Craig Tyson Adams

  OVERHEAD OPTICS? Or innocuous floating flimflammery There I was, standing on the beach in San Clemente , thinking that if the Earth was indeed flat, I’d be able to see Japan, when a binoculars-wearing local tourist exclaimed with an expletive that something aloft was amiss. Turning to decipher what he was declaring, “Balloon! It’s one of those #!&$% balloons that steals what’s ours only! With all we spend on the government, you’d think they could do something about them!” As I squinted into the vast wide open wild blue yonder, I couldn’t see anything. After letting the aforementioned sky sentry know my eyes were lacking the wherewithal to make out any strange, out of the ordinary shapes, spherical or otherwise, he let me know his opinion by questioning my ability to see. “Here, take these things,” he said, handing me the binoculars. “Now look up over there about where my finger is.” I took the field glasses and looked in the direction he was pointing. After a moment of visual adj

  Or how the FBI helped clean the house There I was, standing in my front yard, minding my own business and wondering what the neighbors were up to. When suddenly a black sedan followed by a phalanx of black SUVs squealed around the corner and pulled up in front of residences on my block and stopped. The doors of the darkly colored caravan flung open and various aviator sunglasses wearing authority looking types disembarked and gathered in a group in the middle of the street. Like a team, they huddled as they gathered instructions on how to proceed in the pre-planned and rehearsed maneuvers that were, from the looks of things, to begin imminently. Once they broke, they fanned out over the neighborhood, scooting up walkways, trampling flower beds and divoting lawns. The concerted knocking on doors and ringing of doorbells began in what sounded like a cacophony of chaotic symphonic hullabaloo. Bewildered denizens answered some doors and well-dressed fanatics forcibly opened others zealo

  HOW TO BEST MANEUVER A HOOVER When a clean room looms When it comes right down to it, the instrument of debris consumption has never improved. Oh sure, a cyclone of suction that draws the material particulates into a canister has replaced the bags of yore. No longer does the operator of the machine for floor-sweeping have to deal with the potential of explosive dusty mayhem when removing the itchy eyeball producing pouch of corralled crud. A plume of various wastrel detritus would erupt into the face of the vacuum user and the surrounding local areas. The effect would render the face of the bag extractor to be covered in airborne sandy lint. Previously pleasant facial features were now reduced to scowling, frowning, and evermore increasing creases. It might even elicit a cough or sneeze or two. It was with this in mind that I began thinking of the one time, the tale of a supernatural traveling Hoover sales agent. A legend that was born amongst the smoking area cognoscenti elite of my

  He’d call it before you saw it Tim McCarver was a baseball savant. Whether you liked the way he called a game, or didn’t, he knew his shit. There was no better proof than what happened during the 2001 World Series. McCarver’s analysis when he described what might happen actually did seconds later. Tim McCarver was a baseball lifer. He had seen everything that could happen on a diamond. McCarver was the catcher on the Stl Cardinals when Bob Gibson had his best years. Gibson arguably had the best season a pitcher could have in 1967. 22 wins and a 1.12 ERA with 268 strikeouts. He won the NL Cy Young award for best pitcher and the NL MVP. Pitchers rarely win both. Tim McCarver was his personal catcher, calling all the pitches. McCarver caught Gibson’s Game One start of the 1968 World Series when Bullet Bob struck out 17 on the way to a victory. McCarver had a way with pitchers that had a mean streak. Gibson was as mercurial as a bad tempered thoroughbred horse. He also knew Steve Carlton

An oval novelty The old Roman Colosseum had chariot races and now this newer coliseum will have our version. The Los Angeles Coliseum has been around for almost one hundred years. They have staged many events there. Spectacles of all sorts, including the spectators making spectacles of themselves spectacularly. The Rams once were primary residents. The Raiders planted their flag on its field. Their fans have rumbled there. USC football calls it home. There have been 2 Olympics put on. The Los Angeles Dodgers called it home before they built their stadium in Chavez Ravine. It has hosted concerts and events of all types over the years. But the idea of stock cars roaring around a small oval track is a real head scratcher. How fast are they going to go? Faster than on the 405, that’s for sure, but for racing fans, it might seem like a lazy Sunday drive with the family. Bootleggers found NASCAR after prohibition. Junior Johnson tearing up the woods of Carolina, this ain’t. It’ll be like war