Backroads

Yesterday, we picked up Clare in Valparaiso and took U.S. Route 6, aka the Grand Army of the Republic Highway, to Nappanee, Indiana.  There was an arts-and-crafts’ fair featuring Amish furniture and quilts.  Seeing buggies on the highway does give you pause.  It’s not 2015 everywhere, at least in Indiana.

A day trip on less-traveled roads is made baseball on the radio.  First, we listened to the Cubs, and I thought of all those times Ron Santo suffered behind the microphone for his team; not that I cared, mind you.  My dislike of Santo the player carried over to the broadcaster.  You can take the White Sox fan out of the South Side, but you can’t take South Side out of the White Sox fan.  Yesterday, though, I did the suffering, as the Cubs pretty much pounded the Giants to solidify their hold on the second wildcard spot.  (How I hate talking baseball as football.)

And I suffered through Ed Farmer and Darrin Jackson doing the White Sox-Royals game on the way home.  I’m not sure there are two more critical broadcasters than the Sox radio team.  Farmer and Jackson are definitely old-school; any player wearing sunglasses on top of his cap is sure to get on their bad side (and mine, too, for what it’s worth).  After falling behind, the Sox at one point had two on and two out, with Jose Abreu up; Abreu had already homered and would again.  He didn’t in this particular at-bat because Geovany Soto, the runner at second, decided to get a head start to third with a full count on Abreu.  Only Soto got picked off, which Ed and D.J. agreed was inexcusable.  I love the candor, but the play that produces it is killing me.

Did I mention we saw lots of cows and horses all day?