Monday Morning Video Laugh - October 31, 2016

Happy Halloween.

Dinner last night:  Spaghetti and meat balls.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - Revisiting Game 6

For Vin Scully's last year, the Dodgers took an online poll and asked fans to rank his top 20 calls.  All the choices were Dodger-centric.   And, in my humble opinion, suspect because they left out one of his greatest calls of all time.   It didn't rate because there were no Dodgers involved.   But there were Mets and Red Sox.  

And me.  I didn't get to hear Vin's call of the play until much later.   Because I was there!   My number one greatest moment ever in a ballpark.

We just marked the 30th anniversary of that game this past week.   On the occasion of the 25th anniversary, I did this piece which I will share again.   Not only does it include my memory drawer of the game, but also that of several good friends of mine.   Yep, the moment was that important.

For Mets fans, there were really two Game 6s during the 1986 baseball post season.  There was the extra innings affair that propelled them to the World Series for the first time since 1973.  But, as invested as we all were in the outcome of that game, it happened miles away.  In an Astro-turfed mausoleum otherwise known as the Houston Astrodome.

But, it was Game 6 of the 1986 World Series that still resounds to this very day.  As long as I live and breathe and continue to be a baseball fan, there will never ever be another game that will be as important or exciting as that Saturday contest of Saturday, October 25 at Shea Stadium.  Indeed, since it didn't really end until after midnight, both October 25 and October 26 are two dates I will always remember for the rest of my life.

Fittingly, I was in Boston on the 25th anniversary of this hallmark moment in my life.  Looking around the streets of Beantown, I could only imagine the scene two and a half decades previously.  Boston Red Sox fans walking around like zombies.  A lifelong memory for them snatched away in a Brinks-like heist that will stay with them for complete different reasons.  Even after their subsequent World Series victories in 2004 and 2007, those buffoons of Fenway will likely never recover from being one strike away from a World Championship.  Not once, not twice, but multiple times.

In the winning wind tunnel to the south on Flushing Bay, it was all cherries on top 0f 56,000 hot fudge sundaes.

For me, it was a night like no others.

The images and details are etched forever.  Almost certain elimination.  A premature message on Diamondvision that saluted the Boston Red Sox as the 1986 World Champions.  Two quick mortifying outs in the bottom of the tenth inning.  A hit by Gary Carter.  A hit by Kevin Mitchell.  A hit by Ray Knight.  A wild pitch.  And then Mookie Wilson and Bill Buckner interlocking together for eternity.  The Mets rising from the dead.  Suddenly, to some of us, the story of Jesus and Lazarus was a little less impressive.

I am proud to say I was there.  I can still feel the concrete floor of the loge level of Shea Stadium move.  We were all lifted up and down perhaps a half inch.  The arena was clearly in play.  The construction folks who built the place in the early 60s had done their work admirably.  While Shea held together that night, I doubt the building crew had counted on the old lady having to endure October 25/26.

For Met fans, this was our V-E day.

That Saturday morning had opened to dreary skies.  It befit the mood of this Met fan.  After a glorious year of one victory after another, the Amazins were one loss away from losing the World Series.  I went about my weekend errands, although my stomach was in knots.

There was even more drama to deal with...

My mother's television set had gone on the fritz.

Mystically, my mom had become a huge Met fan.  I don't know how or why she started to watch the team's games on Channel 9, but she got sucked in primarily because she loved then-Met announcer Tim McCarver.  Within weeks, she had drank the Kool-Aid.  And now, with the most pivotal game of the season at hand, her television had blown a gasket.

So, my pre-game Saturday afternoon was devoted to taking her to one of those Rent-A-Centers so she could lease a TV for the week.

Back then, as had been the case for years that passed and even more years to come, I had been a Saturday ticket plan holder with the New York Metropolitans.  That, however, didn't secure entrance to every post season baseball game.  And, if it did, I certainly didn't get my usual Loge seats in Section 7, Row E.  Nope, you would be sent to the heavens, a Delta jet flight path, or, most likely, the upper deck of Shea Stadium.

Game 6 of the World Series was not one of the games I was provided with that year.  As a matter of fact, during a pre-game walk around the level, I saw that my regular Saturday seats were occupied by none other than NBC's 1986 World Series pre-game host Bob Costas.  What a come-down for my Saturday seat.  There was a different ass in it.  Literally and figuratively.

But, at least, I was in the park myself.  Luckily, I had the good sense to be best friends with my college roommate, who had the even better sense to become a sportswriter with the New York Times.  He had already scored me ducats for Game 3 which happened to be my one and only visit to the overrated dump that is Fenway Park.  But, my good fortune had continued at home as he also got me a Loge seat down the left field line for Game 6.

The only problem was that I didn't really know well the other folks I was sitting with.  Sure, my college roommate's wife was along, but who were those other two people?  One was a kid and this evening appeared to be not more than a time filler for him.  His ride was even coming to pick him up after the seventh inning.  I was an emotional mess and I was essentially alone.

Over the years, I had many good friends who were Met fans and would have been ideal companions for such a monumental game.  My best friend from high school?  At least, he was in the park but sitting with his cousin and her neighbors on the other end of the Loge.  But, where were my other Met cohorts?

Sadly, elsewhere.

Not that these folks weren't congenial.  It's just that they weren't Danny or the Bibster or Glenn or Bob or even my dad.  They would be in other locations, but ultimately sharing in the same memory.  For instance, here's what my buddy Bob writes:

We were living 15 minutes away from Shea in Astoria, watching Game 6 with my friends in their house. When Gary Carter was down 2 strikes with 2 out, my friend Dan grabbed a clothesline, tied it around his neck, stood on a chair, holding the rope above his head. He pronounced: "When Carter makes out kick out the chair from under me." Of course Carter then singles and the Mets rally and the rest is history.

My friend Dan never moved the rest of that inning, right through Buckner's error, holding the rope tied around his neck, standing on the chair, saying nothing while watching the Mets pull it out. We were convinced that it was Dan's actions that changed the Red Sox mojo and saved the Mets. Absolutely true story.My memories are not nearly as interesting, as no one near me made such a threat as Bob's friend did.

Another pal Glenn?  He remembers and writes...

Ah yes...I remember it like it was last night!

I was watching it from my co-op apartment on Garth Road in Scarsdale, a place not conducive to wild celebrations, or celebratory comments of any kind, lest you were reported for speaking above a whisper. My wife was fast asleep, and had complained of a headache intermittently from inning one through eight...a headache that has persisted, by the way, for the ensuing 25 years.

I remember being particularly annoyed the Mets didn't get more out a no-out, bases loaded situation in the eighth inning. The screaming Gary Carter liner sacrifice fly, I thought, should have, with any luck, been a bases clearing double. As the bottom of the 10th inning began, I was resigned to loss, but since the Islanders had recently won four consecutive Cups, I was not nearly as unnerved by that as I became in later years, not having rooted for a winning team since, well, the '86 Mets. After the game was tied, I yanked my sleeping three-year old son out of bed because I thought history might be made. He doesn't remember. I do. Unfortunately, so does my wife.

Despite the way it sounds, Glenn is still married to this day.

And what about those in the press box?  My college roommate and the source for my Game 6 tickets writes...

My most vivid memory is the complaining of Darryl Strawberry for being taken out in a late double switch. People in that clubhouse were giggling and hugging all around as if the governor had just called with a reprieve, and Darryl was complaining.

I defer to my friend Kenny Hand, who was covering the Series as a columnist for the Houston Post. He remembered the night as one of the worst of his career. Not because the Mets won, but because the chaos at such a late hour had turned his column into a mess.

Much later, he was standing outside the old Press Gate between Gates B and C, waiting for a shuttle bus that may or may not come to take him to the media hotel in Manhattan. Two guys were standing nearby. Kenny referred to them as Lenny and Squiggy.

Lenny saw a bumper sticker on Kenny's computer that said "Houston Post."

"Houston?" Lenny said. "We moidered those guys."

That's when Kenny snapped. He pointed out that he didn't root for the Astros, and frankly, there were some guys on that team that he did not like very much. But if Bob Knepper had taken care of business in the ninth inning of Game 6, Kenny said, Mike Scott would have finished the job the next day. Kenny described this in a way that he could not have printed in his newspaper. Think of a blunt object being placed in a small, dark place.

"And then, we're not standing here," Kenny told them.

"You know, " Squiggy said to Lenny, "I think he's right."

My good friend, the Bibster, was at home for Game 6 with his wife, Mrs. Bibster.  He also was a partial plan holder with the Mets, but he didn't have the inside ticket connections that I did.  Instead, he was sharing in the agony via the television.

It’s not very interesting, but as far as I can recall I was watching the game with Ellen in our living room (and by “With Ellen” I mean she was reading a magazine or two and getting up and down and doing things in the other room).

I remember a feeling of dread as the game went on.  The Red Sox jumped out to an early lead and the Mets tied it, also fairly early. Even the way they tied it, an unearned run scoring on a double play, made me nervous. The Red Sox took the led in the seventh and, if I remember correctly, Jim Rice was thrown out at home to end the inning, or it could have been 4-2 Red Sox.

I was very nervous again. Then the Mets were down to their last five outs and they tied it in the eighth. I was STILL nervous…the Mets had the bases loaded with one out in the 8th and Carter and Strawberry coming up, and they only scored the one run. It seemed that all season long they had been busting out in that situation, scoring at least a couple. And then when the Mets had runners at first and second with nobody out in the bottom of the ninth and didn’t score, I was sure they had wasted too many late inning opportunities in the game.

In the tenth, Henderson’s homer sent a complete feeling of numbness over me, so much so that I had to look up the game to remember how the Red Sox got their fifth run. I wouldn’t have remembered if my life depended on it. (For the record, after Henderson’s homer, Aguilera struck out Owen and Schiraldi, but then gave up a double to Boggs, a single to Barrett, and hit Buckner with a pitch before Rice flied out. I swear to you I don’t remember ANY of that.)

In the bottom of the tenth, I had regained a slight bit of confidence, having lived through many innings that year where the Backman/Hernandez/Carter trio leading off an inning had led to boatloads of runs. But Backman couldn’t get around on Schiraldi, and Keith hit the ball about as hard as he could, but it died in the outfield. At this point I was resigned to the loss and felt like the season was a waste (You know, kind of like Yankee fans feel every time they don’t win the World Series). My next thought was “too bad Carter is going to make the last out.”

We all know how the rest of the game went….and all I can say is that Ellen will tell you that I let out a blood-curdling scream when the ball went through Buckner’s legs. I don’t remember it at all because I think all the blood had drained from my head by then, but I assume it was a noise similar to the last sound Muammar Qaddafi made. Anyway, the next thing I knew I was running through the house at full speed, jumping up and down, you know the drill.

It was definitely the lowest low I’ve ever felt in sports followed just minutes later by the highest high. It was also amazing how my mood changed because in game seven even when the Mets were down 3-0 in the sixth inning I knew they would win.

As the Bibster writes, the entire season was like this and the post season games had given us more than a couple of reasons to celebrate wildly.  Indeed, for the Bibster and Ellen, their son was born exactly nine months after the Mets' 1986 October.  We've always wondered just which Met win that month had precipitated their own "personal" celebration.

But, I digress....

Meanwhile, in the bottom of the tenth in my Loge section, I had the same thought as the Bibster.  And uttered it over and over and over.  I didn't care if I sounded like a babbling fool.  After all, it wasn't like I had a lot of close friends around me.

"Please don't let Gary Carter make the last out."

That worked somehow.

I carried it over, although I didn't have the same affinity for Kevin Mitchell as I did for Carter.

"Please don't let Kevin Mitchell make the last out."

And that worked, too.  I didn't mess with a good thing.

"Please don't let Ray Knight make the last out.  Please don't let Ray Knight make the last out.  PLEASE DON'T LET RAY KNIGHT MAKE THE LAST OUT."

I sounded like one of those lunatics in Bellevue.  Slumped over in a fetal position and reciting over and over the lyrics to "A Spoonful of Sugar."

Knight also did not make the last out.

Okay, now I was on a mission.  Despite the fact there were 56,000 people (and countless others at home) around me with the same goal, I became convinced that I was single handedly spearheading this miraculous comeback.  I couldn't go off the standard operating procedure now.  Plus I was worried about my high school best friend Danny who was over in the Loge around third base.  What must he be thinking?  His very favorite New York Met was at the plate to hit next.

"PLEASE DON'T LET MOOKIE WILSON MAKE THE LAST OUT.  PLEASE DON'T LET MOOKIE WILSON MAKE THE LAST OUT.  PLEASE DON'T LET MOOKIE WILSON MAKE THE LAST OUT. PLEASE DON'T LET MOOKIE WILSON MAKE THE LAST OUT.  PLEASE DON'T LET MOOKIE WILSON MAKE THE LAST OUT. PLEASE DON'T LET MOOKIE WILSON MAKE THE LAST OUT. PLEASE DON'T LET MOOKIE WILSON MAKE THE LAST OUT. PLEASE DON'T LET MOOKIE WILSON MAKE THE LAST OUT."

To this very day, nobody really made the last out that night.

I was numb for the first few moments after the game.  The human body is not equipped to handle two wildly diverse emotions in the same ten minute period.  When my mind finally "woke up,"  I immediately had to share this emotion with a good friend...and a Met fan.  I didn't realize that my buddy Danny on the other end of the loge had the same sensation.  From the right field corner, I scampered down to the loge corridor and started running toward his end.  He did the same.  We converged around Section 1 behind home plate. 

And two grown men hugged for about five minutes.

I look back on that evening and postseason and I remember now what the Mets did for me in October 0f 1986.  The month before, I had broken off a relationship.  Well, I broke it off.  She essentially dumped me.  Not that this was the great love of my life.  But, still, the residual aches of a guy with inner turmoil and self-doubt had lingered.

The pain all dulled and virtually erased by the New York Mets.  Yes, it all evaporated in almost a blink of the eye.

"Behind the bag, it gets through Buckner..."

Don't be surprised if I remind you of all of this again on the 35th anniversary.

Dinner last night:  Pizza with pepperoni and kalamata olives from Maria's.

Classic Movie Trailer of the Month - October 2016

It's Halloween weekend.   Remember when this first scared the shit out of you?

Dinner last night:  Bacon and eggs.

Len's Recipe of the Month - October 2016

Honey Garlic Chicken.   

What's not to like there?  Honey.   Garlic.  Chicken.

This is one of those stomach-warming dishes that just seem to be naturals for the Fall season.  Except, of course, in Los Angeles when October is the hottest month of the year.   Nevertheless, this is a great dish you can try.

The great thing about this is that you can make it in a slow cooker or in the oven.  I've done it both ways and they were identical successes.  You make it with almost the same ingredients either way.

Get four bone-in chicken thighs.   Here's the one difference in preparation.   If you are going to do this in the oven, you might want the skin on.   That will crisp up with the sauce you will prepare.

Let's continue for the slow cooker method.   Hopefully, you've got one of those slow cooker liners that makes clean-up a breeze.   Place the chicken on the bottom.   Next layer on about 16 ounces of halved baby red potatoes.   They really absorb the flavor nicely.

Either use a half-pound of baby carrots or two adult carrots sliced.   Add the veggies to the crock pot.   Then slice up one medium onion and put that in there, too.

Here's the sauce you need to make and it is marvelous.   In a bowl, add the following:

1/2 cup soy sauce.

1/2 cup honey.

1/4 ketchup.

Three finely chopped cloves of garlic.

1/2 teaspoon of sea salt.

1/2 teaspoon of black pepper.

A dash of oregano.   A pinch of chili powder.

Set the slow cooker for low and 8 hours or high and 4 hours.   Or...

Bake in the oven at 350 degrees for an hour.

Either way...enjoy.

Dinner last night:  Roast chicken dinner.

Three Strikes And You're...

...out.

Ah, the Fall TV season.

Okay, first off, let me give you a little insight into my TV watching.   Every September, I survey the new fare offered by the networks to see what may hold my attention for 18 to 24 weeks.   I sample the pilot, but then also watch the next two episodes to make my determination whether said program is worth my fandom moving forward.

Past recent winners of this process include "The Big Bang Theory," "The Middle," and "Madam President."   If I claim one new show per season, that's good.  In Fall 2016, there seems to be one big winner which I will discuss at a later date.  (Spoiler alert: it stars Kiefer Sutherland.)   But there is also one big loser and I sadly had a lot of hope for it.

See the poster above.   "Pitch" on Fox.  A huge swing and a miss.

Naturally, you can understand why I would be initially attracted to this drama. Wow, a TV show about Major League Baseball.  With the full support and cooperation of the league.   Allegedly shot in real ballparks.   I mean, for me, this is bases loaded with none out.

Guess what?   The show fails to score.

And it should be no surprise considering the developers of this weak grounder to short spent more time addressing all the supposed requirements of a TV series in 2016.

A female lead character.  Check.

A lead character who is African-American.   Check.

A supporting character who is Hispanic.   Check.

A supporting character who is Asian.   Check.

How the LGBT requirement got passed over is beyond me.   But I'm confident that future episodes might feature the first transgendering Major League Baseball player.  By that time, I will have long since left the stadium.

So, essentially, all of the above gets thrown into the sausage maker and you wind up with...well...not even a Dodger Dog.  The end result of all this category fulfillment results in a TV show that is incredibly mechanical and non-interesting.

For those who have not been subjected to this foul pop-up, "Pitch" is about the first ever female Major League Baseball pitcher who is called up to the San Diego Padres.   Okay, right from the get go, I have a raised eyebrow.   Hey, I have nothing against this happening, but the likelihood is slim, especially given the physical make-up of the actress they selected for the role.   She looks like a stiff wind in ATT Park could blow her off the mound.

To cover the Hispanic requirement, the Padre general manager is played by Kelly Ripa's hubby, Mark Consuelos, and that assignment really comes off as gratuitous because the character is given nothing to do.  To further enhance the world as it is seen by Hollywood, three major White characters (the owner, the team manager and the girl's agent) are written as villains.  Naturally.   

While the production design does look real (although I believe there's a lot more CGI than they are letting on), it doesn't cover up the fact that the script is full of meat by-products with zero nutritional value.   They try to enhance it all by including a lot of Fox and MLB baseball announcers and reporters at every turn.  This really does nothing but get these folks some SAG cards.   Yawn.

And not content to let the baseball milieu tell its own story, the show creates a romance between the girl and one of her teammates.   Suddenly, "Pitch" uncomfortably becomes an episode of "Empire" and that's certainly not a TV role model to emulate either.   You can see some really soapy elements emerging that will take this program to an even lower level if that's even possible.

Oddly enough, buried in this inning-ending double play is the germ of a good idea.   The character of the aging catcher, played by an unrecognizable Mark-Paul Gosselaar from "Saved by the Bell," is incredibly interesting.  He's dealing with the potential of the approaching finality of his career and all the ramifications.   I'd watch his story every week because it's real and organic.   The only problem is he's in the wrong show.

Now the notion of Dodger fans always leaving a game early is really a myth.   But, in the case of "Pitch," it's only the second inning and I'm already looking to exit and beat the traffic.   Because, eventually, I think folks will be leaving "Pitch" in droves.

Dinner last night:  Hamburger and salad.

  

This Date in History - October 26

Take a vowel, Pat Sajak.  It's your special day.

306:  MARTYRDOM OF SAINT DEMETRIUS OF THESSALONIKI.

He's a martyr for one day.  I know some people who have been pulling that shit for years.

1597:  DURING THE IMJIN WAR, ADMIRAL YI SUN-SIN ROUTS THE JAPANESE NAVY OF 300 SHIPS WITH ONLY 13 SHIPS.

300 vs. 13?  Talk about your Vegas odds.  Meanwhile, Sun-Sin sounds like a cheap casino on the Strip.

1689:  GENERAL PICCOLOMINI OF AUSTRIA BURNED DOWN SKOPJE TO PREVENT THE SPREAD OF CHOLERA.  HE DIED OF CHOLERA HIMSELF SOON AFTER.

A tragic waste of lighter fluid.

1774:  THE FIRST CONTINENTAL CONGRESS ADJOINS IN PHILADELPHIA.

They sure must have talked a lot because they didn't come up with anything concrete until two years later.

1775:  KING GEORGE III GOES BEFORE PARLIAMENT TO DECLARE THE AMERICAN COLONIES IN REBELLION, AND AUTHORIZED A MILITARY RESPONSE TO QUELL THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

Too late, because they're already talking this up in Philly.

1776:  BENJAMIN FRANKLIN DEPARTS FROM AMERICA FOR FRANCE ON A MISSION TO SEEK FRENCH SUPPORT FOR THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

Don't count on those scumbags for anything.

1811:  THE ARGENTINE GOVERNMENT DECLARES THE FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION FOR THE PRESS BY DECREE.

So does that mean no more firing squads???

1825:  THE ERIE CANAL OPENS FOR PASSAGE FROM ALBANY, NEW YORK TO LAKE ERIE.

Neither one is a preferred destination for me.

1861:  THE PONY EXPRESS OFFICIALLY CEASES OPERATIONS.

And, in 2012, there may go the Post Office as well.

1881:  THE GUNFIGHT AT THE OK CORRAL TAKES PLACE AT TOMBSTONE, ARIZONA.

Oh?  So this was more than just a movie?

1914:  ACTOR JACKIE COOGAN IS BORN.

Uncle Fester!!!

1936:  THE FIRST ELECTRIC GENERATOR AT HOOVER DAM GOES INTO FULL OPERATION.

That has to be one long extension cord.

1943:  DURING WW II. THERE IS THE FIRST FLIGHT OF "PFEIL."

I have no idea what this is.  Except Bobby Pfeil was a utility infielder for the 1969 New York Mets and the guy who didn't make their post season roster.

1946:  GAME SHOW HOST PAT SAJAK IS BORN.

H_pp_  B_rt__y.

1947:  ACTRESS JACLYN SMITH IS BORN.

The birth of an angel...

1947:  HILLARY RODHAM CLINTON IS BORN.

...and a devil.   Again, I have no horse in this race, folks.

1948:  KILLER SMOG SETTLES INTO DONORA, PENNSYLVANIA.

Who knew there was that much traffic in Donora, Pennsylvania?

1952:  ACTRESS HATTIE MCDANIEL DIES.

Really, really gone with the wind.

1955:  NGO DINH DIEM DECLARES HIMSELF PREMIER OF SOUTH VIETNAM.

He is paid on a "per diem" basis.

1958:  PAN AM MAKES THE FIRST COMMERCIAL FLIGHT OF THE BOEING 707 FROM NEW YORK TO PARIS.

A now defunct airline and a soon-to-be-defunct television show.

1967:  MOHAMMED REZA PAHLAVI CROWNS HIMSELF EMPEROR OF IRAN.

Sort of like when you're playing checkers and somebody says "king me."

1984:  BABY FAE RECEIVES A HEART TRANSPLANT FROM A BABOON.

And they wonder why the kid is now climbing trees.

1986:  GAME SEVEN OF THE 1986 WORLD SERIES IS RAINED OUT.  I GO WITH THE BIBSTERS TO PIPER'S KILT FOR A BURGER.

If you don't get that reference, no worries.  It's written for an audience of one.

1994:  JORDAN AND ISRAEL SIGN A PEACE TREATY.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Peace in the Mideast.  Ha!

2001:  THE UNITED STATES PASSES THE USA PATRIOT ACT INTO LAW.

It's still not a fence.

Dinner last night:  Leftover roast chicken.

Now This is a Hero

Here's another example of why we can't have nice things.

"Sully" is a terrific movie by director Clint Eastwood.  For those on another planet the past decade, it details the real life event of the airline pilot who, after hitting some birds on take-off from Laguardia Airport, was forced to land a plane with 155 on board in the middle of the icy Hudson River.   The film is based on the memoir from Captain Chesley Sullenberger and, at the time, he was lauded as a true hero.   And rightfully so.

Would you believe that there are some folks who ripped into "Sully?"  

Okay, we live in a day where probably 90% of the fare from Hollywood comes with the preamble...."based on a true story."   Or..."inspired by real events."   The latter is the cop-out and allows film makers to fudge on the facts.   I mean, think back to the mess of a few years back.  "Lee Daniels' The Butler."  That film was a total fabrication of one single fact.   Yet, people left the theater thinking it was all real because it was...well...inspired by real events.   

So, in "Sully," there were some liberties taken for the purpose of dramatic tension.   The real pilot tells you in his book that the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) did try to pin the crash on his own error.   Yes, that's a fact.   In the movie, the organization is made out to be real villains and detractors went nuts attacking Eastwood and company for taking such poetic license.

Oh, for God's sake...

Naturally, you do wonder if the gripers are taking issue on behalf of the NTSB or because the director is a well-known conservative.   Whatever the case, the charges thrown at "Sully" are unwarranted because the movie is well made. Running a tight 90 or so minutes, Eastwood proves again that he is a master storyteller.   Of course, in this case, he's got a terrific one to tell.  You really feel that you are on that plane as you relive the events of this landing not one, but twice.   I'm sure the movie is full of CGI but, for once, it's believable.    You really think you're out there on the wing of a plane in the middle of the Hudson River.

Eastwood also succeeds in finally giving us a performance from Tom Hanks that is not pretentious and hammy.   Naturally, Hanks is playing a real person who is still alive.   There was no room for him to do his usual "aw shucks, life is like a box of chocolates" nonsense.   

At the heart of it all is the real pilot himself who appears with the rest of the passenger and crew over the closing credits.   He's the true hero of it all.  A man who did his job and did it masterfully.   And even the staunchest of critics can't take that away from him or us.

LEN'S RATING:  Four stars.

Dinner last night:  Hamburger and salad.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - October 24, 2016

Ouch.

Dinner last night:   Roast chicken, roasted vegetables, and side dish of pan roasted tomatoes with balsamic jam.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Team I Hate Most

Okay, this is going to come off a little bitter after this past week of baseball watching that ended last night.   But, please imagine my horror when I went to one of the NLCS games at Dodger Stadium this week and I found myself staring at this in the seat in front of me.

It all came back to me in one big flood of mental images.

Now, as a baseball fan, there are many opposing teams in my history that I have grown to hate.    As a Met fan in New York, you naturally had mucho disdain for the Yankees.   For a while there, I totally despised the Atlanta Braves.  As a Dodger fan in Los Angeles, the hatred for the uber-annoying San Francisco Giants is now deeply ingrained.

But there is one franchise that I have hated pretty much my entire life as a baseball fan.   And that would be the Dodgers' opponents this past week.  

The Chicago Cubs.   And most notably their obnoxious fan base.  

Okay, you say...how can you hate a franchise that has not won a World Series in 108 years?  Have I no compassion for a fan base where there are lifelong Cub fans who were born and died without ever seeing their team in the World Series?  Oh, that poor Ernie Banks.   One of the greatest players ever and he never got a World Series.

Oh, well, I say...it sucks to be them.

The venom started gathering in my body way back when I was a kid.   The lowly Mets were finally good and they were, for the first time ever, battling for a pennant.   The team ahead of them was the Cubs.   And they were led by my very first baseball villain.   

Ron "Rat Bastard" Santo.   He's not with us any more so I suppose I should not speak ill of the dead.

I make one exception always.  This guy was a jerk and any Met fan still curses him to this day.

You see, when the Cubs were sailing to that pennant, Santo liked to rub victory in the face of his opponents by doing this at the end of every game...

Just seeing it again makes my skin boil.   His antics were considered bush league by everybody but those assholes in the Wrigley Field bleachers.  Met manager Gil Hodges quietly walked over to Santo one day and told him, in a very nice way, that he was being immature.   Santo kept doing it.

For years, this moron was a darling of the Cub faithful.  He got his uniform retired.  He wound up doing their radio color commentary and could be audibly heard on the air moaning and crying when the Cubs would lose a big game.

I've always said that God indeed likes to toy with the Cub fans who keep subscribing to some silly notion that their team is cursed because of some incident with a billy goat.   There may be some validity in that.  Because, at the end of his life, Santo was a double amputee.   And, effectively, God took away his ability to do that heel click ever again.  Poetic justice.

I told this was going to be nasty today.

Years later, I wanted to be this bastion of baseball...Wrigley Field...for myself.   I had heard it was the best baseball stadium ever with its ivy-covered outfield walls and close proximity to the field.  My college roommate and I would follow the Mets there every season for about five years.   Yes, the ballpark is nice.  But quaint?   

Um, no.

I found it cramped, riddled with ads, and, from what I can see now on TV after their renovation, totally corporate.   What the hell is Nuveen and why do you see its billboard in every camera shot?

Moreover, when I was going to Wrigley, I noticed something else about the crowd which was shocking for a city in an urban market.

Not only was the crowd lily white, but they were a J Crew catalog on steroids.   Hmmm, I said at the time.

The fans there were raucous and not accepting of fans from other teams.   As the Old Style flowed and they got drunker and drunker, the obnoxiousness just soared.

But then there was the seventh inning stretch.   Everybody up so announcer Harry Caray can sing.   And, a one and a two.   It looked like some of the fans around me were here just for this.   What baseball game?

Meanwhile, here's another rat bastard that the Cub fans took to their bosom.   A drunk who slurred his way through most games.   A guy that was run out of St. Louis years ago because he was fucking the Cardinal owner's wife.   

Oooh, how small town.   How heart warming.

Phooey.

The good news is that there are many indications that God himself does join me in this dislike for the Cub fan.   

For instance, this happened to knock their team out of the playoffs in 1984.

And then this happened to kill their spirits in 2003...

Bwwwhaaaaa!

This last one got Cub fans so nuts in their pastel pullover sweaters that they drove this poor schmuck out of town.  Forget the fact that the game was lost by their shortstop and their manager Dusty Baker, who swallowed so many toothpicks as a result that he shit out Pinocchio.

It goes all to the alleged badge of honor that Cub fans proudly wear.   They still think they won the pennant against the Mets.   They did not.   They still think they went to the World Series in 2003.  They did not.

Karma is a bitch.   You all treated me badly in 1969.   Sure, I have friends who are Cub fans.   I like Bob Newhart and he's been on Facebook all week waving his W flag.

I don't care.

Go, Indians!!!

Dinner last night:  Honey walnut shrimp.

Classic Musical Comedy Production Number of the Month - October 2016

Yay!  A month with five Saturdays.   This allows me to show you a great musical comedy number of the past.   And, since it is World Series time...

Dinner last night:  Salad bar at Gelson's.

Your Weekend Movie Guide for October 2016

Hey, this Oscar winner for Best Picture is 60 years old this month.  And that was back in the day when every movie came out with a long playing album sound track.   This one's in stereo.   Wowee!

So, we're in the throes of when Hollywood starts to release what they think is their Oscar-worthy fare.   We'll be the judge of that.   You know the routine, guys.   I'll sift through the LA Times movie pages and give you my knee-jerk reaction to what's cluttering our theaters this week.   Heck, there might be something you actually want to see.   And then download the soundtrack off of iTunes.

Deepwater Horizon:   Some action yarn with Mark Wahlberg.   Probably no different than the other ten action yarns with Mark Wahlberg.

The Accountant:   Breaking news - Ben Affleck can do math.

Sully:  Blog review coming.   You'll want to book this flight.

American Honey:   As opposed to what bees are producing in France?

Queen of Katwe:   Wherever Katwe is.

The Girl on the Train:   Blog review coming.    And, no, I didn't read the book.
Denial:   What I am in regarding this year's Presidential election.

Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children:   And don't we know a few of those.

Birth of a Nation:   It only took 100 years for them to try and remake DW Griffith's classic.   And I heard they failed big time.

The Magnificent Seven:  I heard this is tanking, too and it couldn't happen to a worse guy named Denzel.

Storks:  Where babies come from?

Middle School - The Worst Years of My Life:   True that.

Kevin Hart - What Now?:   More like...why now?

Kubo and the Two Stings:  Stop action from Japan.   Um, no, thank you.

Newtown:   A documentary about the school shooting.   No laughs, I am sure.

Certain Women:  Four women living in Montana.   So there's been an increase?

Jack Reacher - Never Go Back:   Tom Cruise and that's plenty for me never to go back.

Keeping Up with the Joneses:  Neighbors from Hell.   You haven't met the one upstairs from me.

Tyler Perry's Boo - A Madea Halloween:   Boo, indeed.

American Pastoral:  Based on the best selling novel by Philip Roth.   Okay, I believe you.

Before The Flood:  Leonardo DiCaprio interviews people about the environment.   Save the planet...and your money.

Christine:  A Miami newscaster goes to a dark place.   I'm serious.   That's the logline I found.

Good Kids:   High schoolers cut loose.   Also the logline I found.

I'm Not Ashamed:   Of this election?  Oh, yes, I am.

In a Valley of Violence:   I never miss an Ethan Hawke-John Travolta western.

Ouija- Origin of Evil:  Those boards never worked.

The Whole Truth:   A thriller with Keanu Reeves and Renee Zellweger.   Remember them?

31:  Maniacs hold carnival workers hostage.   Now that sounds interesting.

Dinner last night:  Super Dodger Dog.

Morons of the Month - October 2016

Another example of how far down the rabbit hole we have fallen.

It's been a long time since I watched any of these morning network TV shows.   I get my daily info from the radio.   If I'm told it's okay to go outside, I proceed with my day.

But, back when I was a kid, my mother did tune into the Today Show.  This was a real news show at that time with very polished journalists...long before it was turned over to such dopes as Matt Lauer and Al Roker whose most in-depth questions are posed to some of the idiots from Bumfuk, Alabama gathered outside.  In the old days, you got solid and smart information from these shows.

Of course, every network has their own version of the Today Show.   ABC's Good Morning America has been around for years and I never really paid attention to it.   Until the past two weeks for some reason.

And I am astounded and appalled at just how horrible this show is.   Especially since part of the hosting duties are shared by supposed journalists Robin Roberts and George Stephanopoulos.   Two more unlikely news people you will never find.

Starting with the latter, it's amazing that any alleged news organization would hire him.   He's been a political operative for years.   Unbiased?  Hardly.   Next.

Robin Roberts has always been a mystery to me.   She came out of nowhere to become a TV personality that is solely based on her ability to click off a bunch of boxes on the old designed demographic chart.

She's a woman.

She's Black.

She's gay.   

Hat trick!

And, just for good measure, she's a cancer survivor.   Okay, for that, I salute her.   But it still doesn't mean she's a journalist.  

But, after two weeks of being re-acquainted with GMA, I shouldn't expect anything even close to news coming out of this daily sewer back-up.

You can start with the presence of a studio audience.   Yep, let's clap for the news.   Oh, wait, there's no news here.   Only interviews with whatever clown has a TV show premiering or a movie coming out.

Woot woot.   Clap.   Clap.

There's about six co-hosts on this thing and one is dumber than the next.   But, give them credit for reading teleprompters correctly.  Meanwhile, they've added Michael Strahan to this mix and I'm sure Kelly Ripa is happy to be rid of this oaf who probably suffered about two dozen concussions during his NFL career.   That would explain how completely inane he is.

During my two weeks monitoring GMA, I was amazed at the reverse racism that is sported around the production of this show.  Whenever there is a guest of color, it's only Roberts or Strahan doing the interview.   Huh?  What kind of message does this send?

Of course, it's not like any of the interviews will have any depth.   Take, for instance, last week.    Every day, there was some guest extolling the virtues of the new movie "Birth of a Nation," which was opening that Friday.   Naturally, Strahan handled all these interviews because the film is about slavery and he's an expert on that subject, being a multi-millionaire and all.

Now, smart media people all know the controversy behind this film.   Director and writer Nate Parker apparently was a rapist in the past and that publicity alone has sunk the film.   "Birth of a Nation" could be renamed "Death at the Box Office."   Supposedly, there was an Academy screening last week in LA and only about 25% of the seats were full.   This was big news all over the place.

Except at GMA.   Over the course of about five interviews on the movie, did Strahan once ask a question about the director's problems?

You see, that doesn't happen on GMA.   Especially when you're a show populated by and directed at complete morons.

Woot woot.   Clap clap.

Dinner last night:  Super Dodger Dog.

This Date in History - October 19

Hey, look, it's Divine.  And it's his/her birthday.

202 BC:  AT THE BATTLE OF ZAMA, ROMAN LEGIONS UNDER SCIPIO AFRICANUS DEFEAT HANNIBAL BARCA, LEADER OF THE INVADING CARTHAGINIAN ARMY.

Looking at this, maybe the reason I wasn't so hot with World History is because I couldn't remember how to spell the names.

439:  THE VANDALS, LED BY KING GAISERIC, TAKE CARTHAGE IN NORTH AFRICA.

Long before the Vandals moved on to the NYC subway system.

1216:  KING JOHN OF ENGLAND DIES AT NEWARK-ON-TRENT.

Regardless of where it is, there's no dignity if you die in Newark.

1453:  THE FRENCH RECAPTURE OF BORDEAUX BRINGS THE HUNDRED YEARS' WAR TO A CLOSE.

And, at last, they can start making bordelaise sauce again.

1466:  THE THIRTEEN YEARS WAR ENDS WITH THE SECOND TREATY OF THORN.

I suppose the first treaty of Thorn wasn't worth the paper it was printed on.

1469:  FERDINAND II OF ARAGON MARRIES ISABELLA I OF CASTILE, A MARRIAGE THAT PAVES THE WAY FOR THE CREATION OF SPAIN.

Which would have been fine if they had all stayed there.

1512:  MARTIN LUTHER BECOMES A DOCTOR OF THEOLOGY.

And, years later, he would provide me with a place to go on Sunday mornings.

1789:  CHIEF JUSTICE JOHN JAY IS SWORN IN AS THE FIRST CHIEF JUSTICE OF THE UNITED STATES.

Oh.  So there was one before Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

1810:  ABOLITIONIST CASSIUS CLAY IS BORN.

So you thought that dopey boxer had a trademark on the name?

1812:  NAPOLEON I OF FRANCE RETREATS FROM MOSCOW.

Have you ever eaten borscht?  Can you blame him?

1813:  THE BATTLE OF LEIPZIG CONCLUDES, GIVING NAPOLEON ONE OF HIS WORST DEFEATS.

On second thought, maybe Russia wasn't so bad.

1873:  YALE, PRINCETON, COLUMBIA, AND RUTGERS DRAFT THE FIRST CODE OF AMERICAN FOOTBALL RULES.

I'll bet there was even a tailgate for this.

1914:  THE FIRST BATTLE OF YPRES BEGINS.

If you know how to pronounce that, please contact me.

1917:  LOVE FIELD IN DALLAS, TEXAS IS OPENED.

The last airport JFK would ever see.

1932:  ACTOR ROBERT REED IS BORN.

Papa Brady!  Does Barry Williams also claim he slept with him, too?

1933:  GERMANY WITHDRAWS FROM THE LEAGUE OF NATIONS.

What I like about the League of Nations?  No designated hitter.

1936:  ACTOR TONY LO BIANCO IS BORN.

I spoke to him on the phone once.  That's all I got.

1943:  STREPTOMYCIN, THE FIRST ANTIBIOTIC FOR TUBERCULOSIS, IS ISOLATED BY RESEARCHERS AT RUTGERS.

So not everybody there was tailgating.

1945:  ACTOR DIVINE IS BORN.

It must be tough to maintain two completely different sets of wardrobe.

1956:  THE SOVIET UNION AND JAPAN SIGN A JOINT DECLARATION, OFFICIALLY ENDING THE STATE OF WAR THAT HAD EXISTED SINCE AUGUST 1945.

Japan really knows how to pick the wrong fights, don't they?

1959:  THE FIRST DISCOTHEQUE OPENS.

So was this Studio 1?

1973:  PRESIDENT RICHARD NIXON REJECTS AN APPEALS COURT DECISION THAT HE TURN OVER THE WATERGATE TAPES.

Yeah, that worked out well.

1978:  ACTOR GIG YOUNG DIES.

He shot himself.  They shoot horses and apparently actors, don't they?

1987:  ON BLACK MONDAY, THE DOW JONES INDUSTRIAL AVERAGE FALLS BY 22%, 508 POINTS.

This one, I'm told, was Barbara Bush's fault.

1994:  ACTRESS/COMIC MARTHA RAYE DIES.

Buried with or without the dentures?

2003:  MOTHER TERESA IS BEATIFIED BY POPE JOHN PAUL II.

I read that really fast and you don't want to know what I thought it said.

2005:  SADDAM HUSSEIN GOES ON TRIAL IN BAGHDAD FOR CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY.

If he had gone on trial in Los Angeles, he might have been acquitted.

2008:  FASHION CRITIC MR. BLACKWELL DIES.

Not the list he wanted to make.

2010:  ACTOR TOM BOSLEY DIES.

And not his happiest day.

2013:  ACTOR NOEL HARRISON DIES.

Son of Rex.

Dinner last night:   Late dinner---Reuben sandwich at Cafe 50s.