Apropos to the study of law, tangentially (part 2)

With the aim of taking breaks from the study of law, a task I perform not whimsically, but with the aim of passing the North Carolina bar exam in July, and to preserve a scintilla of sanity, of which may be saved by select ruminations on the language that may fall out of the law, like apples falling from Newton's tree, I will attempt to spend a modest 10 minutes a day writing a narrative or poem around an excerpt from the Barbri Conviser Mini Review. Enjoy!

Except: HYPO 25. Dudley and his friend, Pyro, are sitting around drinking beer one night at Dudley's house. After polishing off their fifth six-pack, they decide that it would be fun to create a big bonfire by torching the empty barn next door. They grab some lighter fluid and matches from the garage and stumble out the door. One hour later, the duo is arrested as they stare transfixed at the towering inferno they created. Can Dudley and Pyro plead intoxication as a defense to the following crimes? (1) Conspiracy to commit arson? Yes. Conspiracy is a specific intent crime. (2) Arson? No. Arson is a malice crime. 

Part I

Dudley came from a long line of Dudleys. Douglas William Harrison (born 1890), Douglas William Harrison, Jr. (1915), Douglas William Harrison, III (1940), Douglas William Harrison IV (1965), and, finally, on a frosty morning in early February 1987, Dudley was born Douglas William Harrison, V, to the parents of Douglas William Harrison IV and Mary Harrison in Hertford, North Carolina. 

The Harrisons were a family of some influence in the Albemarle Sound region of northeast North Carolina. The original Harrison was born to a family who owned substantial amounts of land, cultivating tobacco and cotton. While the trade cash-crop trade was not always so strong, the family continued to exert influence as each of the subsequent Harrisons went into one of two fields; real estate development or law. 

However, Dudley was decidedly on a path contrary to that of his predecessors as evidenced by his company of a balmy May 2014 evening. 

"Pyro," as Patrick Daniels was known by the local community for his conviction five years earlier 

along with another unsavory character 

for conspiracy to commit arson, had come over for drinks. The moniker from which Pyro did not shy away. 

"Brother, Duds!" said Pyro as he approached Dudley's abode. "What's say we get lit and go shoot some water fowl?"

Dudley, having little reason to say no, said, "That's not a bad idea, Pyro."

And so the two men sat outside Dudley's small living quarters on the bank of the Perquimans River, watching the fireflies twinkle in the night, listening to the squeaking of the cheap lawn chairs they sat on, and talked about things that any pairing of men drinking together will talk about: women, sports and the politics of their daily lives, which on this evening included the politics of Dudley's family. 

To understand the politics of the Harrison family, an examination of Dudely's home and the situation that landed him there first must be examined; boiled down succinctly, Dudley was kicked out of his family home, the one where his parents, Doug William Harrison, IV, and Mary Harrison live, six months ago due chiefly to Dudley's disinterest in participating in the normative professional progression of the Harrison family. Dudley had the misfortune of possessing two of the worst qualities a monied person can have: he was lazy and felt entitled to the money he always had. 

A positive trait, and one that has allowed him to survive unbothered by much of his parents' prodding has been his insouciance for his own condition. 

And so when Dudley's parents kicked him out of the house, unemployed and generally uneducated, except for three 

alcohol-filled 

semesters at East Carolina University, he did not argue, or have any reaction whatsoever as he picked up his backpack and left down a long driveway, flanked on both sides by weeping willow trees, with Douglas William Harrison, IV, an attorney at law, shaking his head, and his mother, whose mother was the prettiest woman in Hertford two generations ago, weeping and burying her auburn hair into the chest of her husband. 

Dudley just hung a right at the end of the driveway to the street and walked five blocks, left the street on a trail, walked for three mile along the Perquimans River where he stopped at a small shack. It was a place he had built ten years earlier, made of rotting pine trees and plywood. Inside were fishing poles and a shot gun, a couple blankets and a book, "The Sirens of Titan," by Kurt Vonnegut.

END Space – I have exceeded my writing time by about ten minutes, writing a total of 20 minutes. This story will continue at another point.  

Apropos to the study of law, tangentially (Part 1)

With the aim of taking breaks from the study of law, a task I perform not whimsically, but with the aim of passing the North Carolina bar exam in July, and to preserve a scintilla of sanity, of which may be saved by select ruminations on the language that may fall out of the law, like apples falling from Newton's tree, I will attempt to spend a modest 10 minutes a day writing a narrative or poem around an excerpt from the Barbri Conviser Mini Review. Enjoy!

The excerpt: "When Congress attempts to regulate intrastate activity under the third prong, above, the Court will uphold the regulation if it is of economic or commercial activity (e.g., growing wheat or medicinal marijuana even for personal consumption) and the court can conceive of a rational basis on which Congress could conclude that the activity in aggregate substantially affects interstate commerce."

To conclude economic

marijuana affects rational 

activity, e.g., 

growing wheat,

the Court attempts

aggregate personal Congress under 

the third prong, 

if it is to conceive. 

Durham Amateur Tournament After Dark

The first round of the 41st Annual Durham Amateur Tournament concluded this afternoon with Gary Pugh holding a one-stroke lead over three others, two former champions and last year's runner up. Since I am wearing my pajamas and it is 11 p.m., this blog post is called "Durham Amateur Tournament After Dark." However, there is nothing scandalous in these electronic pages. This is simply a description of each of the 18 holes at Hillandale Golf Course in Durham, North Carolina, written mostly for the benefit/amusement of my brother, Kyle. 

The article I wrote for the Durham Herald-Sun can be found HERE.



Hole 1:

From the physical description as described by the map of the course, this appears to be an easy hole. While the tee box is positioned to the left, parallel to a pine tree line, a straight or slightly right tee shot onto the wide fairway will set the player up fine for his approach shot to the green. Reaching the green in two shots should not be a problem for the competent player as the blue tee box is only 350 yards away from the green.

What is not seen on the course map that may be treacherous is a small creek that runs through the pine tree line. The smart player will aim right.

Hole 2:

This is the hardest par 5 on the course, ranking as a nine handicap, compared to the two par 5s on the back nine, which are rated as 18 and 16 handicaps. It is easy to tell why.

50 yards from the tee box is something resembling a water hazard. The course map shows this hazard as appearing closer to the tee box. It certainly seems to be at least 50 yards from the box. The green lays 510 yards away from the tee box, making this hole the longest on the course.

There are pine trees on both sides of the fairway, making for a somewhat narrow landing spot for the drive to land satisfactory for a legitimate shot at reaching the green on two strokes.

John Gaddy, who is in a three-way tie for second place after the first round, birdied the second hole, and described his approach: "It's the ultimate risk-reward, because you don't have a very long second shot, but you don't have a very large landing area.

"The tee shot, if you put it in the right place, you have a shot at the green. But it gets smaller the closer you get to the green. You can be 200-220 yards out and sometimes the smart shot is to not go for the green because you have more space to land with the shorter shot."

Gaddy used a three iron for the second shot. He left it just short with an easy pitch to the green, and then made the subsequent birdie put.

Hole 3:

Interestingly, the most difficult par 5 is followed by the most difficult hole on the course. Hole 3 is rated as a 1 handicap. It is the lengthiest par 4 on the course, going at 425 yards from the blue tees to the green.  Hillandale Road is behind the hole, creating something of a distraction for those who may be subject to distractions while putting. It is a straight hole, however there are bushes to the right, so players would want to keep their drives to the left.

Hole 4:

What was memorable about hole 4 was its sloping green. Other than that it was a straight on par 3. There is a hazard very far to the right. However, only a player of the author's propensity to shoot horrible shots would find the hazard.

Hole 5:

There is a wrap-around bunker that protects the green on hole 5 However, it is also the second-easiest rated hole on the course with a handicap of 17. The yardage is only 337 for a par 4.

Hole 6:

All my notes say for hole 6 is as follows: "Fairway bunker, fairly straight." It is a longish, relatively, par 4, going for 425 feet, and rated as the fifth most difficult hole the course at a five handicap.

Hole 7:

This is a par three which can appear to be deceivingly easy. It has deep bunkers which surround the hole on all fronts – on the front and one to each side. If the player does lands his ball in the bunker, he'll have a difficult time placing it on a space on the green where he'll be able to save par.

Hole 8:

There is a hazard just in front of the green. The smart player will assess his first shot where club selection will be critical. While some say that you never want to leave a shot behind the green on a Donald Ross designed course, this is a hole where you'd want to risk over shooting the hole than leaving it in the hazard in front.

Hole 9:

The pin was placed near the front of a difficult sloping green today. The first shot must clear the the marsh-like hazard. However, if that is done, the hole should be easily played as long as the green-approach shot does not miss to the left or right as bunkers flank either side.



Hole 10:

And so now we've reached the turn. The front nine was certainly the more difficult part of the course. The most difficult par 5 was on the front nine at hole two, followed by the lengthiest and most difficult hole on the course at the third hole.

Hole 10 was a beauty. It is a straight-on tee shot down the fairway which presented a view of North Carolina pastoral – pines in the background sloping down into a fairway of green grass. There are no hazards and only a small bunker flanking the right-front side of the green. This was not a detraction from the hole, as its aesthetic beauty was derived from its almost offensive green vegetation.

Hole 11:

There is a rather large dip in the middle of the fairway, a spot the ambitious golfer should aspire to drive his first shot above. The green appeared to be difficult as it seemed to have more curves than a woman of the night in New Orleans.

Hole 12:

This is a short par 4, only 332 yards from the tee box to the pin, with a slight dogleg left. It is another hole built with hills and slops. However, playing so short, it is rated as one of the easier holes on the back nine.

Hole 13:

If there is anything we know about the disposition of golfers, it is that most are a little antsy at the tee box. This hole is not ideal for the hyper-antsy golfer as it is near Hillandale Drive, a not-unbusy street that disrupts some of the holes on the course.

There is a fairway bunker that is ready to capture a player's ball only 100 yards from the tee box. A competent player should out drive this bunker.

However, there is a knoll that rises above the bunker. The ideal tee shot will clear the small hill for an ideal approach shot to the green.

Hole 14:

This is the EASIEST hole on the course! It is an 18 handicap rated. But only one player made eagle on Saturday. That player was Michael Smith, who also won the tournament in 2005, and shot a 71 on Saturday, leaving him only two shots behind the leader going into Sunday's final. He summed up his approach succinctly, leaving little doubt as to what he did: "I hit my driver and I hit about 178 yards from the hole. And then I hit a six iron about four feet from the hole and made the putt."

Anyway, my notes only say that there was a slight dogleg left, a hill in the middle, slopes down and geese that were near the green as I approached it.

A reasonable reader may deduct that the geese did not affect Smith's approach shot to the green. However, it would have effected the approach shot of geese enthusiast.

Hole 15:

Frankly, all you need to know about this par three is that two bunkers protect the green. The fairway is large and forgiving, so if a player misses the green he's probably still ok.

Hole 16:

A fairly pedestrian hole, a lot of guys pared it by the end of the day. There was only one line that I wrote while taking notes on this hole: "A straight par 4."

Wow, that's not much analysis. But to my credit, this may be the most pedestrian hole on the course. It's a 14 handicap, 380 yards from tee box to green, and rather flat and straight.

It is the Mitt Romney of golf holes.

Hole 17:

This is the fourth most difficult hole on an already fairly easy back nine, presenting the players with an 8 handicap hole par three. There is a hazard in the middle of the fairway. However, any player who can qualify to play in this tournament (must be a 10 handicap or better) should clear the hazard. In fact, I propose that clearing the hazard should be a litmus test to determine whether you really belong in this tournament.

My notes say as follows: "Must clear marshes. However, otherwise a short par 3, only a pair of bunkers on either side of the green."

Hole 18:

For a tournament course, this is an ideal hole to end on. It is the second most challenging of only three par fives on the course. This presents a chance for a late-round comeback eagle or a more modest birdie to tie of win the tournament.

There is some heavy foilage along the left side of the fairway. It does not do the player much good to aim too far to the right, however, as there are trees on that side as well. As true Donald Ross style, a cautious player would want to lay his approach shot straight and short. There is a bunker to both sides of the green, and a slope down the back toward the chief-course distractor, Hillandale Street.

Epiloge:

If you have read this far, you must either be a golf enthusiast or a lover of my prose. I don't care, either way, enjoy.

Ultimately, remember, the first six holes are the most interesting as two, three and six present some challenges. A player who makes it through the front nine even par has a good chance of winning the amateur title.

This brief synopsis of Hillandale Golf Course may be informative, entertaining, or a waste of the reader and author's time. However, I had a good time.

Durham/Raleigh
5/24/2014

Cogitatione

It may be futile to think about things
that I'll be thinking about in the future –
an idea has been conceived,
its contours will be explored and
written about at a designated time when

I have time to think thoughts on this academic
subject for which I must prioritize behind
the tasks and duties I must
complete and execute now. However,
these thoughts are on my mind now.

And so
I think these thoughts: my mind goes
wild – it is excited, though sober and contemplative,
as the cars busily drive down the boulevard. But
quickly these thoughts are halted, a cessation


of the thought, as the young woman
wearing a red and white striped shirt
sits in the chair near where I sit
outside the coffee house. She reads a book, and appears
young, but not statutorily too young. What can
I think about her that has not
already been thought? Little, I suppose,
but I think them nonetheless.

Raleigh, NC 5/21/2014

In Appreciation of Omar Vizquel

This blog post is simple: I appreciate the baseball player Omar Vizquel, and sometimes find myself anguishing over his chances of making it into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Those chances are probably next to nothing. He was only 123 hits shy of reaching the mythic milestone of 3,000 hits. That's equivalent to one extra year in his prime. But he was never even close to being considered the best player in the game during any point of his career. Nor was he even considered the best player on those 1995 and 1997 Cleveland Indians World Series teams. He played in an era when Major League Baseball was stock full of power-heavy shortstops, and Vizquel certainly was not a player who hit for power, accumulating only 80 homers for his career.

But it was his glove that impressed the masses. The nine-time gold glover was as good of a two-way player as there was for a certain period of time, playing a defensive position as demanding as any on the field while batting for a decent average (however, it could be argued that he didn't draw as many walks as a two-slot non-power hitter should draw).

I hope that the world of baseball remembers Vizquel as fondly as he deserves to be appreciated. I do not know how to measure his proper worth except to say that it is in the cosmos.

Liesure Time in Spring

The postman eats a pizza

at the parlor next door, and a girl

who looks like the girl who 

I adore

smokes a cigarette outside – she 

wears sunglasses and appears 

to watch the cars speed by

at an incredible pace. 

Soon she will leave, and soon too

the postman will leave 

to deliver the mail to my bungalow-style 

house only three blocks away.  

Raleigh, NC

4/21/2014

Sometimes I write about political elections

The Carolina Journal contacted me this Spring to see if I would be interested in covering the primary elections for seats in the North Carolina General Assembly. I had been referred to the Carolina Journal, a Raleigh publication, by my editor at the Durham Herald-Sun.

I had some initial reservations about accepting the assignment as the Carolina Journal is a politically-oriented newspaper. Partisan politics is not something I wished to be affiliated with at this time. However, the articles were to be politically-neutral news coverage of four NC House of Representative elections, and I could use the work both for the money and to expand my journalistic portfolio.

That being said, the folks at the Carolina Journal were a pleasure to work with as they respected my efforts as a professional journalist and the candidates I covered. I would accept the assignment again and hope to receive similar assignments from the Carolina Journal or any other publication.

The four House districts I covered were District 14 and District 15, both of which represented parts of Onslow County, District 24, representing Wilson and Pitt counties, and District 26, which represented about half of Johnston County.

There is nothing further I'd say about those elections except that if you vote in one of those districts I'd encourage you to read the article to inform your decision.

Brett Lewis' in Professional Baseball (Part 4) – an Epilogue

(Picture: George Brett, the origin of this scribe's first name, and likely that of two of the three Brett Lewis' who played professional baseball)

This is the fourth and final installment of Brett Lewis' in Professional Baseball. (Part 1); (Part 2); (Part 3). 

Ecce panis angelorum! In other words, behold the bread of angels! It was not uncommon for boys born in the late 1970s and 1980s to be named after George Brett, a mythical ball player who was a third and first baseman for a major league team in middle America, the Kansas City Royals.

He was a handsome guy. He had grit. He had passion. He had wit.1 And for those with contemporary interests, he inspired an award-winning song by the recording artist Lorde.

But most of all, he was really good at baseball. And that's what matters to American men when they name their sons.

The author of the Brett Lewis' in Professional Baseball series was named after George Brett in 1987.

Brett is the only baseball player to win batting titles in three different decades (the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s). He accumulated over 3,000 hits in his major league baseball career. His team won the World Series in 1985. He was a first-ballot hall of fame baseball player, receiving an unprecedented percentage of the vote.

Essentially, he was the man.

In a twist of fate, this Brett A. Lewis would guess that both Brett A. Lewis' who played professional baseball were likely named after George Brett. Brett A. Lewis of Douglasville, Georgia, was born in April 1979. By then, Brett had won one batting title, had led the league in doubles and was named to the American League All Star team three times. Brett A. Lewis of Dallas, Texas, was born on March 16, 1985, the same year George Brett's Royals would win the World Series. By 1985, Brett had won another batting title in 1980, a year he went deeper into a season than anyone since Ted Williams while maintaining a .400 batting average.2

George Brett was the angel, and the Bretts who followed were merely the crumbs that fell to earth. Loathsome is the pressure of being named after the infallible!

However, us Brett Lewis' solider on the best we can because it's what George Brett would do.

1. Brett had to leave game-2 of the 1980 World Series because of hemorrhoid pain. He had surgery the next day and hit a home run in Game-3. After the game, he said, "my problems are all behind me."

2. Brett H. Lewis was almost certainly not named after George Brett as he was too old, having likely been born in the late 1960s before George Brett captured America's imagination. He was probably named after a drunken Scottish grandfather. 

Brett Lewis' in Professional Baseball (Part 3)

(Picture: Brett A. Lewis, a Texan who played professional baseball for the Lowell Spinners)

This is the third installment of the Brett Lewis'-in-professional-baseball project. (Part 1) (Part 2)

Brett A. Lewis may not have been a bad person. He is one of only two professional baseball players who share my first name, last name, and middle initial. However, Brett A. Lewis was from the Lone Star State. Born in Dallas, Texas, on March 16, 1985, he played catcher at The University of Texas – Arlington for two years before transferring to the Big T, the University of Texas – Austin. Following college, Brett A. Lewis played one season for the Lowell Spinners of the New York-Pennsylvannia League.

Nothing against anyone from the Lone Star State. From all accounts heard by this scribe, Austin is a lovely, eclectic place of western-American culture, Houston is close enough to Louisiana to be cool, and the brother of this pontificator of baseball thought spent a summer working in Dallas – by his account a fine city.

The beef that a scrivener from California would have with Texas has entirely to do with the states' cultural and economic rivalry. As a Californian growing up in the shadow of USC football in the mid-2000s, it started with the 2006 Rose Bowl game when the Long Horns defeated the Trojans 41-38 to win the national championship.

As a youth grows up into a more worldly individual, he realizes that the two states, Texas and California, have outsized importance in how the world views America. It was only when this writer, as a young man, studied abroad in Germany his junior year of college that he realized the only places Europeans could identify on a map of America were California, Texas and New York – this man of letters vowed to always root against Texas and New York sports teams.

Texas, though, oh Texas! This is the land that yielded America two presidents, both of whom led this country into gorilla-style land wars. This is the land where the Governor maintains that the state retains the right to secede from the Union even though a war was definitely fought that decided that issue.

It's Californian social tolerance versus Texas that basically prosecuted homosexuals for being themselves until it was forced to yield by the Supreme Court of the United States in 2003 (2003!). Culturally, it's Hollywood versus Dallas. Economically, it's Medi-Cal versus uninsured Texans. Geographically, it's . . . well, nothing really compares with this, or this, or this, or this.

Ultimately, though, it's a western American duel. It's the California cowboy1 versus the Texas cowboy, and if you want to know who has the quickest draw, just remember that Clint Eastwood was mayor of Carmel-by-the-Sea.

The paragraphs written above are a long way of saying that Brett A. Lewis of Texas may have played in 29 professional baseball games as a member of the Lowell Spinners of the New York-Pennslvania League, Class Single-A, but I may not have rooted for him like I did the other Brett Lewis' of professional baseball.

Brett A. Lewis was not a member of the University of Texas baseball teams that won the College Baseball World Series in 2005. He joined the team a year later. Neither of the teams he played on in his two years at the University of Texas even won the Big 12 Conference. However, the Long Horns did win the conference the year after he left campus.

It appears that Brett A. Lewis was a recreational young lad. According to one of those weird sports information department student journals, Brett A. Lewis enjoyed going to Dallas Mavericks basketball games and playing laser tag.

The biggest moment of Brett A. Lewis' college career may have been when he knocked in two runs with a double down the rightfield line to give the Long Horns a 5-3 lead in the sixth inning of their NCAA Regional championship game against UC Irvine. But the Californians ultimately got the best of the Texans, the Anteaters coming back to defeat the Long Horns 9-6, ending Brett A. Lewis' college career.

Brett A. Lewis went undrafted. He was signed by the Boston Red Sox, and sent to their lower-level Single-A team in Lowell, Massachusetts. In 75 at bats, Brett A. Lewis had 16 hits for .213 batting average. He also drew 14 walks and was hit by three pitches, so his on-base percentage was not horrible, .355. But clearly it was not enough to keep the young man around any longer.

There is no easily-accessable on line record to find out what Brett A. Lewis of Dallas, Texas, is doing now. My best guess: running for the Texas state legislature while working for his father's financing business – I mean, why not?

1. This song says it all. 

Brett Lewis' in Professional Baseball (Part 2)

(Picture: Despite playing in this pitcher-friendly ball field, Brett A. Lewis still gave up 60 earned runs against 101 innings pitched in his one season of professional baseball.)


To read a full explanation of why a scribe of my kind would waste his time writing pieces on the Brett Lewis' who have played professional baseball, and to view the first installment of my series of baseball appreciative pieces, click HERE. 

Brett A. Lewis was a special ballplayer to me. Of all the baseball players who have ever played America's pastime and earned some compensation for laboring at the game, he's only one of two who share my first name, last name, and middle initial.1 The Legend of Brett A. Lewis is unassailable.

Brett A. Lewis was birthed into this world on April 11, 1979. It was the same day that Eddie Wilson died – this is of little note to the casual baseball fan as Mr. Wilson played in only parts of two seasons for the Brooklyn Dodgers in the 1930s, accumulating 72 hits, 39 runs, 12 doubles, 2 triples and 4 home runs, but I'm sure his death was a big deal to his family.

However, the death and birth of these two men are relevant to baseball fans and pocket-book philosophers as it illustrates that the cycle of baseball life is never ending. As Wilson was exiting the world, another kind-of-good baseball player was entering it.

Brett A. Lewis was born in Douglasville, Georgia – the same city where just-good-enough-to-smell-success Major League Baseball players Terry Harper and Camp Skinner were born.

It's easy to imagine Brett A. Lewis, who may have been raised in a modest home 20 miles west of Atlanta, dreaming of growing up to be a professional baseball player. He probably picked peaches in the hot Georgia summers of the mid-to-late 1980s to earn some walking-around money while conjuring up imagines Ty Cobb, perhaps Georgia's greatest and most notorious baseball player. With Cobb in mind, he very likely sharpened his spikes and slid aggressively feet first into opposing defenders during his little league and high school baseball careers.

Everyday life in Douglasville was no breeze. When his family ran low on firewood – the family did not have central heating as Douglasville has never fully recovered from Sherman's March to the Sea – Brett A. Lewis would chop away at a ponderosa pine behind the family homestead, taking cuts like he was Atlanta Braves great David Justice until it fell. The offerings from the mighty ponderosas kept the Lewis family warm through the winters. The storms that would ravish and rage through Dixie Alley did little to stunt Brett A. Lewis' growth as a ballplayer. He only grew stronger as he erected 10-foot-high sandbag walls around the family homestead and dug a 10-foot deep basement to protect his kin folk from hurricane flooding and tornados, respectively.2

When Brett A. Lewis arrived at Georgia Southern University for his freshman year, he probably did not know whether he would fit in so far from home. Brett A. Lewis had neither been further east than Atlanta, nor further west than Talladega, Alabama.3  He simply did not know whether he would mix well with the sophisticated folks from Statesboro, Georgia – many of whom traced their linage to old estates in Savannah, Georgia.

Brett A. Lewis would blossom into a pitching prospect. By his senior year, Brett A. Lewis had a WHIP of 1.29 and a 4.07 ERA while accumulating 11 wins to 6 losses as he led the Eagles to a Southern Conference Championship and into the College Baseball World Series. Two of Brett A. Lewis' teammates would become major league pitchers – Dennis Dove (3 total innings pitched for St. Louis in 2007); and Brian Rogers (who gave up a symmetrical 11 earned runs for 11 innings pitched in two strange years with the Pittsburg Pirates).

The Big Leagues were not in the cards for Brett A. Lewis. He was drafted in the 2002 amateur draft by the Chicago Cubs in the 29th round as the 873rd overall pick. He did not see action at even the rookie-league level, but instead played two seasons for the Evansville Otters in the Frontier League.

The Evansville Otters play their games in the third-oldest professional baseball field. Bosse Field, located in Evansville, Indiana, was constructed in 1915. The field boasts the fact that it's the first municipally-owned athletic facility in the United States as the stadium was originally built as a School Board Project. Eugene V. Debs, the legendary American socialist who ran for president, may have been proud of such socialism projects in his home state in the early 20th Century.4 The mayor of Evansville at the time, and the namesake of the field, Benjamin Bosse, gave something of a socialist quote to commemorate the building of the stadium, "When everybody boosts, everybody wins."5

However, just as Evansville became more conservative over the years,6 so too did its reception of hard-working, country-strong, classic ballplayers. Brett A. Lewis struggled. He started 13 games his first season, going 4-5 with a 5.10 ERA and a 1.69 WHIP. In his second season, Brett A. Lewis played in only six games, going 1-2 with a 5.90 ERA and a 1.59 WHIP, before calling it quits.7

While Brett A. Lewis probably could have stuck around in the independent leagues longer, it was probably time for him return to Douglasville, Georgia, where the peaches grew large, the Spring air tasted like gin and tonic, and the women called their men honey.

1. Stay tuned for the other Brett A. Lewis to play professional baseball in another installment of this intrepid blog. 

2. As if it need be said, this entire paragraph is purely speculative to the highest degree.

3. Again, this entire paragraph was probably made up: When young Brett A. Lewis was 17 years old, he may have been lucky enough to win tickets at the Douglas County Fair to the Talladega-500 NASCAR race where he saw Jeff Gordon win a race that Dale Earnhardt really should have won.

4. Indeed, the city of Evansville, Indiana, may have been full of progressives in the early 20th century. By popular accounts, the first famous jewish baseball player and baseball hall of famer Hank Greenberg played for the Evansville Hubs in 1931 before moving on to the Detroit Tigers of the major leagues. It was a time when anti-semitism was not uncommon in America. 

5. However, perhaps this concept of economics works projects has become bastardized by the NFL extortionists who put pressure on American cities to build new stadiums today. 

6. Evansville, Indiana's house of representative delegate is Larry Bucshon, who is, inter alia, for lowering corporate taxes – very unlike Mr. Debs.  

7. The Otters are good enough to list an all-time roster, which, like this blog, forever commemorating Brett A. Lewis' professional baseball career. 

Brett Lewis' in Professional Baseball (Part 1)

(Pictured: Brett Lewis' teammate on the 1987 Pocatello Giants, Jimmy Myers)

In anticipation of the upcoming baseball season, I'll provide a brief report this week on each Brett Lewis who ever played professional baseball (at least those listed at baseball-reference.com). You may ask, "Why, sir, would you waste your time on such a passion?" And I tell you, "to celebrate baseball, dear citizen, and to aspire to the greatness of the men who share my name who have achieved enough success to receive compensation for playing a child's game." Enjoy! 

Brett H. Lewis was a 6 foot 3, 185 pound, right-hand pitcher who was 23 years old when he played his one season of professional baseball for the Pocatello Giants of the Pioneer League in 1987. Pocatello is the fifth-largest city in Idaho. The Giants, it's hardly worth saying, were an affiliate of the San Francisco Giants, playing at the Rookie-class level, the lowest on organized professional baseball's hierarchy.

The Giants were not good. The boys from Pocatello went 26-44, allowing 115 more runs than they scored. Lewis was a bullpen hand, never recording a start. He threw 47.1 innings and gave up 40 runs. However, only 28 of those runs were earned as the Pocatello Giants were awful on defense. He completed his only season in professional baseball with a 5.32 ERA.

Some guys on the team did worse, like Jimmy Myers, who, at the tender age of 18, threw only 19.2 innings, giving up 19 earned runs.

Perhaps because of his age, the young Myers continued to play many more years of professional baseball, 13 in toto. He was even called up for a cup of coffee with the Baltimore Orioles in 1996. In his MLB stint, the right hander from Oklahoma City threw in 11 games for 14 innings, allowing 18 hits, 4 home runs and 3 walks for 11 earned runs. His WAR came in at -0.3, and indeed he was replaced as the Orioles went into their post-season campaign without the not-so-young Myers (who was by then 26 years old, likely not showing the same sterling youthful promise that he did in that 1987 season when he played on the same team as Brett H. Lewis). Without Myers, the Orioles won their divisional series (3-1) over the Cleveland Indians, but fell to the eventual World Series-champion New York Yankees (4-1) in the American League Championship Series.

Brett H. Lewis must have had major league dreams when he embarked on his professional baseball career; even if only for a cup of coffee with Cal Ripkin, as Myers got to enjoy:

"Can I get you a cup of coffee, Mr. Ripkin?" said imaginary Myers.

"No, son, we're about to play an important game against our divisional rival the Toronto Blue Jays," replied an imaginary Ripkin.

"Oh, yeah! Gosh it's great to be here."

"Have you thought about maybe developing skills outside of baseball, son? . . . I'm sorry, I forget what your name was."

"Jimmy Myers, sir! I'm sorry, did you say you wanted coffee, Mr. Ripkin?"

"No."

Silence filled the space between Myers, who appeared awestruck, and Ripkin, who was stoic, granite faced.

"Now, hustle out to the bullpen, boy!" said Ripkin in an enthusiastic tone he conjured up roughly 10 times a year to show his appreciation for the minor-league call ups while also getting them out of his hair. To become the Iron Man, you'd better develop some tricks.

"Yes, sir!" said Myers, exhibiting an excited hop in his step as he sprinted out of the dugout and toward the Cameron Yards bullpen.1

Myers' career lasted three more minor-league-filled seasons, finally ending with the Scranton/Wilkes Barre Red Barons in Scranton, Pennsylvania, in 1999. He began work for Dunder Mifflin following the Red Barrons' 73-71 campaign.2

Now, this scrivener pokes fun at Myers, but a 13-year minor league career is nothing of which to be ashamed. He even had his big-league moment, while poor Brett H.'s career ended with just a few dozen innings in the lowest tier of professional baseball.

But if you read between the lines you can imagine a happy story for Brett H. He entered Rookie ball as a 23-year-old which likely means he obtained some sort of college education, or otherwise marketable skill before entering the hallowed grounds of Halliwell Park. Although there is no information listed for Brett H.'s hometown or college-level experience, we can only guess that the now 50-year-old veteran of the Pioneer League is a physical education teacher at a high school somewhere in middle America where he also is the school's pitching coach.


1. Not a real conversation. 

2. Not a real fact.

* Post inspired by a Notgraphs posting. 

A Greasy-Spoon Review: Paradise Diner (Richmond, VA)

You may be asking yourself, what is this esteemed gentleman of letters doing writing reviews of greasy spoons? There is no reason, except for the simplest of reasons: I like greasy-spoon diners and believe that by gathering my thoughts on a few of these institutions, each of which is a part of a unique Americana populist culinary culture, I might find some higher providential truth. Or I may find that I'm as full of shit as anyone who thinks others refer to him as an "esteemed gentleman of letters." Enjoy! 

It is not uncommon for an American diner to try to take you to a different time or place. The 1950s are a popular destination, but the tropics seem to be a close second. The Paradise Diner in Richmond, Virginia, attempts to do the latter. This attempt at escapism hurts the Paradise Diner as it tries to forge its way through a more competitive and diverse world and illustrates the problems that traditional American diners face in the modern culinary landscape.

Well, that, and its undercooked over-easy eggs.

To its credit, the Paradise Diner does not attempt to hit you over the head with its tropical theme. It looks like a normal diner, standard-fare booths, a walk-up counter, inoffensive lighting and old men stuffing their faces with grits at a table in the back. The not uncommon greasy spoon features, including a television tuned in to NBC's "Today" show, should not bother most greasy-spoon goers. An interesting floor-plan choice for the restaurant was the placement of a long community dining table situated in the middle of the dining space which has the capacity to seat multiple parties.

The long dining table was a nice feature which seemed to work.  On this Friday morning, a cop and firefighter sat across from some other customers who may or may not have known each other before the morning encounter. But it's easy to be distracted from this community of breakfast eaters by the walls covered with pictures of beaches, setting suns, boats, and waves cresting and crashing. The theme was supposed to put the customer on a seaside resort, ready to watch the surf as he eats his two-egg breakfast. Notwithstanding a sign hanging on a wall that said, "Welcome to our piece of paradise," the effort was insincere, conspicuously distracting from the food and community aspects of the restaurant. This diner was better situated to honor the spirit of providing dirty, greasy-spoon meals for average Joes, not some imagined paradise in a Richmond, VA, strip mall.

The temptation to take patrons to another world must be strong for these hole-in-the-wall diners as their location is so nondescript. The Paradise Diner is tucked in the back of a shopping center near another eatery that provides a seamless, yet exotic, escapes for their customers – you can take a trip to Thailand at the Ruan Tong restaurant! What a bummer for the Paradise Diner, a restaurant just trying to serve folks the same flapjacks and grits momma made.

Besides the ethnic food options, a greater concern for greasy spoons is the expanding options available to people who may normally be their customers. From what little I know of Richmond, the city has become more cosmopolitan over the last decade. This is a great development for Richmond's food lovers, though it's a threat to the greasy-spoon diners, especially with the advent of New American food. As America's hip and young people are willing to wait for hours to get in the door at their new exciting neighborhood brunch place (see Portlandia, "Brunch Village"), they're leaving an American institution – the greasy spoon.

In the same shopping center as Paradise is an eatery called, Max's Positive Vibe Cafe, offering such foods as a black bean burger, which one reviewer on Yelp said was "yummy" as he gave the restaurant five stars and continued to describe the restaurant as follows: "Feel good food, wonderful mission. Fresh and interesting menu, Friendly service. Will go back!"

This will never be the Paradise Diner. It does not care for an interesting menu and certainly does not give two shits to provide "friendly service." To the greasy-spoon aficionado "good service" is preferred to "friendly service," meaning we'd rather never have our mugs of coffee go empty than see our server's stupid hipster smile. Paradise executed the service part perfectly. No, I was not thrown a smile when I entered the restaurant. And the server was busy when I sat myself at the counter so the cook clumsily took my order with no forced effort to hide her indifference. But my coffee was never more than half empty – excellent service.

Paradise had one big advantage in its particular location. Max's Positive Vibe Cafe and the Thai food restaurant did not offer breakfast, at least on weekdays. It had the neighborhood to itself, and certainly tried to take advantage of the competitive edge. Between 6:30-8 a.m., Paradise offers a two-egg, bacon or patty sausage, choice of grits or home fries, and a slice of toast for only $3 (does not include drink). After 8 a.m. this meal jumps up to $5.95, but includes a choice of muffin and a cup of coffee (See picture above of the other breakfast specials).

When taking in a greasy spoon for the first time, I always order the two-egg breakfast. It is simple, yet the execution of this minimalist meal either comes out a masterpiece or breaking bad, often saying everything you need to know about the diner.

Paradise failed to execute: The home fries were plain and the eggs were undercooked. It was not a complete failure, however, as the bacon tasted fine and the biscuit was good. But that's about all that can really be said for the meal – on such a minimalist breakfast piece, the eggs and home fries are the crux of the ensemble.

Paradise's saving grace, like most substandard diners, is it's cheap menu options. The restaurant's long dining table fostered the type of community interaction that can transform diners into dynamic forums of democratic discourse. It would be a shame to see these types of place go the way of the dodo bird. However, like many of our democratic institutions this diner needs to get back to the basics of fostering what made it great. In this case: cooking greasy-spoon food and not escaping to the beach.

Rating: two stars out of five. 

*In honor of the great late John Steinbeck, who would have turned 112 years old yesterday, Mr. Ford Prior predicts, paraphrasing from a Steinbeck quote, "I see nasty bowel movements at rest stops on your way to Maryland as a consequence of breakfast at Paradise Diner, not punishment." 

*Special thanks to Ford and Brigid Prior for providing a place for me to rest my bones at their lovely Richmond home last night.