To my Grandpa Hal...

In the recent saddened news from my family, I’ve been inspired to share a story with whomever reads these next few paragraphs.

It was probably about 6 or 7 years ago when my mother, father, brother and I were traveling to my grandparents house. Pulling up to the drive way we could hear the subtle barking of my aunts dog. She would always get excited when we visited, not in the good way. As we made our way into the house, my grandma was front and center ready to greet us all with large hugs and warming kiss. My aunt would follow suit with the ever popular line, “Oh my goodness you two [my brother and I] are getting so big.”

Lastly, but not least was my grandfather. 98% of the time he would be sitting on the couch, radio or newspaper in arms reach, hunched over in a sweater and sweatpants. God wasn’t the only one who knew he loved those sweatpants. We all knew; he made sure of it. After saying our hello’s to grandma and our aunt we’d go shake grandpa’s hand and say hello. He’d always look at us with the biggest eyes like we has just made his day.

I’ll never forget the way he would great my brother and I. “Oh my boys! Here are my boys!”

On this day in particular we sat next to grandpa on the couch and talked about school, how we were doing in sports, and of course, the Red Sox. That day was a special day for him. It was his birthday. And as a special treat for him, my mother had gone out and bought him a surprise birthday cake. Problem was, nobody told my grandma it was a surprise. So she comes out cake in hand with the plastic tin still covering the pan. She bent over and showed him the cake, while my dad looks at my grandma with a blank look on his face as if to say “dude!?”

She says to my grandpa, look what Patti and Richie brought you for your Birthday, followed by my mother father explaining that it was a surprise. I’ll never forget what my grandpa said next. He looked up at my grandpa and said, “You ruined it. You ruined my cake surprise!”

We all had a big laugh, including my grandfather who knew all along what he had said. He may have been old but the light bulb was still shining bright.

To this very day I’ll always remember that smile he cracked after filling a room with laughter and good thoughts. And I know when ever we think of him we’ll all be smiling with him over and over again.

To my grandpa Hal, I love you. May we always smile and share happy thoughts when we think of you.

R.I.P. Harold Snyder 1923-2011

What is Pretty?

By definition, it’s a word used when describing something that just makes you smile, tear up, or just plain happy. For example, a flower, painting, sunset, or woman.

While the same goes for myself, I look at the word pretty for something much more.

To me, and millions of other around the world, it mean’s something more than a still frame moment. Instead it’s a series of moments all intertwined into one, well, “pretty” shot.

Pretty -- It’s a chip shot on Augusta that plops on the green, takes a hard right turn, and navigates itself towards the flagstick as if it’s being directed by a TOM TOM GPS.

Pretty -- A shooter that releases the ball at that precise moment while the defender is in the air. His arm outstretched as high as it can be but it doesn’t even come close as the ball literally floats through the air and into the bucket.

Pretty -- A game ending block that sends a happy-go-lucky 13-seed into the next round of a tournament after beating out a favorited 4-seed.

Pretty -- A ball that dances in the wind as it travels just over 60 feet to a mammoth of an athlete ready to whack the stitching off it but fails to do so as it dips from his eyes to toes, buckling his knees in the process.

Pretty -- A goalie with his legs out stretched and shame left in the net behind him because a shooter just hit the turbo button while juking 6 ways towards Sunday to score in overtime.

Pretty -- A toe tapping touchdown that a receiver catches after thwarting off his defender and stopping on a dime before hitting the white line while simultaneously gripping the ball for 6 points.

Pretty -- A player that sees a ball zipping towards him and instead of using his head to change it's path, springs backwards into the air and flips his foot above his head to redirect the ball by the defender for the score.

There are many things in this world that are pretty that necessarily don’t have the typical female appeal. Whether it be a middle aged man scoring a goal or a freshman in college juking out his senior opponent, just remember, pretty isn’t just for your grandma‘s linens anymore.

To Grunt or Not to Grunt

Going to the gym these past few weeks has brought a couple things to my attention. One being that I'm out of shape but that's not the point of this post.

The main thing I've noticed is that other than the constant whining of the machines, or slamming of the weight plates, it's actually pretty quiet at the gym.

Back in the day, aka 5 years ago, there use to be a sound that people would make on occasion, a grunting if you will. What ever happened to the grunting, yelling, and swearing at the gym.

I'm not saying I miss it completely but where did it go? I know that some gyms have a no grunting policy. Planet Fitness for one example.

But why is grunting so bad. Sometimes you need a good yell. In my mind, a person who screams or lets out a yell at the gym is only expressing himself. Hell if I put up 300lbs on the bench press I'm going to want to yell to. What else am I suppose to do, just let out an awe-inspiring golf clap or a ballerina fist pump.

Let's face it, grunting comes natural. You earned the body you worked hard for so why not express it the way you want. Some people reward themselves with more cardio, personally I'd rather end it with a high five. (Still in mind, there is nothing better than a hard connecting high five.)

So I say put up that weight, run your carbs off and grunt away. As I told one of my friends, "You earned that sh*t, grunt away!"

Strikeout Twice for Bryce

He’s been scouted since he was a preteen. Since the age of 12, blasting home runs and throwing runners out from his knees 90 to 127 feet away. Bryce Harper has been described as the next prodigy of baseball. If you google “LeBron James of Baseball” you’ll get an article by Tom Verducci from Sports Illustrated explaining the abnormal strength of this boy from Sin City.

Just yesterday that same boy came up to bat for the Washington Nationals. He replaced DH Matt Stairs, who is arguably the greatest the softball player to ever play baseball.

Harper stepped into the box twice on Monday, and contributed nothing but a couple strikeouts to the box score. 

For all you National fans don’t drop your head in disappointment yet, it’s not like management even expected him to play in the pros this year. He’s expected to start off in Single-A ball and quickly climb the ladder from there.

But many sports writers, scouts, and even players were anticipating a positive explosion from Harper. Instead he tipped and whiffed his way into the spring training books with two strike outs instead.

I can’t help but compare him to last year’s phenom, Jason Heyward for the Atlanta Braves. In his very first at bat, the 6’5’’ 240 pound behemoth belted a ball over the fence in right field for his first home run in his first major league at bat for the Braves.

Now I’m not saying that Heyward in more impressive than Harper. Let’s face it, there are a couple factors to these two young guns. Heyward first of all, is 3 years older than Bryce. He also spent 3 years in the minors before getting his shot in 2010. With the recent failure of Stephen Strasburg, Bryce will probably be pushed through the farm system a lot faster than Heyward was. We’re also talking about a first major league at bat compared to a first spring training at bat. After all said and done, Heyward hit more than .350 over 41 at bats.

Fortunately, the Spring has barely set in which means there’s plenty of time to boost that .000 batting average.