Songs of Experience, the Journey. Part 3 (tracks 3-5)

I gotta say, the lyrics on this album are SO FREAKIN incredible. It's almost as if they have been sitting on all of this beauty for a long time and graced the world with it. And, to think that U2 went back into the tank after the Trump/election debacle. Makes me kinda wonder and pine for those forgotten gems that were scrapped. I think I speak for most of U2 nation when I say, bring on "Songs of Ascent"?! Maybe, just maybe they will figure out tickets by then.

3. The best thing about me. Another catchy little number that you will occasionally hear on the radio. This song kind of just latches onto you, whether you want it to or not. Its definitely a lower half song on this album for me, and yet I find myself humming it, seemingly out of nowhere. I envision the entirety of the crowd screaming the chorus to this one right back to the band "You're the best thing about me!" and, it will ring true for many of us. I've been alternating listens between SOI and SOE the past few days, and as much as I love the former, it just isn't on this albums level musically or lyrically. Now, many of those songs gave birth to these, but wow. So many subtle and not so subtle quirks that make these pop.

4. Get out of your own way. Buckle up folks, cause shit just got real. This song is phenomenal. One of the most vibrant and crazy choruses in a long, long time. And Adam's bass line? Get the hell out of here. When the boys ratchet up the action and we hear the chorus for the first time, on the heels of Larry's pounding, I get chills and then euphoria washes its way over. I love, love, love this tune. I'm in serious danger of having anyone near me on the road witnessing me screaming this one at same time doing my best to mimic Larry on the steering wheel. And, just when you're coming down a tad, here's the Edge doing what he does best. His guitar solos are simply divine perfection. Not over the top, in your face, ala 80's or 90's hard rock or metal, but rather melodic thunderstorms that come out of nowhere and douse you with a torrential release. "I could sing it to you all night, all night...." Please do U2!

5. American Soul. I'm gonna steal from the very astute Tim Neufeld(@timneufeld) and say that the transition from GOOYOW into this song is simply amazing. One of the best they've ever done. When Kendrick is saying his piece and then you hear that thunderous boom of guitar and drum, echoing in your ears, mind and soul, it's as if your vibe changes. Kind of like eating some high brow meal where the chef has combined textures for you. GOOYOW provided the togetherness, the sweet and sappy, and this is the kick to your gut, the groove. You and I are rock and roll. This one will be the "Vertigo" moment, the crowd all dancing in unison and singing right along with the band. American soul is an example of SOI giving birth to a better and advanced version of itself.

A little teaser for the next installment. Track 6 is where this album takes flight. And, where any and all statements of "best since AB" start to take root. Till then....You, I and Refu-Jesus!

U2 Songs of Experience Part 2, The Journey (tracks 1 and 2)

As crazy as it sounds, I didn't want to love this album. Sounds crazy, I know. But, for reasons laid out in part 1(see what I did there? Now, you new visitors just HAVE to check out that one as well), I entered into this particular listening experience with cold feet and a jaded heart. I knew that I'd like it. It's U freaking 2. The wind in my sails, the spring that feeds my soul. But, I was determined to most certainly, NOT love it. I expected a few catchy tunes mixed in with some other non-descript ones and that over time, ala No line on the horizon, I'd find the connection. I'd latch onto some certain aspect and much like a foster parent, slowly adopt the child into my world. I had read the reviews. I tip-toed through the multitude of "kool-aid drinking" U2 fans proclaiming this to be the bands modern day equivalent to Achtung Baby. I heard the tunes that had been sampled or leaked prior to release. I did not go out of my way to find a stream of the whole thing. And, then late on that Friday, I pressed play. My very first thought. My very first and embarrassing thought was, "This album doesn't even begin until track 6." That was a bad first thought. Because, then I listened again. And again, and again. Like Kurt Russell in the miracle, playing the late and great Herb Brooks, who kept uttering the same word over and over....again. Again. Not that it took all those listens, mind you. Absolutely not. I just have a policy of listening more than a few times before making rash statements. And I felt and still feel that its a bit knee-jerk to listen, and then run to twitter proclaiming that this is the best since this or that. Folks, this is a masterpiece. A true religious experience. Let me tell you what else this is. SOE is better than SOI. I will never force my opinions on you or say that I'm right and you are wrong, but, in this case, I just might. SOI is WAY more intimate and personal, but this is the sermon. This is the fiery explosion that happens on the horizon after SOI lights the fuse. Better than Achtung? No. Cant and wont go there. Best since? Yes. SOE, like the meteoric star that it is, rocketed right by No Line, ATYCLB, SOI, Zooropa, Pop, and yes, even Atomic Bomb, which I have higher on my list than most.

The first track, Love is all we have left. Wow. That first listen? Throw away track. Why is it not longer? Now, this thing gives me chills. It's tear inducing. Simply gorgeous. Bono is like a sage. His crystal clear and pure vocals wash over you like a warm and enchanting fall breeze. You have just dug out the sweatshirts and go outside for the first time, and the warmth of the day has given way to evenings chill... this song is that feeling. I cant tell you how "In love" I am with the lyrics. I feel like I could easily go get a tattoo tonight of just about any of them. "I wanted the world, but you knew better." "Nothing to stop this from being the best day ever" Wow, wow, wow. "All we have is immortality" In this fucked up world folks, Love is all we have left. This may not be my fave track on the release, but it gets me every time. Goosebumps. "This is no time not to be alive" Aint that the fucking truth. We are all alive to hear this masterpiece.

Track 2. Lights of Home. Catchy little ditty that makes you tap your toes and nod the head up and down. Should be a live crowd favorite. Probably in my lower half if I were to rank the songs 1-13. But still love it. Adam's bass is so funky in the back and the Edge is well, the Edge. When his solo comes, you just sort of melt. It's not in your face heavy, but it's almost hypnotic. You were already swaying back and forth, singing the lyrics and then that solo comes on and before you know it, you're on a couch and a shiny gold pendulum on a necklace is swinging in front of you, and you're in another time, another place.

Songs Of Experience. The journey. Part 1

It's been a bit of a chaotic whirlwind within the U2 universe. I had gotten kind of used to the routine of Album, tour leg one, banter about the tour, another leg or two and then a few years of just listening to the music. Pining for the next one. Well, something got into the lads this past year. Not sure if its a case of them plotting how they want this crazy life to transition and/or end? I sincerely hope not. Or, if they've all just found the proverbial second wind and are ready to redefine who and what they are. This is what I hope for. U2 doesn't just quietly release albums. No, they do so with, shall we say, flair? A dizzying assault on the senses, ala Vertigo with Apple. Who will ever let the band or any fan of the band EVER forget or live down the Songs of Innocence debacle? A zillion I-tunes users woke up one morning with a fresh copy on their device, free of charge. Oops. Welcome to 2017. The prior tour promoting the very intimate and personal Innocence was by all accounts extremely successful. An arena tour complete with what else? New and cutting edge technology and U2 parading all sorts of goodies for the U2 family and fans to take in. I'll never forget watching and listening to this tour from the comfort of my lounge chair, head and ears buried into a periscope feed of a live U2 show. Incredible. We were all on the edge of our seats, waiting for the much ballyhooed and speculated about companion to Innocence. Be it accent, or what it ultimately became, experience, we clamored for it. Innocence was personal. It was a private look into the roots, into Larry Mullen's kitchen, into Bono's childhood. We cried with the band. We loved them even more. But. But, U2 has always been about innovation, about tomorrow, about what's next. Let's have the future. Rumors, hints and innuendo's from the band, from those associated with the band, all led us to feel it was close. Experience was going to be the band staking their claim on what was going to be the second half of a legendary and iconic career. WHICH, was the perfect time to do a tour celebrating the 1987 release of Joshua Tree. Uh, ok? No one outwardly complained. I mean, this was Joshua Tree, this WAS U2. But, read my prior blog about that tour and some of the talk coming from corners, pondering on maybe the band, always championing the notion of never ever living in the past, had finally run out of magic. That U2 was on the doorstep of many nostalgia tours. Staying on topic, lets just say the tour was amazing and then it ended. I, for one assumed that it would be awhile now for Songs of Experience. The band had a convenient excuse. They had just come off an emotional tour, Bono's voice was clearly showing strain. Well, this ain't your parent's U2. In the blink of an eye, it was announced that Songs of Experience was indeed coming this year, in December. Singles started to release. They teased a few of them on their Joshua Tree tour. Not nearly enough for my taste, but that's just me being stubborn. Anyway, new album, which meant new tour. Didn't we all JUST get done wrestling with presale codes and Ticketmaster and Livenation? This time around was the all time worst ever. I for one, just didn't have the stomach for it. I won't do it again. No more presales, no more angst over getting up in the morning, multiple browsers open, ONLY to find out that not all tickets are released at the same time. These crooks release them in segments. And, then, if you open up this credit card account, and subscribe to the fan site, or if you walk backwards and chew gum at the same time, then you get into a lottery for the chance to buy a ticket, or something. But, I digress. If I start blogging about how I feel about the tickets and the band allowing such shit to stain their legacy, this will turn far more aggressive than I had set out for. With no time to digest the emotional JT tour, and the absolute clusterfuck that was the ticketing for SOE(oh by the way, this cluster is the cluster that won't stop fucking, it is STILL going on. It seems as if each dawn brings some new presale, almost like a song getting remix after remix), I for one, was jaded on the whole thing. I have lived my life being a U2 apologist. A fanatic times ten. I'll defend Bono to the death. I can be critical of U2, privately, but you better not be. Well, all of a sudden, I was less than enthralled with the U2 world. It was surreal, and I felt a bit guilty. Then the album FINALLY dropped. Smack in the middle of all the ticketing shit and the early reviews comparing it to Achtung Baby. Are you kidding me?? Comparing this album, the first few songs of which were OK, but....Achtung Baby? Child, please. And, jaded I stayed. Yeah U2, I'll get your album and listen to it, I always do, but I'm not thrilled about it.

The album came out on a Friday. Twitter was abuzz with all of the U2 "kool-aid". I read through all of it, shaking my head and digging in even deeper. Convincing myself I was on the verge of just attacking. Let me at my keyboard and I'm about to knock this bird out of the sky. Nothing would ever cause me to waver from my love for the band, but as much as I've argued and fought defending their relevance, I'm a realist. They will never be 80's or early 90's relevant again, will they? I worked all day Friday and hurried home and had my oldest son quickly download it onto my Ipod before we all went out for the night. My earbuds are my best friends. It's really the only and main way to listen to and absorb the purity. That night, I was probably the last one in all my ranks of U2 friends across the world to finally press play. Earbuds in, it was time.

Sneak Peak

Tommy felt good. All the jitters were gone. Regardless of how many times he played and sung, there were always some pre-game nerves. It was more than a bit intoxicating to have gotten over the ones he had dreaded in this perfomance for so long. Hell, he had lost hours of his life the past few months, staying awake at night and worrying about this very moment. Staring out into a sea of faces, strangers faces, but faces that represent a part of his life that he had done nothing but run from. Run from for all of his adult life. Kept repeating over and over in his head, “It's been forever and no one cares, It's been forever and no one cares”. The Usher thing is something he's done many times before, kind of just to let the crowd know that this isn't gonna be just another wannabe country crooner doing an hour set of karaoke. A guy in jeans and a cowboy hat with an acoustic guitar that busts out in “Hey DJ”, usually accomplishes just that. Like a marathon runner, Tommy had gotten to that first checkpoint and he felt good. Really good. He could do this on autopilot, which he never would do, but he knew these songs like the back of his hand. He was very good with a crowd. Not being cocky, but he was a good judge of all the little things. There were so many subtle clues in a crowd, or a group of people, listening to music, and Tommy had become adept at absorbing these clues and using them on the fly. He had initially been surprised at just how open his eyes had become at it. Far from big enough to adhere to a strict set list, except in those rare cases where he did a festival or something that required a submission of the song order. Those he didn't fuck with. But, all the rest? He would write something out, but it was open for quick change. Which he did all the time. Step one was to identify the characters in the audience. Determine who was there for the music. Who was just there for the social atmosphere. Who was there to get bombed. Who was there out of sheer curiosity. That usually took a couple of songs at the most, and then it was easy. It was just a matter of which character group he wanted to pacify or appease with the next song. On nights when he was on, and the shit was just clicking, then it was all groups being pacified at once. The smaller the act, the harder this was to pull off. And, he was certainly small. The really epic shows? Those just flowed like an electrical current. Not much thought, and he was in tune with all the energy being exchanged with the crowd. Epic shows didn't require much if any help from him. If Tommy had to try and shift something from stagnant or from mundane, then epic was out of the question. He had surmised before striking a chord or singing a note that tonight was going to be a workman like gig, give a little, take a little, easy on the banter and just take her out for a spin. After dropping Usher on them and following it with some generic and multi genre crossing modern country tunes on them, Tommy decided to test his luck.

“Hey everyone. Thanks for giving me access to your ears, and hopefully you'll find me and my songs pleasing.” There was a polite round of applause from the room. “I've give you a bit of hip hop, and then a bit of the twang. I mean, I figure if I come out wearing this hat, you all would be disappointed if I didn't sing at least a little bit of the good old country and western, am I right?” Again, the smattering of hands clapping. The crowd, a few drinks in, were warming. “Any Irish in the crowd?” There were a couple of yells back, something along the lines of “hell yeah”, or just a drink induced response. “Good, good, I wasn't gonna do this, but I'm gonna share an Irish folk song with you guys. As long as I've got some Irish blood out there, feel free to helpyour neighbors out with the words.” Now, curiosity had pulled many away from the conversations and the hilarity of a night out with the mates. He didn't smile outwardly, but inside, Tommy was grinning from ear to ear. Ha, St. Louis was his bitch. “This is a Gaelic tune, handed down from generation to generation, a bit of a love song, if you will. I hope you enjoy it, and like I said, you Irish out there, jump on in.” And then, before starting, after somewhat of an awkward pause, which jolted him instantly and with force, he added “The first time I heard this tune, I was a wee lad it was playing in this skating rink back home.” Another awkward pause, and then one more word. “Home?” And with that, Tommy's fingers took over and ever so gently began strumming his strings until the all too familiar sounds were produced. He realized that he may have waded out too far.

Of course Lucy was hinging on every word. Tommy's verbal banter was like water, and she was the one crawling on hands and knees, scorching sand underneath her, as she begged for some kind of an oasis. There was always one off in the distance if you looked hard enough. A shimmering, and almost mythical patch of blue, drawing you in, As soon as the previous song stopped and her one time boy ambled to the mic and started talking, thirst ravaged her. Something about Irish folk song, and blah, blah, blah, Just sing. Sing to me, Tommy. And then, what? Almost as if he was unsure or had forgotten how to start the song, but he definitely seemed at least a bit off, and all of a sudden. And then her tears started. Skating rink. Goosebumps raced up one arm and down the next. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck began to feel as if they were on fire. A lump in her throat and a tingling in all extremities. Past and present were about to be cascaded down upon her and Lucy honestly had no idea of how she might react. She was perched on the outer edge of her booth, the reddish and crackling vinyl underneath now feeling sticky as if her pores were weeping. She tried to scoot as far inside of the booth as possible, huddled down into a ball with hands to face. Some part of her, some deep and private part knew and yet didn't want to know. Tommy tapped the base of his guitar before doing anything with the strings. A silent beat. One that felt as if thunder were going off inside Lucy. A storm of Biblical proportions, rocking her senses to the point where she didn't know exactly where she was. Or was it, where she had been? The room, once a jumbled mess of noises, beer bottles opening and being discarded, voices rising and falling, laughter and the sounds of dining from the next room over, was eerily silent as this stranger to most tapped his acoustic guitar. Lucy sat, shivering, even shaking. And then Tommy struck the first chord, and then another. And, with delicate grace and ever so slowly, moved his mouth towards the microphone and began to sing.

“See the stone set in your eyes, See the thorn twist in your side, I wait for you. Sleight of hand and twist of fate, on a bed of nails she makes me wait. And I wait, without you. With or without you...With or without you. Through the storm, we reach the shore, You gave it all but I want more, and I'm waiting for you”

The crowd had reacted. Tommy was singing with such passion and the restraint he had demonstrated up till that point vanished. He became the song, became the music. His eyes closed, his face bore the mask of a pained and tortured soul. He sang as if he was singing to some unseen and distant memory. The crowd moved with him, the familiar and iconic notes of the U2 classic resonating within the gathered. It wasn't a young crowd, so the song was known. And Tommy was in his own world and with each verse, the internal struggle crept more and more to the forefront. He wasn't just singing some random song etched into a set list. He was crying this song. He was revealing way more than he had set out to. But, the few souls hearing and watching it were entranced. Who the hell was this stranger and what of this unbridled emotion. People were singing along, and for the first time this young evening were swaying and dancing. A chord had been more than struck, it had been delivered a body blow and Tommy was the heavyweight champion, and as the song ran its coarse, singer and fans kept going harder, louder and with more power than had ever been seen by anyone ever at this out of the way and off the radar hole in the wall.

“And you give yourself away, and you give yourself away, and you give, and you give, and you give yourself away. With or without you, with or without you, I cant live, with or without you”

Tommy and the patrons were screaming the part where Bono yells to the heavens. And, at the very crescendo, the plateau where he was taking them, to the fiery, orgasmic end, Tommy took them down again, teasing a peaceful and calm reentry, perhaps even an ending to the song. But he had different ideas. A few of the fans, obvious fans of the uber band, started yelling at Tommy to go just a step further, complete the copulation. And he obliged.

“And we'll shine like stars in the summer night, we'll shine like stars in the winter night, one heart, one hope, one love...”

Old man Bartolino came running. Bands and artists were a constant nearly every weekend. The thunderous applause generated by the fifty or sixty people listening to Tommy was unlike anything he had heard before, and his first instinct was that something dreadful had happened. Upon sprinting into his quaint and cozy little bar, he was surprised to see no uprisings, no fights, just everyone crowded around the stage area and loudly voicing what seemed to be mass approval. So, a good thing. These young folk and their music. Didn't do a damn thing for him, so he turned around and headed back to the important stuff, good Italian gravy and Canoli. As he walked out of the bar, it was impossible not to take note of the lone woman sitting in the very back booth, all by herself with hardly another soul within ten feet of her, they were all gathered up by the stage. He wondered what could be wrong with this fare little thing, to cause her to weep so.

The boys of Summer

 Every once in awhile, driving around the hometown of Farmington MN, I'll see ghosts. Not real ones mind you. This isn't that kind of story or blog. It happens mostly while driving south on Pilot Knob as it hits 195th. I realize this is a boring detail for anyone reading this who does NOT live in my hometown. There are some baseball fields to the left, Akin fields. It's while driving by here that I usually see these ghosts. The ghosts are more like memories. It had to have been 2005 or 2006, and it was on these fields where my sons first played baseball. As did, and do, so many countless young boys in the area. So, now, many years later, I find it very easy to get swept up in the innocent memories of those hot summer afternoons and the giddy and carefree boys who reveled in the greatest game of baseball. When I drive by and see that there are actually teams practicing or playing there, I have to stave off jealousy. The kids playing there probably don't know just how good they have it. And for the most part, neither do the parents. It's still pure. There is undoubtedly a kid in center field, sitting down and playing in the dirt, while his coach is yelling and motioning for him to go get the ball that just got hit over his head. Parents laugh and baseball is fun. I'm definitely not writing this to bash on the business that baseball becomes. No, that's just part of life. Innocence is fleeting. Sometimes its in an instant, and sometimes it takes longer. For me, it took about a decade. And, that is why I'm writing this.

I love baseball, always have and always will. I was born into a Cardinals family, right smack dab in the middle of the holy land. I grew up idolizing the big league birds and my early heroes were Tommy Herr, Willie McGee, Bob Forsch, the mighty Jack Clark, and I could go on and on. I was in the 6th grade when we won the series in 1982 and I'll never forget the love and pride that wrapped up the entire city and surrounding regions when that happened. Heart break in 1985 and 1987 showed me that baseball can be as cruel as it is fulfulling. I never played organized ball myself. We played neighborhood ball up the street and we did it religiously. A tree was second base, a patch of worn dirt was third and if you hit the whiffle ball over the street, well, that was a homer. I was never really good, but we had fun and my love for the game continued to grow. Fast forward to being a parent and having boys. Morgan played a couple of years and I can honestly say that I loved watching his hits as much as any that would come later from my other son. There is nothing as gratifying as watching your child compete, and then to have something good happen to them. It's simply everything. Morgan played a couple of seasons of in-house ball and it just became apparent that it wasn't a love or passion for him. He went on to develop loves for other things. But, his younger brother, Noah, was starting to play T-ball at this time, and after his practice or "games" were over, he would come with me to pick up Morgan, or wait for him. This is the earliest memory that I have that Noah was different somehow. At least compared to the limited sample size that I had. When we left games or practices with Morgan, the game ended for him. He could and would shut it off and leave it all at the field. Not so with Noah. He lived it. Baseball was everything. I'd throw to him while waiting for Morgan. I loved it but didn't think much of it. But, then I started to notice others watching us. Noah was pretty small. Always kind of was, and is, but more on that later. So, here is this small kid and I was throwing all sorts of stuff to him and he caught it all. I didn't even really notice at first. But he started to range farther and farther. And I'd throw higher and faster and send him deeper and deeper and he just didn't blink an eye. Older kids would cast him a glance and give him a smile and/or the obligatory "nice stuff kid". So, T-ball led to a couple of years of house ball for Noah as well. But, again it was different. Noah wasn't the kid playing in the dirt. Noah, and another small kid named Payton, were clearly playing at a level that was higher than their teammates. And I dont say this to be boastful at all, it was simply a fact. And, as we discovered, all of the house teams had a handful of kids that were standing out in similar fashion. House ball ended on a sour note, as Noah lost in their playoff game to a team led by this Paul Bunyan of a kid named Brock Mogensen. But, loss aside, we were told about a brand of baseball that was for the kids who lived it and loved it all the time, just like Noah. And, in the spring of 2008, we nervously dipped our toes into the pool of travel baseball. Noah didn't care. He just wanted to play. That was all it was ever about. Each year clouded this a bit more up until the last few where that fact seemed a distant memory. But, back then in 2008, he was simply a kid who loved baseball and wanted to play, all the time.

I promise I'm getting to a point. This is a blog mainly to preserve a whole hell of a lot of memories, for me and more importantly for Noah. It would take forever to recap year by year, or team by team, or game by game of Noah's baseball journey. So, I"ll be brief. Or, kind of brief, for me anyway. Never ever forget a spring night, sitting around a circle in the back yard of the guy who was our new travel baseball coach. Noah had to try out for the first time in his life and was placed on the 10AA Farmington Tiger team. And, in an instant, we, and more to the point, Noah, met some key figures in his baseball sojourn. The three coaches on that team are three men who made such an impact in our lives that I personally owe them more than I can ever repay. Garrett Beck. Wow. How do I sum this guy up. Kind of like a baseball guru/savant who was Noah's first real coach and would become such a role model and someone who thought it equally important to teach the boys life, not just baseball. Larry Lewis. Wow again. Larry was someone that we had came into contact with in house ball and my first thought was that this guy is now coaching my son, and its the same loud mouthed arrogant guy whose team beat the crap out of Noah's house team and seemed to enjoy doing it. Well, Larry is just about the nicest guy ever to coach my kid. Heart of gold. Loud? yes. Arrogant? yes. But, the most supportive and loyal coach for his boys. Kevin Conrad. Forget what I said about Larry being the nicest coach. Look up "nice" and you'll see Kevin's picture. Kevin knows baseball inside and out and again, with the loyalty and support. That team will always hold the most special place in my heart. Yes, they won a tournament which was fun, but it was just the purity and the sportsmanship and the close knit bond that was evident from day one. No one really knew any different. We all got along and the kids had the time of their lives.

Maybe on the next baseball blog I"ll try and recapture each and every season, somehow documenting all the highs and lows to preserve. For this one, I'll try and just sum it all up the best I can, and the quickest I can. Double A led to years of Triple A, and then came fall baseball and eventually club baseball. Baseball became a year round event. There was no off season anymore. And in so doing, baseball was more than just Noah's thing, it became our thing. It became the thing around which we planned our year. I kind of feel bad in that our other two kids were probably deprived of vacations and/or other things due to baseball taking up such a space in our world. And along the way, wow, the memories. The places seen, and the people met. The competition waged. The life lessons learned. No way can I even begin to do it the justice it deserves. There was Cooperstown. I could write a piece just about that week. Travelling out there and back with Devin and Dylan and Noah, along with Garrett and Brian. The week of a lifetime. If you've never been, there's just no way I can make you understand the emotion and splendor of that place and of that time. A whole town, and region devoted to the glory of the game. It's like stepping back in time and the only thing that matters is the game of baseball and the impact it has on the lives of boys as they stand on the doorstep to becoming men. When fall ball was no longer enough, Noah, as well as a group that will be tied to him and to each other forever jumped into club baseball. The idea being to compete with the kids from the south who play all year long. The St.Paul Saints. There were trips to all over the country. Together, to play baseball. The parents all bonding and drinking and playing cards and even drinking a bit more. The boys allowing us to live vicariously through them every time they took the diamond. Las Vegas, Kansas City, my hometown of St. Louis. Arizona, Florida, and later on with another club team, Georgia. The human reaction is to think your kid is fast tracking to the big leagues. Early on, I felt as if Noah was the greatest ball player alive. Then, you get around other kids that love the game and are skilled and the thought changes to....he's the best player in town, or on his team. Again, dumb and naive parents. Then you start to travel and see kids on other teams in other parts of the country. And, suddenly you start to realize that there are some really really good players out there. And that as serious as you THINK your kid is taking it? It's not even close to what the next kid is. Then, the idea of making the big leagues is swept away and you hope and think that well, he'll just get the free education and play in college somewhere. Then, travel ball ends and high school ball starts. Well, maybe he can walk on somewhere and keep playing that way. Each year, the realization kept growing that those early and foolish thoughts we had as parents were just that. You love your kid and you overvalue things prob. too often, and then your eyes are opened. This is a lesson that cost me a relationship or two and I"d def. do a few things differently, but again, I digress. Through the years, Noah was just blessed. He started off the small kid and all these years later, he still is. Several coaches told him, told us that size doesn't matter. It's heart and effort. Tell yourself that no one will out work you. Thank you so much Matt Paulson for those words. What a cool dude. And early on through all of the travel years, he breezed through tryouts on talent alone. Noah never has been the one that wanted to work his tail off. Part of me wishes he had been. I"d love to see what would have happened had he had the discipline and ethic to be one of those gym rats. But, just not the way he is wired. He'd show up to tryouts and kick ass, never having really prepared that much? Well, that lasts only so long. Each year, more and more kids drop out and the ones who are left are working their butts off. Day and night. You just can't hope to get by on sheer talent when the other kid has the talent AND is a weight room beast. And, that folks brings us to today.

One quick shout out to the group of boys that I will forever associate with this time in Noah's life. I don't intend to leave kids or parents out so I"m only going to mention the ones who were the "ones". The guys that have always been there. Ayden Lewis. Pretty much from day one. Such a joy to watch this kid grow into the player he is now. Colton Ralidak. Left the game too early in my opinion,and still one of the nastiest lefty hurlers that Noah every played with. A couple years after the initial jump into travel came the next two of the "group" that I"ll never forget. Trevor Brettin. One of Noah's earliest best buds and once Trev got to the team, no way was he ever going to leave. So solid. And, then, there's Mikey Frederickson. Mikey is one of the two best players that I think Noah ever was able to play alongside. Along with Cameron Smrekar, Mikey is the one player that I can see making it far. Not selling anyone else short by any means, because the game of baseball is such an unpredictable thing. But Mikey is special. And even better of a kid. These 4, along with Noah formed a fivesome that played alot of ball with, and it was just fun to be around them. There were so many others and too many to list all of them, but this group of five created magic on the field. My favorite infield of all time has Mikey catching Colton, Noah at second, Trevor at short and Ayden at third. Thank you boys. Or, thank you young men. You probably have no idea of the joy and love that you have delivered to us your adoring family and fans.

Here I am at the end. I apologize for rambling on this long. It's taken me away from writing my novel for starters. July 22, 2017. A legion state playoff game against Woodbury. Win and keep going. Lose and its over. The Tigers already with one loss in the double elimination tourney, a hot and sultry Saturday showdown with Woodbury would decide if the season continued or not. Spoiler alert, the Tigers lost the game. But, I watched this game with a heavy heart and to be honest, I didn't care one bit about the outcome. What no one knew then, and will now, is that I was watching my son play his last baseball game ever. His life of baseball, and conversely our life of baseball had reached the end. An end that nearly all who play reach sooner than is desired, but reached nonetheless. I wont share the conversations between father and son leading up this game and this moment, but suffice it to say that the kid is at peace with it and I knew he was serious the night before when we talked. Reduced to a platoon role at this stage of his career, one that has absolutely nothing to do with any politics or preferential treatment or anything other than the simple math of the game, I knew he was slated to start this game and that even if they won, it would be his last starting. Now, if this was Hollywood, or some kind of magical fairytale story, I'd tell you that Noah had multiple hits and that he came up in the late innings with the game in the balance and delivered the key hit to win the game and that he was carried off the field a champion and oh my what a moment. But, that's not how baseball works. Nothing is handed to you. The guy on the mound cares not one bit about your cute story. He wants to sit your ass back on the bench. No, Farmington was short-handed and got drubbed. Noah's last game of what was a storied run was a 12-0 beating. He struck out in his first at bat. When he came up for his second and final at-bat, I knew it would be it. This game wouldn't see a nine inning conclusion. I looked to the heavens and uttered a silent plea, a prayer of sorts. A pop up to first later, and it was over. All the years, all the trips, all the smiles and laughter, all the slick defensive plays, all the hits, all the stolen bases. Wow, I had forgotten about the stolen bases till just now. All the pride, all the hanging on the bench and dugouts with the guys, all the early mornings, all the hotels, all the highs of the late inning comebacks and all the lows of the 12-0 beatings, all the drills, all the endless and countless memories....all over. I can't lie and say I didn't have to fight back a tear or two. Sorry, I'm just not that tough of a guy. He came off the field and there were no group pics, no emotional good-byes. I walked him to the parking lot, and after throwing his stuff in the back for the last time, I asked him one last time, if he was confident in his decision. He looked at me and his eyes said it all. He was done and at peace. I hugged him, told him how proud of him I was and that I loved him. And with that, it was over. The game moves on. The boys of summer will be there again, each and every summer, a new wave of boys and young men take to the fields and replace those ghosts that I still see as I drive around town. Just a bit surreal that next year, Noah wont be one of them.

U2 Chicago, 2017 Part 1

So, this is a bit late, and I'm sure I'm going to forget half of the warm and fuzzy thoughts I had coming away from the show, but as luck would have it, I have a half hour to kill at lunch today, and The Joshua Tree happens to be on my mind. As usual. Going on about 3 weeks after seeing the lads rock and roll their way through the hearts and souls of about 60 thousand in the windy city, and I sit in rainy Minneapolis stuck between what was, and what will be. The difficulty with talking about a meaningful concert such as this was, is attempting to harness all of the emotion and combining with at least a tiny bit of good old fashioned reporting and mashing all of that together.

There are a few folks I've gotten to know through the "U2 twitter family" who swore off any kind of updates or streams or details about the early shows on this legendary tour. I, am not one of those iron willed souls. Call it curiosity, or call it fandom, but I was one of the majority, sitting at my house and staring into the tiny screen of my I-phone, saliva surely pooling at one or both corners of my mouth, and witnessing the sheer bliss of listening to and sometimes watching the greatest band in the history of histories shred through my mantra of an album, my opus if you will, The Joshua Tree. So, I knew what I was getting into, I knew the general flow of things to come that night. And, to be honest, at least initially, it definitely was a negative. Let me expound. I found myself being jealous of those who "didn't" know what was coming and their Christmas morning like reactions to the show. Each song like opening another pretty and fancy package. "Ooh, Ma, I got a 'In God's country', and Sally got an "exit", what I really really was hoping for was a....wait a second, what's that in the corner, under the tree....Yes! It's a 'red hill mining town'....Santa sure knew what he was doing this year!" Ok, maybe that's a tad over the top. But, you get my drift. I knew what they were opening with. I knew at what point they would exit the B or tree stage, and for the briefest of moments, I felt a pang of regret. Well, the pang never lasts long. The wonderment and the spectacle of the live show takes over and the "miracle drug" that is U2 live more than takes over. (see what I did there? wrong tour....I know) But, I digress. This is part 1. The show itself is part 2.

I want to pontificate about the pre-show. I'll start with the GA experience. I love GA. I have always sworn by it, and if you're expecting me to change course at all during or after this blog, think again. It's the one area where I champion myself as a concert snob. I just think its such a special and more intimate experience. And by intimate, of course I mean that you literally become one with the sweaty and hot people standing in front of you. And behind you. And on each side of you. And your personal space? It has suddenly become someone else's personal space. These much bally-hood warm and accepting and peaceful u2 fans are now shoving, and cursing at those who are attempting the long standing tradition of the "budge". I swore I saw at least 3 instances of straight up, hate filled and very real angst between parties because, "by God, I was here at 6am and I have an arm band and you don't, so get the F**k out of here you no good, piece of sh**t!" Yes, that happened. And, as I'm sitting on the floor of Soldier field, glistening with sweat, already shoulder to shoulder with folks and still hours away from the Lumineers taking the stage, I looked up into the seats. And it was like a dying man crawling through the desert. And the seats were this shimmering and welcoming oasis. The nobles and dignitaries in reserved seating coming and going, as they please, returning with these jewel like receptacles filled with liquid sex, er, I mean water. Coming and going, coming and going. Beverages and food. All you want. Of course, I'm sure you need a credit rating of 650 or above to qualify for th freaking loan it'd take to eat and drink for the whole night, but that's another rant. 8 dollar water is what I'll call that one. No, in the confines that is GA, and especially the GA as you get closer to one of the stages, most, if not all personal space disappears much as the oasis does to the parched man in the desert. What you WILL find in GA, is conversations such as...."Next time, I'm just gonna wear a diaper", or "I'm warning you all now, that push comes to shove, I will piss my pants". All the while, I'm staring longingly at the folks in the seats, with their feet up, sipping on seemingly endless drinks, and smiling down at us dregs like we're the hired help. When we get our spot, we don't leave. Some do. I'm amazed at how some folks leave right in the middle of chaos, and are able to get back. Most of us aren't that lucky. I feel that if I left for a bathroom or drink break, I would need to return with a crowbar and a baseball bat to even think about getting my spot back. Forgoing bathrooms and beverages serves only to heighten just how incredible the seats look as one basks in the open air of a June Chicago sun.

But, all of that fades away once the lights start to dim. The buzz of the stadium, the tingling anticipation. There's no where else I'd rather be. Standing amongst brothers, sisters. It's tight for sure, and will only get tighter. But, when the Pogues announced the pending arrival of our heroes, and when Larry Mullen Jr so casually strolls down the runway, GA is where I have to be. This is rock and roll, and I'm a big proponent of the time honored "there's no sitting down during a rock concert" crowd. And yet, God love them, there are always points in just about every show where wide swaths of an arena will deem it ok to have a seat. And, then, the folks who subscribe to the same axioms as I do, ultimately feel like awkward fools when they stay standing up during some slower number like RTSS. I'd rather not deal with any of that, and be free to be as big of an idiot as I can be(sadly, I'm actually pretty reserved....well, until Streets). I love this band, and while I'm never going to wear a diaper for them, I will always greet them from my spot ten feet from the stage.

A few, albeit less than 13, reasons

I just completed watching the Netflix show/current phenomenon "13 reasons", and it definitely elicited some pretty raw and intense feelings. Here's the cliff notes back story to get the five or six of you actually reading this caught up, if need be. Show is based on a book, apparently a cult hit of a book, centering around two main characters, a girl and a boy. Classic tale already, right?  The girl, Hannah Baker kills herself, no spoiler alerts needed cause its laid out there from the start, and the boy, Clay Jensen, who is trying to come to grips with it all throughout. There are 13 episodes. One for each of the cassette tapes Hannah recorded prior to committing the tragic act. She recorded these tapes as part of a chronicle of sorts, detailing the "13 reasons" why she killed herself. And the premise is that the tapes are to be delivered from each person listed, in the correct order, to the next one on the list. In other words, each offender listens to each and every sordid tape, and then is charged with getting them to the next in line. And if the chain is broken, Hannah has appointed an overseer, a "keeper of her intentions" to go public with a complete set of the tapes. An interesting twist on a common teenaged, high school angst filled tale. Throw in a screen full of gorgeous teen actors and a warm and sunny location and you're pretty much brought up to speed.

Let me start with this. It's kind of an odd feeling watching something without wondering the final result. There's not an overlying question of "Is she going to do it?" here. We know she does it. I initially had a few reservations about the Hannah Baker character, but have had a change of heart. Allow me to flesh this out. Hannah's character is played by a very attractive actress from Australia or New Zealand? On a different tangent, were no American actresses qualified? Lol. I have a feeling there are 1 or 2 running around LA. But, back to scene. This young actress is the OPPOSITE of what I have/had in my mind as the stereotypical teenage girl on suicide watch. Hannah, regardless of the issues she's confronted with through the first few tapes, appears to the viewer as mostly liked by almost everyone she comes in contact with. There's an awkward photo passed around social media, and she shows up on some dreaded list as having the "best ass" in the junior class. Not exactly the stuff normally associated with the list of reasons one kills themselves. But....just maybe, this was calculated? Hannah doesn't wear plaid, or dark goth makeup, she doesn't listen to sad dirges and walk around stoned out of her mind. No, none of these stereotypes. Maybe, this just shows that ALL kids have issues, even those that society deems as the "cool kids". I know that when I was that age, I would've bet big money that the popular kids literally had next to no worries. But, probably, the producers wanted a show full of hot girls and guys so as to bring in the masses. Whatever the reason, I'm glad they did.

My very brief review of the show itself? It's pretty good. Once I was a mere 2 or 3 episodes in, the binge factor kicked in, as it does with the good programs these days, and I sprinted to the final. It's very well done and the "tapes", or episodes weave together very purposefully. All bases are covered, as all the required personas are accounted for. You have the pretty cheerleaders, the jocks-both the dumb ones as well as those trying to play basketball for Harvard. Then there's the nerdy photography kid, constantly getting pushed around and bullied himself, as well as the dark and mysterious foreign kid, in this case a gay Latino. And lastly, you have to have the obligatory kid who is "smack dab in the middle". He's not super popular, and he's also not super nerdy, he is supposed to represent us, the American viewer. Meet Clay Jensen. Without boring my 5 readers more, let me say that I liked the show. It is thought provoking, and as a parent of not one, but two 17 year olds, it served to scare the living hell right out of me.

It took me a bit of fluff to get here, but here is the main reason for this particular blog. "13 reasons" has touched off a bit of a firestorm within social media circles, as well as the actual circles of school officials and the so-called "experts" out there. Is this show a good thing? Do we want our kids watching it? And, here is the coup-de grace....Does this show "glamorize" suicide? I'm no expert, by any means, but I do have a fairly strong opinion. Glamorize? Hardly. Yes, the package may be a pretty one, complete with beautiful people and perfect clothes, but make no mistake about it, the directors did not try and hide the gruesome topic of suicide behind all this prettiness. In order to get the message to the masses, maybe they needed some prettiness. It's uncomfortable to watch, It's harsh and stark in its treatment of the topic. There were no winners depicted in the final few frames. No, they all lost. They all lost badly. And, healing aside, I left with the impression that the actors convinced me that the characters, all of them flawed beyond reproach, would live out their lives with the stain of this horror always with them. So, glamorous? Absolutely not. And, let me add this. I watched the whole think, as aforementioned, knowing what was going to happen. Even if I caught myself hoping that some way, some how, there'd be this dream sequence and Hannah really didn't kill herself. Nope. Again, spoiler alert, she is very dead at the end. I also fell into the trap of just assuming that the end would go something like this.... some sad music, a bunch of sad looking classmates, lots of tears and Kleenexes, and a quick shot of a gravesite.  I just assumed that there was no way they would show Hannah "doing it". Well, again, I was very, very wrong. It was graphic, and it was beyond disturbing. But, you know what? It damn well should be. The "package" of this show might have been glitzy, or glamorous with its pretty people, but the subject matter here is not and should not be. We're light years beyond the ABC after school specials. I've read accounts of parents not letting their kids watch this? I have to ask, why? With all due respect to every parent out there, we all can raise our kids the way we see fit. And, its certainly not egregious or abusive to try and shield your kid from watching a graphic series on suicide. I just think its dumb. Why wouldn't you want your kids to see the carnage? Suicide is a thing. A real, brutal, ugly and rending thing. Today's kids aren't like us. They aren't going to respond to some public service announcements, or to a grainy film that treats the subject like a sterile and distant thing. And, for the record, I don't agree with any notion that this series "glamorizes" suicide. Each and every character was effectively ruined, and they didn't try and mask it any differently. So, the choice is to let your kids watch this and then be there to ask and answer questions, or, to stick your head in the sand and think that by NOT allowing them(and news flash, if you forbid it, they absolutely will watch it. This is the year 2017, and they can and will find it, I assure you), that you are magically ensuring that they will never ever be "that kid" who ends his or her own life, well....I've got a unicorn to show you , and its not the one that Starbucks is mixing in with their coffee.