Chip Shots

On the one hand, my editor wants this article by a certain date and time. She wants to make sure that everything fits, that nothing is objectionable, that all the words are spelled correctly, and that obfuscation is eschewed. I have no problem with that. In fact, I am grateful someone is willing and able to correct my mistakes before they become public knowledge. If only that were the case for the rest of my life! But this week is different. There are more important issues at stake. As much as I’d like to, I simply cannot turn this article in on time. I must make sure I do not offend the baseball gods. Everyone knows that you cannot tempt fate. If you are so brash as to make assumptions about what will happen next, sure enough, the baseball gods will come crashing down to exact vengeance. So as much as I’d like to meet deadline, I just can’t. If I dare to write as if the Diamondbacks had reached the postseason before it actually happens, it most definitely will not happen. And it will ...

Ivan gave his brother a penetrating look. “The question is this: is freedom a gift or a curse?” “Are you serious? Of course it’s a gift!” The provocative question unnerved Alvin. Why would anyone question the value of freedom? “Be careful what you wish for,” Ivan cautioned. “For if you embrace the gift of freedom, you can no longer blame God for evil. You can’t have it both ways.” Alvin was incredulous. “Wait a minute! How does freedom let God off the hook?” This was a sensitive issue for both of them. They had lost their sixteen-year-old sister to a drunk driver ten years ago. Traveling home from a football game, someone crossed the center lane and killed her. Alvin had been angry at God ever since. “Either God was not powerful enough to stop her death, or he was not loving enough to prevent it,” Alvin contended. “Either way, count me out.” And so he had. “No joke. Are you serious? Is there really a connection between freedom and evil?” Alvin asked. “Let’s suppose, for example, that y...

Milton Bradley was miffed. Not the company that makes the games. The athlete who plays the games. That Milton Bradley. Baseball players have some of the strangest names. What other sport can claim someone who is a toy-maker (Milton Bradley) and a breakfast cereal (Coco Crisp)? Anyway, Milton was miffed. “Strike Three!” said the umpire. Milton didn’t think so. He remained in the batter’s box, staring down the umpire. Moments passed. Finally the umpire had enough. “You’re outta here!” (I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone thrown out of a game without saying a word.) Bradley headed to the showers. The game continued without him. Milton Bradley is a temperamental ballplayer. Those of us who follow baseball can name several famous incidents involving his out-of-control antics. In comparison, this episode was a minor incident. All of which leads to an interesting question: why did Milton Bradley, despite his objections, acquiesce to the umpire’s edict? Why did he accept a call he disagreed ...