Editorial

I love sports, music, traveling, and pop culture - and I love writing about all of it.

The Curious Capital of Pleasure

In Thailand, Patong thrives on over-stimulation. Once night falls, the main strip caters to foot-traffic and becomes a crowded fluorescent hurricane of alcohol, food, music, and whatever else may tickle your pleasure centers.  Groups of tourists wander from one bar or club to the next, accepting or denying offers from locals who stroll through the crowds presenting a variety of goods and services, both illicit and pedestrian.

In the midst of prostitutes dressed like sultry pirates and a parade of lady-boys preparing for some kind of lavish, vaudevillian performance – some appearing as passable female representations while others proudly embrace the shock value of their unmistakably masculine traits – you may find teenage boys trawling with enormous iguanas.  They'll place them on your arm or shoulder, without permission, in an effort to snap a photo you might purchase.  You may also see a squeamish Westerner with one of these massive lizards on his shoulder screaming at the teenage handler to remove it.

Attractive women will grab your hand and pull you into their respective clubs.  They’ll sit down with you and play games like Jenga or Connect-Four.  (Warning: They are unbeatable at Connect-Four.)  If you're not willing to give in to their seductions, that's okay; they'll take a hint when you refuse to buy them overpriced drinks.

On the street, you'll be offered taxis and tuk tuks.  You'll be offered burgers and noodles and cheap drink specials, most of which include Thailand's proud child and export, Red Bull.  You'll be offered t-shirts and hats boasting appalling English or popular Thai beer companies.  You'll be offered homemade wooden flutes, bootleg DVDs, and impossible curios that you can't imagine anyone actually buying, until you see groups of tourists surrounding the booths, hungry for an opportunity to haggle with the locals. If it exists and can be sold for a profit, you can find it in Patong.

It may become exhausting, but the thrill of something so seedy and sinful will probably be momentarily invigorating.  There's something to be appreciated about a place that's so unabashedly pleasure-oriented. Even if that initial sense of excitement turns to one of loathing, Patong is a place that will stay with you for both the right and wrong reasons.

Baseball Magic

Did you know the Yankees acquired Derek Jeter as a 6th overall pick in the 1992 draft? Did you know the Houston Astros held the number one pick that year?  Despite the adamant urgings of scout Hal Newhouser, who said he’d stake his reputation on Derek Jeter, the Astros went with Phil Nevin, undoubtedly wary about Jeter’s insistence on a million-dollar signing bonus.  After this critical decision by the Astros, Newhouser not only resigned from the Astros organization, he never scouted again.

Did you know Derek Jeter sucked his first year in the minors?  He barely hit .200 in 1992 and went on to commit 56 errors in 1993.  Supposedly, Derek would call home to his ever-supportive parents, in tears, telling them he didn’t think he could do it – the Yankees had “wasted their money.”  That’s right, picture a 6-foot-2, 150-pound Derek Jeter sobbing into the phone about his inability to compete at a minor league level.

Did you know Tony Fernandez was the starting shortstop for the Yankees before Jeter?  Then Tony got hurt and Jeter got the call.  Before Tony’s injury, the Seattle Mariners attempted a trade for Jeter, hoping to exploit a lack of confidence in a shortstop that, at the time, had not been game-tested.  But Seattle underestimated the Yankees’ faith in Derek and the rest, as they say, is history.

So, what does any of this have to do with baseball magic?  Well, anyone who watches baseball on a regular basis is probably familiar with terms like “the baseball gods” and “baseball magic.”  These expressions are thrown around in an attempt to portray the fateful nature that seems to be found in every seam of every ball; in the dirt and grass of every stadium; in every discarded sunflower shell on the floor of every dugout; in every dollop of pine tar smeared on every bat.  Baseball, more than any other game, seems to have a bigger plan in mind.  It can consistently wow loyal fans with its genuinely uncanny nature, simultaneously tossing predictability aside and substituting chance and destiny for reason and sense.

Just think about it for a second.  Think of every little detail that needed to align perfectly to put Jeter at the plate, in Yankee pinstripes, poised to beat Lou Gehrig's all-time hit record for the most winning franchise ever to contend in Major League Baseball.  If the Astros had listened to Newhouser, Jeter would have been in Houston.  If he didn’t have the support of his parents, he may have washed right out of the minors.  And if the Yankees hadn’t had confidence in him as a starter, he could have been shipped out to Seattle, which could have changed the face of both franchises for years to come.

Instead, on a cool night in early September, with an oppressive mist hanging over the new Yankee Stadium, Derek Jeter hit a hotshot to right field with his patented inside-out swing.  This would be his 2,722nd hit as a Yankee.  How appropriate that this iconic hit from this legendary player should come on September 11th, the single most infamous day in the history of New York. Of course, 9/11 is not a burden New Yorkers bear alone.  It's a day that will always hold a notorious tone for our entire nation.  But the atrocities of that day happened in Manhattan, the crown jewel of the state of New York.  

And the Yankees… well, love ‘em or hate ‘em, they're the most renowned New York sports franchise.  It’s tough to deny that, for better or worse, they’re the state’s most well-known pro sports team. So, watching the captain of a franchise that is most synonymous with the state of New York as he pushed past one of the most honored records in said franchise’s history on a day with such ugly connotations – that really struck a chord.  As the ball buzzed down the right field line and Derek jogged to first base amidst camera flashes that erupted throughout the stadium like miniature explosions, I couldn’t help but rise from my couch, fist in the air, and applaud like the other 44,000-plus fans enduring the exceptionally dreary weather in the Bronx.  

It may seem petty, but in the shadow of such a historically bleak day, Derek Jeter united a sizable portion of New York in celebration; the same state that watched firsthand as their two most prominent residents fell in an orgy of fire, twisted metal and shattered glass exactly eight years prior. As Derek stood on first, the game paused, the dugout emptying onto the field to congratulate their captain, couldn’t the fans feel a bit of joy on a day that seemed to incur the responsibility of complete joylessness?  Wasn't this joy something they earned?

Derek stood there, tipping his hat to the greatest city in the world, admiring their feats of strength before his own on a day that showed our astounding ability to unite and endure.

Now that’s baseball magic.