Andrew Schrauben

Most people think of Thurman Munson as a baseball player, a talented and charismatic catcher for the New York Yankees during the 1970's. His success on the field was so impressive that Munson seemed almost certain to one day earn recognition in the Hall of Fame. Sadly, Munson's career and life were cut short 30 years ago today - August 2, 1979. It was his performance as a pilot, not as a ballplayer, that ultimately defined his legacy.

What
Munson was licensed pilot and on an off day during the 1979 season he took two of his friends, David Hall and Jerry Anderson, for a pleasure flight in his new Cessna Citation 501. During a series of touch-and-go's the aircraft descended too low during the fourth approach and crashed short of the runway, killing Munson and injuring his two friends.

How
Pilot error. Munson fell behind the power curve, both literally and figuratively. Literally because he flew his aircraft into a low speed, high drag condition that requires increased thrust as airspeed decreases. Figuratively because Munson failed to recognize a deteriorating situation and didn't take corrective action in time to avoid an accident.

Why
Preparation, execution, and luck. Most professional athletes excel because they are obsessive about their preparation and execution, and achieve greatness by being in the right place at the right time. My 7th grade teacher Mr. Pipkin was fond of saying: "Luck is when preparation meets opportunity." Munson was no exception and his baseball success was attributable to all three factors. Tragically, the failure of these factors - a lack of preparation, poor execution, and bad luck - led to Munson's death, one that was ultimately caused by his own judgement.

Lack of Preparation
Munson was a well-trained pilot with 516 hours of flight time, although just 34 hours flying Citation jets. While 500 hours is significant, the most experienced pilots measure their flight time in the thousands of hours. Some folks in aviation consider the 300-600 hour range of experience to be somewhat dangerous, the theory being that such pilots have enough experience to feel very confident in their skills, but not enough experience to fully appreciate the limits of their abilities. It's notable that John F. Kennedy Jr. had slightly over 300 hours of flight time under his belt when his fatal accident occurred, just to cite one well-known example.

Perhaps such confidence contributed to the fact that Munson never bothered to brief his passengers. This was especially critical as both of his friends were experienced pilots who Munson could've relied on for assistance; in fact, Hall was his former flight instructor (in a smaller aircraft) and was sitting in the co-pilot's seat. The NTSB report on the crash includes this quote from Hall:

"I was trying to convey to him my discomfort with the fact that we were getting a little bit low and that I was uncomfortable with the sink rate. I didn't want to come out and say 'I don't like this approach; please add power.' I was trying to feed that intormation to him in that fashion because, again, I had no experience in this type of aircraft."

A passenger briefing is required by FAA regulations yet Munson did not conduct one. As a result his friends were unaware of the specific aircraft configuration to expect for an approach, let alone the basics of emergency exits, etc. Notably, neither Munson nor Hall were wearing their shoulder harnesses (all three were wearing lap belts) and seatbelts are a part of any passenger briefing.

Further showing a lack of preparation was that Munson calculated the wrong target approach speed, Vref, which is based on aircraft weight. His jet was 1000 lbs heavier than he estimated and the resulting lower Vref gave him less margin for error as he flew into the "mush" regime of the power curve.

Lastly, choosing to perform touch-and-go's wasn't the safest way to demonstrate his new bird for his friends. Takeoffs and landings require a high workload for the pilot and to conduct them repeatedly while hosting friends on board increases the risk needlessly. A safer flight plan would've been to depart the airport traffic pattern and enjoy a pleasure flight at higher altitude in less congestion.

Poor Execution
During the flight Munson did not refer to any checklists. Even professional airline pilots with over 10,000 hours of flight time will always use their checklists. It's far too easy to forget a step, especially when unexpected events interrupt the series of tasks. During the accident approach Munson simply forgot to lower the flaps, an omission that reduced his margin for error by limiting the lift-to-drag ratio of the aircraft. He had even forgotten to lower the landing gear but his friends reminded him of that critical detail.

Compounding Munson's high workload was that he wasn't hitting his marks, and much like a pitcher not finding the strikezone and falling behind in the count, Munson fell behind the power curve. He wasn't holding the proper airspeed or altitude in the traffic pattern, forcing him to divert attention to make corrections while also communicating with air traffic control and his passengers.

Another odd choice was Munson's decision to deliberately fly the third approach (which was ultimately successful) without flaps and allow Hall to handle the controls. While it's possible to land without flaps, it is challenging and Munson decided to perform this maneuver spontaneously. Handing the controls to his friend was downright careless. Even though Hall was an experienced pilot, he had never flown a business jet and hadn't even been briefed on how to land in a normal configuration, let alone with a no-flaps setup.

Landing without flaps is analagous to driving a car without using first gear. Remember your first time driving a stick-shift and how difficult it was to start from a stop without stalling? That's what Munson asked his friend to do, while adding the challenge of starting in second gear.

During the fourth approach Munson forgot to lower the flaps but his friends assumed they were doing another planned no-flap approach and thus never alerted Munson. Being distracted by a change in traffic pattern assigned by air traffic control didn't help the situation, and Munson being poorly set up in the pattern further taxed his mental resources. Munson eventually realized that his jet was too low and still sinking so he began to add power, but only incrementally.

Jet engines require more time to "spool up" in response to a throttle change, and despite being aware of this fact - Munson had even cautioned his friends about it during an earlier approach - he was slow to react to the low thrust condition, perhaps due to his limited jet experience and high workload. By the time he realized that full power was needed, it was too late to stop the aircraft's momentum from carrying them all the way into the ground.

Bad Luck
In this accident luck wasn't much of a factor in avoiding the crash. However, luck played a critical role in the accident's survivability. The aircraft crash-landed into a field of small trees, skinny enough that they didn't result in any violent impacts as the aircraft skidded across the field... Except for the one huge tree stump four feet in diameter. The Citation slammed into the stump, spinning the jet 180 degrees before coming to rest. The stump impacted the left side of the cockpit, directly underneath Munson.

A few feet to the right and it might have been Hall who died; a few more feet in either direction and everyone may have survived. As it happened, both of Munson's friends were relatively unhurt by the impact. However, Munson's seat detached due to the force of the tree stump's direct hit, thrusting him into the instrument panel. The impact broke his neck, but Munson was alive.

Once the aircraft came to rest Munson asked his friends "Are you guys OK?" When they asked how he was doing, he replied "I don't know. I can't move. I can't move." With the aircraft engulfed in flames, Hall and Anderson struggled to free Munson but finally were forced to abandon their efforts when the flames became too intense. Both of Munson's friends suffered severe burns as they delayed their own exit while courageously trying to rescue him.

What If
As with most every accident, whether in aviation or any other discipline, a cascading chain of events eroded risk to the point that disaster was inevitiable. Breaking any single link in this chain would've resulted in a safe outcome, if not prevent the accident altogether. There were numerous opportunities for Munson change the tragic outcome of this flight:

What if Munson had...

• remembered to lower the flaps? The approach likely would've proceeded uneventfully.
• used the proper checklists? He wouldn't have forgotten to deploy the flaps.
• briefed his friends of the flight plan? They could've alerted him to the forgotten flaps.
• calculated the correct Vref? The aircraft would've carried more speed during the approach and required less corrective thrust.
• flown a more stabilized approach? The reduced mental workload might have allowed him to react more quickly.
• applied full thrust more quickly? The aircraft could've made it to the runway.
• worn his shoulder seatbelt? It may have reduced the severity of his injury enough that he could've helped extricate himself.

Indeed, this succession of pilot errors was cited in the probable cause of the NTSB's accident report:

"The National Transportation Safety Board determines that the probable cause of the accident was the pilot's failure to recognize the need for, and to take action to maintain, sufficient airspeed to prevent a stall into the ground during an attempted landing. The pilot also failed to recognize the need for timely and sufficient power application to prevent the stall during an approach conducted inadvertently without flaps extended. Contributing to the pilot's inability to sufficient power application to prevent the stall during an approach conducted recognize the problem and to take proper action was his failure to use the appropriate checklist and his nonstandard pattern procedures which resulted in an abnormal approach profile."

To err is human - all pilots make mistakes. The key is not going into a situation where a few simple mistakes can be deadly. Thus I view this accident as the result of a single failure: Munson's judgement.

Munson exercised poor judgement by chosing to conduct a complicated flight in a high-performance aircraft in which he had little experience. He could have flown a more simple flight plan at higher alitude doing basic maneuvers, or even waited to demonstrate his new aircraft for his friends until he had accumulated more flight hours in the cockpit.

I'm reminded of some advice my flight instructor once shared: "Takeoffs are optional; landings are mandatory. Sometimes the best flight is the one not taken."

References
NTSB accident investigation report (PDF)
ESPN article from 2004

Having stayed up until 2am last night this morning to watch the entirety of the 2008 MLB All-Star Game, I better make it worth my while and share some insight from my bleary mind. For those of you wise enough to get a good night's sleep, the game lasted 15 innings before the tie was broken, giving the American League a 4-3 victory that awards home field advantage to whichever AL team reaches the World Series.

Yes, you read that right - an exhibition game that impacts the results of baseball's crowning event. Why would the MLB do something so silly? To avoid something even sillier - an All-Star game that nobody cares about.

Tell a professional athlete that winning doesn't matter and the athlete won't show up, choosing instead to rest his worn out body for the remaining half of a season that does matter. Tell a fan that the players don't care, and the fan won't pay money to watch the event. So what to do?

After the 2002 All-Star game embarrassment (that ended in a tie after just 11 innings when both teams ran out of pitchers) the MLB decided to put the World Series home field advantage at stake in hopes that the players would care enough to show up and play hard, despite the slight risk of injury that any sport entails. The managers, it was hoped, would save enough pitchers in reserve to go the distance no matter how long the game lasted.

It just doesn't work that way. Pitching takes such a toll on the arm that many All-Star hurlers will adjust their usage before and/or after the game to accomodate the extra stress. Regular season games are played just two days before and two days after the All-Star game, giving pitchers little time to recover.

Most starting pitchers are limited to around 100 pitches per start - more than that might increase the risk of injury. Consider that the Milwaukee Brewers were so desperate for quality pitching that they traded their top prospect for a stud starter, CC Sabathia, just a week ago. Yet their staff ace, Ben Sheets, tossed 42 pitches yesterday. Should the Brewers be forced to sacrifice half a game of ace pitching while in the thick of a playoff race?

Milwaukee's division rival, the Chicago Cubs, saw three of their best pitchers throw 57 pitches combined. That almost seems fair until you realize that the St. Louis Cardinals - in the playoff race with the Brewers and Cubs - saw its hurlers throw zero pitches because none of them were good enough to be All-Stars.

In truth, the All-Star game will never be fair - after all, due to the whimsical nature of fan voting many of MLB's best players don't even get invited. Fundamentally the All-Star game is still an exhibition, so I wish baseball would stop pretending that "This One Counts" (the pleadingly sappy official motto of the 2003 contest) and instead come up with a solution along the lines of "We Care" because that's all that matters for an exhibition.

My proposal is to run the All-Star game as a charity contest:
-- Each player voted into the game selects a charity to represent.
-- MLB lines up corporate sponsors to ante up a significant pot of cash.
-- Players on the winning team split the cash as donations made in their name to their chosen charity.

Further, bonuses could be handed out, such as:
-- An "MVP sponsor" gives a extra bonus to the charity of the player who wins the MVP;
-- Additional sponsors could hand out bonuses for players hitting home runs or pitchers getting strikeouts;
-- The home run derby could have "jackpot" bullseye targets in the bleachers that could earn extra donations if struck.

And so on. If a player wants to back out of the game to go fishing instead, he'll have to endure the boos of fans for turning his back on a charity. Rather than being a physical burden, it would be an emotional honor for a player to compete.

Since the game has zero impact on regular season or post-season games, there's no need to drag it on for extra innings because something affecting the players' professional future is at stake. Instead a tiebreaker can be used - remember, it's just an exhibition put on for the fans. Some have suggested that a home-run derby can break a tie, but that's rather anti-climatic.

An exciting tiebreaker would be if the game is tied after nine innings then each subsequent inning starts with the bases loaded. The highlight of last night was when the AL loaded the bases in the bottom of the 10th inning with nobody out (albeit due to two errors and a walk) but failed to score a run as Aaron Cook induced three straight ground ball outs, getting two force outs at home plate.

If the current version of the All-Star game is so ho-hum, why did I watch? Because I'm a die hard baseball fan without cable TV, so I watch any televised game I can. Amanda is a baseball fan, too, but she decided to count sheep instead of innings. Fans don't care about World Series home field advantage in July. Fans do care about seeing their favorite players together on one field as they exhibition the skills that make them such beloved athletes.

T'was a busy weekend. Awake by 0600 on Saturday for the Reeds Lake Run, then get ready for my little brother Ryan's bachelor party! I had about two hours at home between the race and getting back in the car to drive to Midland for his celebration which included grilling out on a softball field, playing frisbee golf, taking in a minor league baseball game, then hitting the cursory bar for a few drinks. Poor Ryan had to wear a plastic ball and chain around his ankle all day (amazingly he was still good at frisbee golf while wearing it!), a giant sombrero, and a t-shirt with a picture of a pinata and the caption "I'd Hit It". I wish I'd remembered to take a photo! I didn't get home until after 0300!

Sunday Amanda and I took Eddie to meet his future "parents" and otherwise tried to take it easy. However, Haven and Beacon started giving me those soulful looks of "let's go do something!" so I decided to take them to the river. After all, the weather was perfect - upper 60's, sunny, and a light breeze. My legs were a bit tired from Saturday's two races but good enough that we bypassed the river access near the parking area and jogged half a mile on the trail up and over a large hill to the prime river access point.

Rather than throw sticks for fetching, this time I took the dogs for a walk, or rather a "wade", up the river! The recent dry spell had lowered the water level enough that I could walk the 50 yards across the river without getting deeper than my knees. Even the dogs were mostly walking or bunny-hopping in the shallow water. We waded about a 1/4 mile upstream to a section of small rapids where there were a couple "nozzle" points that had rather strong flow. It was strong enough that I had trouble standing and the dogs had to swim as hard as they could just to stand still. We had fun playing in the rapids - I walked up the "nozzle" then back through while the dogs went for a theme-park-like ride through the chute!

Finally we jogged back to the parking area, a dirt cul-de-sac next to an old boy scout cabin. Haven loves to eat weeds (I have no idea why!) and there were some nice, long, un-mowed weeds in back of the cabin. As she bent down to grab a bite I was about to scold her when suddenly a whitetail deer fawn sprung out of the weeds! Haven was startled for just a split second before she gave chase, and Beacon soon joined her as they pursued the poor little deer around the building.

The fawn was a bit taller than my dogs, but clearly much scrawnier and probably only weighed 50 lbs to my dogs 65-70 lbs each. As the trio rounded the corner I heard the fawn start bleating like a goat, crying "Mmmaaah! Mmmaaah!" over and over - I feared that my dogs were going to kill it! I sprinted around the opposite side of the cabin, hoping to head them off and get between the predators and the prey to prevent serious harm.

To my surprise, when I rounded the cabin the fawn was nowhere to be seen! My dogs love to scarf their food, but no way did they eat that fawn. :) Beacon was in the parking lot scanning every which way trying to spot the deer. Haven, however, was one step ahead - she was sniffing underneath a wooden staircase. I walked over to grab Haven when the fawn clambered out from under the stairs right past Haven, who merely sniffed it as it started to run away again.

Seeing it run excited my dogs enough to give chase. While faster than me, the fawn wasn't nearly strong enough to outclass adult canine speed and my dogs closed in quickly as the fawn raced down the road. Knowing I couldn't accomplish anything by chasing, I ran back to the car and opened the back door, hoping to signal my dogs that it's "time to go" - usually they'll jump right in. Then it occurred to me... What if mommy deer hears the bleating and comes after my dogs? Luckily I was the only "adult" around!

When I turned back to the action, I saw one of the most improbable sights of my life - the fawn was standing frozen with Haven and Beacon motionless on either side of it!!! I so wish I'd had a camera right then. The fawn must've tired out or realized it couldn't outrun the dogs. Haven and Beacon started to sniff the fawn when Bambi decided to go on the offensive - it reared back and head-butted Beacon just like a goat would do! Beacon was startled and jumped back. Bambi lunged again and Beacon got down in a dog's "play bow" with his front paws down and butt in the air.

Beacon put a couple juke moves on the fawn, feinting left and right and when Bambi went for another "attack" Beacon ran away back to me for safety! I was really cracking up at this point. A little fawn put the smack down on big bad Beaks! Confirming my idea to open the car door, Beacon jumped right up onto the seat and I quickly closed the door to finally contain one dog.

Looking back to Haven, she was trying to sniff the fawn just like she would greet a new foster dog. She was trying to make friends! But the fawn was understandably less trusting and kept trying to head-butt Haven, moves that Haven was easily able to dodge. Finally I think Haven got tired of this belligerent potential pal and she came running back to me to see what happened to Beacon. I got her in the car just as Bambi turned to lope out of sight down the road.

Amanda couldn't believe me when I told her the story and she really wishes she could've seen it. I'm still amazed that the dogs didn't injure the fawn, but even more incredible is that they wanted to play with it! That image of Haven and Beacon standing either side of the fawn is permanently etched in my memory... Classic. I'll probably never see something like that again, but still I hope that someday the dogs will encounter another fawn and try to play with it. My dogs never cease to amaze!

For my birthday last month Amanda planned an outing to a Tigers game. Last weekend it finally came to pass as Amanda and I were joined by eight family members to enjoy a perfectly sunny day at the ballpark. I still call it Tiger Stadium even though technically it's Comerica Park; not so much out of protest as much as out of habit. Speaking of which, I miss the old ballpark - I was lucky enough to attend the 4th to last game ever played there. On our way to the new park we drove past the old one:



It's sad how the city of Detroit and the Tigers franchise are allowing this historic stadium to rot away when there are so many folks willing to do what it takes to preserve it as a museum and/or exhibition ballfield. At least Comerica Park is a beautiful place to attend a ballgame and in my opinion underrated among the MLB ballparks.

We arrived early to watch batting practice, however the Tigers were already done by the time we arrived - despite arriving right after the gates opened. It always amazes me how normal ballplayers look - we stood about ten feet away from Joe Mauer as he warmed up and he doesn't seem any more fit than I am. Then you see him (and every other player) throw effortlessly and watch the ball rifle 150 feet and pop into a teammate's glove without having to move an inch. Wow.

Before taking our seats we wandered around the park, ending up among the statues of Tiger greats. We watched a few players warming up before taking our seats.

Our seats were great - upper deck front row along the LF line near the foul pole. It was a great view of not only the field but also the Detroit skyline. Amanda took a couple photos of the first batters before putting away the camera to enjoy the game.

And what a game! Johan Santana has been the best pitcher in all of baseball over the last three years but Mike Maroth matched him. Bottom of the 9th inning Brandon Inge hits a solo HR into the bullpen right in front of us and both the crowd and the Tigers dugout erupted in cheer! ROAR!

Some baseball observations:

• Joe Mauer is amazing with the bat - in BP he would hit the ball on a line in every direction seemingly at will.
• Justin Morneau has wicked bat speed, clearly a step above any other Twins hitter.
• Magglio Ordonez was born to hit - he looks so comfortable at the plate, he makes it look easy. Fielding... no. He was born to DH - he never seemed to read fly balls well and on one play Curtis Granderson had to run all the way from CF to attempt a catch that was ten feet from Ordonez the statue; Granderson missed and Ordonez didn't back him up, forcing Granderson to run after the ball that became a triple.
• Gary Sheffield is over his slump - aside from one pop-up, he hit every ball hard - he had a single that two-hopped to the RF and I swear the ball was never more than five feet off the ground.
• Carlos Guillen is barely a passable SS - not only did he make a few bad throws, but his footwork looked as stiff as some of the 50-year-old guys on my softball team.
• Mike Maroth doesn't throw hard - 88 mph was his max - which made it cruel on the Twins when Joel Zumaya relieved him and started throwing 100 mph.
• Pat Neshek has one of the most unique deliveries you'll ever see - it's not your typical sidearm. Even better, Neshek has his own blog that he started when in the minors.
• Jesse Crain... he gave up that HR to Inge, but I'm surprised that Crain isn't a more dominant pitcher. He had a 94 mph fastball to go with a 74 mph off-speed pitch, a combination that normally is quite deadly.

Bike
Today did not go as planned, but it turned out very well. Due to a minor achilles injury that caused me to skip my race this weekend, I geared up myself and my bike this morning for our first ride of the year, planning to roll along some country roads for about three hours. All was going well for the first half hour - beautiful clear skies and 60 degree temperature that was rising quickly - when things suddenly fell apart, literally. I'm pedaling along a flat stretch when I hear a loud SNAP followed by the clinks of metal pieces falling on the pavement. My seat broke off!! Luckily I didn't fall; a triathlete friend of mine once broke his arm falling due to a seat failure.

I phoned Amanda, who had to abandon her walk less than five minutes after starting to come rescue me. While waiting for her I managed to ride about two miles closer, during which time I learned two things about cycling with no seat: 1) your calves get really tired if you keep the standard position of centering the balls of your feet over the pedals, so I centered my arches on the pedals instead; and 2) the bike gets quite unstable descending steep hills. I'm not sure why for #2, but I guess it's due to a forward center of gravity putting too much weight on the front wheel?

Hike
So much for my long run ride. Amanda still wanted to get her workout in so I joined her on a local trail for a hike. We stopped home to drop off the bike and we decided to take Haven with us. She loved the trails but we had to keep her on leash about 95% of the time since portions of the trail are near 55 mph roads and because there are lots of folks (and their dogs) sharing the trails. Legally all dogs must be on leash there but the vast majority of the ones I see are unleashed, and Haven never causes problems but with her muddy paws I didn't want to offend anyone and give unleashed dogs a bad name.

Amanda took so many photos that we were making slow progress around the 4.5 mile loop. We wanted to get home in time to watch a Detroit Tigers game - a rare opportunity to see them on a air-broadcast channel. Halfway around the loop we decided I should run the 2 miles back to the car and pick up Amanda at the north parking lot (we started at the south lot).

Run
Haven came with me and we ran at a quick pace up and down the sandy, leafy hills. We passed a few other people and dogs but Haven was so tired by this point that she was in no mood to be the social butterfly that she usually is. 14 minutes later we were back at the car (after having to jump over a 2-foot long hognose snake!) The run was tiring and felt great - my achilles felt a bit tight but nothing near as bad as last week. Still, I'm glad (in a common-sense sort of way) that I passed on the 10-mile race yesterday.

Fetch
Once we got home we traded Haven for Beacon and drove to the river where I played fetch with him for half an hour while Amanda drove out to Subway to fetch our dinner. Beacon needed his turn getting some fun exercise and he really loved it, screaming as he waited for me to throw the next stick. He finally started getting tired just as Amanda returned and we all went home for dinner.

Icing on the cake: we got to watch the Tigers beat the White Sox in a 12-inning thriller complete with two-outs-bottom-of-the-9th home run heroics!

A trophy. I was 14 years old and had won "most improved player of the year". It altered the course of my athletic career forever...

In 8th grade I participated in three sports: baseball, track, and tennis.

Baseball
I had played baseball since 2nd grade and enjoyed it, but was never great at it. This was partly due to poor eyesight because once I got glasses in 7th grade, my hitting instantly went from horrible to decent. I had no power but good plate discipline, culminating in an 8th grade season where I batted .670 with a .750 on-base percentage but just one extra-base hit (a bloop double). My coach batted me at the bottom of the lineup despite my stats (I was the only one who kept stats, anyway, being a nerd) because he never realized how effective I was. I tried to explain to him that my singles were almost as good as doubles because being the fastest runner on the team, I stole 2nd base every time and often 3rd base, too, without getting caught. He was a great coach and he liked me, but didn't appreciate a hitter without power.

Track
Even though I generally liked running, I never tried track and field until 8th grade. Being a late bloomer I wasn't a standout by any means, but I was still pretty good. I ran mostly distances of 100m-400m and my highlight was running the first leg of our championship-winning 4x100 relay, keeping pace with other team's fastest runners. It was a bit frustrating that I wasn't good enough to win any races on my own, but a few of my friends were on the track team and the camaraderie was outstanding. That was some of the most fun in a sport I'd ever experienced.

Tennis
I started taking lessons in 7th grade at a local athletic club in the beginner's group. Non-beginners, my best friend among them, played in class-type practice sessions ranked by ability, "Group 3" being the worst and "Group 1" being the best. My friend had been playing for several years and finally got promoted from Group 3 to Group 2 and was proud of it. Apparently I took quite well to the sport because after half a year in the beginner's group the coaches jumped me straight into Group 2, making my friend a bit envious. And for that I won a little trophy as the club's most improved player of 1990.

Entering high school the following year, I was faced with a mild version of Sophie's Choice: all three of my sports took place in the same season, forcing me to choose only one that I could continue pursuing. I enjoyed all three sports immensely - the drama of baseball, the excitement of track, the intensity of tennis - and because of that trophy, I chose tennis.

Tennis was the only sport where I felt that my achievements were recognized, a feeling given to me simply by that trophy. I never was awarded "most improved hitter" when I got glasses or a "most promising runner" when I held my own in the relay. It's kinda sad that such praise was so important to me, but that's who I was back then.

The epilogue here is that I played tennis for just three more years, making varsity as a sophomore on a top-ranked team but quitting in my junior year after becoming exasperated with a holier-than-thou coach and teammates who were more concerned with being better than each other than actually winning meets against other schools. Luckily for my parents' wallet it only took one expensive broken racquet to realize the error of my choice. :)

I never played baseball again, but I did play in a rec softball game between the two 11th grade chemistry classes where I happened to have a great day outplaying everyone including a handful varsity baseball players in chemistry class. The chemistry teacher was also a baseball coach and asked me several times "Why aren't you playing baseball?" Sometimes I wondered that myself but...

After quitting tennis I joined the track team because my good friend Jamey ran track. I went from being the best runner on the tennis team to the worst runner on the track team; however, I was setting PRs (personal records) every race I ran. By senior year I was an average runner yet still PR-ing every race, prompting my track coach to give me one of the best compliments I ever received in high school: "Someday you'll be winning master's races."

Ironic, isn't it? I chose tennis because of the accolades it gave me, but never found any respect in the sport again while the two sports I had cast off ultimately gave me the recognition that I craved. Nowadays I'm an active softball player and distance runner, but I haven't touched a tennis racquet since college. I guess I should've followed my own heart rather than the mouths of other people, or at least the words they etch onto little trophies.

In honor of my not-so-secret birthday, let's discuss what careers we envisioned for ourselves as kids. Did you have just one idea that all your dreams were made of, or was your future more of a moving target?

I was one of the latter - each year I had a new profession that I was gonna be when I grew up. Here's my list; note that my "years" are based on school years not calendar years, as my memories are inevitably tied to what grade I was in at the time, not how old I was.

Pre-school - garbage man
I was in awe of the garbage trucks and how they could "gruff" the trash in the compactor!

Kindergarten - ornithologist
My favorite book was the Field Guide to Birds of North America and I loved to watch hawks and vultures soaring above.

1st grade - construction worker
I wanted to operate a lime green front-end loader because I loved giant construction machines.

2nd grade - center fielder for the Detroit Tigers and wide receiver for the Cincinnati Bengals
The hometown Tigers had just won the World Series and the Bengals had cool helmets; apparently I was going to be Bo Jackson!

3rd grade - paleontologist
I was going to dig up fossils to study prehistoric mammals; my favorite was Andrewsarchus for obvious reasons. :)

4th grade - zoologist
I wanted to study large mammalian predators such as wolves, bears, and big cats

5th grade - marine biologist
In particular I wanted to study marine mammals, especially orcas and dolphins.

6th grade - fiction writer
Reading countless Newberry Medal books got me thinking that I could write cool stories, too.

7th grade - forest ranger
I loved trees, especially redwoods and sequoias. A family trip to Yellowstone National Park inspired this one.

8th grade - canine and/or dolphin behaviorist
My plan was to understand dog/dolphin communication and ultimately learn to speak their language.

9th grade - astronaut
My dream was to take part in the first mission to walk on Mars.

10th grade - architect
I read a book about Frank Lloyd Wright and loved the concept of blending form with function.

11th grade - aerospace engineer
I loved airplanes and flying; plus, it sounded impressive when written on a college application.

12th grade - helicopter pilot
I had started taking flying lessons and preferred "low and slow" rather than "high and fast" flying.

How did I choose? With my eyesight too poor to become a pilot, I stuck to the most recent available career and became an aerospace engineer; besides, I kinda felt locked in by virtue of my choice of college major. In college I did revisit the pilot idea with the Marines when I found out they offered waivers for imperfect eyesight; however, my vision was way too nearsighted for a waiver and I didn't want to be a back-seater.

I might have considered careers in athletics had I thought that was an option; however, from an early age my mom instilled that such careers were dead-ends and sports were just games. Now that I realize how possible it is to have meaningful careers in athletics, perhaps my interests there would've received more serious attention.

Ironically (or perhaps predictably) I'm presently none of the professions listed above; I still call myself an aerospace engineer but in truth I work as a computer systems engineer for a company that puts their products on aircraft. In retrospect I probably would've preferred a career in the natural sciences because as cool as technology is, it's never more fascinating than nature.

It seems most of my major hobbies had a big event recently:

Saturday - spent about 10 hours volunteering at the Pet Expo
Saturday - conducted my Mach League player draft 8pm-10pm
Sunday - went running TWICE for an hour each run
Sunday - fetched the dogs at the river before the Pet Expo
Sunday - between runs, volunteered about 5 hours at the Pet Expo
Monday - went to the softball managers' meeting after work, got home around 9:30pm

So there you have significant events for my hobbies of dogs, running, dog rescue, baseball, and co-ed softball. To top it all off, I'm a tad under the weather. This probably explains why my second Sunday run was so painful - my body was diverting its resources to my immune system, not to my "running" system.

I debated whether I should run today or take the day off, but since Amanda was feeling tired and sore and still went for her workout today, I figured I should get my work in, too.

It was very warm - 78 degrees - when Haven and I set foot (and paw) on the road, heading for the trailhead. Just before the trailhead we passed a couple kids playing with an unleashed dog in their driveway. Upon spotting us the dog - a border collie mix - started to follow us. She was very shy and Haven kept trying to chase her away, but this dog wouldn't go away. She had very bright blue eyes so I called her Blue Eyes. I suppose I could've been more creative but sometimes my mind turns off when I run!

Anyway, Blue Eyes followed us into the woods for about a 1/4 mile on the trail, so I decided I better bring her back to the kids. I walk up the driveway and ask the kids if this is their dog. They tell me no, that this dog came from down the road somewhere. Great. I checked for tags. Blue Eyes had a collar, but no tags. At least she was pretty submissive to both me and Haven and kept trying to play with Haven, so she was a friendly dog.

My next plan was to get her tired. One time a german shepherd followed Haven and I on a run and we got him pretty tired before his owner drove up to get him. We ran back into the woods and Blue Eyes followed; of course, border collies were meant to run. I exited the trail further up the road and decided to head back towards where the kids said she came, hoping to find an owner. Once on the road Blue Eyes took off, obviously familiar with her location and hopefully heading home. When she wasn't looking I unleashed Haven, pointed at the trail and said quietly but urgently "Let's go let's go let's go!!!" and Haven bolted down the trail with me in hot pursuit. I figured if Blue Eyes tried to follow us, she'd be less inclined the more distance we put between her and us.

It worked! No sign of Blue Eyes. Haven and I finished our work on the trails and headed for the river where we planned to meet Amanda and Beacon playing fetch. I could hear Beacon's eager screams half a mile away! Partly because of the strong NW wind that was bringing a cold front our way. Just before we saw Amanda and Beacon the skies opened up with big fat drops of rain!

We continued fetching with the dogs even as the pouring rain turned the surface of the river into what looked like a giant lemon zester! Despite the decreasing temperature and increasing mud and thunder we kept throwing sticks and the dogs kept fetching them. What a blast! We were soaked when we finally headed back to the car; when we got 100 yards away the rain simply stopped and within seconds the sun was out. Perfect timing!

After spending all Saturday morning and afternoon at the Pet Expo, my day wasn't done yet. At 8pm was the annual player draft for my baseball league!

Ever since 1993 I've been part of a fantasy simulation baseball league. This isn't a rotisserie league; this is a keeper league that updates player stats every month and plays actual games using simulation software: the amazingly accurate and realistic Diamond Mind Baseball. Each week of the regular season we play six games for a total of 144 for each of the eight teams in the league. We use American League players only.

Mach League Baseball is our league; the name is an abbreviation of Machiavellian League Baseball, reflective of the ruthless tactics we used to use back in our high school and college days, exploiting every loophole and forming ad-hoc coalitions, etc. We've always had fun, but we're more laid back now. Since 2001 I've been the League President, which basically means I'm the one updating stats, playing the games, and most recently, organizing the player draft.

Each roster has 30 players, but in the off-season we can keep only 18 and thus have a 12-round player draft towards the end of Major League spring training. Back in the early years seven of the eight GMs (team General Managers, i.e. the league members) lived in Ann Arbor so we'd all get together and conduct a draft in person. It was great fun but soon we were off to college and scattered about.

Luckily the internet took hold around the same time and we began conducting our draft online using chat rooms. It was a great way to get people together but technical difficulties would bite us every year. This year we tried something new: a free telephone conference service and it worked like a charm!

It was strange to hear everyone's voice; many of my fellow GMs I haven't talked to in years despite keeping in frequent email contact. I was lucky to meet up with a couple of them over the winter holidays. In fact, a few of the GMs in our league I've never met in person before! We're not a public league and everyone who's been part has been a friends or family of someone already in the league; my high school friend Shane was one of the co-founders in 1990.

So there we were, all talking on the phone together and struggling to quickly learn how to recognize everyone's voice! It was a great time and you bet we'll be doing that again next year. Thinking about it, it blows my mind that I've been in this league going on 15 years now! We've seen many Major League careers come and go; I've watched as the rookies who used to be years older than me are now years younger!

We love baseball, we're great fans, but we're not obsessed. You can tell when a GM is having a busy few years of life when their team begins to tank; they just can't keep up with baseball news to make informed decisions. Even though we make sure baseball doesn't get in the way of real life, many of us have been in the league for several years and managed to keep it up. I sincerely hope that our current crop of eight GMs will be able to remain in place for years to come because they are all great folks and even if we can only talk once a year, it's worth it.

Woo hoo! I'm done with PT! I had my last appointment today and they declared me well enough recovered that I don't have to go back. Actually it was rather fun to go there but it's also expensive at $25 a visit.

My abs/rib injury has been healing nicely. While not 100%, I'm able to do most anything I want without problems. My shoulder is actually progressing more slowly but still making progress. It's not quite strong enough to do "step-ups" (in a push-up stance, walk my hands up and down a stairstep) - I can do it, but it causes pain in the front of my shoulder. I'll have to keep working on that.

The coolest part of PT today was when the PT handed me a baseball and a mitt and said "Let's go see how well you can throw!" Yes! He grabbed a catchers' mitt and we went out into a wide hallway at the fitness club to play catch. Bringing my elbow back and up caused a slight click in my shoulder, but the actual throw posed no trouble. That's good, because softball practice will start next week!

I went to my PT appointment this morning and if it weren't for the fact that I'm there due to an injury, I'd love to go more often! Seriously, it felt like I went to a museum or something - it was a lot of fun and I learned a lot. They even had all kinds of sports items - posters, pennants, even mock lockers for Steve Yzerman, Derek Jeter and Mia Hamm! My exam room had an autographed Jeter photo, photos of Tony Clark and Alan Trammell in action, and a "timeline of baseball history" poster. Awesome!

FYI, I have two injuries - a bad right shoulder that's been bothering me for a few years, and also a strained rib cage that I hurt six weeks ago. This PT appointment addressed the shoulder; there's not much that can be done for the rib cage aside from rest.

The therapist started by asking a ton of questions, then started prodding me all over on my back. She did mention that my back appears to be unaffected from my rib cage strain, so that's good. Then she hits my right shoulder and says "Whoa, there's quite a knot back there!" That was news to me; I'd never noticed anything like that. Next I had to move my arms around in various directions with the palm of my hand facing one way, then another, etc. Some of those motions caused a clicking sound in my shoulder, which I expected - it happens quite frequently. The last step in her diagnosis was for me to push against her hand with my arms in various orientations, e.g. push outwards one way, push down another way, push up yet another way, etc. One such configuration resulting in my arm shaking as I pushed up with very little force, although I didn't feel any pain.

At last, a diagnosis. We walked over to a wall chart depicting all of the muscle groups and she pointed out one in particular - the infraspinatus. That's the one that was all knotted up. She concluded that I don't have any tearing or significant damage to the muscle - sweet! The problem is that the muscle is quite inflamed, especially around that knot and especially where it connects to my upper arm bone (the humerus), which is where I can actually feel some pain if I push on that area.

The problem is that the inflamed muscle doesn't behave properly - when flexing the inflammation apparently weakens it and disrupts some of the nerves trying to control it. See how many muscles connect to the shoulder? It's a complex joint, so when one is out of whack and the shoulder moves, certain motions can be rather uncoordinated and cause the clicks that I sometimes feel.

The solution? Ultrasound! Seriously, the therapist wheeled an ultrasound machine into the room, set the timer to eight minutes, and proceed to rub the wand around on the back of my shoulder. She explained that the ultrasound warms up and relaxes the tissue. It worked! After the eight minutes she confirmed that the knot in my shoulder was gone. Wow.

Next I had to sit in a chair parallel to a table and rest my right elbow on the table next to me with my hand raised as if I were doing a casual wave. She then pressed her fingertips into that infraspinatus muscle and leaned into it so hard that she nearly pushed me out of my chair! While she's doing that, she asks me to raise and lower my hand a dozen times... dang did that hurt! Not sharp pain, but rather it felt like my shoulder was full of lactic acid. After I'd completed the dozen reps my hand was all tingly and pale white - it felt really weird. And I was done!

I'm scheduled to go back next week, and then 2-3 times per week after that for 3-4 weeks. I don't know exactly what they're going to do, but I assuming something similar to today. I was also given a few simple exercises to do daily. Amazingly, the entire day my shoulder has felt all limber! I guess I never realized such tightness had formed but boy that ultrasound must've done something. I still get the clicking, so I need to build that muscle back up to strength before that will go away.

How did this injury happen, anyway? Well, I used to be a fairly serious tennis player back in high school - the strongest aspects to my game were my uncanny quickness (rarely is the tallest guy on the team also the quickest, but somehow I did it) and my booming serve. I loved serving and practiced it often, even throughout college as a way to burn some energy. I also played rec softball in college. Needless to say, my right shoulder must've been pretty well developed.

Then I stopped. For several years I played neither tennis nor softball, then a couple years ago I started playing softball again. My mind remembered how to throw a ball hard, but my muscles didn't and over time my now under-developed shoulder muscles couldn't keep up with the expectations I was putting on them, and one became inflamed. Hopefully after all of this PT has run its course my arm will be strong enough again to hurl a softball a couple hundred feet again, without injury!

Wednesday evening was hot and humid for our weekly softball game. I captain one of the two co-ed rec teams at my company and this we played our arch rivals, a team with which we had split our two season meetings. The game was sluggish as neither offense could really get going in the calm heat of the evening - everyone seemed almost sleepy!

In the top of the 7th (and final) inning we were down by a run. We managed to get runners on 2nd and 3rd; with two outs and two strikes, our pitcher hit a soft liner that landed right on the chalk of the left field line - fair ball! Two runs scored, and then we fielded a scoreless bottom half of the inning to get a one-run victory.

Sound familar? Perhaps you watched the MLB All-Star game this week - the exact same scenario took place! The AL was down by a run in the top of the 9th with runners on 2nd and 3rd; with two outs and two strikes the batter hit a 2-RBI triple. Pretty cool.

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The next day I convinced Amanda to join me and the dogs on a run. There's an old scout camp nearby with river access and lots of trails. I drove 1.5 miles to the entrance where I stashed the car, then jogged along the trails and exited out the "back door" of the camp which is just half a mile from home.

I made this run a very tough one along 2.5 miles of sand and dirt. The dirt part was OK because it was usually shaded by the forest, but the sandy sections of trail were exposed in a power line right-of-way. The sun had baked the sand all day long and now the sand was radiating that heat back onto me as I charged up the steep hills. Boy did I get hot!

I ran back home where Amanda was waiting for me with the dogs, all leashed up and ready to go. Haven ran with me while Beacon had sled-dog duties with Amanda, pulling her up the first hill. Once on the trail and away from the road, we let the dogs off leash and followed behind them. Amanda wanted to walk but I kept pushing her to jog, saying things like "Run the downhills; the gravity is free energy!" and "It's just short uphill; blast up to the top and it'll be over sooner!" She bravely trusted my coaching and ran much of the ~2 miles to the river.

By the time we reached the river, Haven and Beacon were "dog" tired and very hot. They waded in the cool water and even tried to lie down in the shallows, so we all just stood there and recovered some energy. Soon the deer flies found us so onward we hiked up a very large and steep hill. Another half mile of running/walking brought us to the car with a very welcome air conditioner! We drove home with the A/C at full blast and a car full of twelve sore, worn-out legs!