Take Me Out To The Ballgame

It's that time of year again. The World Series is underway, with the Rebel Alliance facing off with the Imperial Empire for all the bragging rights.

Actually, it's the St. Louis Cardinals facing the Texas Rangers for the championship. The New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox, and Atlanta Braves are all back home wondering what happened to their seasons. The Chicago Cubs fans, as usual, are vowing that next year will be their year. Incidentally, the next year is our year delusion is also suffered in the hockey world by fans of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Yes, they're a sad lot too.

Late in the season in St. Louis, as the team advanced through the playoffs, a squirrel or two were showing up on the field during games. It didn't take long before someone started coming up with a name for them: rally squirrel. Obviously they're adorable, so obviously they'll end up moving a lot of tie-in merchandise.

I should say here that I enjoy the game, but don't follow it religiously. I can watch a game, get the flow of the game, the rules and the intricate ways a game can unfold, but I'm not devoted to any one team (especially not the Toronto Blue Jays, who, of course, are from that accursed city on the shores of Lake Ontario).

Next time, rework your banner so that it's not a short form of a sexual act. Just saying.

A few days ago, I saw a documentary on a specific incident in the game, one that I'd pretty much forgotten (if one were from Chicago, it would still be well remembered, of course, even if one wasn't a baseball fan). Catching Hell documented the Steve Bartman affair. In 2003, during the sixth game of the National League Championship, the Cubs were playing the Florida Marlins, and they were ahead. Outfielder Moises Alou rushed to the wall to catch a ball, and several spectators reached for it. One of them, Steve Bartman, caught it. Had Alou caught the ball, it would have been the second out. Instead, the Cubs collapsed, the Marlins rallied, and the Cubs lost badly. The seventh game saw the job finished, and the Marlins went on to the Series.

The doc captured the mood in the stadium that night, the venom and hostility towards this one man who, they felt, had put the curse back on the team. The billy goat curse that makes the Cubs choke routinely over and over and over again (they have a habit of that). Watching the footage, you could feel the bitter, ugly loathing, the mob mentality. It was as if they were ready to kill him. Steve Bartman, who had inadvertantly caught a stray ball, became the most hated man in Chicago.

To this day, the man's a recluse. He profoundly apologized for the catch, and has declined interviews ever since. He was lucky that the clothing he wore that night made him anonymous. Get the cap off him and a different pair of glasses, maybe a suit on him, and you'd never be able to recognize him.  He's a pariah in the minds of many a fan, who blame him for the collapse... rather then just accept the fact that the Cubs aren't meant to win again. And the ball itself? It was auctioned off and destroyed.

Cigar Guy goes back in time and replaces Steve Bartman

And yet the game goes on. The Yankees remain the most hated team in baseball (another longstanding tradition). And each year in October, when the air starts to cool down, two teams meet, trying to extend summer just one more game. Well, four more games. Seven if they have to. They'd like to do it in four games, but things don't always go according to plan, do they?

I'm rambling, aren't I?

Godzilla's a Sox fan, didn't you know?

Baseball has its heroes and legends, like Ruth, Aaron, Robinson, and Gehrig.

It's also got its villains. Barry, I'm talking about you. Every stat you ever got deserves a great big asterix, and I hope you're still living someday when someone breaks your record. I'd like to see the look on your face, Mr. Bonds.

Barry's not alone of course. Among the other steroid freaks of the game, I give you Mr. McGwire....

And A-Rod, who by all accounts is a monumental ego and jackass of the first order. And since he dated Madonna, this reflects really badly on his sense of judgment.

And so the game goes on. Two games have been played in the Series, and the Cardinals and the Rangers are tied as of this writing. Who will win? Only time will tell.

I can guarantee you that if someone lets the ball roll between their legs as has been done before in these games... they'll never hear the end of it.

Play ball, boys. And if you can, hit a ball that knocks out Rupert Murdoch.

Angels At Midnight: Love, Theft, And Revenge

"Learn to think with your head, not your heart. There's no room for a conscience in this world." ~ Collin Deverell, Angels At Midnight

It's entirely fitting that my first book review should be for my dear friend, partner in crime, collaborator, and fellow member of the Writers of Mass Distraction, Norma Beishir. And since I'm always a fan of a good heist story, it's fitting that Angels At Midnight be the subject at hand.

Norma published the book during her days with Berkeley, and gives us two very sympathetic protagonists we can immediately connect with in an intricately plotted, well paced novel that explores themes of love, family, loss, revenge, and how far people will go for their own measure of justice. While our protagonists don't actually meet until halfway through the book, that's a good thing, as we get to follow them along parallel lines for more then a decade, getting to know them, sharing their triumphs and their despair.

Collin Deverell is one of two twin sons, heir to a fortune that his father, an oil tycoon, expects him to take part in. While his brother Justin readily involves himself in the family business, Collin has little wish to tie himself down to an executive life, preferring a carefree life of adventure and his love of fencing. With the sudden death of their parents on a business trip, Collin takes the chance to live life on his own terms, turning over shares in the family company and all responsibility to his brother in exchange for the family mansion, the art collection, and his mother's jewellry. He lives abroad for some years, rarely settling down, living his carefree life, seducing whatever woman crosses his path. When he returns home, he finds that the valuable paintings and jewels have all gone missing, sold off by his devious brother. Collin vows to take back what's rightfully his, even if it means breaking the law and going after some very dangerous people to do it.

Ashley Gordon is an artist from the Napa Valley in California who establishes a career for herself in San Francisco. After becoming a success in the art world and on the social circuit, she falls in love with Brandon Hollister. They're happy together, and Brandon wants to marry her, though she's puzzled by his complete estrangement from his parents. When we meet them, it's not hard to understand: Bradley and Claudia Hollister are downright nasty to the core. Ashley and Brandon marry, have a son, Robert and are happy together, until Brandon is killed in a plane crash. In the wake of her grief, Ashley is hit again when her in-laws launch a custody battle for their grandson, using bribery, lies, and their connections to take him away from Ashley. Ashley is, understandably, devastated.

It's into this mix that Ashley and Collin meet. Collin's been busy recovering what was stolen from him by becoming a thief himself, learning the trade from a master who saves his life. What started out for him as a mission to take back what's his becomes something more, as he discovers his father's company has been mismanaged by his brother, and is falling into the hands of a criminal syndicate who are readily dismantling it. The syndicate are made up of the same people who have possession of his property, and what began as thefts to recover property gradually shifts, as Collin realizes he does, in fact, have a responsibility to save the company his father built. And since Bradley Hollister is a member of the syndicate, Collin decides to enlist his former daughter-in-law as a partner to bring down the syndicate, save his family company, and restore Ashley's son to her custody.

It's a wise decision to keep the two from really meeting until mid way through the book. We, the reader, get to see both characters develop fully on their own, so we care about them and what happens to them (Ashley's loss of her husband and her son are particularly painful, which is one of the reasons the book works so well). When Collin and Ashley start working together, we see a growing connection between them, an emotional intimacy that comes across as very real. This is a testament to how human the two characters feel. They have depth, quirks, and flaws. As Ashley learns the tricks of the trade, of sleight of hand and the use of disguise, she and Collin find themselves drawn closer and closer. The bond and growing love between them comes across to the reader as the real thing. We come to root for them to achieve all they're after, and it's because of how well both of them have been written.

In every heist story, to root for the person pulling off the heist, it requires that the target be unsympathetic. Certainly having the target be a criminal syndicate is a very good way of having the reader dislike the target. And the primary targets, Bradley and Claudia Hollister, are more then worthy of our dislike. Both of them, particularly Claudia, are cruel and malicious. It's not hard to understand why their son broke ties with them, and as readers, we want to see them brought down, broken, and defeated.  

Justin Deverell is another interesting character in the book. Early on it felt like he'd be the primary antagonist of the book, but as things go on, it's made clear that he's the dupe, the tool for the syndicate to dismantle the family company after they're done using it. I enjoyed the premise Norma used that Collin and Justin aren't the kind of twins we're used to in fiction... they have nothing in common but blood, barely speak for years, and ultimately are so far apart that it's doubtful they'll ever bridge that gap. There's no closer then blood mental connection sort of bond between these two twins, and it's a refreshing change.

There is a wild card sort of character I thought I'd make mention of. Anton DeVries, an insurance investigator, lurks in the background of the story. He first comes into the picture after Collin discovers the theft of his possessions. Through the rest of the book, he suspects Collin, looks for proof, and takes part in a pivotal moment towards the climax. He's an interesting character, something of a bloodhound, or a Javert to Collin's Valjean. DeVries is a good adversary, conflicted by catching a man who he knows to be morally right.

The attention to detail throughout the book is spot on, and perhaps never as much as during the various thefts that take place in the book. From training sequences in which both Collin and Ashley learn how to become thieves to the heists themselves, each act feels intricate, and brings a lot of variety to the table. An escape from a time lock safe and a judicious use of a mirror stand out particularly for me during the theft sequences. And the attention to detail also reflects itself in the early sequences featuring fencing and the artistic process.

Angels At Midnight is a beautifully written book that you'll enjoy reading. The plot and pacing of the novel keeps the reader on the edge. The details drawn out in the book about technique, places, and situations give it a very real world sensibility. And the characters really make the novel. Collin and Ashley are a winning couple that we can't help but sympathize with, to root for, and to cheer.

And who knows? Perhaps Robert has siblings... and all of them have grown up to take after Ashley and Collin's habit of breaking into high security vaults.... 

Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness, And Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon 'Em

I thought I'd do something a bit different today. As I'm closing in on the end of Heaven & Hell, it felt like it was time to bring together some of the various world leaders I've used through the book in what might be considered a summit. With yours truly conducting the summit. Just a word in advance: it does get silly. Not as if that should surprise you by now....

A large conference room. A group of men are gathered together around a table, a summit of world leaders. To be precise, they're a summit of world leaders from the fictional world as depicted in Heaven & Hell. Some of them have names... others have merely gone through the book as nameless titles. Most of them wear business suits. The American President sits with the British Prime Minister. The Israeli Prime Minister is seated with Palestinian President Jibril Miraz and the Syrian President (yes, I know that's an odd combination). Pope Timothy (sorry, Benedict, but there's no room for you in the Kendallverse. Does that mean I have to do a lot of Hail Marys in penance?) sits at the table, and unlike the extravagant clothing one might expect of the Vicar of Christ, he's simply dressed, in a black priests' cassock. And sunglasses for some reason. And rounding out the group, sitting at the end of the table, are the tag team rulers of Iran. President Aref Harandi looks as menacing and annoyed as ever... while beside him, the Supreme Leader, Azad Garoussi, sits in bitter silence, glaring at everyone else (Ayatollahs tend to glare a lot) as though wondering how he got suckered into showing up. In walks the author, known in some circles as William Kendall.

Kendall: Thank you all for coming today. I know it's been a long flight for some of you to meet here in between the Fourth Wall.

United States: Not so much for me. Just a quick hop in Air Force One.

Great Britain: I'm curious as to what the purpose of all of this is.

Syria: And why am I being designated by my country in these... transcripts? Is that the proper term?

Israel: Yes, I am too. And those two as well.

Kendall: Look, I very deliberately named some of you in the book, and didn't name others. And since there's more then one President, and more then one Prime Minister, I thought it would be less confusing to designate you by country.

United States: Wait. I'm the most powerful leader on Earth, and you don't even give me a name?

Garoussi: Aref, think of the opportunity. We could kill every last one of them right here and now and have our way with the whole world.

Harandi: Yes, but we don't have a gun.

Great Britain: I suppose you two crazy sods realize we all just heard you say that.

Garoussi: Heard us say what?

United States: Answer me this. Am I supposed to be the President in your... what's the term you used? Out there where you live beyond this... Fourth Wall?

Miraz: What is a Fourth Wall anyway?

Israel: I've heard some odd ideas about it.

Pope Timothy: It's the literary notion that characters in a book, television program, or movie are seperated from the audience by an invisible Fourth Wall. From time to time, writers like to have a character realize that they're actually fictional characters being written by someone else. It's quite often used in the comic book field. In fact, the characters She-Hulk and Deadpool are infamous for doing that sort of thing.

Syria: Wait... the Pope reads comic books?

Pope Timothy: An old habit I got into during confessionals. There's only so many times you can hear someone say "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned a whole lot. In the last six hours I robbed two banks, committed adultery, and swindled a fortune out of a rich widow." At some point, reading light entertainment makes the confessional time go faster.

Kendall: Your Holiness, I think the Catholic Church would prefer you keep that to yourself. Now, if we could continue? Mr. President...

Syria: Yes?

Miraz: What is it?

Kendall: No, him.

United States: Yes?

Kendall: In regards to the whole are you or aren't you the American President in my reality thing, I'm really leaving that matter to the reader's imagination. You might be the current President, and you might not be. At least I'm being reasonably respectful of you when I'm writing you. It's not quite the same with your Syrian counterpart over here. He's definitely not the sociopath currently running things in Syria in my reality. This guy here's a man of honour.

Harandi: Note to self: have the Syrian President killed.

Syria: I heard that, you know.

Kendall: Enjoy it while it lasts, though. You're not going to be the President of the United States anymore in a couple of books.

United States: Why not?

Kendall: Well, the book after that one requires a personal connection to the... oh, wait, I'm getting ahead of myself, and going into detail about that would be considered a spoiler. All I'm saying is you're not going to be a two termer. Sorry. I know that's got to be disappointing, but as the creator of the Kendallverse...

Pope Timothy: Wait. Did you say creator?

Kendall: Yes, I created all of you. Out of my imagination.

Garoussi: Are you implying you're the Creator? Are you implying you're God? Blasphemy!

Kendall: I wasn't implying that at all. All I'm saying is that I have omnipotent power over all of you. I can, if I wish, delete you from existence. It's the full right of an author to control their characters. Granted, sometimes characters don't listen to you and wind up doing whatever they want anyway...

Pope Timothy: My son, you're claiming omnipotence over our lives. That certainly implies that you're...

Kendall: Wait! You don't understand. All of you people are characters! In a book I've been writing.

Israel:  I don't know about the rest of you, but I rather resent being characterized as a mere fictional character.

Miraz: I'm with you, Prime Minister.

Great Britain: Who, me?

Miraz: No, I was talking to him.

Harandi: I never thought I'd agree with an Israeli, but I too resent being dismissed as a mere figment of someone else's imagination. I'm the President of Iran! That means something, you know! I have the pathetic lives of every single citizen of my country in my hands! Even this senile old loon beside me!

Garoussi: What was that?

Harandi: Did I say that out loud?

Great Britain: Is anyone else developing a headache?

Syria: If I might ask a question, Mr. Kendall?

Kendall: Certainly, Mr. President.

Syria: What makes you so sure we're the characters and you're the author?

Miraz: Indeed. What if you're the one whose every action is being written by some other omnipotent unseen force?

Israel: Yes, answer that, Mr. Smartypants.

Kendall: Oh, this is just getting silly.

Great Britain: No, silly would be your use of Shakespearean related imagery for no apparent reason. Don't think we can't see those images you're inserting into this blog, because we can. None of them have anything to do with the subject at hand. Tell us, whatever would be the reason for that?

Kendall: If you must know, I borrowed the title for the blog from Shakespeare, so I decided to play around with images too. All the better to confuse my readers with. Besides, it's not like google images for diplomacy came up with a whole lot of potential images. Now, if we could get on with the work at hand?

Garoussi: Shakespeare was a blasphemer too!

Kendall: And you wonder why no one invites Ayatollahs to parties.

The door bursts open. In rushes Moammar Gadhafi, former leader of Libya, looking frantic and desperate, as if he's just been running.

Gadhaffi: Sanctuary! I plead sanctuary! I've been overrun by rebel forces and I ran through some really strange door and where the hell am...?

He looks around the room, sees everyone...and waves.

Gadhafi: Um... hi! Listen, if you happen to see a horde of Libyan freedom fighters come this way, forget you saw me. In fact, I was never here!

Great Britain: Aren't you dead?

Miraz: That's what I thought.

Israel: That's what we've all heard.

Harandi: That was our impression too.

Syria: Did you fake your death somehow?

United States: Our intelligence sources have you dead in this reality, Colonel. Mr. Kendall here has plans to work your assassination into the backstory of a character down the line.

Kendall: Who told you that?

United States: We have our sources.

Kendall: It was Norma, wasn't it?

United States: I'm not at liberty to say.

Kendall: Okay, so was it Beth?

United States: I can't divulge that.

Kendall: It must have been Donna. It's always the quiet ones.

United States: I assure you, I can't talk about our intelligence sources.

Gadhaffi: Look, I'm not dead, all right? I'm just on the run. The whole counter insurgency plan didn't quite go according to, well.. the plan.

Kendall: Obviously this must be the real Gadhaffi from my side of the Fourth Wall. Somehow he made his way here. Which is surprising, because we're all a long way from Tripoli. Listen, Colonel. May I call you Moammar? You might as well just throw in the towel. You had a long run as a despot, but it's over. You tried your best, and you came up short. If you turn yourself in to the new governing authorities in Tripoli, I'm sure they'll be lenient.

Gadhaffi: Are you crazy? After what I've done? They'll hang me!

Pope Timothy: Yes, my son, no, wait... you're older then I am. My son sounds wrong. Yes, Colonel, they probably will hang you. And to be perfectly honest, don't you agree that you've had it coming?

Harandi: Note to self: blow up any potential insurgency.

United States: You know, we all heard you say that.

Kendall: Those two are an awful lot like the two real ones in my world. It didn't take a lot of imagination to create them. Bitter, vindictive bastards of the first order. Which makes them good fodder for manipulating villains and pulling strings for a few books.

Garoussi: Note to self: have this so called author and blasphemer assassinated. How hard could it possibly be to hire someone reliable?

Kendall: I heard that too. How many authors are the target of murder plots by their characters?

Great Britain: Well, rumor has it that Charles Dickens was actually killed by Pip and Estella...

Walk The Plank, Ye High And Mighty Muckety Mucks, And Let An Honest Pirate Run For Office

"Okay, look, let's just tell some kind of aw shucks, folksy kind of downhome spin story about me cutting down a cherry tree and not being able to tell a lie about it. People will eat that up come election day. They'll be calling me the father of their country." ~ George Washington, 1788

"Can you trust Bob Ellis? This is the same man who raised your taxes last year by a whopping .0000008 %. If he does that, what else will he do? Eat your children alive???? Vote Hannibal Lecter for mayor." ~ from the Hannibal Lecter election campaign

And so it draws on and on. We're still more then a year away from the American elections, and the Republicans continue the endless process of nominating a leader to run against the President. Come on, people! How hard could this possibly be? Do we have to have all of you in a gladiator pit, and the winner gets the nomination?

Come to think of it, that would be a really, really good idea.

 

On the one hand, we've got Rick Perry, the Texan governor who makes Dubya look like a genius and who displays an uncanny knack for wandering off in all directions during a debate and putting people to sleep...

I've pretty much already established that Governor Rick has no business running for higher office, and that the state of Texas must be demoted post haste for bringing Dubya to the Presidency in the first place....

Governor Rick, of course, is in competition with Mitt Romney, aka Mr. Mittens (come on, if this guy wins the Presidency, you will be thinking of him as President Mittens. Admit it) for the nomination.

We can't count the Tea Party darling Michelle Bachmann out yet either. As much as we'd like to.

And so in the midst of all this, with a field of candidates who have been less then inspiring, that Republican outsiders have seriously been looking at New Jersey governor Chris Christie to run for the nomination. This despite his many "no, no, I'm not interested, I'm happy where I am, why won't you people stop bothering me, honey get my gun" statements....

The party insiders thought that if they asked enough, the big guy might just decide to step into the ring and run. Apparently they're deaf, because no matter how many times he said no....

Finally, Governor Christie gave an unequivocal no. Rumor has it he might well have threatened to govern like a Democrat if they didn't leave him alone. It's just as well. How could anyone ever take a guy whose first name sounds so much like his last name seriously? I mean, if his parents were so desperate to give him a C name... was Curtis really out of the question?

And so with Governor Christie giving the notion the finger, the Republicans are back to the Usual Suspects... none of whom are looking splendid.

I conclude by suggesting a different choice for the job. A man who's lived in exile in Europe these many years, coming back on occasion to shoot a film. A man who's fairly popular, particularly for his signature role. Yes, I would suggest Johnny Depp run for President.

As a condition of his running for Presidency as an independent, he would have to serve the entire term in character, of course.

"Avast, ye scabberous dogs! All hands on deck! Congress is off the port bow!"