The "xoxo" of Sports

Boston Bruin's Andrew Ference Lives Life Like a True Champion

2011-09-16T21:52:00.001-04:00

Swimming amidst the sea of art that adorns the physique of Boston Bruins defenseman, Andrew Ference, is the inscription "Learn like you will live forever. Live like you will die tomorrow." Pretty strong words to have etched onto your body in indelible ink. But a man isn't defined by an adage he scribbles on his skin, but more so by the attitude he wears upon his sleeve.

Ference exhibited that mantra loud and clear when he chose to spend his a portion of his day with Lord Stanley's Cup at the Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital in Boston this past week. Flanked by his wife, Krista, and his two young daughters, Stella and Ava, the spirited B's blue liner spent Labor Day Monday brightening the spirits of patients at Spaulding by sharing an hour or two with the world's most famous trophy.

"I just wanted to have my day with the Cup represent the type of person I try to be, explained Ference. "I didn't want to be on a pedestal with people patting my back. I just wanted to make people smile and take their own memories home with them."

Ference, known as one of the more socially conscious players in the NHL, arrived at Spaulding pedaling his powder blue felt mountain bike with the Stanley Cup in tow behind. Dressed in a gold t-shirt and black shorts to match the laundry he wears on the ice each night during the hockey season, Ference ascended the front steps of the hospital entrance to the delight of about two dozen rabid fans who awaited his arrival.

Amongst the guests to greet Ference were two New England sports notables, who had been personally invited to attend the event by Ference himself. Dick and Rick Hoyt are widely recognized sports icons having competed in 29 Boston Marathons and are to New England sports what the spoked "B" is to the Bruins. Rick Hoyt, aged 49, was born a spastic quadriplegic with cerebral palsy the result of oxygen deprivation at birth and has spent his entire life in a wheel chair. His 71-year-old father, Dick, has pushed, pedaled and pulled his son over the courses of more than 1000 athletic events over the past three, plus decades spreading their powerful life changing message, Yes You Can.

The Hoyt's have a long and interesting relationship with the Bruins organization and it may have been some incredible foreshadowing on the part of Rick Hoyt that indirectly led to their unexpected invitation from Ference.

Rick Hoyt, who is non-verbal, first spoke in 1972 at the age of ten through the use of an interactive computer built by a skilled group of engineers from Tufts University. When the computer was originally brought home, Rick began tapping out his "first words" using a pad connected to his wheelchair and the side of his head. Instead of saying, "Hi, Mom," or "Hi, Dad," Rick's first "spoken" words were, "Go, Bruins!" Until this year, 1972 was the last time The Boston Bruins won the Stanley Cup.

Noted in Ference's invitation to the Hoyts, the Father and Son team may have also had a hand in this year's Stanley Cup success as the B's watched the Hoyt's inspirational video prior to the Finals. The invitation read as follows:

Hi guys. I asked Zdeno Chara for your contact info, but he is already back in Slovakia and tough to get a hold of. First off, I want to say thank you for a new perspective on digging deep and giving it all you got. Our team watched your video before our finals and it was a great lesson for all of us.

Another, New England sports champion also received a personal invitation from Ference. Matt Brown, a high school senior at Norwood High, was injured in a freak hockey accident in January of 2010 when he was pushed into the plexi-glass during a game against rival Weymouth. Despite making huge strides over the past eighteen months, the ever-positive, Brown remains paralyzed from the neck down and relegated to a wheel chair.

Nearly from the moment the accident occurred, Brown received cards, visits and support from many of the Bruins players and has an upcoming fundraising event on September 24th in partnership with the Boston Bruins Foundation and being held at TD Bank Garden.

To Ference it was a no-brainer to include Brown and the Hoyt's when writing out his exclusive guest list of attendees at Spaulding.

"The Hoyt's, Matt Brown, and the kids at Spaulding are all true examples of meeting challenges head on and I have more respect for that than I could properly explain", stated Ference. "I was aware of how much they liked the Bruins as well and it would have been just wrong if they did not get a chance to spend some quality time around the Cup."

"Watching the Hoyt's video before our finals against Vancouver really grounded us and gave us a focus and determination about our own situation, we knew that we all had more to give and that we too could live without regrets."

Both the Hoyts and Matt Brown were overjoyed at the thought of spending their Labor Day with Ference and sport's most popular silver urn.

"Rick and I have been involved with the Bruins for quite a few years," shared Dick Hoyt. "But to be included in Andrew Ference’s Day with the Stanley Cup was one of the highlights of our long relationship with the Bruins. Meeting Andrew and his wife, Krista, and their daughters, Ava and Stella at Spaulding and then again spending time with them for dinner was unbelievable. He was gracious enough to not only invite Rick and I, but also my other two sons, Russ and Rob, our good friend and Social Media Director Todd Civin, and Rick’s care attendant Mike Adams. It does not get any better than that."

The inspirational Brown, who was joined by his father, Michael, added, "For Andrew to share his day with the Stanley Cup with the patients and the familes at Spaulding Rehab was a really special gesture in my eyes. And to be included in the day was awesome!"

Amongst the multitude of media outlets hoping to get a word from the 31-year-old Bruins blue liner was a video team from National Geographic; perhaps sort of an unexpected guest for those who don't know Ference.

"Nat Geo is interested in documenting parts of my life outside of hockey. I try and do things instead of just talk about them so they wanted to catch some of it especially related to environmental initiatives."

One of the initiatives that Ference is responsible for is the Carbon Neutral Challenge started by the native of Edmonton, Alberta along with environmentalist Dr. David Suzuki in 2007.

"The Carbon Neutral challenge is based around NHL players offsetting their huge carbon footprint created by our travel by purchasing Gold Standard Credits that help developing nations build clean energy projects instead of coal burning power stations. Travel is a necessary thing in our sport but if we can help create more clean power than some good is being done. I started the program when I played for Calgary 6 years ago. It has had up to 500 players participate in a single season."

Ference and family proceeded to Boston's famous North End following their two-hour stay at Spaulding; a stay which included a tour of several of the hospitals floors and a brief presentation for about 200 guests, presided over by Boston Mayor Thomas Menino.

Ference had several months to plan for his big day and wanted to share his day with the fans of Boston; fans who have waited 39 years to see the beloved Cup return to Beantown.

"I had a whole summer to plan and I didn't want to have any wasted time. Nothing was going to trump my time on the ice after the game and in the locker rooms so this was more about setting up a day that would be memorable for family and friends first. I just wanted to make sure we included everyone that we are close to in this city and all the family that could fly in from Canada as well."

"Nothing can top the inspiration of just wanting to be champions and to accomplish our biggest goal together. The only real external motivation for some of us was to meet the standards that have been set by the other sports teams in Boston, we wanted to be part of the winning clubs in this city."

The trek to the North End included an informal parade along the narrow streets of Boston's most famous city neighborhood and was capped off by a flash mob featuring hockey stick carrying dancers and a cameo appearance by Ference and the Cup itself.

The memorable day was capped off by an exclusive dinner for about 150 invited guests at Vinoteca di Monica, a quaint Italian restaurant in the North End. The multi-course affair was attended by many of, Ferences close friends and family, Team Hoyt, Matt Brown and family and, of course, the guest of honor, The Stanley Cup.

Ference shared, "Dinner was the most intimate part of my day. All of my friends and family that flew in for the day came, as well as, our closest friends from Boston. I wanted the Hoyts and Matt to enjoy some quieter time as well and was honoured to have them as well."

Amongst Ference's distinguished guests was Sgt. Lucas Carr, an Army Rangers from Bravo Company 2-35 Infantry 3rd Platoon/25 Infantry Division. His friendship with Carr falls right in line with everything Ference stands for and believes in on and off the ice.

"I became good friends with Lucas through some mutual friends and just admired his honesty and bravery. Through him I met many Rangers, who blow me away with their humbleness and service to their country. Our games are a source of camaraderie for them and an escape at times of what they are working with overseas. I feel honoured to be their friend."

As the memorable day came to an end, I asked Ference if he thinks Bruins fans will remember him and his Cup winning teammates in much the same way they immortalized heroes of 39 years ago like Orr, Cashman, Hodge and Esposito.

"I really don't know if the casual fan will remember me, it doesn't really matter to me. Most of the people I made friends with around town had no idea I was a hockey player until after we were already friends, so I guess I would rather be remembered as a good person more than a good hockey player."

"Learn like you will live forever. Live like you will die tomorrow."

The Team Hoyt 5K: 3.1 Miles of Yes You Can-

2011-05-30T12:56:00.041-04:00

For better than three decades, Dick and Rick Hoyt have lived out their "Yes You Can" mantra in their every moment, their every action, and through every human life that they have been fortunate enough to touch.

Since their first race, a five-mile benefit run, in the spring of 1977 where Dick pushed, then 15-year-old, Rick in his wheelchair, the famed Father/Son race team has logged 1,000 plus races over a seemingly countless number of miles, while spreading the very meaning of the words courage, love and can-do attitude over each and every step of their journey.

Once per year for the past nineteen, Dick and Rick Hoyt play host, instead of mere participant, to the Team Hoyt 5K Walk/Run over the hilly terrain of the "Watch City", Waltham, MA. This past Thursday night, over 340 runners of all ages and abilities, joined the Hoyt's during this popular annual athletic event.

Dick Hoyt, who will be celebrating his 71st birthday on June 1st, provides the arms and legs for his son, Rick, age 49, who was born a spastic quadriplegic with cerebral palsy. Rick graciously provides the heart, the soul and enthusiasm which keeps the world-famous duo competing. The Hoyts look forward to the event which bares their name, nearly as much as they do any of the many the events they simply participate in.

"The whole event went great. The weather was outstanding and very well attended," explained Dick, who was quick to thank the American Legion Hall in Waltham, MA. "They generously donate their hall for us to use each year for the race and the post race festivities."

"Everyone had fun at the race and the pizza and pasta dinner afterwards. All the runners are astonished every year that we are able to hand out 300 door prizes - from Timex Ironman watches to cases of beer to Sports Illustrated subscriptions. We enjoy putting this race on every year and we look forward to our 20th Annual 5K road race next year."

The event, which included a 5K run/walk, as well as, a children's fun run, was won by David Long, of Beverly, MA, who broke the tape in a time of 17:41. Long, who runs with the Wicked Running Club, is the reigning champion as he was also the winner of the 2010 edition of the Team Hoyt race with a similar time of 17:32.

The first female finisher was hometown favorite, Jill Wilder of Waltham, who crossed the finish line in a time of 19:55. Wilder bettered her 2010 time by roughly three minutes when she ran the course in 22:54 and finished as the sixth top female participant.

Still recovering from a torn hamstring, Dick, and Rick, finished with a time of 31:12. When asked about their time, Dick chuckled, "It's a pretty good time for an old man with injuries."

Dick, and of course Rick, was bested by his 10 year-old grandson, Ryan Hoyt - who had a finish time of 30:06, as well as his 13 year-old grandson, Troy Hoyt, who had a finish time of 23:54 and placed first in the 14 and under category. Those times may indicate that another generation of Hoyt runners will be dominating local courses over the next generation.

All in all, however, the Annual Hoyt Race doesn't just belong to the speed merchants, but also to the many "Yes You Can" type stories which, in essence, have been made possible by the barriers the Hoyt's helped to break through over the course of the last three decades. Through their efforts, and the thousands upon thousands of people they motivate and inspire to conquer life's daily challenges, people like Kirk Joslin, Mary McManus, and Justin Oconnell see the event as a way to not only compete, but as a way to inspire and further pen their own individual motivational stories.

Joslin, who is President and CEO of Easter Seals Massachusetts said, "Each year, Sheila and I sponsor a team of runners from Easter Seals for the Team Hoyt 5K. It’s our way of celebrating a longtime relationship with the Hoyts, while honoring the memory of our son, Matthew."

Joslin, who promotes Easter Seals Massachusetts at many events throughout each year, added, "We have known Dick and Rick for nearly 40 years. Sheila, my wife and a grandmother of five, was very proud to win a first place trophy in this year’s race. Yes You Can!"

McManus of Chestnut Hill, MA ran the Team Hoyt 5K with her husband, Tom. She traversed the 3.1 mile course wearing her Team Hoyt, "Yes You Can" dog tag. McManus, a member of Rotary International, knows all about a "Yes You Can" attitude. She contracted paralytic polio at the age of five and in 2006 was diagnosed with post polio syndrome. That doesn't stop her, however, from being out there running on the roads and passionately working to create a polio free world as part of Rotary's "End Polio Now" campaign.

McManus was excited to be running her second Team Hoyt 5K. "It's always a thrill to be in the presence of Team Hoyt and Kathy Boyer (Team Hoyt office manager). This year was especially magical because I had the opportunity to meet Facebook friends in person such as the inspiring, Justin Oconnell."

She added, "If we could bottle up the love, energy, "YES YOU CAN" attitude, and pure heart that was evident at the Team Hoyt 5K road race this year, all of the world's problems would be gone!"

To anyone who knows, Justin Oconnell, he too is the epitome of inspiration. Oconnell, age 20, from Blackstone, MA, finished the course in a time of 38:36, despite suffering daily with scoliosis. The diminutive and ever positive, Oconnell competed again just three days later in his first half marathon, "The 2011 Run to Remember", where he finished the 13.1 mile journey in 3 hours and 28 minutes.

"I feel truly honored to be able to run 13 miles. I remember when I could not walk three feet, but now I'm a half-marathon runner. Pain is only temporary. Pride is forever. Scoliosis changed my life."

Oconnell, who benefits from the tireless work done by Easter Seals, added, "I'm wearing my finishers medal very proudly. I finished all 13.1 miles. It's a journey I will never forget. I would like to do another and maybe join Team Hoyt in the Boston Marathon next April. Today was for all my friends at Children's Hospital and for Scoliosis Awareness."

"I'm so proud of myself. Heck yes, I'm a champ."

Just a few of the many "Yes You Can" stories witnessed on streets of Waltham last Thursday.

Each made possible by the journey of Dick and Rick Hoyt.

Team Hoyt has recently published 2 books -Rick's Story - The Story of Rick Hoyt - written by Sherrie Ninteau. This is the inspiring and touching story of Rick Hoyt, written for children, to teach them about disability awareness and overcoming obstacles and Devoted - The Story of a Father's Love For His Son - written by Dick Hoyt with Don Yaeger. Both of these books portray the Team Hoyt message of "YES YOU CAN". You can check out these books on the store link to the Team Hoyt website.

Todd Civin is a freelance writer and the Social Media Director for Team Hoyt. He can be contacted at toddcivin1@aim.com for comment or hire.

When The World Decided to Share My Birthday

2010-09-10T06:59:00.000-04:00

By Julia Elaine Civin ( Todd's daughter)

Living in an industrialized, materialistic country, such as the United States, we sometimes forget what is truly important. Our society has the tendency to reinforce the belief that making big bucks, driving fancy cars, and owning all the toys, is the gateway to happiness.

As a child, I too, bought into this concept. How much, how big, how many?

We hold these beliefs until something comes along that demands that we put our life priorities back in order. Some how reshuffle the deck of life’s cards. Unfortunately, in this case, my priorities were reshuffled by a traumatic national tragedy.

I remember vividly, lying in my bed on the night of September 10th, 2001. I was nine, soon to be double digits at last. Not a teenager, but a ten-year-old girl. I could not get to sleep, as I thought about all of my birthday festivities for the following day.

Tomorrow was going to be a huge day. I could hardly contain my excitement. I had asked my mother for the gift of all gifts.

I so wanted the American Girl Doll, “Samantha,” and had an inkling I would be surprised with her. She had dark brown hair and hazel eyes, just like me, and she was the only thing I wanted in the whole wide world.

I woke up on 9/11 and everything in the world was perfect. I nearly left my pajamas in my blankets, jumping out of bed as fast as I did. I got dressed in my favorite outfit and never touched a stair on the way from my bedroom to the kitchen.

My day hit a speed bump when Mom greeted me with a big wet birthday kiss. I didn’t even wipe it off.

I wolfed down my breakfast and was sent out the door with remanants of powdered donut on the corner of my mouth and chocolate frosted cupcakes to share with my classmates. I knew the day would drag, since I could only think about the gift that was awaiting me after school.

I arrived at school and just knew that I would be flooded with birthday wishes. I wasn’t disappointed. I handed out cupcakes, deciding carefully who would get which one. My best friends and I sat at our table, giggling and telling stories, like all little girls do.

Suddenly, over the loud speaker came a long message. I didn’t understand, nor did any other student in the building.

The only word I got out of it was ‘terrorist.’ It echoed in my head. My teacher knelt down next to her desk with her head in her hands. She looked horrified. Twenty-six little faces stared up at her, innocent and naive.

“What about my cupcakes?” I remember thinking. “What about my birthday?”

September 11th no longer seemed like my birthday. The day past, but to be perfectly truthful, I feel like my memory stopped recording that day. Where once I remembered every intricate detail, I now only remember bits and pieces of the day.

At the end of our school day, we went into our walking lines like usual, but the hallways possessed an eerie silent lull.

I went home and called my friend. I asked her if she knew what was going on. That word ‘terrorist’ kept coming up. I had never heard the word and I still didn’t understand what it meant.

It was breaking news everywhere for hours. The fact that it was my birthday totally slipped my mind. And apparently the minds of the rest of the world too.

My mother got home and sat my sister and I down to tell us about the tragedy. She told us “terrorists” (“That word again”, I thought) “attacked two of our Country’s most storied landmarks”.

I remember her saying, “Our Country was never going to be the same”.

When she told me that these people had killed thousands of innocent Americans, I seemed to blank out. I was horrified. Up to this point in my life, I had only thought about my life and the lives of my friends and family within a ten mile radius of my home.

This event changed the way my thoughts would leave my brain.

Forever.

My birthday was the furthest thing from my mind.

These people were murdered in cold blood, people just like me. People who left for school and work with dreams, and goals and futures.

Just like me.

A lump formed in my throat. I tried to swallow it, but it seemed to choke me.

Suddenly, “Samantha” was not the first thing on my mind.

Suddenly, I felt small and insignificant.

This tragedy caused me to shift my thoughts from me and only me to imagining all of the families who had lost someone. I was thinking of how lucky my family was. How lucky I was. I had never thought about the safety of our country before.

This kind of thing didn’t happen where we live. It only happens in other parts of the world.

My backyard? Not a war zone. My backyard was a playground.

I got Samantha that day, but her face looked different to me.

She didn’t smile the same way that she did before. She still had my brown hair and my hazel eyes, but she seemed to have lost the gleam in her eyes.

The night before my birthday I thought I knew every facial expression that Samantha had.

She always smiled. Now she seemed puzzled. Concerned.

She seemed to have lost her innocence.

Just like me.

I am 19 today and my birthday is still as special to me as it has ever been.

September 11th is still my birthday, but now the day doesn’t belong to just me, like it used to.

Now my birthday belongs to the rest of the world, too. JC

Note from Todd Civin

There are some days, that sports need to take a back seat to life.

Today is one of those days.

I suspect you’ll remember it far longer than you’d remember another story about a Sox loss, a contract squabble or another Brett Favre story anyhow.

Those are stories we often try to forget. The following is one I hope we never do.

I don’t get credit for this story other than that I was partially responsible for bringing it’s writer into the world, 19 years ago today. Much like hanging their finger paintings on the refrigerator, I still love to show off the work of my kids.

I like to think that in everything they produce a little drop of me helped to produce it. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, unless it’s up to no good. Then it doesn’t fall far from her Mom’s tree..

Jules wrote this as her essay to get into UMass Boston two years ago. She not only succeeded at getting in, but captured the heart of many with the following essay. Happy Birthday, dear Julia…I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Love Daddy

Having a Catch With Dick Radatz' Biggest Fan

2010-07-03T15:52:00.002-04:00

Both the calendar page and the greeting card companies dictate that the one day per year we are allowed to "honor thy father" (at least in this country) is the third Sunday of June. Since 1910, children around the globe have annually taken a mere 24 hours out of their busy lives to "celebrate fatherhood, paternal bonds, and the influence of fathers in society" by dousing Dads with a collection of humorous cards and never to be worn ties.

If nothing else, Father's Day acts to provide a fitting and opposite book end to the prior month's holiday, Mother's Day.

As a father of five, who, like most Dad's, has regrets about not spending enough time with my quintet of off-spring, I like to take every opportunity, whether on Father's Day or not, to bring to the forefront each loving relationship I stumble across that holds the Daddy-Daughter relationship in the brightest of lights.

I recently had the pleasure of catching up with Leigh Radatz, daughter of the Boston Red Sox late, great pitcher, Dick "The Monster" Radatz. After losing her larger-than-life Dad to an in-home accident in 2005, Ms. Radatz admits, "That there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish he was here with us. He was loving, caring, understanding, funny, and a role model in so many ways."

After connecting with Leigh, via Facebook, over the past year, I encouraged her to share stories of her life growing up with the legendary Red Sox reliever with friends and fans who miss her Dad greatly following his untimely exit from Red Sox nation in 2005.

Leigh had been somewhat reluctant to share tales of her famous father in an effort to respect the Radatz family privacy, but after an occasional Facebook poke, she graciously agreed to speak of life with her Dad in the following Q and A interview.

With the help of her brother, Dick, Jr. and her sister, Kristine, Leigh shares some stories with her Father's fandom of what it was like growing up with Fenway's real-life Monster.

Todd: Did you ever participate in sports with him, specifically tossing the ball around the yard and as a result of this, how were you as an athlete as a result of this?

Leigh: Definitely! We grew up in the 60s, when my Dad was still playing, so a game of catch or pickle in the yard was standard. We all inherited a bit of Dad’s height and, my brother, I, and my sister are 6’, 5’9”, and 6’1” respectively.

My brother played baseball from a young age, so he was out there at dusk with Dad a bit more than my sister and I were, but we all had our own baseball gloves. I got a new one from my boyfriend as a gift for my high school graduation.

My brother was Captain of his college baseball team and a four-year varsity letter-man. I played mostly intramural basketball and volleyball in high school and then played slow-pitch softball during college summers. I was a catcher who got mowed down by girls much bigger than my 5’9” frame. My sister, similarly, played a bit of basketball in high school.

TC: What is your earliest memory of Dad as a baseball player?

Leigh: I remember being in the grandstands at Fenway with my Mom and brother. We knew Dad was on the field pitching, but were pretty young to have an understanding. I remember during spring training in Scottsdale, Arizona and, then in Winter Haven, Florida, tons of reporters and cameras always outside our front door and not really understanding why.

I remember my Dad meeting us on the concourse underneath Fenway after games were finished and heading out to the player’s parking lot, having everyone wanting my Dad’s attention and then mobbing our station wagon as we drove out. Unfortunately, I don’t remember him pitching specific games.

TC: Who were you able to meet as a result of Dad being a pro player?

Leigh: All three of us have been fortunate to meet many, many past and present players and personnel over the course of our lives and we continue to do so. It’s a wonderful thing to have so many people who speak so fondly and excitedly of Dad and a huge source of pride to know he touched so many people personally, as well as, being a part of their Red Sox and baseball memories.

TC: Did you spend much time around Fenway as a child?

Leigh: Yes, definitely. While we didn’t go to every single game, we were there often. To this day, I still get nostalgic every time I walk on the concrete incline on the lower concourse near Gate B. We’d run up and down it waiting for my Dad to come out of the clubhouse.

By the mid-60s, they had expanded the Father/Son game festivities to include daughters, so my sister and I got to suit up and be on the field, too. Going to Fenway for any reason is still a thrill I never tire of.

TC: Your Dad dominated Mickey Mantle like no other, reportedly striking him out 46 times in 64 at bats. Did he ever speak to that or prepare differently to face the Stick?

Leigh: He used the baseball terminology that he would walk Mantle “Up the Ladder,” in other words start with a pitch lower in the strike zone and then higher and so on. I don’t think he prepared any differently for Mantle, but based on his record I believe he “got up” to face the Yankees.

Do you know that one of the strikeouts my father had on Mantle was Mickey attempting to bunt with two strikes? This is a man who hit .300 in the big leagues ten times!!! Struck out attempting to bunt? It tells you a lot about the match-up.

TC: Among his many accolades, he was the first pitcher in history to save 20 games in consecutive years and also struck out 181 batters in 157 innings in 1964, did he ever speak of the change of the modern day reliever?

Leigh: I think if there was anything in particular it would have been that his career would have been extended. Johnny Pesky will tell you that he wore my father out pitching him seven consecutive days. At one point he set the American League record for appearances and these weren’t one inning stints.

It was part of the evolution of the reliever and it certainly is less stressful for a “closer” today than what my father did. Although, without the innings he did pitch, he would not own the record for strikeouts in a season by a relief pitcher nor would he have become the legend that he did if he didn’t pitch at that point in baseball history.

TC: Do you ever hear from any of his former teammates?

Leigh: We are fortunate to still be in touch with many of my Dad’s former teammates and baseball friends.

TC: What is the family doing these days? Where do they live?

Leigh: My brother, Dick Radatz, Jr., is the President and Co-founder of the Northwoods League, a summer baseball league for college-level players based in Rochester, Minnesota, consisting of 16 teams located in the Midwest and Canada. After living in Boston and it's suburbs and working in the incredible Boston hospitals for 25 years, I recently moved back to the Detroit Metro area, where we grew up after my Dad was out of baseball. My Mom lives here to this day. My younger sister, Kristine, is married with two children and also lives in metro-Detroit. We are all huge sports fans.

TC: Despite being a Detroit native, did Dad consider himself a Red Sox and a Bostonian?

Leigh: Well, my Dad was born and raised in Detroit and it's suburbs. He was a Michigan State grad and loved, loved, loved Michigan. But his professional baseball success came in Boston so it held a special place in his heart as he left his mentor, Johnny Pesky, when he was traded, as well as, so many others instrumental early in his career.

He moved back to the Boston area in 1984 and certainly considered himself mainly a Red Sox and an ‘adopted’ Bostonian. He loved it in Boston, but always spoke of returning to his beloved Michigan.

TC: What did it mean to him to be elected into the Sox HOF?

Leigh: I think it meant the world to him to be elected to the Sox Hall of Fame. He knew he wasn’t going to Cooperstown, due to the length of his career, so this was the next best thing. It was a wonderful night when he was inducted.

TC: Share with us his thoughts of the '63 All-Star game and the Sox finally winning in 2004.

Leigh: Now he was really pumped up for that one. Dad was the first reliever in an All-Star game, chosen by Yankee Manager Ralph Houk. It showed in his performance. He said the electricity in Cleveland, with the large crowd, added about six inches to his fastball. Striking out Mays, McCovey, Snider, Javier and Groat was quite a feat.

I was with my Dad the moment the Sox finally won it in 2004. We were at his house watching it on his big screen TV and I just looked at my Dad and said, “Dad, the Sox just won the World Series”. He was melancholy and replied, “My old team….”

I took a picture of him a minute or so later so I could capture the look on his face. It was joyful.

TC: What was the greatest Father's Day gift you ever gave him?

Leigh: While it’s hard to remember specific gifts, one Father’s Day around ’91 or ’92, his Cleveland Indians teammate Gary Bell was in town and I had a BBQ for family and some friends in my backyard in Brighton, MA. I had pulled out some old pictures of my father when he was a young boy dressed in all sorts of military uniforms He loved to reminisce and we all had a blast (especially, Gary Bell!) laughing with him viewing the pics of himself as a little boy parading around so proud of himself!

TC: And finally, Leigh, what is your greatest all-time Dick Radatz memory?

Leigh: There are many, of course. I’ll share this one. As with most kids and their parents, getting one-on-one time was always too infrequent and once achieved, it was cherished. Around ’87 or ’88, we were at Fenway to watch my Dad participate in a Red Sox Old Timer’s game and other festivities. Afterward, we were all upstairs in the Red Sox box suite at Fenway with other players and their families.

I remember meeting legendary pitcher Don Drysdale while there that day. But it was a moment with my Dad in the middle of the gathering and the noise where he put his arm around me and asked quietly, “Are you having a good time, Sweetheart?” I felt like he and I were the only ones in the room and it eclipsed all else that day. As a daughter, it was always special to be a part of my Dad’s baseball “world”.

Todd Civin is a freelance writer who writes for Bleacher Report and Sports, Then and Now, he can be reached for hire or comment at toddcivin1@aim.com. He performs publicity duties for the Father/Son Marathon team, Team Hoyt, and major league baseball pitcher, Jason Grilli.

This Dad Gives Readers Two Choices

2010-06-29T16:30:00.000-04:00

I woke this morning and walked into my little buddy Dakota's room to see him sleep. He had just returned home after a week long bout with pneumonia and though it wasn't life threatening, he truly battled for about a week and worried his Mom and me.

Just to make me feel a little bit worse, he got sick while Mom and I were taking some R and R in Jamaica. We returned home to find that my Mom, who was baby sitting, had shielded some truths from us so we wouldn't come home early, as Dakota's cold became a flu became pneumonia.

Long story short, the little trooper is home and was still breathing when I poked my head in a few minutes ago.

I looked at him breathe as he slept in his awkward yet trademark position, (butt up in the air like the way he slept as an infant) and breathed my own little sigh of relief. Crisis averted.

To the computer, where Dad had sent me the following email. I'm sentimental today, so though I want to believe the story is fact not fiction, who knows. It's an email that I'm supposed to forward so I am.

I know Bleacher Report is not the platform to forward emails. If it was you'd be getting a whole bunch about male enhancement and Mr. Chin finding $2,000,000 in a Hong Kong bank and needing to spread the wealth.

But this one, at least in this sentimental Dad's mind is worth the read. I encourage you to sit back, read it and then go hug your kid.

Writers Note: No Pick of the Day Votes. I didn't write it. Simply Paying it Forward. Comments are welcome, however.

Two Choices

What would you do?....you make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:

'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.

Where is the natural order of things in my son?'

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued.

'I believe that when a child like Shay,who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'

Then he told the following story:

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?'

I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a
much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.

In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again.

Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat. At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but
impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.

The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.

As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman.

Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first! Run to first!'

Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.

He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.

By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball. The smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.

He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he
understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball
high and far over the third-baseman's head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled
the bases toward home.

All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by
turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third! Shay, run to third!'

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'

Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team

'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer.

He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy,and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!

For Daddies Everywhere: Why Every Day is Father's Day

2010-06-15T15:35:00.001-04:00

You're grown up now, guys. I'd heard the old expression so many times, "They grow up so fast." Who'd have ever thought though that they were talking to me? I ignored the warning and feel like I missed so much.

And now look at you.

Corey, you just graduated college and have the whole world in your grasp. Still unsure what you'll be, but I know what you'll become. A success at anything you decide to do. And unlike many, you have a good enough grasp on life to define your success in hearts touched as opposed to dollars earned. Guess you were actually listening at times.

Erika, you're a young woman ready to enter the world of teaching and molding young minds. After playing surrogate Mom to your younger sisters, this should come as no surprise. Sometimes maturity and self confidence take time to develop. Yours became apparent when you were four years old.

And Julia, my little butterfly dancer. Jules. Juice Box. Ready to enter college with your plan so in place. I wasn't there to help you formulate it, only to coach you, but like everything you do, you do it with abandon. No "I" left undotted and "T" left uncrossed.

Never forget the time you cartwheeled down Mtn. Wachusett. All 4.3 miles on the dirt road. Hands bleeding. Rocks embedded. Why did you do it? Because you said you could.

Gotta forgive me for getting sentimental. It's Father's Day on Sunday and I get like this every darn year. Wondered if I could have done more to be a good father. I think I was, but sometimes you wish you could have done things differently. And so I critique.

I remember each of your births so vividly; every detail etched in my mind forever. The look fo joy on your Mother's face. The sound of the doctor's voice announcing "It's a boy, Mr. and Mrs. Civin" followed three years later by "It's a girl, Mr. and Mrs. Civin, then three years again by "It's another girl, Dawn and Todd."

I remember late night feedings and diaper rash and holding you tight while I rocked you to sleep. The way you grasped my finger tightly as you nodded off to dreamland. Testing the temperature of the water prior to your baths.

I can still smell the sweet scent of clean baby after you got out of your tub. Dripping your bottle on my forearm to make sure I didn't scald your tiny little tongues and tasting those God awful creamed peas in an effort to trick you into thinking they actually tasted good. First sounds...first words..first steps...first everythings.

We survived the terrible twos and the almost equally torrential threes. First day of school. First dance lesson. First base hit, first error and even your first and only unassisted triple play. I cheered for every home run and tried to console every swing and a miss.

I clapped feverishly at every arabesque and screamed "BRAVO" at each curtain call. I tried to catch you when you'd fall and watched proudly when you'd brush yourself off and tell me you "didn't need my help" on those times that I didn't arrive in time to make the catch.

I remember every birthday at Chuck E. Cheese, our trips to Disney and our vacations in the "cooooold" water in Maine. I loved when you'd bury me up to my neck at Hampton Beach and then sit back and watch the other families laugh.

I loved feeding the animals at Friendly Farm. I cherished every ice cream cone shared, every shoulder ride given and every Happy Meal enjoyed.

Teaching you to ride a two-wheeler.. hearing you sound out words...listening to you actually read. I'll never forget how my chest swelled with pride as I heard you spell word after word correctly at the spelling bee and the look of horror on Mom and my face as you spelled peninsula. P-E-N-I-S-U-L-A. Peninsula.

"What are you eating, Erika?" "Muffin dough"...you'd say in that little angelic voice. Art projects made out of macaroni...hand prints pressed into wet ceramic...and a shirt and tie made out of construction paper. How I wish I still had them.

I remember how my eyes welled up with tears as you marched with the Little Leaguers in the Memorial Day Parade and with your karate group at Labor Day. I remember you graduating from Daisy Girl Scouts and when you graduated from readiness to first grade. I will forever remember the feeling of pride as each of your teachers told Mom and I "what a pleasure" you were to teach and how eager you were to learn.

I remember every night I tucked you into bed, each prayer you recited and every butterfly kiss, Eskimo kiss, Grandma kiss and regular kiss you'd give to me before you'd nod off to sleep.

Mom and I split up, but you guys never stopped including me in your lives. Every Wednesday and every other weekend I learned about first dates...first kisses...first broken heart..Junior Prom...high school sweethearts..

The future promises to bring college graduations...First job...First promotion and trips down the aisle.

Oh how I wish you had stayed little forever.

What I guess I'm saying kiddos, is that although we'll get together on Sunday for a barbecue and some hugs, I want you to know that every day has been Father's Day with three awesome "kids" like you.

Love you, Daddy

Todd Civin is a freelance writer. Feel free to email him at toddcivin1@aim.com with comments or to request permission to use his stories for content. He is also a supporter of "A Glove of Their Own" the award winning book that teaches us all the importance of Paying it Forward. Visit the site at www.agloveoftheirown.com and purchase the book under today's donor code JNF636 Joe Niekro Foundation.

Through The Eyes Of...Bill Artz, The Bullpen Catcher

2010-06-07T15:08:00.002-04:00

The following is part of a weekly series called "Through the Eyes of..." In each segment, I share interviews with or stories about those who I view to be the "Good Guys." The men and women who participate in and are the very fiber that make up the great game of baseball.

"Through the Eyes of..." is a part of my personal crusade to present baseball in all its beauty, splendor, and goodness, instead of through hashing and rehashing all that is broken with our national treasure. TC

There is hardly a soul who has ever picked up a leather glove and a hardball, who hasn't also dreamed of making the journey to the the big leagues. The two travel nearly hand in hand once the sound of rawhide against hardwood is experienced.

And for nearly every child who dreams the dream of playing major league baseball, so too goes the subtle disappointment that comes with the realization that the dream is just that: a dream. They are few and far between, those with the gift, the willingness to work and the dedication necessary to succeed that make it all the way to the Show.

But then there are the nearly chosen few, who don't make it to the big leagues, but by luck or by circumstance still get to pull up the stirrups next to the big boys.

For 486 consecutive games from Opening Day of 1998 to the call of "wait til next year" in 2000, Bill Artz was privileged enough to put on the uniform of the present World Champion Philadelphia Phillies and catch the likes of Curt Schilling, Randy Wolf, and Mark Portugal in his role as the Bull Pen catcher.

Though not a glamorous position on the hierarchy of the baseball org chart, there is nary a one of us, that wouldn't give up doing what we are doing today to experience a cup of coffee or two and maybe a mid game catch with Paul Byrd, Mark Leiter or Vicente Padilla.

Today, Artz owns and operate Big League Floors, a Philadelphia based company that provides residential and commercial floorings services for an eight county area in Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

But, for three glorious seasons after graduating from the Lasalle University School of Business Administration, Artz was in part responsible for the fortune, both good and bad, of the Phillies pitching staff and is the subject of this week's segment of "Through the Eyes of....The Bull Pen Catcher."

Civ: You played your college ball at LaSalle in 90-92, were you a catcher?

Bill: Yes, I was a catcher at LaSalle University in Philadelphia. I started every game from the time I was a freshmen.

Civ: Did you have any aspirations of playing pro ball?

Bill: Absolutely, from the time I was four years old and up, I lived and died the game. Every move I made was directed toward the goal of some day being in the big leagues.

Civ: After college what did you do?

Bill: After college I floundered around really not knowing what to do with my after baseball life. I continued to play in the Pen-Del league in Philly. As far as vocation went, I worked many odd jobs after graduation as well as coaching at LaSalle for one year.

Civ: You had a teammate at LaSalle with the last name DiMaggio, any relation to Joe, Dom?

Bill: Wow, how did you find that one??? No, Ross DiMaggio was no relation to the famous DiMaggio’s, although we had a professor at LaSalle who called him "Joltin' Joe". Ross was the catcher before I arrived and was a pretty good left-handed hitter.

Civ: Did you play with or against any MLB players during your career?

Bill: Yes, I played against quite a few future and former big leaguers along the way. Those include Doug Glanville, Sal Fassano, Chris Michalik and I played with Bobby Higginson in the summer league in Philly. There were others as well.

Civ: You graduated college in 92 and became BP catcher six years later, had you played any ball in between?

Bill: As stated before, yes, I continued to play in the Pen-Del league in Philadelphia.

Civ: How did you get the job with the Phillies?

Bill: One of my teammates in the Pen-Del was former pitcher Dickie Noles. Dickie was remembered most for knocking down George Brett in the 1980 World Series. Some claim this was the turning point of that series. Anyway, I was at home one night watching the game and he had called to see if I was interested in the job, of course, I was ecstatic. Even at the age of 27 I never lost hope of being in the Majors, even when it looked like there was no hope.

Civ: You caught Curt Schilling all three seasons, what was that like?

Bill: Obviously an honor. Just to have him think enough of me as a receiver was a tribute because if I was sub-standard, he would not have me catch him. The guy was a perfectionist. I also helped him with his rehab in spring training in 2000, long tossing with him everyday.

Civ: Is he the most notable player you caught?

Bill: By far, some say he will be a Hall of Famer and I would not argue this. I just wish I had warmed up to him a little more because I think we could have been pretty good friends...

Civ: Schilling had three rather mediocre seasons while you were there and then had his best years in AZ and Boston, why do you suppose that happened?

Bill: I would not say they were mediocre seasons on his part. That team was less than mediocre. The guy thrived in the big moments and there were more of them in AZ. and Boston. He did get shut down in 1999 with an injury and of course his record does not reflect the games that the bullpen blew or the offense did not support him. He will always be loved in this town for his energy and talent on the field as well as off of it.

Civ: Does the BP catcher get to hang with the team? Did you ever spend any time with Abreu or any of the name players?

Bill: I did towards the end and became pretty good friends with Pat Burrell and Randy Wolf. I was a little standoffish at first just because I thought I should be seen and not heard but I took it a little too far. But I would have to say that my most cherished relationship was with legendary announcer Harry Kalas, not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.

Civ: How rough were the fans in Philly? Did they ever heckle the bull pen catcher?

Bill: The Phillies fans can be rough at any time but even more so then, that is, the ones that showed up. Personally I thought the San Francisco Giants fans were the most obnoxious. I got heckled at times, yes.

Civ: Who warms pitchers up before a game, the starting catcher or the BP catcher?

Bill: Sometimes I would start warming up the starting pitcher before games but the starting catcher would always finish him up. He needs to see what they have on that particular day.

Civ: The 2000 Phillies went through 27 pitchers, was that challenging for you?

Bill: Somewhat, in those three years I was there, they used about 55-60 different relievers. It seemed like a revolving door at times..

Civ: Were you involved in the pregame planning or coaching or is that left up to the BP coach or pitching coach?

Bill: No, I was subjected to the scouting reports and pitcher vs. batter stats. They were very interesting. Look up what Marquis Grissom hit off Schilling sometime. (Civ-An impressive 31 for 94 or .330. He had more hits off of Schill than against any other pitcher)

Civ: Do you get to take batting practice or strictly the bull pen catcher?

Bill: Rarely did I take BP, but I would have loved to. I should have been more assertive.

Civ: What did you do on off days?

Bill: On the road I would try to see the sites of the city. At home, spend time with my family. Nights were always the same, go out and party…

Civ: The bullpen is usually a pretty close knit group, were you a part of the fraternity?

Bill: I would not consider myself part of the fraternity. I took the game a little too serious to be involved with any foolishness.

Civ: Do you go on the road with the team?

Bill: I did travel only after they discovered that I threw BP. They also needed a guy in the bullpen when the back-up catcher had to go in the game and they need to get two pitchers up. They found this out the hard way in Pittsburgh when they had to delay the game to get the back-up in from the bullpen to pinch hit.

Civ: What is the best away city?

Bill: I always loved NYC. My sister lives there and at the time worked for the NY Daily News. She is now Mayor Bloomberg’s photographer. San Francisco was second, then Pittsburgh, a much underrated town with very nice hard-working people. Toronto is good, as well.

Civ: Are there any funny stories that you recall?

Bill: Off the top of my head I remember playing a weekday game at old Veterans Stadium and a vagrant women just walked into the bullpen off the street. She had no clue where she was but we joked that if she could throw strikes we might have to suit her up!!! TC

Todd Civin is a freelance writer for the Bleacher Report, Seamheads and Sports, Then and Now. He is available for comment or hire at toddcivin1@aim.com. He is also a supporter of A Glove of Their Own, the award winning children's story that teaches pay it forward through baseball. Visit the site and purchase the book under today's donor code JNF636 Joe Niekro Foundation as $3.00 from each purchase will go to that wonderful cause.

The Peter J. McGovern Little League Museum: Feeling Like You're 10 Again

2010-05-30T12:47:00.005-04:00

Like any rites of passage, the day I turned ten-years-old was a big day in my life. Though I was still unable to vote, drive, or join the army, I was now eligible to participate in a tradition far more important.

As I flipped the calendar from age nine to 10, I was finally old enough to try out for Little League. Up until now, I had played a few dozen neighborhood games of ball, but was always the last guy picked.

I was lacking in several critical areas that "the scouts" seemed to pick up on, including the ability to hit, throw or field a ball. I was the proverbial zero tool player.

With the help of my two, extremely patient, Little League coaches, I soon learned to hold a bat without having my arms crossed and how to throw like a boy. I mastered fielding a grounder without moving to the side and how to get under a fly without covering my head for safety.

But, there was a lesson taught that was far more important than learning how to throw or hit or field. A lesson taught to each and every Little Leaguer since it's inception 70 years ago; to win gracefully and lose with dignity.

So, when I had an opportunity to speak to Janice L. Ogurcak, Director of the Peter J. McGovern Little League Museum in Williamsport, Pennsylvania, I felt as if I was speaking more to one of my teachers than to the curator of a museum.

"Most of our visitors come from far away", explained Ogurcak, who became the museums director in 2005. "We get visitors of all ages from all places, each remembering what Little League meant to them."

"Our senior citizen guests especially come in and tell us what a really important impact Little League had on the rest of their lives."

Ogurcak is responsible for overseeing the day-to-day operation of the museum, which has about 30,000 visitors each year. She and her staff are responsible for maintenance of the many Little League artifacts, rotation of exhibits, special events, the museum gift shop and educational programs.

The museum is part of the Little League International Complex and offers interactive exhibits, which use a hands on approach to teach about the history of Little League.

The museum chronicles the growth of the league from one, three-team league in 1939 to the multi-national youth sporting organization that it is today.

Directly behind the museum is the Howard J. Lamade Stadium and the Little League Volunteer Stadium, where the Little League World Series is played each year in August.

"During that ten day period, our attendance at the museum will jump from about 100 visitors per day to anywhere from 500 to 1000" added Ogurcak. "We expect about 10,000 people to walk through the museum next week alone."

The most inspiring part of the museum is the Little League Hall of Excellence, where visitors enjoy the motivating stories of Little League graduates, who have gone on to distinguished careers as adults.

Members are selected not for what they did on the diamond, but for their contribution to society and include Ozzie Newsome, Dusty Baker, George W. Bush, Tom Selleck and even Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, each of whom grace the walls of the Hall of Excellence.

"The museum really made an impression on Kevin Costner when he was inducted," explained Ogurcak.

"He was so moved by the museum that he wanted to play on the ball field. He ended up taking a group of Little Leaguers onto the field at 11:00 that night to play baseball."

The museum gift shop has recently adopted the book A Glove of Their Own as a way to teach sharing and baseball to their many guests.

"We have a lot of people come into the shop, who know the book and how popular it is around the country. I am impressed that they know of the book considering it has been out such a short time."

"We were hoping that the authors could come in and sign for us this year, but we are hoping to have a big signing event to start next year."

Coach Bob Salomon, a driving force behind the award winning book is equally excited about aligning the book with the Little League Museum.

"The ideals and principles taught in our book are identical to those taught in Little League", said Salomon. "Teamwork, sharing and love of the game by our children, walks hand in hand in the book and in the spirit of Little League."

"To me, it's a perfect match," he added. "I'm truly humbled and excited that the Little League Museum is supporting our book."

The museum is located on U.S. Route 15 in South Williamsport, Pa., next to the Little League International Administration Building. Admission is $5 for adults (and children ages 14-17); $1.50 for children ages 5-13; and $3 for senior citizens (62 and over). Children age four and younger are admitted free of charge. Group tours and rates are available. Call 570-326-3607 for more information.

Hours of operation are Monday through Saturday 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. and Sunday 12:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. After Labor Day, the museum is open Friday and Saturday only, 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.

Todd Civin is a freelance writer for Bleacher Report and Seamheads. He can be reached at toddcivin1@aim.com for comment or hire. He is also a supporter of A Glove of Their Own, the award-winning children's story that is capturing the heart of the nation by teaching sharing through baseball.

AGOTO is supported by players and coaches including Jason Grilli, Ken Griffey, Joe Torre, Craig Biggio, Sean Casey, Dick Drago, Luis Tiant, Phil Niekro, Ed Herrmann, and The Joe Niekro Foundation as part of their fundraising campaigns. Visit A Glove of Their Own and purchase under donor code JNF636 The Joe Niekro Foundation. With each sale $3.00 will go to The Foundation which is Aiding in the Research and Treatment of Aneurysm Patients and their Families.

Through the Eyes of the...Pizza Maker: It's All About the Pepperoni

2010-05-15T13:42:00.001-04:00

The following is part of a weekly series called "Through the Eyes of..." In each segment, I share interviews with or stories about those I view to be the "Good Guys."

If you think about it realistically, I was destined to be portly.

Having entered the world weighing in at a whopping 10 pounds and four ounces with jowls like a Boston Terrier, it should come as no surprise that I've spent most of my adult life battling my weight. Odds-makers would say the weight is winning.

One year for Halloween, in fact, I dressed up as the No. 10 with an anorexic friend of mine. In high school, I was voted the Most Likely to Explode. And my bra size has just surpassed my wife's.

So when I came across Sara Matson on LinkedIn, I instantly knew that we just had to "chew the fat."

See, Sara, who is originally from Pasadena, Calif., has the coolest job in New England, this side of being the Hot Fudge Tester at Dairy Queen.

Sara has parlayed her college degree into a job as the Pizza Maker for the Portland Seadogs, and she is my new best friend.

Not only is Sara a professional "Crust"-acian, but she was kind enough to answer every question I could think of regarding ballpark pizza in my next segment of "Through the Eyes of..."

Civ: Do you eat Pizza for Breakfast?

Pizza Girl: No, I don't eat pizza or Chinese food for breakfast. I eat healthy all day because I'm a gym rat; I eat pizza at work because I'm also cheap and it's free.

Civ: How did you get the job as a pizza maker for the Sea Dogs?

Pizza Girl: First, I majored in Sociology. Then, I realized you can't really do anything with that kind of degree, so I printed off a Sea Dogs application on the Internet, attached a list of all the pizza experience I’ve had, and turned it in.

Looking back, it’s a small miracle that I got that job. It seems like everyone except me is related to someone else there.

Civ: How many pizzas do you make a game?

Pizza Girl: On a decent night, about 120. But it varies with the weather, the day of the week, whether or not it’s Bobble-head night.

Civ: Personally, do you like thick crust or thin and how does this affect your pizza making prowess?

Pizza Girl: I never really thought about it. As long as the pizza comes out round and without any holes, I consider it a success.

Civ: Do you have a bright future on dough rolling?

Pizza Girl: Let me clarify. Pizza maker is not my primary job. It's just my fun job. Working for a health insurance company doesn't sound that interesting, so I use "pizza maker" as my job on Linked In.

Working for the Sea Dogs is awesome, but my dream is to own my own pizza delivery place one day. I’m earning my AABA at the moment, and working for the Sea Dogs keeps me in the food industry loop.

Civ: Do you hope to get the call to the majors to make pizza for the Red Sox?

Pizza Girl: I wouldn’t mind getting traded to the Dodgers for a player to be named later. But I’d settle for working at Fenway if they throw a parking space into my contract.

Civ: How do you make just a slice of pizza as opposed to an entire pie?

Pizza Girl: We used to cut each slice individually, but it was difficult to get all the pieces a uniform size. The curved side of the pizza wasn’t the problem; it was the acute angle. When our protractor broke, we decided to just switch to making a whole pie and cutting it into eight slices. ("Make sure they know I'm fooling.")

Civ: Who is the coolest person you made pizza for?

Pizza Girl: My boss, of course. But there have been some pretty cool guests at Hadlock including President and Barbara Bush, Johnny Pesky, Oil Can Boyd and the Neil Diamond impersonator.

Civ: Do they stop serving after the seventh inning like they do with beer?

Pizza Girl: The concession stands remain open for a while after that, but the kitchen closes at the bottom of the seventh. We just make sure the stands have enough pizza to get through the rest of the night. People are usually either full or broke by then, anyway.

Civ: Do you get offended when the fans sing "buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks"? Does this give those junk foods an unfair advantage?

Pizza Girl: Is the US Pro Cycling Team offended because the only member everyone knows is Lance Armstrong? No, because he brings attention to their sport. Peanuts and Cracker Jacks merely bring the fans to the concession lines.

Once they see we offer pizza, they might change their minds. Additionally, when we walk around the stadium with pizza boxes, fans inevitably yell “Pizza!” when they see us. I might venture to say we are the third most popular set of employees there, behind Slugger and the beer man.

So no, I don’t feel threatened by the lopsided lyrics of Take Me Out to The Ballgame.

Civ: What was the best special event the Sea Dogs have held?

Pizza Girl: That’s easily the annual Field of Dreams Day/Fan Appreciation Day. The players wear vintage 1926 Portland Eskimo uniforms and walk slowly onto the field through a row of corn in center field while an announcer reads the “The one constant through all the years has been baseball” quote from Field of Dreams.

The ovation seems to last forever. When it quiets down, the players applaud the fans. I get choked up every time I see it.

Civ: Give me a run down of a day with the dough.

Pizza Girl: I get to the game three hours early. I walk past the players as I go in. While most people leave work when they hear the 5 o'clock whistle, I leave when I hear "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." It doesn't get much better than that.

We basically make all the pizzas in advance and keep them in towers until the concession stands call us. When they do, we throw some pizzas in the oven and 6 minutes and 40 seconds later, we take them out and walk them over to the stand that called.

We also make pizzas for the fans in the Sky Boxes (private boxes at the press box level, usually holding private gatherings of some sort), and occasionally make them for the press, the players, and the umpires.

Civ: What is the most challenging part of being a pizza maker for the Sea Dogs?

Pizza Girl: The worst weekend on the job was when we had several rain delays and subsequent double-headers the same time Big Papi was in town on a rehab assignment. Throw in a bobblehead night, and it was an absolute zoo. It was capped off perfectly when my colleague knocked over a tower holding 33 pizzas.

Civ: Are you a Red Sox fan or play the role as part of your assignment?

Pizza Girl: I’m a Dodger fan. I love them with everything that’s in me. But the enemy of the enemy is my friend. As a Dodger fan, you have to hate the Yankees, and so it’s easy for me to root for the Red Sox. I don’t know if wearing my Dodger hat around the park after I punch out will get me canned, but I don’t want to take any chances.

Civ: Do you have a philosophy of pizza making that separates you from the average Joe in the Dough?

Pizza Girl: Every day I ask myself: What did I do to beat the Yankees today? I figure one extra slice of pepperoni might make the difference between a good slice of pizza and a bad slice of pizza. If the fan is happy with her meal, she'll be more likely to come to another Sea Dogs game and buy food.

And the more the fans spend, the better players we can get. Move over, "Moneyball." It's all about the pepperoni.

Todd Civin is a freelance writer who writes for The Bleacher Report and Seamheads. He is also a supporter of, "A Glove of Their Own," the award-winning children's story that teaches paying it forward through baseball. The Joe Niekro Foundation is the most recent non-profit organization to join the A Glove of Their Own team and will earn $3.00 from each sale of the book purchased using the donor code JNF636 Joe Niekro Foundation.

Stories Continue To Leak About Fenway's Famed Trough

2010-05-11T12:49:00.001-04:00

It was about the fourth inning of the Red Sox and Orioles game.

My third Bud Light was about to exit my urethra, and if I didn't talk to a man about a horse soon I would be tinkling up in the Dunkin Dugout.

The sun shined brightly on the bleachers, and I was part of a mass exodus for the men's room as Beckett whiffed Aubrey Huff.

I'm not sure what the score was at that point. For a brief moment in time, I don't think any of us did. It was time to drain the vein.

About a dozen of the Bleacher Creatures made their way out of Section 121 all with the same sense of purpose. The Dirty Dozen, as we would affectionately be known, bypassed the mile-long beer line, but each committed to refueling after we tapped a kidney.

One by one, we took our positions at the beautiful porcelain fixtures which adorned the Fenway Walls. With our barn doors open and the Sox up by a deuce, we began to talk of First Place, while we eliminated Number One.

The tall and red faced man next to me, who I'll call Johnson, looked over at me and smiled kindly. I have to admit made me feel a bit uncomfortable. Not because he longed to sneak a peak, but because he chose to speak to me while I Freed Willy.

But when I heard what he spoke of, I felt uncomfortable no longer. He spoke of a friend of ours that all of us held in high esteem. No male enters Fenway's Hallowed Halls (aka the Watering Hole) without speaking of the Trough.

For those of you who never had the pleasure, the Trough was to men at Fenway what Niagara Falls is to lovers. It is a must see for all those who love being a guy.

The trough reeked of soiled urine and ran constantly. Indefinitely. I assume the trough ran during away games and during winters away from the park. There is nearly a scent in nature that recreates the smell of the Trough. And hardly a topic in Wikipedia that brings a smile more quickly to the face of anyone with XY chromosomes.

The trough reeked of ammonia and had mounds of some of the most beautiful locks of hair known to man littering its rusted edge.

The trough has peaked up at The Iron Man, The Splendid Splinter, Mick the Stick and Pesky's Pole. And has heard conversations about famous Red Sox and Yankees players, too.

The Trough did its duty while we did ours, through Yankee and Red Sox brawls and through World Championship droughts. There was never a drought at the trough. Always ready to keep it's customers flowing.

The beauty of the trough was it allowed no privacy. I could peak over at the dude next to me out of the corner of my eye and he at me and no words needed to be exchanged—we just knew what the other was thinking.

I'll never forget the day during a game between the White Sox (also known ironically as the Hose). I looked over at a tall man who claimed to be from Jamaica but looked like he was from Nantucket, and marveled at the tattoo that adorned his mighty Boa. I noticed it said W-E-N-D-Y.

I asked the tall and powerful man of his dink ink and he said in a beautiful Montego Bay accent. "No mon...don't say Wendy. Says Welcome to Jamaica Have A Nice Day." I glanced down and never felt more insignificant.

The trough has been replaced now by 66 of the most beautiful porcelain urinals you'll ever see. Clean and pristine. Alone and isolated. The conversations are less common now as we find ourselves a bit more private. I shiver slightly when I think of her and wonder what I will talk to my son about when we go to a game.

I can only hope and pray that the Trough has a special place in the Fenway Hall of Fame. If She doesn't...I'll be really pissed.

Fenway's Sausage King: Nine Inches of Pure Pleasure

2010-05-01T15:29:00.001-04:00

As an athlete and in most things I do, I consider myself to be a middle of the packer. An average hitter, with average speed (in my day of course) and an arm maybe slightly above average.

As a distance runner, the thoroughbreds win, the plow horses bring up the rear, and I am at best a Clydesdale. And in football, the half back scored, the full back opened the holes and I was a situational back.

But when it comes to eating, I am in a league of my own. Oh sure, Joey Chestnut or Kobayashi I'm not, but put a couple of Big Macs and a Super Sized Fry in front of me and move over Rosie O'Donnell. There's only enough room in this Bleacher Seat for one of us.

I was at a digestive advantage right from the get go. As I journeyed down the birth canal, the surgical team requisitioned an extraction team to dislodge me from a tight connection with my Mom.

Tipping the nursery scale at 10 pounds and four ounces of bouncing boy, with a bulbous head, broad shoulders and a belly which resembled Buddah’s, I was described by my Dad as “sort of a dumb looking lad."

He has taken great pleasure over the years by explaining that the nursing staff was seen “slapping the daylights out of the big kid, who kept forgetting to breathe". It was hours later, that Dad found out that the big kid was his son.

Yes, I was the largest of the family litter. I entered the world thinking of food and searching for the nearest Denny's. A jack in the box wasn’t a thing I played with, but the place I pointed to as Mom brought me home from the hospital. She jokes that instead of teething on one of those Playschool Plastic Donuts, I longed for Dunkin’s.

In my baby pics, I looked a bit like Porky Pig, with chubby jowls and and three chins. Mom was forced to feed me cereal from the day I got home from the hospital as neither the bottle nor the boobies would keep my man-size belly adequately nourished.

She says that I devoured bowl after bowl of Farina and Zwiebacks from Good Morning, Mary Sunshine to Good Night Moon.

My quest for nourishment continued when Mom received a phone call from the school principal on my first day of kindergarten. It seems that toddler Todd had aborted his first trip to the merry go round and had pilfered a couple of his classmates recess snacks. I allegedly engorged myself with Arthur Arguin’s six powdered donuts, in addition to the stale brownies Mom had baked. Oops, my bad.

As a ten-year old, I was crowned the Blueberry Pie Eating Champion of the Spencer Fair, an honor I would hold for three consecutive autumn fairs. Season after season I would be challenged by over-confident teens several years my elder. It reminded me of the Barf-o-rama scene from the movie Stand By Me. "And the Women's Auxiliary barfed all over the Benevolent Order of Antelopes."

My prowess continued in college, when six TEP brothers were “firmly asked” to step back from the buffet by some of northern New York’s finest. It seems as though we thought the “All You Can Eat Buffet” at Ponderosa meant we didn't have to leave any for others. “But officer, it states all you can eat. We can eat all of this, sir.”

During my wedding ceremony, Katie had to hunt me down as I chose to sample from the exquisite chocolate fondue fountain prior to wedding pictures. The photographer thought he could “Photoshop the stains from the pictures.”

So a few years back when my boss Tom informed me that, the legend, Bob Cotoumas, held the company "All-time Record" for sausages consumed before a Red Sox game, I licked my proverbial chops. I knew the gauntlet had been laid and I could taste victory.

He told me the rules of the game, though I knew I was going to accept the challenge without knowing any guidelines.

The record is five sausages consumed prior to the throwing of the first pitch.
All sausages had to be purchased from The Sausage King on Landsdowne Street outside Gate E of Fenway.
Partial sausages ingested do not count (Ex. five and a bite does not constitute a record).

Move over Cotoumas, I thought. There's a new sheriff in town.

We got to Kenmore about two hours before game time and made our way towards Landsdowne. We already may have had a cold one or two that morning, so I may have been at a "competitive disadvantage".

I remember rubbing my hands together in anticipation as we walked past the scalpers on the way to the Park. We grabbed some literature from John 3:16 who passes out letters of salvation. Then past the guy playing the plastic pail drum sets as the Cask n' Flagon entered our view.

Right next to Game On outside of Fenway's Gate E, I came face to face with the Sausage King. The familiar red and yellow sign framed the King and his Imperial Margarine Crown.

The Sausage King is owned by a pair of local brothers and boasts "Nine Inches of Pure Pleasure" to rookie patrons and repeat customers alike. Trust me, I've tried them all, and no one fills your buns like the King.

I know what you're thinking: what's a good Jewish boy like me doing eating sausage? Same question the Rabbi asked when I got a tattoo. Once again, Oops, my bad.

The Sausage King is the senior cart at Fenway and has been serving happy fans for 25 years. Their energy is perpetual from pre-game to post and they are as much a part of the Red Sox experience as the pee-pee trough and George the peanut vendor.

Tom told the guys of my quest and they laughed in unison, while setting me up with number one. Number two went into the on-deck circle before I took the first bite of my maiden meat. It was delicious.

Tender hot sausage heaping with perfectly grilled peppers and onions. A bit of the overflow spilled onto my hand as I opened wide and took on the leadoff hitter. Juice dripped onto my "Yankees Suck" t-shirt as I completed the first 16 percent of the task at hand.

Being a bit of a numbers guy, I started calculating "Nine inches of pure pleasure" times six and suddenly realized I'd be eating 4 1/2 feet of Jimmy Dean's before my day was done.

Well, one became two and two became three and Cotoumas' record was in jeopardy.

I was into the King lingo now and ordered up number four "On the Bottom", which means I wanted the onions and peppers on the bottom before they inserted their meat. Terms such as "Naked Bird" and "Bird Loaded" add to the Sausage King menu of chicken teriyaki, steak tips and foot long dogs, but I'm a guy who "likes it on the bottom."

Tom and the other PEP-direct guys started to crack jokes about Debbie and Dallas as I limped through number four. I was failing fast, but I was commited to gutting it out.

The crowd started to chant To-dd, To-dd like they had done to Daryl Strawberry in '86 as the Kings started to dress number five. I reached for the Ketchup. I had eaten the first four plain and some how thought that Ketchup would grease the skids.

And then disaster struck. Instead of grabbing the bottle of Heinz I grabbed the look-a-like bottle of Hot Sauce. I choked quicker than the Yankees after game three as sweat began to form on my upper lip.

One of the employees tried to warn me by saying , "Hey, not too much." But I truly thought he was being stingy about the ketchup. My wife claims, I don't listen to anyone. My bad, yet again!

I screamed "No Mas" like Roberto Duran vs. Hagler and waved a white napkin of surrender.

Cotoumas' record was safe for another day.

As we found our seats in Section 3, Tom headed to the beer line to grab us a beer. "Sausage, Todd?" he asked.

Thanks, TC. I think I'll pass.

Through The Eyes Of...Jimmy Scott: Greatest Pitcher You Never Heard Of

2010-04-30T12:54:00.000-04:00

The following is part of a weekly series called "Through the Eyes Of....". In each segment, I share interviews with or stories about those that I view to be the "Good Guys."

"Through the Eyes of..." is a part of my personal crusade to present baseball in all it's beauty, splendor, and goodness, instead of through hashing and rehashing all that is broken with our National treasure.

With 334 career wins and 4268 career strikeouts, two no-hitters and three championship rings, baseball's greatest pitcher you've never heard of, Jimmy Scott, has become more than just a legend. He has become a voice for MLB players, current and retired.

At 41, Jimmy is fully aware of his own baseball mortality; he knows that though he's not yet over the hill he can certainly see the top of it.

Jimmy Scott is using his down time, while recovering from an off season shoulder injury, to climb up the chart as Baseball's Greatest Blogger, a career he hopes to continue long after he hangs up his jock for the last time.

Jimmy waxes weekly with some of baseball's greatest former players and wives of players on his popular blog, Jimmy Scott's High and Tight. His guests have included Dale Murphy, Tommy John, Scott Brosius, the late Gabrielle Schoeneweis, and Hall of Famer Rollie Fingers.

Upcoming interviews in Jimmy's on-deck circle include Steve Rogers (Expos), Donna Candiotti (ex-wife of former pitcher Tom), and Tisha DeShields (ex-wife of former infielder Delino).

Jimmy Scott was gracious enough to take some time from his busy blogging and rehab schedule to share his thoughts and career plans on this week's edition of "Through the Eyes Of....

Civ: Are you coming back to play baseball or is your career over?

Jimmy: I won't say my playing career is over until my arm is surgically removed from my body, like in one of those "Saw" movies. In fact, "Saw XXVII" should be about a Roger Clemens-type, or Jimmy Scott-type, who gets abducted and he has to eat through his rotator cuff in order to survive.

Jimmy: I think that's what Dr. Frank Jobe was going to initially do with Tommy John back in the early-'70s, but he thought better of that.

Civ: Are you going to answer my question?

Jimmy: Succinctly. Yes and no.

Civ: Then when do you think you'll be back?

Jimmy: 20-10. My rotator cuff was strained in January and still hasn't healed. It doesn't need surgery, just more rest. I'm sending it to its own spa in Arizona this fall if it doesn't heal on its own soon.

Civ: How would you come back next year?

Jimmy: Probably through the Indie leagues. Did you see Eric Gagne is pitching for Quebec in the CanAm League? I think he only hangs with the team on days he pitches then takes off back to the Great White North. He's coming back as a starter. The New Jersey Jackals wanted me this year, but I told them my arm wasn't ready. The Newark Bears contacted me.

Jimmy: I ended up voicing a commercial for them recently, but I can't even throw the ceremonial first pitch of a game, so I've kept my feet off baseball diamonds most of the summer. Think I should forget about that and come back as a hitter like Rick Ankiel?

Civ: Can you still hit?

Jimmy: Never could hit very well, so the "still" isn't worth including in your question. Next...

Civ: Why are you focusing your time on your website, Jimmy Scott's High & Tight?

Jimmy: I missed all of 2007 with a bad elbow and much of 2008. That kind of slapped me in the face with a wake up call. "Jimmy," I said aloud to myself, "you better think of something to do the day your career really ends." Come to think of it, my wife said the same thing. Maybe we said it in harmony.

Jimmy: Anyway, I started Jimmy Scott's High & Tight as a means of interviewing other players and agents and MLB wives and coaches, etc. to get a sense of their lives post-retirement. As its evolved over the past year, the issues have moved from strictly retirement to the relationships part of the game.

Jimmy: Did you know there's a statistic flying around out there stating up to 85% of baseball marriages fail after a player's career ends? I learned that and have talked to a number of wives, life coaches, a pair of psychologists, to talk it through. There's a new interview every Monday morning that gets uploaded to the site. You can listen in on our banter and also dig the music we (really, just I) mix in.

Civ: You don't just do interviews.

Jimmy: Right. I also write daily columns about various subjects, kind of "inside a baseball mind" stuff. On Monday's, I'm starting a series of columns based upon tips that former MLB catcher Brent Mayne sends out each week via email to subscribers to his Art of Catching website.

Jimmy: He wrote a book and had some interesting tips about catching. I figured I could expand on them to cover baseball and life inside baseball. We're calling it "The Mayne Line." Isn't that funny?

Civ: I guess. It's not funny ha-ha.

Jimmy: So true. I also have guest columnists on the site. I have a real baseball wife, who calls herself Cassidy Dover to protect her and her husband's identities. She writes for the site. She has a new article go up every Thursday. And former outfielder and current Phillies scout Eric Valent writes for the site every so often.

Jimmy: Desi Relaford wrote a couple of articles too but had to stop because, drum roll... He went back to school. That's right. At 37 years old, he decided to go to college. What else is a millionaire ex-ballplayer to do?

Civ: That's the next question.

Jimmy: The transition from active baseball player to ordinary civilian isn't easy. Imagine going from a job in which you are pampered all day long and, if you succeed, maybe 45,000 people cheer your name and sing your praises really loud that night.

Jimmy: Plus, you get paid a lot. It's a 24-hour a day ego-stroke. Now imagine that being gone. It's just you in a big house with a wife and some kids, none of whom think of you the way Bert from Mammaroneck on the sports radio show thinks of you.

Jimmy: This is a huge let down. That's why lots of guys go back into coaching. For the ego and also because they miss the camaraderie. Hanging with young kids is very different from hanging with a bunch of adult males calling each other unprintable names.

Civ: Is your wife Vanessa worried about the end of your career?

Jimmy: Ummm... She likes that I have the website to keep my mind and voice occupied. She doesn't like that it doesn't make any money.

Civ: Why not? Couldn't you get some big endorsement dollars to cover its costs?

Jimmy: It really doesn't cost much at all to run. Mostly time. And I kind of like have it clean of any corporate fingerprints. At least for now. But I never say never. I'll write it, but I won't verbalize it.

Civ: Last question: Has it sunk in that your playing career may be over?

Jimmy: No. But that's just denial talking. The real me knows the end is near. I'm just trying to keep it as far away as possible. I hear parking gets tougher when you're no longer a household name.

Civ: Thanks, Jimmy.

Jimmy: You're welcome, Civ. Tell your readers I said hi.

Civ: I will. Thanks, Jimmy .

Jimmy: You already said that, Civ. I'm going now. Good day, sir. TC

Visit A Glove of Their Own and purchase under donor code JNF636 The Joe Niekro Foundation. With each sale $3.00 will donated to The Foundation which is Aiding in the Research and Treatment of Aneurysm Patients and their Families.

Through The Eyes Of... Buddy Biancalana: Still A World Series Hero

2010-04-23T14:23:00.000-04:00

The following is part of a weekly series called "Through the Eyes of..." In each segment, I share interviews with or stories about those I view to be the "Good Guys."

After spending twenty minutes and twenty dollars in the batting cage with my son this weekend, I exited the cage with several quarter sized blisters on my Avon Skin So Soft hands and a case of heartburn after ingesting a huge dose of humility.

I came to several conclusions as I tossed my batting helmet and bat in disgust.

Aging is a cruel, cruel reality that I simply haven't yet come to grips with. How a man can get winded, while swinging and missing at a slow pitch softball is beyond me.

Second, when your wife tells you that she's not laughing at you, she's laughing with you, she's only being kind.

Third, hitting a round object with a wooden stick that is hurled in your direction at 90+ miles an hour, must be the most difficult accomplishment in sports. For those of us who sit at home cursing at any of these athletes who still manage to hit one ball in four, should take a few cuts in their cleats before playing arm chair manager.

So, despite the fact that former Major League shortstop Buddy Biancalana will forever live with a career average of .205 in the forever annuls of baseball lore, Biancalana has a lot of things that most of his can only dream about.

While most of us are carving our legacy while working as the cashier at Wal-mart or asking if our customers would like it Super Sized, Biancalana will always be able to tell his grandchildren that he was a former Major League player.

While each of us could only dream of getting even one major league hit, Biancalana has 113 to his credit, while driving in 30 of his teammates over six major league seasons with the Kansas City Royals and the Houston Astros.

And while my blistered hands and I sit home and watch the World Series this coming October and dream of what it would have been like to plate in the Fall Classic, Buddy Biancalana will be polishing his 1985 World Series ring and remembered the two weeks that time stood still, the ball looked bigger and he was experiencing a series in the zone that would not only change his career, but would become the Foundation for his current business venture PMPM Sports.

Oh, yeah and did I happen to mention he appeared on Late Night With David Letterman, got to hang for several seasons with George Brett and Nolan Ryan and can still fit his 49 year-old frame into rookie Royals uniform, Burger Boy?

My point is, before you and the host of Late Night TV tease Buddy Biancalana about his light hitting, slick fielding statistics, try spending a few minutes in the batting cage.

Hey honey, do you know where the pumice stone is?

Buddy was nice enough to share his thoughts with me about baseball and about his company PMPM Sports. I found him to be funny, kind and very knowledgeable about the psychological side of hitting and about what his findings can do to help athletes in many sports.

Biancalana and his partner Steve Yellin are the co-founders of PMPM Sports and use their knowledge and studies of Perfect Mind-Perfect Motion to help athletes bring their game to a new level.

Yellin has been teaching tennis and golf for over 30 years and is responsible for developing the innovative and powerful drills that PMPM Sports uses to allow athletes in all sports to reach their full potential.

He was the Florida High School state tennis champion, and went on to play number one singles on the University of Pennsylvania tennis team. He was a member of the All-Ivy League tennis team in 1973, played in the 1973 NCAA National Championship, and was invited to play on the 1972 Israeli Davis Cup team. Yellin also holds two masters degrees in Business and Education.

And now, Through The Eyes of Buddy Biancalana: Still A World Series Hero.

Civ: You came up for three games in 1982 and got your first major league hit, a triple. Do you remember the at bat and who it was against?

BB: I believe Brian Kingman. It was the last game of the season and Mike Heath, a catcher, was playing right field. I hit a line drive that he ran in for and the ball sailed over his head. I was thrown out at the plate trying to stretch it to an inside the park home run.

Civ: You also walked and were therefore 1 for 2 with a walk in three PA for your career. Any thoughts of hanging it up at that point?

BB: Yeah, I was pretty proud of sitting all winter on a career .500 average.

Civ: What was that off season like knowing your were hitting .500 with a .667 OBP and a 1.500 slugging percentage?

BB: An overwhelming time commitment due to all the endorsement opportunities and speaking engagements!

Civ: As a .205 life time hitter, was there any pitcher who you had considerable success against?

BB: No one in the Majors. I did hit three home runs in a week against a Minor League pitcher, Tommy Joe Shimp. Does that count?

Civ: What was it like playing with George Brett?

BB: It forced me to become very good at catching pop ups. He didn’t want much to do with them. Watching him and Hal McRae taught me how to play an aggressive style of baseball.

Civ: Statistically you were a light hitter as a major leaguer, I think the readers would be interested in hearing how a lighter hitter makes it to the bigs. What did you hit as a high schooler? College?

BB: A bit over .300 as a junior in HS and around .285 as a senior. I had three above average tools, glove, arm and speed. That’s what got me drafted in the first round, ahead of Cal Ripken I may add. Poor Art Lilly, the scout who signed me!

Civ: You took some razzing by David Letterman during Pete Rose's quest to catch Ty Cobbs hits record. What were your thoughts while it was going on? What was it like to appear on Late Night?

BB: I had a lot of fun with it. It gave me some publicity when my play wasn’t. Although, it was my performance in the World Series that got me on the show. It opened many doors for me.

Civ: There have been 11 players ever drafted out of your high school Redwood High and you were the only one to make it to the major leagues, does the school have a Buddy Biancalana day? Do you ever see your old coach? What did he tell you?

BB: Actually Chad Krueter graduated from Redwood. NBC filmed a Sports Fantasy show with me at the high school after the Series, and the county of Marin had a day for me. I do stay in touch with my coach Al Endriss. He was a major influence on my career.

Civ: Of the 26 first round picks in the 1978 draft, 14 made it to the show, amongst them Kirk Gibson, Tom Brunansky and Lloyd Moseby, did you play against any of them in HS or college? Minors? Do players even know or care about this kind of thing?

BB: I played on a scout team in high school with Moseby and also the Minors along with Rex Hudler and I’m sure others, but don’t recall. Yes, I think players are aware of who first round picks are, especially from the same draft. It’s a bit of a common bond.

Civ: What do players say to each other when they reach base. I always see them talking. Do you even know other players or is it small talk.

BB: Mostly small talk, but there may be some discussion about how the pitcher is throwing. Some relationships among players may be closer now than when I played due to all the movement of players between teams. Players who share the same agent, may be closer as well.

Civ: Do you ever see any ex-teammates?

BB: Every now and then. We had our 20 year reunion for our World Series team. Great fun. All the same one liners were flowing. It was as if there was no time lapse.

Civ: What was your funniest baseball moment or story?

BB: Quite possibly when I was put on the disabled list and in our clubhouse. All of a sudden, a big laundry basket was pushed towards me by Lee May. As it approached, up popped Hal McRae aiming a fungo at me simulating a shot gun, pretending to shoot me, because I was of no use to the team. It was very funny. They were two of my favorite team mates.

Civ: Tell me about the events in the 1985 series and how did you know you were in the zone? Which came first, being in the zone or your first hit?

BB: Not sure I know for sure. But, before Game One I felt intensely nervous. For the first time in my life, I remember really identifying and sitting with, and feeling the fear. It was very freeing and empowering. It had a lot to do with freeing me up to play the best I had ever played. In my first at bat in Game One, I failed to get a bunt down in the third inning on a squeeze attempt. We ended up losing 3-1 and the media jumped on it pretty good. I felt a lot of pressure before Game Two, but again, I sat with it and remained pretty freed up. Being emotionally free is one component to being in the zone.

Civ: I know you were a proponent of Transcendental Meditation (TM). Did PMPM come out of your knowledge of TM?

BB: Any technique that reduces stress and enhances the mind body connection, will be beneficial to an athlete and anyone in general. The less stress in one’s nervous system, the better the mind-body coordination will be. TM is not a part of our program.

Civ: Can these techniques be used outside of the sporting arena?

BB: Yes, very much so. We have worked with a few musicians and stock traders. My wife told me she used them driving through the fog recently, when it was difficult seeing the lines. We have clients who have done better on tests and even were able to go off medication for ADHD.

The program can have a profound effect in many areas of life. We teach the co-existence of opposites, silence in the mind while simultaneously experiencing dynamism of the body. It’s what great players naturally do so often. Jordan, Tiger, Federer, Gretzky, Montana, Brady and others.

Civ: What players have come to you and use your techniques?

BB: Players whose names we can mention are, two time US Open Champion, Lee Janzen, Bob Keppel of the Twins, Kyle Davies of the Royals, Minor Leaguers Daryl Jones and Adam Ottavino of the Cardinals and George Brett for his golf game. There are many others whose names we can not mention for privacy purposes.

Civ: I know Nick Green of the Red Sox was a client. He started the season hitting in the .280's and has come back to earth to hit "the back of his baseball card". Did he depart from your techniques or do role players eventually come back to earth?

BB: Every player is different. We began working with Nick a few years ago and he had tremendous results. He exceeded his career average by 59 points and previous HR total by 19. He was able to resurrect his career, but our program is not a panacea. We have identified the processes in the mind that allow an athlete to play his best and developed a systematic way to teach it.

Not every player is capable of doing it, or doing it consistently. But we have found that every player we work with quickly realizes it’s what has to be done to play his best. We teach players how to access deeper levels of mind-body coordination.

Civ: Why don't some of the bigger names use your techniques?

BB: Give us time! We are three years into bringing this knowledge into sports and it is knowledge that has never been mentioned before. New discoveries take time. Teams and agents are sending us players who are under performing, but our program is not just for those players. Our program is for any player who wants a clear understanding of why he plays well sometimes and not other times.

It’s for those great players who have had trouble in the post season. Bonds, Arod, Soriano, Sabathia, and others. As great as they are, when the pressure is turned up in the post season, they have for the part struggled because they don’t have the knowledge of how to systematically connect at the deeper levels of mind-body coordination. And it doesn’t mean they are mentally weak.

Civ: Who is the biggest name using PMPM?

BB: I would have to say Lee Janzen who is turning things around.

Civ: How does this differ from sports psychology?

BB: Our work takes place on the field. We work in the arena of the state of mind at impact or release point for an athlete. That is the moment of truth. That and the state of mind just before the motion begins, will determine the fluidity and effectiveness of the motion, and the ability for an athlete to make a last split second adjustment. We often times refer clients to sports psychologists.

Civ: Have you been hired by any teams or strictly individuals?

BB: We did a test pilot last season with five St.Louis Cardinal Minor League hitters and are proud to report, the five showed an average increase in OPS of 100.8 points versus a decrease of 22.45 points for the rest of the Minor League hitters with whom we did not work. We had similar results with one of their pitchers.

Some prominent college basketball programs have attempted to hire us, but we are still working through the logistics of complying with the NCAA.

Civ: What does a day in the life of a PMPM customer consist of?

BB: When we are with them, we will be on their respective practicing field, in the cage, on the mound, golf course, basketball court etc. Depending on the sport, we will spend an hour or more with them as they are practicing what we teach. They will view videos when we are not with them and speak to us as needed.

Civ: You talk about your what if's...What if you had discovered this while you were playing, what difference would that have made in your overall numbers?

BB: Substantial. I was unable to sustain mechanical adjustments because of the lack of fluidity in my mind at the time. Anytime an athlete knows exactly where to look so they may produce the best motion available to them, will have a large impact on their performance

Civ: What if Ichiro used your company or techniques?

BB: Ichiro, naturally does so well, at what it is we teach. However, he struggled in the ALCS in 2001, striking out 1 time every 4.5 AB versus during the ’01 season when he struck out about 1 time every 14 AB. We would be able to give him a thorough understanding as to why this most likely happened and how to systematically prevent it from happening again.

Todd Civin is a freelance writer who writes for The Bleacher Report and Seamheads. He is also a supporter of, "A Glove of Their Own," the award-winning children's story that teaches paying it forward through baseball. The Luis Tiant Charitable Foundation is the most recent non-profit organization to join the A Glove of Their Own team and will earn $3.00 from each sale of the book purchased using the donor code LTF 223 Luis Tiant Foundation.

You Came in 14th Dad. How Great Is That?

2010-04-21T17:33:00.001-04:00

Many of you know my tired little story. I was laid off in November, 2008 along with 150 of my closest friends. I'm told it's part of life. "Not my life," I frequently think. Nothing bad ever happens to me.

My wife, Katie, reminds me, however, of my days spent as a single parent in the mid '90s, after my divorce. Days of "situational depression" where I laid, huddled in a corner, too depressed to get out of bed, thinking of the hand life had dealt me.

My son, Corey, who was nine at the time, had chosen to live with "Todd, I mean Dad" instead of with Mom and our daughters, Erika and Julia. Corey would come into my room and say. "Hey Todd...I mean, Dad...we need to worry about us. Not about Mom and the girls. Get up. We need to go live."

I'd get up, and go shave and drag a comb through my hair. I'd shove some tooth paste in my mouth and "go live."

From "living" I struggled to find a new job, as my "wife" and I had gone into business together publishing a monthly "feel good" magazine. When I stopped feeling good, the magazine stopped too. When my marriage died, we put the magazine down.

I started a new job making "$6.93 an hour," a number that is forever etched in my brain. It was about 20 percent of what I had made previously, but I was working again. I was out of bed and I had started to "live."

At lunch, I'd go outside and take a walk around the building. I would wear big steel-toed work boots and jeans. Hardly exercise apparel. But I'd walk. And think. And think. And walk. When the 12:30 bell rang, I'd go back inside. And work. And think.

I'd think about my kids. My man, Corey, who was thrust into adulthood at the age of nine. My daughters, Erika and Jules, excited to go live with "Mom in her new house." I'd think about not being able to tuck them in. Or wake them up by throwing their shades open wide. I could still hear them sing "Butterfly Kisses" to me. Only now I couldn't feel their eye lashes brush against my cheek.

The bell would ring again. It was 5:00. Time to leave, pick up Cor at the babysitter, make him supper and go outside and play some ball with him.

"Hey, Todd...I mean, Dad...watch my curve. Did it curve, Dad? Did it curve?"

"About this much, buddy," I'd say to the little man, motioning. "How was school?" I'd ask as I turned and twisted, a la El Tiante.

"Have you heard from Mom?" he'd ask, totally unaware I had ever asked him a question.

"Does this curve?" Corey would ask, totally unaware he had asked a question.

On weekends, I'd drive to Worcester to pick up the girls. As I got closer and closer to their "house," I'd get nervous in the pit of my of gut. Not sure if it was excitement to see my "Big girls" or the anxiety that comes with meeting "Mommy's new friend."

The girls would look absolutely beautiful as Mom sent them out of the house, dressed like little princesses. Erika was six and Jules was three.

We'd drive up to New Hampshire and the girls would sing to me. "Every breath you take, I'll be missing you," they'd sing, a la Puff Daddy's tribute to Notorious B.I.G. While they were rapping, I was fighting back tears. I still cry a bit, 15 years later, when I hear that song.

The girls and Corey and I would do our best to make everything seem OK. We'd spend mornings that fall at Corey's soccer games. One of my favorite moments of my entire life was taking the girls behind the shed in Hooksett, NH to pee pee and not understanding that "girls are plumbed different than we are."

In the spring, the girls would come up every Wednesday night and every other weekend and hang in the stands while Corey played baseball. They were there on a Wednesday night, when Daddy lived vicariously as Corey turned an unassisted triple play against the "Expos."

That spring we joined karate. I'm not sure if anyone but Corey climbed above a yellow belt. It wasn't important. We all learned the "star block set" to defend ourselves against "left, right, up, or down" strikes. (I actually used it in a fight I got in a few years ago in Antigua...Thanks, Sensei).

By now, my lunch time walks turned to jogs. No longer in steel toes, but in a $29 pair of running shoes I bought at K-Mart. I'd strip out of my work clothes in the men's room at work and jog one telephone pole at a time.

As I'd get from pole one to pole two, I'd literally pat myself on the back in an effort to rebuild my shattered self esteem. Tomorrow, I'll try to make it to the third and then the fourth on Wednesday. I'd run out, and run back...if I could.

My pay climbed a bit. And Corey and I fixed up the house. We had curtains now and I promised to make him a hot supper each night. We had separate rooms again as he thought, "It's time for you to sleep by yourself, Todd...I mean Dad."

That Wednesday, I picked up the girls a little earlier than normal and whisked up Rte. 93 to Derry. It was the night of my first race. The Derry five miler. The most I'd ever run at work is 45 phone poles, or about three miles. "What's an extra two?" I thought. That was until I passed the three-mile mark.

There were 27 people in the race. I felt like I could see 26 of them in front of me. Reality was, I was in the middle of the pack. A place I had spent most of my life in nearly every sporting endeavor in which I had ever participated.

As I turned the final corner I could see Corey, Erika, and Julia. They were still about 150 yards away. I could see they were holding a sign. I was gasping for air as runner No. 14 was gaining on me. "Second wind?" I thought. I used my second wind back at mile 3.5.

I plodded. Runner 14 gained. As I got closer to the three munchkins, they were jumping up and down. I'm not sure if I could read the sign or hear their voices. "Go Dad, Go!"

I'm sure No. 14 didn't know what happened. He was on my heels and I was failing fast.

"Those kids saw 13 people ahead of their Dad. I'll be damned if No. 14 passes me too."

I suspect God picked me up and carried me the last quarter mile. I'd never run so fast. No. 14...ate my dust. I crossed the finish line and they gave me a Popsicle stick with No. 14 written on it. It belonged to me. Not him.

The lady at the finish line tried to take the Popsicle stick with No. 14 on it out of my sweaty hand. I clutched it tight. "It's for my kids," I panted. The lady looked at me and looked at my smiling kids. She nodded and smiled as if knowing what kind of a life race we have all been through.

"You came in 14th, Dad," Erika screamed. "How great is that?" Julia added.

Pretty great, kids. Pretty great.

Remember Our Team As They Play A Real Game Today

2010-04-19T13:45:00.002-04:00

Yesterday there were 16 Major League Baseball games played. There were another eight hockey games and four NBA games with final scores in which one team beat the other.

In the big picture, none of it truly matters.

We banter daily about the "Battles" that we won.

Battles aren't fought on the hardwood or at the rink. On the diamond or on the gridiron. Battles are fought on the battlefield only.

Blood isn't shed by guys in shoulder pads. Blood is shed by a team with no pads at all.

The word battle should be reserved for those skirmishes in which our men and women fight far from home, defending honor and displaying courage. The term battle should not be abused when we speak of Josh Beckett buzzing one by the head of Bobby Abreu and the ensuing square dance that took place between overzealous boys.

A battle is a revered term we should sanctify when we speak of our troops upholding life and liberty as we know it.

We speak of "Our Team" as if we suited up ourselves and faced the opposing pitcher on the mound. "Our Team" suits up every day to fight an enemy that it doesn't even know. To put their lives on the line so that we can sit back and watch LeBron take on Kobe.

"Our Team" wishes that it could find the time to play ball in the backyard with a child they haven't yet met. They pray that they could sit around the dinner table and break bread with their mother and father. With their sisters and their brothers.

While we lie in bed watching the Bruins defeat the Canadiens, "Our Team" wishes that they could simply be falling asleep next to their wives or husbands or their fiances. While we love our Yankees or our Sox, "Our Team" loves their country so much that they are willing to have shrapnel buzzing by their heads at a speed that would make a Randy Johnson offering look like a Wakefield knuckler.

And "Our Team" doesn't wear Red Sox or pinstripes. They don't have a closet full of Cubbies t-shirts like you or me. They have a wardrobe that is without diversity. Clothes that they put on each and every day that show their true colors. Red and white and blue.

And while 26,000 men and women are running today's historic Boston Marathon to the cheers and admiration of millions from Hopkinton to Boston, a number far greater are also running life's marathon to the cheers of no one.

So when you flip on the tube today. Patriots Day in Massachusetts, think of the true patriots.

Not Brady, Moss, and Welker, but PFC. Darren Dodge, USMC (my daughter Erika's boy friend), Gary Coran, USMC, Cpl. Lee Haywood, USMC, Robert Corran USMC-RIP, Kevin Messmer, 10th Mountain Cavalry, and Captain Jennifer Harris, USMC-RIP.

They are the heroes that truly went to battle yesterday and the day before.

And they are truly the only team we should be rooting for. These men and women are the true patriots that should fill our hearts today.

Jason Grilli Strikes Out the Competition

2010-04-17T12:32:00.008-04:00

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Finally Ready To Share: Todd's All-Star Blooper

2010-04-15T18:12:00.001-04:00

One of the most wonderful gifts, that has been passed down through the Civin gene pool has been the ability to share a good story. To me, the ability to tell a personal account of a chapter from life's play is the greatest treasure that my Dad and Mom could have blessed us kids with.

The ability to capture nearly every nuance of life's most memorable moments coupled with a steel trap long term memory leaves me with an endless web to weave. Most times I try to share the thousands of points of light that have dotted my personal geography, but every once in a while it's fun to share a story of a time that life has reared back and kicked you in the jewels.

There has been one such story that I've been holding back as it teeters delicately on the see saw of good taste. At the same time, presenting ones life while exposed and vulnerable tends to create character. As Friedrich Nietzsche said, "For a tree to become tall it must grow tough roots amongst rocks."

So here goes nothing.

My story begins when I was about eleven years old. Most of my friends made the Spencer Little League All-star team and even though I thought I deserved a spot on the team the voters didn't. I guess that an .083 batting average and a half dozen errors for the daisy picking right fielder doesn't score many All-star votes.

Our team opened up the All-Star schedule in Auburn, MA, a town about fifteen miles from Spencer. My Dad was away on business and my Mom didn't drive in those days, so my brother, Dyno, and I hitched a ride with Mrs. B and Mrs R. (names have been altered for obvious reasons), two of the All-Star Moms.

We rode in the back seat of their station wagon with the wood paneled sides with their two All-Stars, Anthony and Paul.

Mrs. B and Mrs. R. were those two typical Little League mothers that help to define the phrase "Little League mom". Both women wore loud red T-shirts emblazoned with their son's names on the back and red baseball caps adorned with the bold Spencer "S". Each of them feasts on a daily dose of umpire amongst their daily fare and snap their gum incessantly as they chew.

It was a scorcher of a summer day, but for some reason, I decided to wear a pair of long Wrangler jeans to the game. I wasn't much for shorts in those days. Probably because I used to suffer terribly with warts all over my legs. In fact, my sister, Melanie, used to call me Toad, though I was never quite sure if it was because of my name or because of my warts.

The hot July sun baked down as the Spencer All Stars took the field. Mrs. R. tapped me on the shoulder as Paul took the mound and Anthony took his spot behind home plate.

"You didn't make the team, huh Todd?" she said in a screeching voice that closely resembled finger nails on a chalk board.

"No, Mrs. R." I said thinking of my .083 average and the beautiful patch of daisies growing out in right field.

I remember feeling a little nauseous as the first couple of innings passed. I wasn't really sure though if it was from Mrs. R or from the 90 degree heat burning a hole in my Wranglers.

Around the third inning I remember getting up from the bleachers along the third base line because I felt my stomach feeling sort of unsettled. I walked away from the crowd of Spencer fans with hopes of "breaking a little wind" as Dad used to say.

Much like the pigeon who dampened my spirits by dropping in my ear on the first day of first grade, my colon let loose with a wrath of fury. If one can envision the folk tale of Hans Brinker with his finger in the dike, and then picture said little Dutch boy taking his phalange out, that's what it looked like.

With the speed of a flood engorged stream overflowing it's banks, my Wranglers filled with hot, wet excrement from my ankles to my collar. I immediately dropped to my knees looking a little like Bambi falling to the ice.

At that very instant, the unsuspecting group of Spencer fans cheered loudly as All-star catcher, Anthony came to bat. Anthony batted about .600 points higher than I did during the regular baseball season and therefore made the All-Star squad. In the event that you forgot, I didn't.

As the strapping catcher stepped to the plate, a warm cross wind blew from left to right. I was sure it was going to take the stench from my soiled undergarments and cause the evacuation of the bleachers. It didn't, but as I looked in that direction from my spot on the matted turf, I spotted Roberta, a hottie from my fifth grade class walking right towards me.

Roberta was the first girl in our class who had bumps in her shirt and was the talk of the entire fifth grade. I suspected it was toilet paper and found it sort of ironic that Roberta had what I wanted, in more ways than one.

I'd waited for the chance to talk to Roberta for most of the school year and now had my chance. Unfortunate for me, I was sitting on the ground with hot, wet, fecal matter baking to my backside.

She walked by and smiled. I nodded and played with the dirt that hadn't been contaminated around me.

After about ten minutes, my brother came over. "Wanna play catch?" he asked unaware that his big bro had pooped himself.

"I can't...I pooped myself", I whispered.

"You what?" Dyno blurted out, apparently unaware that any hope of a future prom date rested perilously in jeopardy.

I motioned him over and shared my quandary with him. I begged him with all my heart and soul to go ask where the bathroom was but he didn't want to ask.

"Dyno, please. I'm filled with poop and I feel another one coming."

After a little pleading Dyno, walked over to the snack bar to ask where the rest rooms were. I sat in my doo doo as Paul swatted a deep fly to right to put Spencer up 2-0. Unlike me, Paul had made the All-star team. Mrs' R looked over at me from the top seat in the bleachers and shouted in her excruciatingly high pitched voice.

"Hey, Taaaaahd. Did you see what Paul just did?"

"No, Mrs R." I thought. "Did you see what I just did?"

Dyno returned seconds later and I knew that my nightmare was coming to an end. As luck would have it though, the facilities for the Auburn Little League complex consisted of a one-holer about 500 yards beyond the left field fence.

I pulled myself to my feet as steaming poop dribbled out the elastic band of my Fruit of the Looms and traveled down the leg of my Wranglers. I remember waddling the length of the left field line, turning over my shoulder occasionally to see if the Spencer cheering section was any the wiser.

I opened the door to the dimly lit shack and proceeded to make like the Department of Environmental Protection and clean up after the spill. The small wooden outhouse had no lock on the door so Dyno had to stand guard, while I waged war.

The porto-potty had a plank of wood with a hole carved in the middle and a swarm of flies buzzed around the top. I remember some colorful graphity filled the unpainted walls of the throne, but really wasn't up for reading.

I peeled my Wranglers over my soiled bottom as the smell of raw sewage filled the stall.

I reached over to the rusted toilet paper dispenser and pulled at the end of the first sheet. To my dismay, I yanked a two inch by two inch square of something resembling wax paper to clean my steaming rump.

I pulled again and again and again wrapping the high gloss papyrus around my little hand until I made a little mitten of sorts. With the first wipe, the mitten instantly disintegrated spreading doo doo all over my hand and wrist. I've never experienced such a mess.

A good fifteen minutes passed, as Dyno waited patiently outside the door. I made the decision to toss my pooped filled undergarments down the hole and to fly commando for the last few innings of the game.

I exited the outhouse and felt a certain sense of relief as I entered the fresh summer air.

"You think anyone will notice?" I asked Dyno wishfully.

"Oh, I think they'll notice," Dyno replied while blocking his nose.

Well, the last two innings were completed as Spencer came out on top. Mrs. B and Mrs R and Anthony and Paul hustled quickly to the car with trophies in hand, while Dyno and I walked sheepishly to the wood side station wagon.

"What happened to you?" asked Mrs. B.

"You stink" added Mrs. R, in her familiar Edith Bunker-like shrill.

"I fell in the mud near that building over there" I explained as if falling in poop was better than unintentionally smearing it on yourself.

Mrs. B relocated Dyno and I into the way back of the wood paneled station wagon as Paul wrapped his stinky athletic sock around his face. We traveled the fifteen miles in record fashion even by passing the Dairy Queen which was orignally part of our plan.

Mrs. B stopped the wood paneled station wagon at the bottom of High Street and let Dyno and I walk the last quarter mile up the steep hill.

"Hey Taaaahd," shouted Mrs. R as Dyno and I made our way up the street. "The fliiiiiiies are following you."

Jackie Robinson Takes On the Field 63 Years Ago Today

2010-04-15T12:28:00.001-04:00

Some how it seems fitting to start off this article in the following way.

Three score and three years ago today, Jackie Roosevelt Robinson took the field for the Brooklyn Dodgers. I sit today and try to imagine what must have been going through his mind 63 years ago today.

I can't. I'm a white guy in a white guy's America.

The closest I have come to being Jackie Robinson, is being the only Jewish family in a town that had us and one other family that was only half Jewish. This in the small shoe town of Spencer, MA, which was primarily French Canadian.

In fact until the early 1970's, Spencer had a Catholic fire department and a Protestant Fire Department. I used to joke to my parents that we'd be in trouble if our house were ever to catch fire.

So when Jackie Robinson sat in his all-white locker room on the morning of Apr. 15, 1947, I can't even begin to guess what was in his head. I suspect that he dressed in the far back corner of the Brooklyn locker room. Even if it wasn't geographically set apart, I'm sure it was metaphorically such.

And though we look at him as a hero some three score later and wear his No. 42 in a show of unity, I suspect becoming a hero was the furthest thing from Jackie's mind. I suspect that staying alive or trying to drown out racial epitaphs were more in the forefront of his thoughts.

Why, it was still 16 years later when MLK gave his "I Have A Dream" speech and stated:

"But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition."

While King gave his famous speech in front of hundreds of thousands, Jackie Robinson sat in that locker room at Ebbets Field alone. By himself. Faced with the daunting task of desegregating all of baseball.

It wasn't until 1959, more than a decade later, that Pumpsie Green became the first African American to don the Sox of the Boston Red Sox, deemed by many to be the most racist organization in sports. It wasn't until then that baseball was truly desegregated.

In fact in 1973, after another fourteen years had passed, Judge W. Arthur Garrity abolished segregation in Boston's schools and ordered forced busing of blacks to schools that, until then, were all white. Garritty's decision was met with riots, bombings and personal death threats.

It was about that time that Jim Rice, a black from Greenville, NC took left field for those same Red Sox and essentially became the first black star in the organization's history.

And now, another 38 years have passed and we only recently elected our first African-American president. I suspect that we are pretty proud of ourselves as a Nation for righting a historical wrong. I suppose we think that we are finally "judging a man by the content of his character and not by the color of his skin."

I like to think that Jackie Robinson would be proud, too.

But I wonder.

More Than Peanuts and Cracker Jacks on Baseball's All-time Menu

2010-04-10T17:29:00.000-04:00

I'm really not sure what's going on with my body lately. Seems like I look at food and immediately add 15 pounds to my svelte and chiseled figure. My wife loses 10 pounds and somehow I find it.

I start each Monday, on the new Oprah diet and begin each Tuesday with another cry of "I'll wait until next Monday."

At present, I weigh twice as much as the Olsen twins and only 60 pounds less than CC Sabathia.

Not really sure when it got like this. In 2001, I ran up Mtn Washington at a weight of 165 pounds and finished the Boston Marathon only a couple hours behind the winner. This morning I tipped the scale weighing more than this years men's and women's winner combined.

It's gotten a bit discouraging watching Joey Chestnut ingest 68 hot dogs on July 4, while my wife tries to convince me to share her bag of nutri-system pretzels. I had aspirations of someday appearing on TV, but never thought it would be as a contestant on The Biggest Loser.

So, it should come as little surprise that I spent the better half of the morning, not exercising and miraculously not ingesting Twinkies, but compiling a smorgasbord of the tasty and tantalizing menu of baseball players with food like names. (For the record, I gained 11 pounds while creating the menu).

Tonight's Dinner was Exquisitely Prepared By:
Dennis Cook with desserts elegantly created by Dusty Baker

Food Ingested By:
Don Gullet

Soup d' Jour
A savory helping of Bill Campbell with Milt Stock, Billy Bean and Jim Rice

Your Choice of Rolls and Butter
Zack Wheat or Johnny Oates

Surf and Turf
Dizzy Trout, Catfish Hunter and Kevin Bass served with your choice of Rob Deer, Mike Lamb or Rabbit Maranville

Lighter Fare
~ Herman Franks and Julio Franco smothered with Chili Davis and Jeff Frey
~ Garrett Berger topped with Eddie Bacon and MLB writer Jonathan Mayo delicately seasoned with GM Salty Saltwell and Don Pepper.

Beverages
Bobby Wine, Phil Coke and Todd Coffey with George Creamer

Healthy Desserts
~ Bob Lemon with Daryl Strawberry and Bill Almond
~ Damon Berryhill with Sean Berry and Frank Pears
~ Dan Quisenberry with Luke Appling and Connie Mack

For the Sweet Tooth
~ Rick Sweet with Candy Maldonado and Pee Wee Reese elegantly prepared by John "The Candy Man" Candelaria
~ Coco Crisp smothered with Candy Cummings and Peanuts Lowry
~ Pie Traynor, Cookie Rojas and my personal favorite Mark Lemongelo with Felix Pie.

And what more fitting way to end our baseball feast then with a quote from Slim Fast Spokeman Tommy Lasorda who once said "When we lose, I eat. When we win I eat. I also eat when we're rained out."

Tommy, you took the words right out of my mouth.

Born and Bred Red Sox Red

2010-04-05T15:58:00.003-04:00

I'm a homer through and through.

I love the Boston Red Sox more than I love anything in the world (with the exception of my wife, my five kids, and maybe my mom and dad).

I love the Red Sox so much I had their representation tattooed on my left bicep and on my right calf. My son also has his body emblazoned with the Red Sox "B.”

I bleed red, and I see the world through rose-colored glasses.

I have a Red Sox license plate, pool table lamp, and a closet full of Sox jerseys.

My dachshund’s name is Fenway, and my cat's name is Coco (after the since-departed Coco Crisp).I started following the Sox in 1971, at the age of 10. I was a late bloomer.

My first recollections of the team were watching George "The Boomer" Scott stretched to the ground at first base, seeing “Captain Carl” patrolling left field, and looking at Reggie Smith swing from both sides of the plate.

I made my sandwiches with Yaz Bread, drank from Red Sox jelly glasses, and still carry my lunch to work in a Red Sox metal lunch box.

My brother and I used to play baseball in the road in front of our house from 7 AM to 7 PM, seven days per week, rain or shine. We'd come inside at 7:05 p.m. to eat and watch the Sox.

When we played, we'd run to the side of the street as a car would cruise by every ten minutes or so. We'd shoot to see who would be the Sox. I'd cheat to win.

My Dad took my brother and me to our first game in 1973. We sat along the left-field line and saw Luis Tiant twist and turn his way to a 10-0 shutout vs. Cleveland. We also saw the first Major League game played by Rick Burleson and Dewey Evans.

I love the fact that Bob Montgomery was the last major leaguer to play without a helmet and that there is Morse code beneath the scoreboard in left field.

My favorite all-time Red Sox player is Bill "Spaceman" Lee. No one played with as much spirit as the Space Man. He and I have both been accused of "marching to the beat of a different drummer." We are both proud of this.

I think Lee could save baseball if he were named commissioner.

I would wear Schilling's Bloody Sock for life if I had the opportunity and once snuck down his driveway to try to get a peek at his house...don't bother trying.

I feel proud when one of the Sox players pulls his pants high to show the red socks, a la Terry Shumpert, and I think it is really awesome that Jason Varitek proudly wears the "C.”

I was at the game when Steve "Psycho" Lyons pulled his pants down on second base and loved to buy peanuts from “George the Peanut Vendor” (Pea....nuts...Pistachio's..Get your Super Pretzels"). I have never laughed that hard.

I'd rather eat at Rem-Dawg's than anywhere else in Boston. I also hold a record that may never be broken by eating six sausages, peppers, and onions on a dare at opening day 1998.

I saw the Sox come back from 8-1 against Seattle as Mo Vaughn hit a walk-off grand slam in the ninth. I am not quite sure if I've gotten my voice back yet.

I was disappointed when they removed the Pee-Pee Troughs from the Men's room at Fenway. I understand why they did it, but was disappointing nevertheless.

One of the highlights of my life was to simply sit in Ted Williams's Red Bleacher seat some 502 feet from home plate deep in the bowels of the bleachers. Last year at Opening Day, my wife and I saw Ted Kennedy throw out the first pitch. Sort of a coincidence that two Teddy's would have such an impact in Boston. While living or dead.

My favorite numbers are 1,4,6,8,9,14, 27. Glad Pesky is included there. Glad Manny will never be.

I say I hate the Yankees, and I joke with my friends that I also have a Yankees "tat" in a place where the sun don't shine. Truly, I don't hate the Yankees. And yes, I'm jealous that they have won 27 times. Believe me, I'm reminded of it nearly every day.

I admire Derek Jeter and wish I had three of him on my team, regardless what sport I may be playing.

I love the fact that Dick "The Monster" Radatz dominated Mickey Mantle nearly every time he faced him. I've become friends with his daughter and thinks that is sooooo cool.

In April 2004, my son Corey and I saw the Sox play the Yankees in Fenway and then saw the two teams play in Yankee Stadium a week later. I had heart palpitations as I walked into the “House That Ruth Built.”

As the game was ending, a Yankee fan asked my son if he thought the Sox would win the Series that year. Corey's eyes grew to the size of softballs and he said, "Yes." The guy told Corey his Grandpa thought the same thing. We all laughed. We got the last laugh that October.

Last year, my wife Katie and I visited spring training in Florida and attended our first exhibition game. My heart beat at double time from South Carolina to Fort Myers. One of the reasons I married Katie is because she is nearly as passionate about the Sox as I am.

I don't have season tickets due to the insane waiting list, but am willing to cut off my left arm in exchange for a pair (yes, I'm a southpaw).

My favorite concerts to date are Jimmy Buffett, The Rolling Stones, and Bruce Springsteen—all at Fenway.

I don't ever want them to tear down my beloved mausoleum, but I don't have a solution for its aging. I tolerate the fact that my butt has gotten bigger and that the seats have not.

When I die, I ask that my wife and kids bring my ashes to the top of the Green Monster and let them float to the field during Sweet Caroline.

I'm not quite sure why I'm telling you all this except that it's Opening Day and I tend to get all mushy inside during this day every year...

Am I obsessed? No. I don't think so.

"Hey, honey. Can Fenway get a tattoo?"

The Supermen of Summer..An "xoxo" Video Production

2010-04-04T10:45:00.000-04:00

Order Your Copy of Devoted Today!!

2010-04-02T16:18:00.003-04:00

Pre-Order Your Copy!

'Devoted'

The Story of a Father's Love for His Son

By Dick Hoyt with Don Yaeger

Devoted is the true to life story of World-renowned Father and son triathlon team, Dick and Rick Hoyt. Known throughout the world, as Team Hoyt, they exemplify the unconditional love of a father and a son. The story, told through the eyes, voice and feelings of Dick Hoyt, shares in detail the events which created their inseparable bond and resulted in their "Yes, You Can" true to life mission statement.

From the moment Rick was born to the exhaling of his very next breath, the book shares the stories which capture the essence of what each of them remain today, Team Hoyt.

Available on April 21st, 2010 ~ Order your copy today

$28.00 (includes shipping via Media Mail~Add $2 for Priority)

Send check made payable to Dick Hoyt to Dick Hoyt 241
Mashapaug Road, Holland, MA 01521

Add $3.00 if paying by Credit Card or Pay Pal-
Email teamhoyt@cox.net to take advantage of this service.

Team Hoyt Re-lives History While Dusting Off An Old Friend

2010-04-01T11:34:00.001-04:00

By Kathy Boyer/Todd Civin

True friends are like running chairs. They are always there when you need them and ready to get dusted off and asked to travel 26.2 miles with you at a moments notice.

Or something like that.

Dick and Rick (Team Hoyt) have been having a lot of trouble the last few years with their running chair. The chair that carried them through the most recent portion of their thousand, plus running events.

According to the calendar, Dick, like all of us, is getting older as he will be turning 70 on June 1. Rick is not only getting older (48), but is also, like all of us, putting on a bit of weight. Rick tips the scales at 148 pounds right now, while he was only 115 pounds as recently as two years ago. Rick is also having trouble with his back, the result of sitting in the running chair for long periods of time over the years, while Dick is having trouble with his breathing when running, coupled with some pain in his quads and legs.

While sitting in the running chair that Rick has been using for many years, his feet are tucked under him as he sits during race events. He has been quite uncomfortable for over a year now and Dick has been talking with engineers and others trying to get a new chair built for Rick. To this point they have not had much luck.

A few months back, however, Dick was at a corporate event where he was the motivational speaker. A video came on the screen showing Dick and Rick competing in the 1989 Ironman triathlon in Hawaii. Like the re-emergence of an old friend, Dick said to himself “Hey, that is our old chair. Maybe that would work for Rick."

He noticed that Rick's legs were straight in front of him and not tucked underneath the chair and suspected that he would be more comfortable and his back would not hurt.

Problem solved?

The only problem is – the chair that they used in the 1989 Ironman triathlon in Hawaii had been retired and had been in the New England Sports Museum since about 1994.

The chair, which was built around 1987, had been used by the famed father/son marathon team in many road races and triathlons, including the 1987 Marine Corp Marathon in Washington D.C., their first Ironman triathlon in Penticton, B.C. Canada in 1988, and their first Ironman triathlon in Hawaii in 1989.

When Team Hoyt first started doing race events in the late 1970’s, Dick had a running chair built for Rick, but after using it for several years, Rick got older and heavier and outgrew it.

Around 1986, when Rick was visiting an orthopedic specialist in Springfield, MA, Dick mentioned to the doctor that he and Rick were doing race events and triathlons and that Rick was not comfortable in his running chair. The orthopedic specialist said that he and another friend (also an orthopedic doctor) would take a look at their current design and see if they could come up with an improved design that would make Rick more comfortable for longer periods of time.

The two doctors designed the seat, and another person designed the frame. Dick and Rick used this chair from about 1987 until about 1992. It was put in the New England Sports Museum around 1994, and was on display for all to see as part of the Museum's rotating displays.

After Dick remembered the old chair, he contacted the museum a few months ago and explained his dilemma. He drove into Boston to pick up the old running chair, which had several years worth of dust on it and needed a little TLC and duct tape.

Dick and Rick used the "new" chair in a few half marathons in February and March, and felt that it brought back a bit of nostalgia while using it. They thought of the days, long ago when they used this chair and all the races he and Rick have done since retiring "their old friend" back in 1992.

Dick also quickly realized how long and heavy and very difficult for him to push the chair is. Of course, Dick is now 18 years older and Rick is now 30-35 lbs heavier to boot.

The chair is also wider than their last chair and the handlebars are in a different position, which is making it difficult for Dick to adjust his running and rhythm while pushing.

The chair is being worked on as the Team prepares for their 28th Boston Marathon on April 19. They'd like to get it back in time to do some training for the big event and hope that Rick is more comfortable as they travel that familiar route from Hopkinton to Boston with their old familiar friend.

Pre-order Team Hoyt's new book, "Devoted"

Dick Hoyt's new book, "Devoted", with famed-author, Don Yaeger, will be available for shipping on April 21st by visiting the Team Hoyt website.

"Devoted" is the true to life story of the world-renowned Father and son triathlon team, Dick and Rick Hoyt. Known throughout the world, as Team Hoyt, they exemplify the unconditional love of a father and a son.

The story, told through the eyes, voice and feelings of Dick Hoyt, shares in detail the events, which created their inseparable bond and resulted in their "Yes, You Can" true to life mission statement. From the moment Rick was born to the exhaling of his very next breath, the book shares the stories which capture the essence of what each of them remain today, Team Hoyt.

The book is available for $28, which includes S/H by Media Mail® or for $30 by Priority Mail®. Send a check to Dick Hoyt, 241 Mashapaug Road, Holland, MA 01521 or add $3 for CC purchase or PayPal process fee. If paying by CC, please fax your order to 413-245-9554 or call 413-245-9466 between 10 AM and 6 PM EST.

Visit the Team Hoyt website at http://teamhoyt.com/store/index.html for details.

Kathy Boyer is the office manager, publicist, and friend of Team Hoyt. She will share the stories of Team Hoyt from time to time. For more information on Team Hoyt, visit www.teamhoyt.com.

Through The Eyes Of...Garrett Berger and The iFungo Ordinance Bat Line

2010-03-29T15:24:00.000-04:00

The following is part of a weekly series called "Through the Eyes Of....". In each segment, I share interviews with or stories about those that I view to be the "Good Guys."

It is 12:40 a.m. and my family has been asleep for nearly four hours, while I am still glued to the longest double shutout I can ever remember.

Fifteen innings, 11 hits total and zero runs scored between the Red Sox and Yanks. In my world, believe it or not, it doesn't get any better than this.

As I write, A-Rod deposits one in the seats and the play-by-play man dubs him a hero. I chuckle to myself. Partially in disgust, as the Sox have fallen another game behind the Bronx Bombers, but due in part to the announcers loose use of the word "hero."

I flip off the tube and decide to finish my Q and A piece with Garrett Berger, the first pick of the Florida Marlins in the 2001 draft. Quite fittingly, Garrett Berger knows who the "true heroes" are and is doing something about honoring them.

You see, Garrett Berger is the owner and CEO of iFungo. And while our troops are fighting around the globe to ensure our freedom, Garrett Berger is doing all he can to make sure we don't forget them while they're away.

So, as you read my interview with Garrett Berger and learn about his new Ordinance Line of baseball bats, remember...A-Rod's not a hero. The men and women of the US Armed Forces and their husbands and wives and children who are waiting for them to come home are our heroes.

Civ: After baseball, you started iFungo. How did this come about?

GB: The idea was presented to me and then I immediately jumped at it. I thought it was a great idea and concept and had always thought it would be beneficial for people to sell premium products to all players.

My first few years in pro ball, I saw a demand for high-end equipment, especially for those players without agents. Now, not only do we supply minor leaguers with their equipment, but now we make professional equipment available to the masses.

Civ: Explain what iFungo does/is.

GB: iFungo supplies all players with high-end equipment. Whether you’re a professional or a professional at heart we offer the same equipment the guys on TV use and make our amateur/professional players more confident in their pursuit of their dreams. Whether it is pro gloves or big league bats, we have it all.

Civ: Who have you met in the baseball world that readers would know; your coolest brush with greatness?

GB: Playing for six years in affiliated ball you meet a lot of great players and great guys. The past two years playing for Tommy John was a priceless experience. The players that were on my team as well made my time there a very humbling experience.

Between the guys I played with and the guys I played against, it made a great experience playing with the true professionals like them.

Civ: Tell me about your new venture with USA Cares.

GB: iFungo has teamed up with USA Cares to create a way to give back to the brave men and women who defend our freedom. We call it the “iFungo Ordinance Bats.” These bats are very special in every sense of the word.

Family members can now purchase bats with their soldiers name and rank on Line One, as well as, a personal message to them on Line Two.

Fifty percent of every bat sold will go to USA Cares and our goal is to reach 555 bats by 9-11-09 so we can donate $10,000.

We just had a bat sold the other day with the personal message, “Husband, Father…Hero.”

With personal messages like these you can feel the type of power and emotion we are bringing to the table with these bats. I am truly grateful to be a part of something like this.

Civ: What did USA Cares say when you came to them with the proposal?

GB: They loved the idea. There are a couple of wood bat companies that have had similar ideas but none of which were willing to donate 50% to them. They have been great about trying to help us get this cause out there.

Civ: Who do you see buying the bats?

GB: Anyone. Businesses, families, celebrities, anyone who wants to supports these brave men and women.

We would love celebrities to purchase these bats and take them overseas when they visit the troops so they can sign them and give the troops something special, while helping a great cause and organization in USA Cares.

Soldiers can even purchase them for their sons or daughters to be used in their games! I mean how great would it be to have the son or daughter of a soldier step up to the plate swinging a bat with their parents or family member's name on it. If that doesn’t give you confidence at the plate, I don’t know what will!

Civ: Do you have family or friends in the military?

GB: Yes my parents' god son is in Baghdad right now; as well as I know a few friends over there as well.

Civ: How is the program doing so far?

GB: Its going great! We have received a great response of people about the bats and how they love the overall concept. So now it’s all about spreading the word of mouth and getting these amazing bats in the hands of soldiers or soldiers' kids.

Civ: Do you envision kids of the military using the bat in a game or displaying it?

GB: Yes. Think of the power in this. A player is playing in a wood bat tournament and his family member is serving overseas.

He steps up to the plate with an ordinance bat with his family members name and a personal message on the bat saying, “We love you son” or “Swing hard!” If that doesn’t give you goose bumps, you're un-American!

Civ: Think back, if you were the child of a military person using one of these bats in a game, what would be going through your little head?

GB: This is all theoretical for me, because I could never say I was one of those kids, however, I can only imagine the confidence that this bat would be able to provide for these players.

They won’t have to think what horrible things there family member is facing because right before they step in to the box they can see them saying, “It’s ok” or “We Love You!” Very powerful stuff!

To order your iFungo Ordinance Bat go to www.ifungo.com.

Todd Civin is a freelance writer who writes for the Bleacher Report and Seamheads. He can be reached at toddcivin1@aim.com with comments or story ideas.

He is also a supporter of "A Glove of Their Own", the award winning children's book that is capturing the heart of the nation. For more information visit the site at www.agloveoftheirown.com and purchase under today's donor code USC247 USACARES.

J-NO Celebrates Birthday 1980's Style

2010-03-26T11:10:00.003-04:00

On the 22nd day of March during a wide-ranging span of years throughout history, the Heavens parted and out dropped the likes of many famous individuals from various walks of life including: comedian Chico Marx (1887), actor Karl Malden (1912), "Captain Kirk" William Shatner (1931), Canadian figure skater Elvis Stojko (1972), actress Reese Witherspoon (1976), composer Andrew Lloyd Weber (1948) and sportscaster Bob Costas (1952). Each spent this day celebrating the anniversary of their birth some number of years ago.

Little did Boston Breakers' midfielder Jen Nobis know that when parents Pam and Mike Nobis headed for that little hospital in Quincy, Illinois on that fateful day in 1984, that she would end up sharing her special day with such an illustrious group.

With Marx and Malden laid safely to rest and Captain Kirk, Stojko, Witherspoon, Weber and Costas undoubtedly celebrating with family, the star of the Breakers got together with a couple of her closest friends, Darci and Kim, and celebrated birthday number 26 this week, 1980's style.

JNO, as she is called by friends and teammates, will likely miss the season due to an injury to her ACL. She has healed enough, however, to exhibit a few of her famed dance moves and displays of flexibility as filmed in her suburban (and somewhat unkempt) Boston apartment.

Nobis, whose outgoing and open personality has made her a media darling amongst local professional athletes, was willing to share her celebration as part of this exclusive birthday interview and her festive YouTube video shot prior to her night on the town with Darci and Kim.

Somehow I think I can hear Girls Just Wanna Have Fun blasting out of the eight-track player of Nobis' lime green Gremlin tooling around the streets of Boston. Happy Birthday JNO...and many more.

Todd Civin: Were you especially excited when you woke on your special day?

Jennifer Nobis: Yes, and then I realized I was up at 6:00 AM because I had to nanny! Such is the life of an injured Breaker.

TC: What flavor birthday cake is your favorite?

JNO: Confetti birthday cake!!!!!

TC: Do you eat the cake or the frosting first or both at the same time?

JNO: All at the same time. Love the feeling of double sweetness!

TC: Do you have a special birthday ritual?

JNO: I turn my music loud and sing the birthday song in whatever style of song I am listening too! Happy Birthday to me!

TC: What was the menu for your birthday dinner?

JNO: My favorite meal of ALL times is Macaroni and Tomato juice, so that's what we feasted on. I'll share the recipe with your readers. It's super simple. Drain the macaroni and put Campbell's tomato juice in it. DON'T mistake this for Tomato paste or soup. It's straight up JUICE. The key ingredient though is lots and lots of pepper! Enjoy!

TC: Was there a theme to your party?

JNO: I was born in '84, so our theme was 80’s!

TC: Did your host family get you anything special?

JNO: Sure did. They left for Paris for ten days and I had the big house to myself. The perfect gift.

TC: Any game playing like pin the tail on the donkey, bobbing for apples, clothes pin in the bottle?

JNO: Spin the bottle. Just kidding. We had a handstand contest, dance contest and, of course, who could get the most numbers that night! Ha,ha.

TC: Tell us about your best birthday party growing up. How did this compare?

JNO: I had too many great ones. My twin and I use to have our birthday parties at the gymnastic center. Ha, ha I miss sharing my parties with Tyler.

TC: Who had the most outrageous 80's costume?

JNO: The birthday girl of course!! I was “Classic” 80’s, while Darci was “Cheerleader” 80’s and Kim was “Barbie” 80’s.

TC: Describe the music played at your party.

JNO: Ace of Base, Michael Jackson, Gangster Paradise. Let's say, I'm a well-rounded girl with lots of variety.

TC: Were there any birthday spankings or other approved "rough play"?

JNO: Todd, you know better that any kind of spanking isn't approved or appropriate at the age of 26.

TC: What is your preference, the traditional happy birthday song or the version sung at the 99 or Outback?

JNO: Neither, I like the Beatles version , but my favorite is when my parents and brother call me every year and sing to me!

TC: After playing in Sweden this season, can you say Happy Birthday in Swedish?

JNO: Grattis pŒ fšdelsedagen.

TC: What was your favorite gift received?

JNO: My underwater IPOD, so now I can swim laps and listen to music. From my parents. I LOVE YOU!!!

TC: Do you prefer a Hallmark or a homemade birthday card?

JNO: Homemade, by far!!

TC: Do you consider yourself to be 26 years old or 26 years young?

JNO: I am a 26-year-old who lives in a ten-year-old's body and mind! Well maybe not so much body, but mind for sure.

TC: At what age will you stop celebrating birthdays?

JNO: Never! Celebrating keeps you young no matter what age!

Jennifer Nobis' frequent blog posts can also be found at Connect World Football , along with that of fellow Boston Breaker, Tiffany Weimer and several other female soccer stars.

Todd Civin is a freelance writer who writes for Bleacher Report, Sports, Then and Now, and Seamheads. He also shares his top stories on his blog The 'xoxo' of Sports. He is a supporter of Team Hoyt, the father/son marathon and triathlon team of Dick and Rick Hoyt. He encourages you to support their movement of "Yes, I Can" by visiting their Web site at www.teamhoyt.com