Labor Day, Sailing Away

Something shifts inside my heart on Labor Day no matter how old I am.

Seasonal change is good, it allows me to step back from the light and the warmth and realize how much pleasure summer brings me.

I always miss it, but I was a weirdo. I liked school and looked forward to getting back and I'm bananas for football.

Yes, let's start the season playing the Anti-Christ from Texas at home.  Go Giants!


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My first book of photographs "River to River ~ New York Scenes from a Bicycle" was published by YBK Publishers. Photos, captions and an essay in an 8 x 11 format.

The book is available at YBK and Amazon for $12.95. Other sellers will be added in a month.

This photography portfolio is a small sample of my work that YBK wanted to put out there. They did a terrific job and I’m honored they asked me. I hope you buy the book and enjoy the pictures.

If you like my stories and my photos there is a lot more coming. Be well, Tommy

New York Giants Send the Ryans Home to Texas

Poopface

The happiest New York Giant has to be Kevin Gilbride, the Giants offensive coordinator. Sending blustering Buddy Ryan’s two big mouth fat sons home for the winter. Ryan! No playoffs for you!  

See Poopface Ryan punch Gilbride here

As a die heart Giant fan, I’ve had many nemeses over the years, the Anti-Christ Cowboys, Bill Walsh’s 49ers, and Poopface Ryan's Eagles, to name a few.

Last night, the Giants beating the Cowboys made my old year and New Year. I swear when I was a kid, if the Giants went 2-12 but beat the Cowboys twice; as far as I was concerned they had a good year.

Realistically, winning the NFC East title while giving up more points then we scored, makes this seem a little bit like the NBA playoff scenario “let’s get everybody in there! Bring me your poor, sad, five hundred teams.”  But, this smells a lot like the 2007 Giant team that went on a roll and won four games on the road to Arizona. Cruz is this year’s Bradshaw surprise "where'd he come from break out player." Three cheers for Patterson, New Jersey!  Victor’s home town.  And last but not least, did you see Eli snake his way out of several sacks?  Manning runs the ball? Yes, he did!

Cowboys, go home.

All my love for the Cowboys is summed up in this story published in Mr. Beller’s Neighborhood in 2008.

Schadenfreude – How Bout Those Boys?

Beat Atlanta!

Hating Dallas, Missing Dad

The Dallas Cowboys losing -- my number #1 Schadenfreude trigger. I love September and football creeping up.

Here's a picture of Dad & me, right after Joe "The Nose" Danelo, kicked the New York Giants into the 1981 NFL playoffs on December 19th, with the Jets help next day beating the Packers. Thanks, Jets.

Best two live "Old Yankee Stadium, we were there," sports days ever with Dad.

1) Giants beat Skins 35-33 ~ Nov 1970 ~ came back from 19 points down with a quarter to go. Stadium rocked and rolled. Dad and I hugged like we were going out. Tucker Fredrickson's best game as a pro, Ron Johnson scored winning sweep right in front of Dad & me seating behind Yankee dugout.

2) Mickey's 500. May 1967. We cried while we hugged after that one. I miss Dad hugging me. I made him take me to the Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Friday night, Hal Reniff gave up 9 earned runs, Yankees got pounded, but we stayed to watch Mick hit.


When Dallas loses, I feel Dad's smile.
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Instead of doing what I should be doing, I'm listening to Ray Davies, "Property." What a song.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W74JMyYXac0
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Last Night's Show at Telephone Bar

Last night's show was wunderbar. Thank you ,Tim, Wayne and Harold for inviting me to read at Telephone Bar's season opener.

In one story, I explored Yorkville's German butchers in 1962, and my Italian grandmother's shopping idiosyncrasies. My other story examined the schadenfreude pleasure I derive from savoring the Dallas Cowboys suffering, and how it played out one winter day in Yorkville in 1969.

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Thank you, to all my friends who came, and all my friends who sent me good wishes. It always feels good. be well, Tommy

ps hopefully, I'll put a video or audio up this week

Here's Schadenfreude ~ How Bout Those Boys? by trp

As you get older the word hate drifts from your conversation. It’s a bad word, and a silly emotion to hang onto. Life’s too short.

If you’re lucky, you lose it all together. If you’re really lucky, you save it for one person, one particular thing, or in my case, one professional sports team.

If I hear the two words together, Dallas and Cowboys, my middle finger lifts to attention and points at the speaker. I immediately hate the person and think they’re stupid. If that person is wearing a Cowboy jacket, I pray they were overcharged. It always thrills me when they also have a bad haircut.

For me, Schadenfreude heaven is the tangible pleasure I derive from watching the Anti-Christs from Dallas suffer.

This morning, I swooned over the NFC East Division standings, particularly, first and second place

New York Giants 11-2

Dallas Cowboys 8-5

I stared at the standings the way a GI in a swampy World War II trench stared at his wallet photo of Rita Hayworth in a nightie.

Some background, two memories.

A long time ago, the Giants went 2-12. I wasn’t that sad because... That’s right they won 2 of 14 games. BUT, they beat the Texas Anti-Christs 14-6, and also beat the Kansas City Chiefs led by Hank Stram, who perfectly fit the response the kid in Annie Hall had for Joey Nickle, “What an Asshole.”

Second memory… Robby Zimmel was the most obsessive Dallas fan in Yorkville. I’d be down Carl Schurz Park in June suffering abuse over how terrible the Yankees were, and Zimmel would come down the park and start busting my chops over the Giants stinking, a month before training camp opened, temporarily wiping out my hallucinations that the Giants were getting better. I always was close to putting a garbage can over his head. I went in a different direction.
As good as the Cowboys were in the late 60s & 70s they only won the championship twice, and got knocked out of the playoffs every other year.

On the day your team gets knocked out of the playoffs, no matter how well you did during the regular season, you feel horrible. Your world ends, it’s hard to eat, music sounds lousy, girls aren’t as pretty, and it’s raining in your soul.

It’s the perfect time to send that person a post.

Moments after the Cowboys got knocked out the playoffs by the Cleveland Browns on December 28, 1969, I went to St. Stephen’s rectory and bought a fancy $5 Mass Card. Not the cheap $2 card, the fancy card, with a glittering Jesus or Mary in raised relief on the front. In case you don’t know what a Mass Card is, here’s a definition.

Mass Card ~ In the Roman Catholic Church, a card sent to a bereaved person or family indicating that the sender has arranged for a Mass to be said in memory of the deceased.

There was a prim lady at the rectory desk with bouffant hair and a whiff of Jean Nate toilet water. She was massively proud of her penmanship, dying to write in the name of the deceased in big swirls. The conversation went like this.

Lady: “Son, the name of the departed?”

“Can’t tell you, Mam. Mom didn’t spell it for me. She told me, get the card and we’d learn the spelling at the funeral

home off the board and after we find out, I’ll come back and tell you, so you can put the name in for the Mass.”

Reluctantly, she released the Mass Card for my five dollar bill.

I sat on the church steps with the card solid against my thigh and put my calligraphy skill to work, writing out the name of the deceased in beautiful script.

Dallas Cowboys

Adding in block letters: May they rest in peace.

I mailed it to Zimmel, happily spending the extra postage on the fat envelope. My only regret, I wasn’t there when Zimmel opened it.

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My Schadenfreude Soars... Go Cards!

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The Cards burned the Eagles.

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Bye, Bye, Philly.

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Kurt Warner, take the Cardinal mantle from good ol' Charley Johnson.

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In 1966, the Giants had a fan club, and Rory and I were standing members. Membership included free admission to New York Giant Saturday football practices at Yankee Stadium before the seven home games. We dragged Dad up to the Stadium and sat in the bleachers. - (picture above ~ that's me, watching the action, & Rory, facing the camera) - the players came right up to you and occasionally an errant punt or a bad throw would end up in the stands, and you got the opportunity to throw it back on the field. I died for that.

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The friendliest Giant players were Gary Wood, Spider Lockhart and Ernie Koy. But my favorite player to talk to was Charley Johnson, #12, St. Louis Cardinals, QB. He'd come right out to the monuments and play catch with the fans. I knew he went to New Mexico State, and when I yelled "I Love New Mexico!" He threw the ball right at me, and I caught it. The "Duke" in my hands was huge, I threw it back off the laces near the bottom of the ball and threaded a decent spiral. Johnson smiled and gave me a thumbs up.

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I could never root for Charley Johnson against the Giants, but I didn't want him to get hurt and I rooted for him crazy any time he played the Cowboys, Eagles or Redskins.

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I hated Bobby McDonald when I was seven years old. Seeing the Cards beat the Eagles yesterday brought back fond memories of watching the Giants clip the Eagles at Franklin Field.