Worst Day of My Life

Have I reminded you lately that the Phillies won the 2008 World Series? They really did. And even better than just winning a World Series - they won one that is going to be talked about a lot. It included a game with a 50 hour rain delay. ESPN will be showing video of the rain soaked Cole & Company for the rest of my life. I'm still giddy.

The Phils winning the Series was fantastic. Not the greatest day ever, but fantastic nonetheless. I actually do not have an answer for the favorite day of my life. I encourage the Song of the Summer's most faithful players to enter suggestions. However, I do have an answer to what was the worst day of my life. Or more correctly, the worst day of my life that makes for a good & funny story.

I was in my junior year at the University of Delaware. For months, one of my roommates had been pestering me about going skydiving with him. I was in. I was young; given my youth, you may correctly infer that I was an idiot. I knew other idiots. We went off for a great time. Reddog, K-Pan, Coffee (the experienced one), and I headed towards Lancaster, PA to jump out of an airplane.

We were not interested in a tandem jump. NO. We wanted to take our first step towards obtaining our skydiving license*. We took a class. We signed waivers. We were put into a Cessna with all its seats (except the pilot's) ripped out. We were brave. The testosterone flowed. The jumpmaster opened the door. I was coaxed out the door and soon found myself using the strut of the aircraft as a pull up bar at 3000 feet. The bravery was long gone.

*I'm still on step one.

I know what you are thinking, but I was supposed to be hanging from that strut. It was part of the plan. We were all doing a static line jump where my only responsibility was to depart the aircraft. The static line attached to me would handle pulling out the parachute. The jumpmaster gave me the thumbs up which meant I was to let go of the strut. I too showed him a finger, but in my zeal this caused me to start my free fall.

The chute opened just fine. This is not that kind of story. What didn't work so well, was the steering. We had all been instructed that we were not conditioned to steer in 3-Dimensions*. I understood and respected this advice and was fully prepared to follow all the instructions that were to come out of the one-way radio strapped to my chest.

*That car you drive doesn't reallly change it's vertical state - I hope.

At first this informational system worked great. Using the groud based instructions, I found a nice line to the airfield and settled in for a relaxing float towards Earth. Around 500 feet I thought I had a problem:

I think I'm headed directly for a parked plane!

No instructions came from the radio man & we had been warned that our brains would trick us. "Do what the guy on the other end of that radio says." So I did nothing. At about 100 feet off the ground I fully re-entered my vector computational comfort zone & I was headed directly for that parked plane. My momentary glee over knowing I am capable of personal 3-D spacial relations was highly tempered by my fear of that large, immovable bundle of aluminum & steel.

Still no communications from that one-way radio. I couldn't wait any longer. I decided not to hit that plane, so I turned right. You pick up speed when you turn while under canopy. So now I'm going faster & I was about to reacquaint myself with the Earth's crust. And so I did.

My feet come immediately out from under me and my bum slammed down hard onto a taxi-way. I slide across that taxi-way and another 40 feet on the infield grass. I wanted to get up. I was happy that my legs worked just fine, which was important because I was hopping mad. Coffee does a great job of keeping me away from the delinquent radio man. And after about an hour the adrenaline started to wear off. I know how long it took, because that's when the pain set in.

I had broken my ass. My coccyx bone. And now I couldn't step forward three inches without shooting pain. Fortunately we had a nice bumpy, back road, 1.5 hour drive to campus. It hurt. I hurt. I bought an 8lb bag of ice and settled down on chair. In about 3 hours and 27 minutes, I would feel even worse.

That is when Joe Carter hit a three-run tater off Mitch Williams to defeat the Phillies in the 1993 World Series. Me. A broken ass. And a World Series defeat. Saturday, October 23, 1993 is a day I'll never forget. And probably the one day I have been asked to retell more than any other.

I didn't break my ass in October of 2008. Phils: when you make it back again, I promise not to jump out of any planes. That formula is working better for us.

Boondoggles in the Age of Mercantilism

I'm in New Orleans (actually Belle Chase, LA). On Friday I'll be flying to Delaware*. Given the quantity of good food, live music, and the magic that is Delaware in December; you might think that I'm on a boondoggle. Why would you say that?

*Of course I'm not flying directly to DE. I'll be touching down in Baltimore and making my way north via I-95. Could someone please make the New Castle County Airport a commercially viable airport? That's all** I want for Christmas.

**I actually want quite a bit more. Like everyone else I lied a little when I made the grandiose statement.

You said it, because people love to say Boondoggle. Please take a minute to say it out loud. Did you say it more than once? Of course you did. It must be one of ten most satisfying words/phrases* to say out loud. Do you know what a boondoggle is? I've never bothered to look up a definition of the word in a proper reference compendium. My connotation is that a boondoggle is when someone takes a business trip for primarily personal reasons.

*I don't have a top ten list put together, but when I do I guarantee that Mercantilistic Idealisms will be on that list. Why? I'm so happy that you asked.

Mercantilistic Idealisms: One of my favorite high school compatriots, Stan Brunson, used this as his stock answer to any geopolitical question that might come up in Economics, Political Science, World Studies, and sometime even Physics. I think Stan enjoyed the confused look on our Physics teacher's face when he'd answer a question about free body diagrams with "Mercantilistic Idealisms".

Mind you, I don't think this answer was ever correct - even when were studying mercantilism during Political Science class. The key to the entire answer wasn't to get it right - it was generally to lighten the mood and get a laugh. If Stan was answering Mercantilistic Idealisms, then the chances were good that no one knew the answer. It was straight deflection & a bit more polite and engaging than "We don't know already; can we move the class along?"

If you want to try this at home, the delivery is also highly important. The first thing you need to be is 6'7". The second step is to lean back in your combo desk/seat with your hands behind your head and your feet halfway across the aisle. The third step is confidently answer "Mercantilistic Idealisms" and grin like you might have just said the most important thing of the decade.

By the way, I think I made up the part about Physics class. But I want to believe (it really isn't inconceivable) that he may have used this answer in Physics class. Stan may have also only used this answer about five times in four years of high school and I may have been the only other one that found it funny. But I still do.

It is my contention that the number of boondoggles actually taken are at least a factor of ten less than the number of times you hear the accusation of a boondoggle. (Remember this post is about boondoggles.*) I don't have sound math behind that number, but I know people love to accuse others of being on boondoggles. I think it is primarily because people really like to say the word.

*That sentence made me think about Arlo Guthrie's 'Alice's Restaurant' and now I'd just like to take a second to wish you a belated Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you had a meal & then a second meal that just couldn't be beat.

However, I don't want you to stop. I like saying boondoggle as much as next guy. Go ahead - accuse me of being on a boondoggle all you want. Just don't be surprised when I answer your question about the purpose of my trip with: Mercantilistic Idealisms.