Sports Education (Part ll)

    My charming wife, Carolyn, and I have been working on her sports education. 

   We began with baseball with the Atlanta Braves at Truist Park a few weeks back. A great game to watch from the stands in person as the Braves were on their way to an Eastern Division win in the National League.

   But this is Fall and that means College Football. 

   What better place to experience Part ll of this curriculum. Lane Stadium in Blacksburg, VA is the perfect spot to learn. The Pitt Panthers were coming to town to face the Hokies in an ACC showdown.

   The day was a little raw, with cloudy skies and a blustery wind. We decided to experience college football from outside the stadium with the crowd noise, at no cost.

   We mixed with the crowd as they moved toward the stadium. After pausing at the Frank Beamer sculpture for a photo shoot, we moved toward a spot where we could see into the crowded stands.

   As the last of the crowd filed onto the concourse below the east stands, we moved up into the gate area with the ticket takers. I explained to the nice gentleman at the turnstile that my wife had never seen the inside of a college stadium during a game and just wanted to get a feel. He moved off to speak to another official, and soon returned with an invitation to come inside the gate. (nice gatekeeper facing us on the left).

      We turned right through the gate and moved north to the end of the stands. Turning to our left, we looked out on the field of play. I have been to several games in Lane, but I'm sure this was the closest I had been to the action. 

   We watched from our "Standing Room Only" spots as the Hokies kicked off to the Panthers

   The early action was right in front of us at our end of the field. The Pitt Panthers drove down the field and scored. It was the beginning of a long afternoon for the Hokies, but a good memory for us to take home.   

   The crowd was big and loud, it was neat to watch the fans and hear the cheers when the Hokies did something good. We were situated right next to these folks in the east end zone stands.

   We didn't stay long. Thinking that we had received a gift from the gatekeeper, we did not want to overstay our welcome. We exited the way we had entered thinking we would at least thank our benefactor, but when we got there he had already left.

   Leaving word with another man at the turnstile, we moved on toward our meeting spot with Doug where we would catch our ride home.

   Looking back on our experience, much more than we anticipated when we hatched the idea with Doug, we knew we had been blessed. It was a free gift, and my wife was more than just pleased. Phase ll of her sports education had been extra special for both of us.

   Coach Beamer, a true legend in college football, had been one of Mayre's and my "wave to" neighbors when we lived in Blacksburg back when. 

Carolyn Meets Willies

   In the middle of Brunswick, GA, across the marsh to the west of St. Simons Island, lies a legend in dining experiences.

   Willie's Wee-nee Wagon is an institution in the area; serving up a menu of burgers, fries, dogs and, a particular favorite, the pork chop sandwich. Sweet tea is the drink of choice.

   The history of this eatery, as proclaimed by the sign on the outside wall.

   There is a small eating area inside the building, but most folks eat outside at picnic tables. Orders are taken at windows both inside and out. Ready orders are announced at the window and customers pick up their food and return to their seats. 

   I was introduced to Willie's by some friends when we first moved to the Golden Isles. Tom and Larry were both locals, born and raised in the area, who remained here after college to begin their careers and start their families. 

   Mayre and I had dined there, and also taken our kids when they visited one Christmas. Everyone knew about Willie's.

   So Carolyn and I pulled up at the diner last Tuesday a little after 1PM. I had told her about the place the first time the came down, but this was to be the day she experienced it for herself.

   I stood in the ordering line outside while my wife sat with some trepidation at one of the outdoor tables. 

   Soon she had her food and shortly it was consumed. She pronounced it great, and another willie's rookie became an adherent of the food on the menu. 

   A Slaw Dog and Sweet Tea

   Some few minutes later, the food was gone, the tea also, and we were ready to proclaim..

   "We'll be back"

   And as we got in the car and prepared to drive back to the Island, I counted and there were still 14 people waiting in line to order. None appeared to be tourists, but locals who knew where to go for lunch.

   As did we...

Customer Service at Its Best, Or....

    I needed to make a call to Georgia Power about our electricity at the condo in St. Simons. Our tenant had moved out and cancelled his service, and I needed to make sure we had power in the days ahead.

   Making a call to the Ga. Power office, I waited a reasonable time for a customer service agent to come on the line, then proceeded to begin my request for a resumption of service tomorrow.

   "First let us verify your account information for this request", the agent stated.

   She took down my name, address, phone number and email address, then asked for my date of birth.

   "Five twenty-two Thirty-six", I responded.

   A pause ensured then she was back with the question, "NINETEEN Thirty-six"?

   My response, without thinking, "that is correct", I replied.

   "My goodness", she said, "I've never talked to anyone that old before".

   I had her on the speakerphone, and Carolyn nearly fell out of her chair. Neither one of us could stop laughing.

   After a few moments to regain my composure, I politely replied, "Thank you young lady, you have just made my day".

   Realizing she might have offended a customer, she hurried back with "I just meant that I wanted to sound that good when I am as old as you."

   I wanted to tell her the story of the man who did not want to quit digging the hole he had got himself into.

   "Throw away the shovel and quit digging".

   But I just said "Thank You" and hung up.

   

   

How Can It Be?

 Backstory: Fifty years ago, when Carolyn and Bruce built their home, Woodlane, they took out homeowner's insurance from a large nationwide insurance company. This company has held the policy in force for all the time the family has lived here. It has been a one-way street, premiums paid in and never a claim on the policy.

   Realizing that the premiums have been rising most every year, we decided to get another quote on the policy coming due this month. Taking the old policy, we gave the particulars to a prospective new insurer so we could compare apples to apples.

   Now, the results.

   The renewal policy cost from our 50 yr. insuring company came in at $3,400, and the policy cost from the new insurer came in at $1,400.

   Can that be right?

   A $2,000 saving using the same parameters. Is that reasonably possible?

   A no-brainer, I guess.

   When we told our old company our decision to go with the new insurer, the reply was "We'll be sorry to see you go."

   And a wondering: How much could we have saved over the years?

The Rest of the Story...

   The really good news is that I did not fall off my bike.

   Dateline September 11, 2021

   Location: Strawberry Plains, TN

   Event: Tennessee Senior Olympics 

               State Championships

               Age Groups 6 Men and 4 Women (divided into 5 year intervals)

               20 Kilometer Road Race

   I signed up for this event on a lark. Having won the 85-89 age group in Pickleball when the opposing player failed to show, I figured maybe I could compete is this cycling event. Surely there could not be too many in my age group and I could qualify for the Nationals in both events, (Pickleball and Cycling)

   Carolyn and I drove up in the early afternoon for a 4PM race time. The weather was great, not much wind, temps in the low 80s, a good day to be out there.

   No. 111 is registered and has the tee shirt.

   Looking around the group of men and women in racing attire and their bikes, I noticed there were none with toe clasps on the pedals, no other straight handlebars only drops, and none with iPhones on the bars. My bike had all three and looked like a VW Bug in a Ferrari race.

   The race is about 12 miles in length through the rolling countryside of East Tennessee. The course is a loop, on public roads, but with little traffic. No spectators lined the roadways, and the cheering was pretty subdued.

   There was a one lane tunnel, under the railroad, pretty tight for one car even, so we followed a motorcycle for the first 0.8 of a mile till we went through, It had been a neutral start, with the riders in a pack till the tunnel, and then the real race began. The pack pace was faster than my race pace, so I never saw the pack in motion from the beginning. Needless to say I never saw the real racers until we all received our medals after the race.

   Most of the time I rode a solo race, hardly ever seeing a biker the whole way around. There were not many of us who were dropped by the peloton at the beginning, maybe 4. We never rode together, I passed no one, was passed by one and beat the other two to the finish.

   Even though there were no other cyclists in my age group, I wanted to see how I could do on a new course, with unfamiliar hills and roads. Turns out my time was 55 minutes, about 10 minutes faster than my training rides of equal length, so I guess I got a PR.

   I saw few people out on the course. Probably 4 cars in all, and only the marshals who pointed out the way to go at each intersection. No one jumped out of the crowd to take a selfie with the riders going by.

   Cresting the last hill, 2 police cruisers pointed the way downhill to the finish. I probably would have raised both arms in triumph except that it is never a pretty sight when a biker crashes going over the finish line in front of everyone. I just smiled.

   My race time was 55 minutes and the winners were in around 31. To me that says that they finished, when I was halfway. I assume these fast guys went home for a shower and bite to eat before coming back to the finish line to see us stragglers glide across the line.

   At the medal ceremony the 85-89 age group was called first. Only one name for a medal, mine, and as I walked forward to a round of applause, one rider stepped out of the "crowd", looked me in the eye and said, "You know I hope when I get old, I can be just like you." I took that as a compliment, smiled, and accepted my gold medal. 

   I did not feel like any role model, but gladly thanked God that he had blessed me with a healthy body that could still ride. Who said you could not outlive your competition?

   A man came up to Carolyn and I after the medals were given out and wanted to know if he could interview me about being fit at any age. He did for a few minutes, which was kinda fun, and he told me about his web site on aging, but I did not write it down. I don't think he was from USA Today, but I'll post the interview if I ever see it anywhere.

   Good grief, where will this all end. Photographers in the driveway?

   It was a fun day

If You Can't Outplay the Competition, You May Be Able to Outlive Them

   Picture in your mind a patriotic parade, or event, celebrating the end of war. When the organizers present an honoree, you might see an older gentlemen, dressed in an old uniform, either in a wheel chair, or walking unsteadily on a cane. He may be the last surviving member of some outfit from the prior conflict. 

   These men and women (mostly men because the use of women in prior wars was limited to non-combatant roles) may not have been leaders back when, maybe not even have been well known, but they have outlived the ones who served with them, and are still alive to be honored.

   Back in the 1980s, I ran a lot of 5K and 10K races around the Chattanooga area, even a few half marathons and one marathon. I ran for fun, and just to try and improve my times in each of the distances. Even though there were age group categories, I could not hope to win any trophies. I was SLOW.

   Half jokingly, I confessed to my fellow-runner friend, Earl Marler, that the only way I could take home any hardware was to live longer than those in my age group. Earl, who had a closet full of age group trophies, and who knew my lack of speed, just laughed and agreed with the diagnosis.

   Forty or so years later, here we are in a new era, and perhaps my time has come.

   I'm still playing games for fun, different types of competitions for sure, but now, all of a sudden, there seem to be fewer people in my age group. The odds are better. Attrition has taken place in the ranks of participants.

   Return with me to the State Pickleball competition. Normally I am not State Finals material, but in those contests I was awarded one gold and one silver. Gold in the 85-89 singles event when the other competitor failed to show up for the finals, and one in the doubles where Jack Painter and I had a record of 2-1, having beaten two other teams and lost to one. We deserved that Silver.

   This coming Saturday, 9/11, I will journey to Strawberry Plains, TN to compete in the Tennessee Senior Olympics State Finals 20 Kilometer Road Race. There will be about 55 or so competitors in that race, and we are divided into age group categories. These are 5 year groupings beginning at 50-54 and extending to 85-89. There are quite a few in the lower levels, with the numbers diminishing as the ages in the groupings   rise.

   As you might guess, I will win the gold medal in the 85-89 as there are no other entrants.

   I am not comparing my honors at cycling and Pickleball with those veterans being honored for service in a war. There is no comparison in the deeds, but there is considerable difference in the importance of the honor.

   I am happy and blessed to be healthy and mobile, and I will gladly walk up and receive my gold medal, but know that my medal will not be for courage, but longevity.

   And hopefully, for not falling off my bike.

The Intersection of Supply Side Economics and Real Life

    One of the several magazines I receive comes from the Haslam School of Business at the University of Tennessee. In one of the last issues the graduate PhD program in Supply Side Management was featured. Now I had heard of this major, but did not know that the program had made it to the PhD level. It was not even heard about just a few years prior.

   Anyway, to begin this little story of the intersection of supply side economics and the real world of living, there is a little background. 

   Some few months back, Carolyn and I traded in her Buick Encore. One of us decided that we needed a tad more room, and so we opted for a new Buick Envision. It has been a great car. Good ride, good mileage and plenty of room for an old couple. 

   One Sunday, as we were coming home from church, the Envision had an altercation with an older Honda. Our passenger side front door was struck by a driver's side mirror, resulting in a fair sized dent in said door.

   The Good Hands people gave us the name of a fixer for our problem, and we made an appointment to have it looked at. The man at the shop, Chris by name, said they could repair it by replacing the dented door, just take the old one off and put a new one on, then paint to match.

   Then supply side economics came into play. We had bought an American car manufactured in China. Doors were apparently plentiful in China, but rather scarce on this side of the Pacific.

   We could get the door, but the question became, When?

   The only thing we could count on, according to Chris, was the fact that my door was on a ship somewhere, packed in a container, but with no date for arrival in the US. The only piece of information Chris could promise was that he would let us know when his supplier gave him a firm date for the arrival of my door.

   All of a sudden all those stories about the numbers of container ships sitting loaded in ports waiting for the go ahead to take to the seas, or those who had already made it to their destination and were awaiting a dock to unload, became important. 

   My door was being held captive by the logistics of the supply chain. I had been interrupted by Covid, and my dent was only a wounded statistic, unable to find restitution.

   But at least my Envision had company. 

   My lonely Ford Ranger, a 2007 Ford model, which I had purchased a couple of years back as is, also sported a dented passenger door, which we had decided not to repair as it did not compromise the use of the truck. 

   My truck has a friend now, and for how long, we do not know. These vehicles can commensurate with each other, but their owners are left holding onto a piece a paper written in Chinese.