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Mom 1-0

116 A.A.

1960 Strat-O-M.atic Season came to a close exactly as it happened according to mlb history. The Pittsburgh Pirates won the World Series over the Yankees, though in not as exciting fashion as the Mazeroski HR. This time, they won in five games. Yankees pitching, starting and relief, was inferior to the Pirates. Co-MVPs were dominant pitcher Bob Friend and catcher Hal Smith who contributed time after time with big hits.

Regular Season stats


Hits- 33 Gardner, Skowron

Doubles- 7 Skowron

Triples- 3 Gardner, Freese

HR- 9 Mantle

RBI- 20 Mantle

Avg- .429 Gardner

MVP- Billy Gardner, Wash

Cy Young- Don Mossi, Detroit


Hits- 28 Herrera

Doubles- 9 Santo

Triples- 3 Many

HR- 8 Adcock

RBI- 17 Adcock

Avg- .409 Larker

MVP- Bob Friend/Vern Law- Pitt

Cy Young- Bob Friend/Vern Law- Pitt


The Dichotomy of Matilda

Great News! On a recent trip to Juku Juku Matilda earned her Beach Free

Level 1 license. Her test was meeting a kyon on the beach and didn’t run after it.

It does make walking the beach so relaxing knowing that she will stop and wait for me when I want, she will not run away, and not create any hassle with people.

Now, the other side of Matilda. When walking in the neighborhood and I walk by Oyatsu Baaba house with no intention of asking for treats, Matilda slows to a turtle pace, then digs her claws into the ground communicating that she will not continue until we go get treats from Oyatsu Baaba.

This almost daily event with her reminds me of a similar incident that happened over 50 years ago involving myself.

I was four or five years old when my mother and I would take a weekly trip into town and go to Gibson’s, the local department store. This trip always stirred my imagination and the children’s toy row was by far the best I had even seen. Mind you at this time I probably hadn’t seen any other store that lined up such colorful plastic in various shapes specifically designed to seize a child’s attention with an extremely strong grip.

For some reason today I had a clear motive- to walk out of that store holding something plastic, something colorful, and something interesting enough to stimulate my imagination while not breaking before we got home.

My mother had a different motive- to buy some necessities for daily life. I mean “necessities” for HER life. She had no regard for MY “necessities”, even when I showed her the particular item she would be purchasing for me that day. She actually had the gall to say no to me.

I had to nip this attitude in the bud. What would the public think of me if I didn’t have my mother in the palm of my hand? I ratcheted up a notch by sitting in the aisle. Through various sociological experiments performed by me and others my age, we found sitting down in an aisle affected the amygdala in 99% of mothers, triggering uncontrollable anger and, in my case,

I had hoped resulting in a quick resolution by giving in to my demands.

Unfortunately, my mother was the 1% who weren’t affected or would show they were affected. Nope. My mother calmly grabbed me by the hand and like the Ice Queen she was went to the register to pay for HER things that she wanted. Meanwhile, I’m empty-handed.

I had to make a quick decision. How committed was I to this product someone had spent time and money on producing just for me? Was I willing to make a scene at the counter in front of hired personnel? I could draw on sympathy from bystanders who didn’t know the whole story. That would make feel guilty and force her to buy me the toy I richly deserved.

I stomped my foot. Nothing. I added some whines and cries. Doubled the stomping. Nothing. My mother. This lady who supposedly gave me life was now acting like she didn’t know who I was. What kind of a sick demented person had I been paired up with over these past few years?

After processing HER transaction she began walking to door as if she was…by herself. This isn’t really happening I thought. She’s bluffing. And I had the trump card.

As she walked to the car, I stood in entrance and declared I would NOT be leaving this store without my processed plastic thingamajig.

She kept walking through the spacious parking lot until arriving at the car and opening the door.

Hah! Pathetic game, Mother. You. Are. Bluffing. I let her know I’m willing to die on this hill for this Japanese-made toy that cost 10 cents to make.


She nonchalantly closed the door, put the car in drive, and began heading to the main road.

This turned out to be another sociological experiment. In this small sample size of one, I found that when mothers call the bluff of their offspring by leaving them at the entrance of a store while driving away in the opposite direction, the offspring will sprint toward the car spurting tears and primal screams.

She won. I folded. Easily. And suddenly. There wasn’t time to consider if she would stop. It was an involuntary reaction. To run to mama.

That was the end of my career as a politicker. I had been exposed as a fraud and could not in good conscience attempt again for fear of losing all dignity and status with mama. Who knows what level she could rise to if it happened again?

Her reign and supremacy continued for many years. She remained unscathed in the “C’mon Babes!” and “Detention Note” scandals, and her rule lasted decades as evidenced by her talking me into going with her to the casino for a “hamburger”, which ended up lasting five or six hours, most of it in front of a keno machine or two. You know, now I wished I had tried to turn the tables at that point.

“We’re leaving.”


“I’m serious.”


“Well, ok, just a little bit longer I guess.”

Haha. Nope. Glad I didn’t go for that. Would’ve been 0-2.




166 A.A.

Gramma out of the hospital. And back to normal. She bragged that in her room of four people she was the only one who didn’t wear diapers. And for lunch, while she was getting hiyashi chukka, my wife,

157 A.A.

Rainy season has lifted, and the heat has set upon us. Brutal. Adding salt to that wound is that mother-in-law is in the hospital. Gallstones. Two weeks. Two surgeries. On the bright side- Total expen

164 A.A.

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