The Tribe Hangs In There

I’m trying not to get my hopes up about the Tribe, but they’re making that difficult.

The Tribe played well at the beginning of the year, then hit the skids big time.  They lost a bunch of games and plummeted in the standings, and I thought the season was probably over.  But somehow, some way, they pulled it together and scraped out some stunning, last-minute wins.  Today Justin Masterson pitched a beautiful game, shutting out the White Sox 4-0.  With the win the Indians completed a four-game sweep of the Sox, in Chicago, and moved into a tie with Detroit for first place.

I don’t know how the Tribe is doing it — I really don’t.  They don’t have a star-studded lineup filled with potent hitters, and lately their bullpen has really struggled.  They’ve gotten pounded by the stud teams in the American League.  But these guys find a way to beat the bad teams, and so far that’s been good enough.  The fact that Detroit has fallen on hard times hasn’t hurt, either.

I’m still not expecting a lot from the Tribe this year — I’m really not.  But now we’re moving into July, the Indians have shown some admirable fortitude, and baseball remains worth watching for Cleveland fans.  Not bad!

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Presumed Familiarity, Feigned Interest

One other point about the wedding we attended on Friday:  weddings are an interesting opportunity to observe basic human social interactions.

Consider wedding reception tables, for example.  If you’re a member of the family you might be seated with other family members, or if you’re an old college chum you might be noshing with dormitory buddies.  If you’re just a random friend, however, you’re likely to be assigned to a table where most of the seats are filled by complete strangers.  That’s what we got on Friday.

It’s interesting how quickly you reach conclusions about people under those circumstances.  The woman seated to my right — whom I’d never met before — swept in, introduced herself as an old friend of the family, and then promptly launched into a long, inane story about her son, whom none of us knew, and his living arrangements in New York City which included some kind of terrible bathroom.  The story was apparently pointless, aside from the fact that it gave this woman something to talk about.  After five minutes or so, when she paused for a breath and then started to move into a story about her son’s roommate from Texas — an unknown person even farther removed from our realities — someone stepped in to end the woman’s tedious monopolization of conversation at the table.

As the interminable apartment bathroom story was underway, the other people at the table feigned polite interest in the meandering tale but exchanged some meaningful glances.  I’d guess that most of us immediately concluded that the woman was hopelessly self-absorbed and unwilling to engage in the normal social niceties — which require that you at least ask strangers some questions about their lives before you bore the pants off of them with a tale as long as Beowulf.

After that gruesome introduction, I shifted my attention to the left and tried to avoid any head turns to the right, lest the woman pull out her cell phone and begin to inflict a show of photos of her family, friends, and pets and tedious anecdotes about the latest family vacation.