Between the seams

As I sit at my desk at the Post, my heart is torn. It's been torn before. I sit, eating leftover calzone from Old Chicago watching the Cubs/Rockies pregame, torn with my loyalties.

I chose my favorite player, Eric Young, on the sole foundation that he hit the very first Colorado Rockies homerun as the lead-off hitter in the first inning of the inaugural game. "Eric Young began the day as an unknown in Denver and Colorado. But by 3:30 on the afternoon of April 9, 1993, the Rockies second baseman became everybody's hero," Irv Moss wrote in the Denver Post. I was six.

After moving to Chicago and choosing the White Sox for 30 seconds, one of my poorer decisions based only on the fact that my brother picked the Cubbies first. I quickly came to my senses and began to bleed Cubbie blue. I was seven.

A lot happened in my baseball life in just one year. And now, a number of years later, I'm in a dilemma.

From then until moving back West, the Cubs were my one and only. Once or so a year, I went down to Wrigley Field. Once nearly sacrificing my own short-lived ball career. After a white lie to my coach about having to miss a game for a family event, my family traveled to the centerfield bleachers of the Friendly Confines for an afternoon game. All would have been fine except I started getting messages that friends had seen us on WGN. "Coach just saw you on tv," a teammate wrote. "Hope it was worth it." It was. Sure I had a few extra sprints on Monday, but who misses a chance to sit among the vines.

The Cubs are always there, but year in and year out they do their best to wear you down. I sat in the basement with my brother who the man that must not be mentioned (cough BARTMAN cough) took away the last seemingly close chance the Cubs had to the pennant. Not to say the Cubs didn't have their chances to redeem themselves, but that's an entirely different post.

After moving back to Colorado, I caught back up with the Rockies. At first it was relatively cheap, fun entertainment. Then I took a internship/bartender/marketing/grounds keeper position with the Rockies Triple-A affiliate, the Colorado Springs Sky Sox. I interviewed some players and enjoyed watching their move, at times struggle, toward the Big Leagues. Today those players, all grown up, are starting for the Rockies. Ubaldo Jimenez, Seth Smith, Ryan Spilborghs, and Chris Iannetta.

When I sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" at Coors Field, I still sing "Root, Root, Root, for the Cubbies" to my husband's embarrassment and to the memory of Harry Carey. When the season gets started, I still sport my "I Believe" bracelet in Cubbie blue. There is a tradition about being a Cubs fan, part of a group of people who enjoy suffering. The Rockies are a young, homegrown group who have a youthful hope about them. 

I find myself in quite the predicament. I choose both, and I don't feel bad about it. Don't try to make me.

"Too Young"

I was in the office of my teaching establishment today and because I am only there one day a week, I am always looking for someone to let me in to make copies for my classes. Apparently, there is a set of keys for me at a far off destination, too far to visit for my one day a week affair.

Anyhow, I was sitting in the lobby eating some lunch when an instructor bounced into the locked office to get her mail. I saw my opportunity and asked her if I could jump in there to print something out, promising to close the door behind me.

Mature Instructor: "You teach?"
Me: "Yep, I teach public speaking here and at a high school."
Mature Instructor: "You look too young to be teaching."
Me: Smile, trying to look grown up (a daily task).
Mature Instructor: "So how do I know you are really an instructor?"
Me: Puzzled look. Thought bubble "What does she think? Does she think I'm going to hack the computer system to change my grade or something?"
Mature Instructor: "Let's see...pull up something on your computer that will prove to me that you are REALLY an instructor here."
Me: Hmmm. "Okay." I pull up the college website listing me as instructor of a trio of life-changing public speaking courses.
Mature Instructor: "Hmmph. Okay, just close the door when you're done."
Me: Satisfying smile.

I don't care that I look too young to be teaching courses. In fact, I will be mad when someone says that I actually look the appropriate age to be in this profession.

Kid Dreams

I'm currently teaching a trio of public speaking courses for the local community college. In order to get all of these fearful young adults to engage themselves in speaking in front of others without passing out or puking, I commonly use impromptu speeches. Just little one to two minutes talks about random topics that they either choose or I decide on ... depending on my mood that day. During the last set of speeches I had several students (mostly sophomore high school students enrolled in college courses) decide on the prompt: What I will be when I grow up. Many of them said they wanted to be musicians, artists, soccer players, and runners. I even had one brave soul say he wanted to be a newspaper reporter. Maybe he was being honest, maybe he was sucking up. Either way, it was interesting to hear all of their different dreams and desires. 

It got me thinking, am I doing today what I dreamed about doing as a kid? The answer is yes, kind of. See, I always wanted to be a writer. After winning a second grade writing contest, which may have been rigged in order to make the new kid feel welcome in a new class, I thought writing could be my thing. I wanted to cover baseball and football games. Interview athletes. Write the story. Then in 5th grade, I pondered being a professional X-Games athlete. Suppose it's a good thing that didn't turn out because as I am notoriously accident-prone, I would have had more trips to the hospital than I had. I went back to writing and haven't really switched since. I'm curious to know what the percentage of people who stick with their "What I'll do when I grow up" plan. 

My mom always said I should be a teacher. She was right. Don't tell her. And, if all plays out, I think I'll do both. But for now, I'm in the one of those dream realized kind moment. I haven't have a center piece sports feature in the paper since I was working for my college newspaper. This Sunday, I get one in a smidge bigger publication. 

I hope/wonder if my students will have the same luck I have had making their "What I'll do when I grow up" plans work out. Yet again, not sure I'm finished growing up. I still eat all the crunch berries out of the Captain Crunch.

Taking Advantage of Time

It has been awhile. Like many of my other resolutions for 2011, keeping up with the blog is one of them. But before we talk what is on deck for the year, I figured a highlight recap of the 2010.

 -Made it through a year of marriage..successfully!
-Welcomed a pair of Wheaten Terrier puppies into our little family, Burley and Scout
-Moved from our very comfortable home in Laramie, Wyoming to the relatively big city of Denver
-Lyle started his three-year physical therapy program at Regis University. Physically troubled folks around the nation, he'll be a good PT to look up.
-I started working on the Prep Sports Desk at the Denver Post and moonlight teaching for the Community College of Denver and West Elm

Life has been good, big changes and all. But, there's always room for improvement, and that is my resolution.

With all the people vowing that this will be the year their lives transform for the best, I question the reality of these resolutions. For this I have decided that 2011 will not be the year for change, but rather improvement. All facets of my life can use some of that, the main focus is improving my usage of time.

A wise professor of mine has told me consistently over the last five years that with any project, for me it is always writing, life will always get in the way. This year, instead of pushing it aside to engage in mundane activities such as catching up on random television series' on Netflix or reading down the list of status updates on Facebook, I want to make writing a priority.

Time is one of the only things in life that you can't be retrieved or repeated. There are so many parts of my life that can be improved, but focusing on using my time in the productively will encompass them all. Here's to 2011 with more hikes with Lyle and the hounds, solid pieces of writing, and still the occasional Netflix night.

Working for...

I was driving into work today (something I dislike very much) and my mind wandered beyond the stacks of vehicles in front of me to all the jobs I have had. Starting a new job got me thinking...so many people are defined not by who they are, but rather the career path they have chosen. What if I was defined by just the places I have been employed? I would be...

A concession stand worker, babysitter, hostess, sales associate (at a handful of fine establishments), sports editor, public relations intern, bartender, baseball grounds keeper, magazine editor-in-cheif, inventory tyrant, order keeper, college instructor, quiz maker-upper, freelancer, professional Strider bike builder, score recorder, and journalist. Am I leaving anything out?

Just a thought, but one thing I know is my taxes would have been a lot easier on my dad if I could have just made up my mind!

My Non-Superhero Cape

Riding bikes proved to be more than great transportation to the Rockies game a few weeks back, it also won Lyle a 4-pack of tickets to a September ballgame including a on-field batting practice experience. We finally went to the game this past Monday with my mom and dad, but first let us get a bit sidetracked.

 Usually when I am down on a field or court, it is to do business. I'm dressed professionally and have a task to gather news and quotes for whatever publication is looking for some text. Casual conversation ensues with players and coaches. We talk about the game at hand, the direction of the season, and after a while even how life in general is going. The strange thing is, when I'm in my reporter cape, I don't see Adrian Peterson "the celebrity gracing the covers of ESPN and Sports Illustrated" or Yao Ming "NBA sensation and giant man." For that time, they are just people doing their jobs, so I can talk to them and do mine. After an interview with Yao Ming at a Nuggets game, I was riding home with my dad and brother talking about the whole experience.  I can't lie and say I was not excited to interview him, but I started thinking less about his play on the court and more about him as a person. As I stood next to him, he was sitting, we were looking eye-to-eye. I may have even had to glance up. His legs were as big as I am around. After the interview I kept wondering, what kind of accommodations have to be made when he has to travel. Does he get the airplane seat with the extra leg room? What kind of hotel bed can he get where his feet aren't hanging off the end? And like many other celebrity athletes, does he ever get sick of people staring and wanting all of his attention? I don't have answers for any of these questions. When fans see athletes on and off the court, their first instinct is to take part of the athlete with them in terms of an autograph. I'm fortunate to get the opportunity to know some of these athletes as people beyond the stats and headlines we read in the media. They are just people. doing their jobs, and making TONS of money.  

How quickly I can switch back from my reporter to fan cape. It is hard not to get excited to see professional athletes in-person after you seem to acquaint yourself with their personalities on television or from the nosebleed section of the stadium. You read about these "celebrities" in your favorite local daily and catch up with their happenings online. To actually be standing next to them, is a thrill. Monday was one of those experiences.

After arriving at the stadium, we were escorted by Sarah (a wonderful employee of the Rockies) through the mazes of corridors leading down to the home plate entrance of the field. We walked out on the field and as usual, I was struck not by who we saw, but where we were. Ever since I was a little kid, there has been something about a professional baseball field that amazes me. It could be the manicured grass (which I have the opportunity to help with, a story for another day) or maybe the magnitude of stadium itself. I get that "the players are walking out of the field of dreams kind of feeling."

Anyways, out on the field we were detained to a roped off area with the explicit instructions NOT to call the players over for autographs. We didn't. It was kind of like being at the zoo. We watched the players in their natural environments. Some were curious, made eye contact, and came over to say hi and sign autographs. Others shied away from eye contact as to seem a little embarrassed that we would stand for an hour to watch them swing a bat and converse with one another. We all stood behind the ropes in awe, watching the beasts (some of them are a lot taller in person) causally swing their bat and crush baseballs 400 feet from home plate. Just like old times, Mom and I waited until the end of practice to see if any autographs would come our way, and they did. We met Don Baylor (the one-time skipper of the Rockies and the Chicago Cubs) and Jeff Francis. But, the one autograph I wanted waited until we were back in the seats.

We had several things on our agenda after we made our way to our first baseline seats. We needed beers, hot dogs, nachos, and most importantly an autograph that was may years in the making. We went down to the first baseline wall and waited for the players to come out for pregame. Who would have thought one of the first players out would be Eric Young Jr. When I was six, I decided that Eric Young (Senior) would be my favorite player after he hit the first ever homerun for a brand new Rockies organization in 1993. Fate would have it that I still haven't met EY, even after making a trip to Milwaukee only to see him traded the morning before the game. Fate headed our way this day. The players had been starting the autograph signing at the front of the line only to make it through 10-12 people before calling it good. EY Jr. didn't sign autographs right away, but after warming up and the National Anthem, he came straight to the middle of the pack where we stood. Here was my chance to be a fan. I don't know EY Jr., yet I wanted his autograph more than Tulo or Ubaldo. Just because.

We enjoyed our great seats and good food. I folded up my fan cape for another day and prepare to take my reporter cape back out again on Saturday. Each are equally fun to wear, yet prescribe a different view on situations.

Denver: Angel or Devil

From my last post, all can tell that it was hard for me to leave 7,220 ft. and move to the Big City. But, I quickly realized that my destinations could have been far worse. For instance, when Lyle and I contemplated moving to North Dakota, a land my cousin once told a job interviewer was the one state this country could live without.

Denver was the best of all the options Lyle had for PT school and we were extremely excited when he got accepted to Regis University. Yet, I was wary of Denver. Like all the other cities in our group of options, because I had become so fond and frankly comfortable living in a small town. Now I would have to drive to work (because I routinely do not get off until 11 p.m. and I work downtown Denver) and a trip to the mountains would be more than a quick trip to the Happy Jack summit. Then again, I'm blessed to be able to stay in the Rocky Mountain Region and be so close to much of my family, especially my Mam (yea I said Mam, you know with a Chicago accent) and Dad. With equal weights on the scale, it was time to let experiences here be the test.

With just over a week in the bag at the Denver Post, I thought I was beginning to know how city life worked. I left my house just after four to beat the 5 p.m. rush hour. I took the path of least resistance by learning some side streets instead of maneuvering I-25. I made sure to have an extra granola bar in my car every couple days to give to the homeless guy who set up shop a couple blocks from my office. My cup holder always had enough quarters to fill the meter for the 5-6 p.m. time slot before the meter maids head home for the evening. And that's when things started to go downhill.

Starting next week I will have a spot in the parking garage, but for now I have been hunting down well-lit spots on the street. I found a row of parking right in front of the building where I just had to pay for an hour of parking, until Wednesday night. I walk out at 11 p.m. and there is a little yellow envelope sticking out of my door. My optimism thought it was an advertisement, but no such luck. A $25 ticket for parking over the one hour time limit and right above my car, a newly posted sign signifying that the meters will be checked until 10 p.m. Monday-Saturday. I'm pretty sure that sign was posted while I was in the office that night.

Lindsey-0, Denver-1

Denver, if you want me to go back to Wyoming I will, but I don't think Lyle will be too happy about it. I hate to end on a sour note, as Denver tried to win me back on Sunday.

Dewey, the boss man at the Pedal House, bought the whole crew tickets to a Colorado Rockies baseball game during the summer to encourage team bonding (as if we needed more of that) over America's pastime, some dogs and beers. While Joel was unable to stomach the trip due to illness, Dewey, Jessica (Dewey's wife), Pedar, Katie (Pedar's girl), and the Large man took in a game at Coors Field. 

Due to our new proximity to LoDo and the spirit of a Pedal House gathering, Lyle, Large, and I took the opportunity to use the free bicycle parking in front of the first base entrance. We parked our two-wheelers, indulged in the free Clif Bars and water and made our way into the game.

It was a great game filled with sunflower seeds, an argument with Rockies officials stemming from Large trying to start the wave, and a walk-off homerun earning the Rockies their 10th straight win. But, the exciting part came as we went to pick our bikes up. The bicycle guard woman asked our last name and promptly stated that not only had we won four free tickets to a Rockies game later this month but also received the opportunity to watch batting practice from the field. All this goodness just for riding our bicycles to the game.

So we will watch the Rockies host the Giants later in September, hopefully at the start of another Rocktober like in 2007.

Lindsey-1 , Denver-1
For now Denver, we are tied. But, there are many rounds to go. I want to like you Denver. You just have to be nice.