dereliction in my duties.

"Since you cover such important events like the Women's March in Seneca Falls and MLK50 in Memphis, how could you possibly miss, practically across the street from you, the Greece and Rochester earthshaking Grand Opening of our area's brand new, very first Chick-Fil-a ?!???!"

I'm so ashamed.  It's the biggest thing to hit Greece, NY since Good Ole George W. Bush spoke at Greece Athena High School back in 2005.  Gosh, I miss Good Ole W.

But today, I drove by on the way to my Hairdresser.  Yes, he’s a hairdresser.  He has told me that he is not a barber, since that is a different license.  Probably has something to do with learning the proper techniques to bleed clients to let out infectious diseases.

It was amazing to see that the Greece Police were there, flashing lots of lights and making sure the traffic flow was optimum.  Access from busy Route 104, the main drag, to the street adjacent the establishment was completely blocked with cones and a car with lights a-flashin'.  Uniformed officers were making sure that all the cars entering were approaching by a circuitous route around the block.  My tax dollars at work!

 

 

Can't enter here!

So that we can focus on the issue at hand, let's completely disregard, for the moment, the gay bashing the Chick-fil-a founding family has done in the past.  One has to wonder what the tumult and long line of gas-wasting cars backed up around the block has to say about us citizens.  Here we are, willing to line up and wait in less than wonderful weather (mid-April in Western NY...stay away, it's always sleeting sideways) for a chicken sandwich, or some other non-beef concoction.  It looks like the biggest deal ever in the town of Greece, and the good and hungry citizens don’t want to miss it!

 

 

Clever logo, though in this crop, it could also be a fish splashing out of the water. 

What kind of lives must my fellow Grecians, and probably some legal alien Hiltowners and Spencerporters, have if a new brand of Chain Chicken Chow is the highlight of their current existence?  Unless it imparts fountain-of-youth benefits, one can wait at least a few weeks, at the very least.  Or maybe forever.  

 

On the other hand, this event is something us plebeians can enjoy.  When #43 was in town, only important connected people and the media were allowed to hear him speak.  The kids were locked in their school rooms.  Passers by could not pass by.  We unconnected were kept a safe distance away.  And W's visit was only a short portion of one day.  Quite a contrast to the Chick-fil-a fiesta, approaching a week, that we all can enjoy as long as we line up to buy!

 

 

Can't see it from this angle, but the line of cars goes 'round the corner and down the block.

 

Fortunate son and travelin’ man that I am, I’ve just returned from Memphis, where there was ample opportunity to chew a Chick-fil-a at multiple locations.  Almost as many as Dunkin' Donuts in Rhode Island.  Stop in anytime, no lines, and your sandwich is in hand in seconds.

 

But stop I did not.  

 

If I’m mobile and meaning to masticate meals of immediacy in Memphis, 

 

Central BBQ is where I’m headed.

 

 

 Maybe there's a franchise opportunity in Greece.  Our tax dollars will be there for you.