New things are afoot here at SP. Stay tuned for exciting new changes.
Giovanni and I; Phoenix Memorial Stadium
Keeping with this line of thought, I repeated the Spring Training trip last month, this time bringing Giovanni along on the road portion with Miller joining us mid-week in Phoenix. This year’s takeaways: I will never, ever make this drive again - all subsequent trips to the desert southwest will be made in the air; game tickets will be purchased no later than the end of January; and more sights will be seen around the town and state on scheduled days off, gained from the lack of four travel days. Among the sights yet to be seen – The Grand Canyon, Barringer Meteorite Crater, Sedona, Saguaro National Park, and the ghost town where the Brady Bunch was wrongly jailed on their way to the canyon (I know, this was filmed on a set… but how cool would that be?).
Jack Cust's 2007 Portland Beavers Jersey
But enough of that – the last month has seen a few other items worthy of note. The most significant has been a change to my role at work. I am no longer traveling in my claims adjusting duties, rather, I will be controlling my files and conducting coverage investigations from the comfort of my northwest Portland apartment, which means less work travel, more freedom to make plans outside of work, and hopefully, the ability to advance myself a little further in my career in the not so distant future… hopefully.
If the insurance thing doesn’t work out… (I’ve only been doing it for five years now) I’ve always got minor league basketball to fall back on. That’s right, I served as an official scorer a few weeks ago for the Portland Chinooks of the International Basketball League. Sadly, this was even more stressful than my day job, as it was the first game I have scored since at least high school, and the final score ended up being 125-112. That’s a lot of points, by the way. I didn’t screw up too badly… at least not in the end. After the first half I failed to calibrate my mind to the fact that the teams do in fact switch hoops, something that resulted in my scoring the teams exactly opposite what they should have been for the first half of the third quarter. After a brief panic attack, I figured it out and corrected my error… good thing no one reads this website…
Speaking of this website, I am currently sketching out some ideas for the first major overhaul since adopting the Saturatedpratt name nearly six years ago. Hopefully the coming months will bring a better overall design, working comments, a dedicated sports page, and possibly even a pod cast covering news, commentary, an attempt at humor, and of course, music. This is pretty ambitious, and I make no promises, but I do hope to have all of this (or at least the pieces I decide to keep) online in the coming months. Stay tuned for more details.
I have previously stated on several occasions that my favorite day of the year is the day in mid February when pitchers and catchers officially report to camp for Spring Training. Yes, I am a baseball nut, however this also signals the beginning of the end of my least favorite season – winter. Don’t get me wrong – it’s not that I dislike the cold, the rain, or the occasional snow. I actually quite enjoy all of the three, as well as the annual appearance of “Storm Team 12” or 6… or 4.
It doesn’t matter what channels in your local media market are occupied by local news teams – they’re the same everywhere – the only thing up for debate is exactly how much time will be spent on remote at a dry, albeit cold freeway overpass.
No, what I dislike is the unending darkness – the fact that one begins work under the slowly retracting cover of night, only to find that the covers have already been pulled back over the world by the end of the workday. It reminds me of the nights I spent working the graveyard shift while in college – not a very pleasant time. Additionally, with the winter comes my busiest time of the year at work. It seems that people have more house fires in the winter due to all the makeshift portable heaters, fireplaces and Christmas-related items, meaning more time on the road, and tighter timeframes under which to work – all in the dark.
So, two paragraphs in, and I can already hear you – “yeah Chris, so what’s the point?”
Well, the point is I also dislike daylight savings time. Or, more importantly, the fact that it’s 11:23 right now, I am not at all tired, but yet I have to get up in four hours in order to make the 8:30 appointment I have four hours away. You see, this combines some of my least favorite activities – beginning work while it’s still dark, followed by working (yes, working in general – while I do like my job, it is in fact still work), and finally, getting home from work after dark.
“Yes, Chris, but daylight savings time ensures that it will in fact be lighter later – its good for the economy – you want the US to prosper, right? You’re not un-American, are you?”
Shut up.
This is my time to complain, and I’m going to get my money’s worth. Normally I don’t care either way - I would prefer we do nothing but move the clocks back, but I realize that by year four of doing this my plan would have seriously backfired – and for what, an extra hour of sleep? No, that’s no good.
My major qualm is that the first work day into DST will be spent being unnecessarily tired inside a house that isn’t mine, working, and by the time I make it back to my place it will already be dark. It just seems like it got personal this year. While the winter is ending, and with it, hopefully my busiest season, one of the harbingers of that change is showing up just in time to twist the knife a little.
Father time, you are one hell of a bastard.
As the seasons once again change, with (albeit mild) hurricane force winds blowing the Pacific Northwest headfirst into winter, I turn back to the pages of Saturatedpratt – the silent companion to literally tens of readers throughout the dark months. Its been a rather fast four months and change since my last update, so as always, a quick re-cap should brings us up to speed.
August and September were filled with, as has become the norm for summer, work and baseball. Unlike the first half of the year, the late summer and early fall found me working fairly close to home – the longest work trip being a brief two-day jaunt to Klamath Falls. This being the case, I had to augment my relatively light work travel with a baseball-centered road trip with Miller to Vancouver, B.C. and all stops in between.
On this trip, I completed my second complete tour of a professional baseball circuit, adding the last two Northwest League parks I had yet to visit (Vancouver’s Nat Bailey Field and Everett’s Memorial Stadium) to my collection. The Northwest League now joins the Cactus as the two I have completed with no realistic successor in sight, barring a move to another geographic region. I will likely focus my efforts next year on seeing the Dodgers’ last spring training in Vero Beach, followed by hopefully being able to get some tickets to the their two-game exhibition series against the Red Sox at the L.A. Coliseum, where they played their first two seasons on the west coast. The big trip for the year will probably be New York sometime in spring or early summer to see Yankee Stadium in its final season – I think it’s a must for any true baseball fan to see the house that Ruth built before Steinbrenner knocks it down.
But wait – this update isn’t about the future, it’s about the past four months. After the September trip, the next big event was a quick weekend trip in October to Seattle to see Karen & Emily’s wedding. I don’t get to see them very often (or anyone who doesn’t live in the Portland area, for that matter) so it was great to catch up them, as it was with Brunner and Megan, and Lauren and Garth, who once again volunteered their extra bedroom for the night. I always have a great time whenever I see my friends from my Carson days, and I hope to see them a lot more often than the once every two years at someone’s wedding plan I’ve been on of late, especially with all the sports-related travel… (well, except for the Yankee Stadium trip – that is a necessity.)
The rest of the time from October until the present has been spent dividing time between work, Ducks football, Blazers basketball, and going to the gym. As always, the colder months are bringing with them a lot more work for me, so I’ve been doing more traveling of late. Last week’s work-related adventuring took me to Aberdeen, Washington, one of the last places in the state of Washington I had not seen on the company dime.
Between making visits to agents, lining up contractors, and conducting interviews, I found a little time to poke around town. My findings are as follows: it is very gray and damp, the area is in serious need of an economic kick-start if the 
vacancy rate downtown is any indication, and I can totally see how the region would rear a kid like Kurt Cobain. I wandered the downtown and snapped a few pictures, including some of what I am sure was a spectacular electric company building in it’s time – a stocky two level structure speckled with hundreds of sockets that were once filled with lights lining the windows and nearly every other architectural line on the building’s façade.
After taking in civic utility buildings of a bygone era, I went to see the historic bridge crossing the Wishkah river, the same river by which Cobain myth dictates he slept while periodically homeless in Aberdeen. After being there at high tide, I agree with Krist Novoselic’s assertion that this myth was only that – a myth.
So, that basically catches us up to the present. Next week I will be taking a week off for a random “use it or lose it” vacation – I will probably spend most of the week wandering around town taking pictures, going to the gym, and just relaxing before what is shaping up to be a very busy next couple of months at work. If I find enough time, I just may throw a couple updates online, as well as a story or two. Stay tuned.
Oh, the places I have been! Since I last graced this site with an update, I have experienced Spring Training, visited Denver twice, driven through Wyoming and into South Dakota, seen Albuquerque, flown into Las Vegas for the NBA Summer League and ventured into Montana, then Wyoming for a second time. (Technically, the Spring Training and Dakota trips occurred prior to the last post, but since I wrote the post before I took the trips, I’m counting it… sue me.)
In short, a lot has happened. So in lieu of making an in-depth post about each of the individual trips, I will burn through them at a rapid-fire pace so I can get on with making a real update… look at this as a sort of “here’s what happened last season on…” portion of a television show, except instead of some actor named Chris Pratt, you get me. Speaking of lawsuits, I’ve got to go after that guy.
Our journey begins on Wednesday, March 8, 2007 when I set off in my Honda Civic Hybrid for the sunny 
southwest and the six-week orgy of baseball that signals the actually new year – Spring Training. On the way I went through Idaho (Saw the Blue Turf), Utah (saw the Mormon Temple… impressive, and a little scary), Las Vegas (got frustrated by traffic, then gave up and went to Hoover Dam), and finally all nine Cactus League ballparks. Miller joined me on the 15th and stayed through the weekend. I caught a foul ball off the bat of Chicago Cub Ronnie Cedeno, while sitting in the first row of Tuscon Electric Park, and was horribly sun burnt. In addition, I saw the best scoreboard announcement ever – skeptics may say I only caught a small segment of scrolling text, but that’s why they are skeptics. Personally, I can’t agree more with the scoreboard operator.
Upon returning to Oregon, I was immediately sent off to South Dakota for work, after first flying into Denver and driving through Wyoming to reach my destination. While there, I visited Mount Rushmore, and the Crazy Horse Memorial, which has been under construction for a ridiculous 59 years I would have contributed to the construction effort with a donation had the visitor’s center been open when I arrived… instead, I simply stole a look at the sculpture… I’m sure that’s a theme the Lakota are used to. On my way back to Denver, I found myself stuck in the heaviest snowstorm I have ever experienced, complete with freeway driving in complete whiteout conditions. I have a feeling Crazy Horse intended on getting his revenge.
April was relatively quiet, consisting mainly of attempting to recover from the month of constant travel that March brought.
With May came yet another trip to Denver, this time for a meeting after which I took a few personal days, saw the Denver Mint and the Rockies beat the Giants, and ventured into New Mexico to catch an Albuquerque Isotopes game. While I did not enjoy a hot dog brimming with southwestern flavors, I did enjoy the victory the Portland Beavers achieved over the ‘Topes. Oddly though, I ended up being seated next to a Portlander who is currently living in Albuquerque, which meant that the two people wearing Portland Beavers garb in a crowd of several thousand were sitting right next to each other, and had never before met. It was a little strange, but it seemed to make sense. Isotopes Stadium was by far the best minor league facility I have seen yet in my travels, easily eclipsing the next night’s stop, Colorado Springs’ Security Service Field. My takeaways from this trip: Jesus is HUGE in Colorado Springs, as are many of the women; and the omnipresent hold the military has on this region is simply unbearable. I could never live there.
Early July saw a quick three-day jaunt to Las Vegas to witness the beginning of Greg Oden’s career as a Portland Trailblazer, facing off against the once-great Boston Celtics. In fact, I sat courtside for Oden’s first game, which would have been nice on its own. However, my attempt to slum-up the normal haunts of the beautiful people brought with it the somewhat surreal experience of sitting right next to the Celtics’ brain trust of GM Danny Ainge and head coach Doc Rivers, who were joined by onetime wunderkind Sebastian Telfair. In all, it was a little awkward when Telfair sat down… I mean, aside from maybe Pacman Jones, there really isn’t anyone with whom I have less in common. On top of that, he was absolutely swimming in some sort of cologne.
When he arrived, I simply gave him a welcoming “hey”, to which he responded with a nod. It was a good enough response for me. The Celtics ended up blowing out Greg Oden and the Blazers, but not before I exchanged comments with Telfair over a few horrible calls, and had a conversation with Rivers about Portland and how great the fans are, and how Rivers would kill to have two bigs like those gracing the Blazers’ roster. The guy sitting next to me caught the scene on my camera, but I think he had a case of the shakes, judging by the blurriness of the photo. Giovanni came down that evening and we spent the rest of the weekend taking in games, people watching, and losing a small amount of money in penny slots while stocking up on complimentary drinks.
As was the case in March, immediately upon my return I was sent to the Mountain Time Zone on business, this time to Billings, Montana. While there, I took in my first Pioneer League games, first in Billings where the Mustangs beat the Orem Owlz (they should have had to spot the Stangs 10 runs for the Z in their name alone), then in Casper, Wyoming, where I saw the hometown Rockies get trounced by the Missoula Osprey. More importantly, I ended up with two Pioneer League baseballs as souvenirs 
that night – the first a homerun ball off the bat of Osprey second baseman Taylor Harbin that came sailing toward me while I was parking my trusty rental car beyond the left field fence prior to entering the ballpark, and the second a foul ball that apparently only I noticed land while standing in line for a bratwurst. While in Casper, I struck up a conversation with the guy who was sitting behind me after he had recognized the Isotopes hat I was wearing. It turns out he also went to Spring Training, and tries to see as many ballparks as he can while traveling, including the California League and the Pacific Coast League. It was a little comforting, and at the same time a little troubling, seeing as he was praising my dedication in driving from Billings to Casper, only to turn around an return to Billings after two and a half hours of Rookie League ball. Also, he was probably in his 60s, which made me feel a bit like an RV-ing snowbird, and less like a guy who just turned 27… failing that, I should at least bring a girl along next time, so long as I don’t find her in Colorado Springs.
Please excuse me a moment for plunging headfirst into dork-dom. Now that I have your attention, let us examine the special time of the year that is once again upon us – spring. It has long been considered the season of love. It is the beginning of the end of darkness for sufferers of SAD, the beginning of mega-profit season for big oil, which awakens from its winter slumber of merely very large profits, and most importantly, it marks the beginning of the greatest game ever invented - baseball.
Before we get too far, let us not confuse this post with the one that will follow chronicling my March month of travels beginning with ten days spent seeing the Cactus League. No, this update centers on the event that serves as notice that the season is just around the corner – the release of Topps Baseball, series one.
Before you have to ask, yes, at twenty-six I still collect baseball cards, though not at the staggering pace I once did. So does Keith Olbermann, and he’s the most trusted man in cable news, so shut up.
As you may have seen, the release of this year’s edition of Topps baseball cards was met with some level of notoriety, even making the network news rounds. This was due to a few celebrity appearances on the front of Derek Jeter’s card. Joining the Yankees’ future Hall of Fame shortstop on the card’s front was the image of a current Hall of Famer, Mickey Mantle, who was beaming at New York’s favorite son from the home team’s dugout. Apparently, this was a very special day at the stadium, as future convicted felon George W. Bush joined number seven at the house Ruth built, waving at the camera from his box seats in a fashion not unlike those jackasses you see on television talking on their cell phones and waving behind the backstop in a desperate attempt for the attention of ESPN 2’s cameras.
Unlike those jackasses, the images of Mantle and Bush were not genuine – they were Photoshopped. I know this because Mantle died in 1995 and George W. Bush probably wouldn’t risk the treatment that comes with a 30% approval rating. Putting two and two together, someone at Topps was obviously playing a prank. What is surprising is that at first glance it’s hard to notice the insertions. In fact, I completely missed them while rifling through the first box of cards I purchased this year. While I may have overlooked what became a national oddball news story, I spotted several examples of a painful practice that I thought had disappeared several years ago.
This practice of which I speak is the magic airbrushing of photos of players involved in off-season transactions. You see, back in the 1970s and 1980s, and up until the early 90s, Topps released their sets in one series of 660, 726, and finally, 792 cards. This allowed for insertion of the vast majority of major leaguers and even some prospects. The release of only one series (at least until the late-season release of the small “traded” sets) meant that many of the players would be pictured in with last season’s team. The solution? The same as the solution to so many of life’s problems – call an artist!
Photos of the offending old unis were magically transformed into new uniforms, showing an ultra-mod use of watercolors, and sometimes taking extreme liberties with team color schemes.
Take for instance two of my favorite examples – the 1977 Topps Dave Pagan (#508) and the 1987 Topps Mike Laga (#321). Informed baseball fans will know that the Seattle Mariners did not exist in 1976 – they were an expansion team for the ’77 season along with the Toronto Blue Jays, so obviously, any new Mariner was a candidate for the artists at Topps. In fairness, a lot of attention was paid to shadowing on Pagan’s trident cap, making it ultra-real. A little too real, and while we’re at it, a little too blue. As for our friend Laga, he wasn’t so lucky. His 1986 Detroit Tigers duds were transformed into a great pink variant of a Cardinals uni, with oddly orange and blue Tigerish striping around the collar. Like the clubhouse manager “accidentally” left the really red cap in the laundry with his new jersey. No wonder the Twins were able to dispatch the Cards in the ’87 Series, and no wonder Laga only hit .138 with the Red Birds. And this treatment for a former first round pick.
Then, like a great shooting star, they were gone.
Years went by without so much as noticing a Mets “NY” fudged into a Yankees “NY.” Every now and then a prospect would have his college or minor league team’s logo wiped out for use on a major league card, but that just wasn’t the same. Hell, they’d even gone to the extent of breaking sets into multiple series and throwing most of the off-season transactions into the later series. Other times, prospects were shown in their (gasp) spring training garments. Hope appeared to be lost for yet another childhood tradition – gone the way of Indian red crayons and tan M & Ms.
Then, like a grand old friend, there he was, in glimmering Oakland green. Mike Piazza was wearing a jersey greener than any I had ever seen a player for my team wear. In an instant, I knew a seemingly dormant habit had returned, and more confident than ever. Bengie Molina (#4), Julio Lugo (#11), Miguel Batista (#13), Chris Britton (#21) and Gary Matthews, Jr. (#25) all received in the artists’ treatment (now done digitally, rather than with a brush). That is five out of the first twenty-five! That must be some kind of record, and those were just the no-doubters. Others looked kind of funny, but I’m willing to give them the benefit of doubt on Corey Patterson, if for no other reason than the others were just so brazen.
While some would view this as a step backwards, I can only see this as a clear sign of progress on the march. If Topps can bring the Mick back from the dead and put him back in the dugout, then putting Alfonso Soriano on the Cubs doesn’t look all that hard after all. Now if they could just cut and paste success over the Cubs franchise, we’d know they can truly design miracles.
Hmm… where to start. Once again, I have taken an extended absence from updating this site… I seem to recognize a pattern forming. Yes, it is the same pattern that has been repeated consistently since the genesis of this website in the summer of 1997. Indeed, I am extremely reliable in the area of my unreliability. Sort of like a Yugo – a used one. I offer no apologies this time, nor any promises to do better in the future – I know better by now, and you should too. What I will offer, however, is a brief synopsis of the last several months, and a nice place to leave off, and hopefully continue in the not too distant future.
When we last left off, I had just been given a new position at work, and was in training – but a sort of on the job training. Nearly seven months later, I am still in that position, very much no longer training, and I am enjoying it. While not necessarily globetrotting in nature, it has taken me to some locales I had not previously seen – 
such as Wenatchee, Washington and a rural area east of Olympia. Ok, so basically I’ve seen Washington. But the travel has allowed me to check out minor league ballparks in Wenatchee, Tacoma, Spokane, Yakima, Pasco, and Everett. Not bad for one summer… but nowhere near as good as This Guy, whom I met at a Yakima Bears game. “Why so many minor league parks, Chris?” you may ask. Well, painfully, the answer is because I don’t have a girlfriend, and really, what else are you supposed to do when you’re stranded for a few days in eastern Washington?
Aside from tour the countryside, I sold the Mustang while I was away. This was actually a fairly recent development – I had decided that I did not have the time, space, or resources to keep working on or keep storing the car. At the same time, I came to the 
realization that I didn’t feel comfortable using it as a daily driver, while simultaneously coming the t
o the realization that I had some bills that I’d really like to eliminate. So, on craigslist she went, then off into the sunset she rode. Actually, it was around 6:00 pm, with the sun directly above, but you get the point. I took a picture of it as it was driving away, but it turned out blurry, so it’s kind of like a 1966 Mustang Zapruder film still… very creepy. Also, it wasn’t driving itself, despite how this may read. I did however have one last afternoon of extreme frustration spent with it, as I spent about six hours the day before it sold finally repairing the fender damage it received while driving north for the last time from Eugene. Personally, I think I did a bang-up job.
Finally, I used the early portion of September to once again move, seeing as I apparently have issues with getting comfortable somewhere. Oh yeah – I also have issues with paying $850 to live somewhere that’s far from anything I want to be doing outside of work hours. So, in the spirit of saving money, and being able to do stuff every now and then, I have moved to Northwest Portland, to mix among the hipsters. So far, I still stand out like a sore thumb… First, I need to drop about 80 pounds and get some really tight, skinny-guy pants. A lofty goal, but there’s always hope. Actually, the move is going to work out great, especially since I just found out I’ll be able to start working from home soon, so now I won’t even have to worry about a commute. Not to mention the fact that I am nearly done with the plan I laid out on this very site last November… looks like Mr. Pratt may have his shit together after all!
Well, that just about gets us caught up. If you peruse the rest of the site, you’ll find a few updates here and there, and more to come – but again, with no specific timetable. You’ll also find a commentary I wrote on the state of the American Manufacturing Worker, inspired by a barge launch I witnessed in Portland last week. It may or may not be worthwhile reading – that’s your call. I just put it up, and point you to it.
A quick trip to the bay area to see the Ducks play at Cal this Saturday is on the docket, so hopefully I’ll have an adventure to detail, and pictures to show off upon my return. It’ll be great - like an electronic vacation slide reel! ‘Til then, thanks for sticking with me.
Another month has gone, and a lot of changes have occurred in the life of Chris, most notably, the presence of a new job. I still work in insurance, and with the same company, but have moved from handling bodily injury claims to large property losses. It may be a small move in the grand scheme of things, but I feel better about the work that I do now, which goes a long way towards helping the psyche. Most importantly, I never again have to know the value of three chiropractic visits, four months after a minor auto accident.
(Unless of course I go to law school and become an ambulance chaser, but then of course I would have a personal stake in the matter, which could possibly wipe out my bad feelings of valuing injuries.) After all, I’d have to do something to earn my money and pay off student loans before doing pro-bono civil liberties cases and work on behalf of non-profits…
Which leads us to point #2 – as part of a long-term effort in self-improvement, I have commenced finishing off my efforts to (eventually) get into grad school. I completed one test a few weeks ago, and still have one more to go before I’ll be done with the tests for colleges of education, and I’ve been reviewing my LSAT study book, as I think I probably will end up taking the LSAT this summer/fall. Depending on its outcome, I’ll decide which path I want to take, and will seriously start looking at grad schools towards the end of this year. When I will enroll, and whether or not I can get in are different subjects entirely, but at least school is on the list.
Another change is in where I am living – in late December I moved to Tigard, in a brand new (and considerably less sketchy) apartment, which is closer to work and farther away from the roving bands of near-feral children who patrolled the parking lots of my old complex. Pleasant as the new place may be, I have a feeling my stay will be a short one. I signed a 6-month lease, and seeing as there is absolutely nothing to do in Tigard, I will likely be moving again in June, hopefully to the city. You see, Giovanni recently acquired my dream apartment – a large one bedroom in a classic building, just two blocks from PGE Park – for about the same amount of rent I am currently paying. With baseball season starting up, I desperately wish I lived within walking distance to a ballpark… and pubs, and Powell’s… and by this summer, I aim to be.
This update does not contain a semi-humorous, self-absorbed story about a quasi-adventure I partook in – for this I apologize… that will be coming soon enough. Rather, this update is sort of a self-congratulatory note on what I’ve been able to do in the past two months. You see, in late November, it became fairly clear to me that my life was not headed in a direction where I wanted it to be – namely, 25+ years of corporate servitude to be eventually interrupted by either downsizing or some creative, public, and quite graphic form of suicide (or what I like to call, societal downsizing). I instituted a 4-part plan to put myself where I want to be, or at least in a position where I would be able to choose among several possibilities. I am happy to say that as of this Friday, half of this plan will have already neared completion, and the other half is dependent upon completing the grad school stuff I’ve already discussed. And it only took 25 years to do! Who knows – in another 25, I just might be married, or perhaps, I will be in grad school.
Tonight, Saturatedpratt travels back in time, to mid-December 2005, where we unveil the long-awaited Saturatedpratt lost post - the completed entry that never was. The update of all updates, finished just before I moved, and thus, never uploaded. I do this not out of nostalgia, nor the greatness of the post itself, but rather to buy time to write an up-to-date entry. So really, I am updating my website with an old update… clearly, I am the best at procrastinating. Without further ado, allow us to be taken back to 2005.
Sometimes, even the wrong train gets you to where you want to go. You see, while waiting for the doors of the MAX to open at the Millikan platform, one is faced with the quick task of decided which car to board.
The population density of said cars, as well as the appearance of its clientele factor largely into the equation, and make for hasty decisions, especially when one considers the options- either get on the train, or stay behind at the deserted stop with the guy who for some reason, didn’t even look up when the train came.
This night, I chose the second to last car, as the last one looked similar to one I saw one in a popular Stephen Spielberg movie about a World War… the one not about Matt Damon. As I boarded, I made my way to an open place in the middle of the car, in the reticulated section that swivels slightly as the train ambles around turns. To my left were sitting three elderly cowboys, complete with hats and bolo ties. To my right, were 5 kids, likely around seven years old, with their parents sitting across from them. This night, most of the train was going Portland for either holiday celebrations, or the Blazers game against the Hornets. (or against the Charlotte Hornets, as the male parent-figure said… which technically was two cities and four years ago for the beleaguered franchise, currently temporarily housed in Oklahoma City, after fleeing Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. I’ll give him a pass on OKC since it supposedly a temp move, but still…).
Everything was normal, save for the cowboys, until about five minutes into the trip, when one of the kids started making a noise, then started a second… and the third. Before I could properly react, I was in the middle of a kid’s Christmas Carol singalong. For a moment, allow me to digress. I don’t hate Christmas. I just hate Christmas songs. Especially kids Christmas songs, which have nothing to do with Christmas… snowmen, reindeer, you name it. If there is anything five shrill, out of tune children’s voices can do, it ain’t sing. I at first stood politely, trying to read my copy of The Nation while quietly weathering the storm. By about the third refrain of the second verse of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, I was still standing, though shooting obvious looks of utter contempt at the asinine, bouncing, high on estrogen super mom who was smiling like a fool at the whole horrific scene.
At first, I thought it was the coldness of my own black heart that was spoiling the situation. Clearly, I must be the only one enraged. This was comforting to some degree, as I am used in my mind to being the one on the verge of becoming some sort of problem, only to overcome my disgust and simply put up with all the annoyances that constantly prod at me in public. I was ready to just deal with it, when I remembered the cowboys. I glanced in their direction, and caught one glancing at me. For a moment, I could see that I was not the only one longing for a few hundred acres of open range, er, train, between me and the monsters a mere three feet away. Then I saw the newlywed couple standing diagonally across from my position, on the opposite side of the kids. The man was clearly “done” with the whole situation. The woman, at first amused, was quickly growing tired of the spectacle, and a few songs in, noticed my look. Slowly, we were gathering momentum as group, united against the damn kids. I’m sure if he had a chance, the lead cowboy would feel secure calling for a posse.
I looked at the mom, who in turn looked at the kids, who for a moment, were silent. I thought that perhaps the forces of good had in fact prevailed against the forces of evil, in an act of silent protest. “Do one the them Susan taught you.” Said the supermom. The ante had been upped.
The terrors began anew, and my subtle protest became a little less so. Glances became heavy sighs, which lead to putting down my magazine in disgust, which led to outright staring at the mom, who was now openly defiant. Luckily, I was joined in my protest by the newlyweds, several people who were new to the train of horrors, and in fact, the father-figure sitting across from the kids, to whom I was now becoming convinced he held only a tertiary relationship, perhaps an uncle, or a family friend. The cowboy, had gotten off unnoticed at some point, either that or he had disappeared back into the ether. The kids continued, the mother was indignant, and I simply prayed they would be getting off at each next stop, or perhaps the train would stop long enough to for me to exit, and enter into the last train.
Finally, as we approached Pioneer Courthouse Square, the man stepped in, and came to our rescue. He said something to the woman, to which she responded “what, we’ll never see them again” (actually, this was wrong, as we were all going to the game). I was at once both enlivened with rage and angered with the complete and utter passive-aggressiveness of our protest.
The kids started in again, at which time a homeless (or just really dirty) man who boarded at the downtown mall said two words – “Jesus Christ!” At once, the singing seemed to trail off. The mother sat silent, and I, and the newlyweds, shared a quick smile.
It seemed fitting that this holy terror of a holiday travesty would be put to death by the savior himself, or rather by his name uttered in vain. I was at peace, and finally, filled with the Christmas spirit. I felt as though the birthday boy was looking out for me, for the newlyweds, and for all the other poor souls trapped on the blue line that night. To my delight, I would lose track of them all shortly after the Rose Quarter stop, and would, like the mother said, never see them again. Later that night, surely a reward for calmly having withstood the barrage of children singing, the Blazers captured their sixth win of the season, a 98-95 overtime victory, sparked by the strong play of Juan Dixon and Joel Przybilla.
Somewhere, after the game, I am sure the mother thought of unleashing the kids on another unsuspecting train full of weary travelers. Possibly, she thought of our homeless friend, and I’m sure she was smote at once, if she instructed them to sing. At least one can hope.