Craig Tyson Adams

  George Brett had a helluva stroke and then almost had one Gather around, young ones. I’m about to tell you about how  Major League Baseball  Hall-of-Famer Billy Martin turned fellow Hall-of-Famer George Brett into a human volcano. Which is quite the turnaround because Billy Martin was famous for his eruptions. Brett’s team, the Kansas City Royals were playing the Martin-managed New York Yankees that day. The backstory is that both teams hated each other, in a sporting sense. It wasn’t hatred like the Hatfields and the McCoys or the Montagues and the Capulets. That’s a whole other story. The teams in the late ’70s and ’80s were perennial playoff opponents. They often met in the American League Championship Series for the right to advance to the fall classic. The World Series. The Yankees, of course, dominated the Royals. They’d brush past them like the Royals were the weak peasant pretenders to the throne. The Royals were a folly standing in the way of the Yankees’ rightful royalty. T

  There is nothing hot about the hottest of hotels. From the polished brass and marble floors in the ones that shouldn’t cost as much as they do, to the ones where the desk clerk is ensconced behind bulletproof glass and the lobby air is circulated by a 30-year-old fan that looks like it hasn’t been dusted for 35. The type of people that check in to each aren’t separated by much more than what country made their clothing and accessories. If there is any difference between ultimately shoddy couture made in Pakistan or Vietnam, the differences are non-excitant.  Labels are the only difference between someone that has an American Express black card and someone that pays in wadded up cash and donated loose change. Do you think security is a factor? Let me ask you this. Which would you rather have in charge in case there is a decision to be made if there is a life and death situation? A passive, well-dressed dandy that is trained to hit a button summoning police that could take precious mi

My feet are cold. I tried to pull them back under the covers. But, no matter how much I try, I can’t get them covered. This is weird. The sun is up and glaring through the windows, so I throw the sheets back and twist myself to put my feet on the floor. As my eyes adjust, my knees are eye level. “What the hell is going on?” I stand up and look down. The bed looks like a postage stamp. My dog usually gets up at the same time. He’s awake, but instead of smiling and wagging his tail, he cocked his ears up and he’s looking at me sideways like the RCA dog. Still disoriented, I head to the bathroom and forget to duck until the last second. Did the house shrink? I enter the bathroom and look in the mirror. “Holy shit! I’m Kevin Durant !” I stand up straight to look at myself in the mirror. I’m so tall all I can see is my torso. I put my arms out and flex and realize I am now an adonis! Cool! What to do? Imagining the possibilities is sensory overload. First things first. I have to find someth

Mike Davis took ball four from Dennis Eckersley and made his way to first. Eck got the first two batters out easily. Walking Davis was an uncharacteristic move, but they were teammates the year before with the Athletics and Davis had a good year with 24 home runs. Tony La Russa, the manager of the A’s, decided whoever the Los Angeles Dodgers had on the bench was less dangerous. I was in the cheap seats. The upper of the upper deck on the third base side. We jammed the place. We were all standing side by side, shoulder to shoulder. It seemed like we were all breathing together synchronistically. When Davis walked, we all knew he was the potential tying run and we simultaneously let out a roar. Now the question was, who was going to pinch hit? Mike Davis had pinch hit for the light hitting shortstop, Alfredo Griffin, in the 8th hole. The pitcher’s number 9 slot in the batting order was due next. Kirk Gibson was the Dodgers’ most valuable player in 1988. He had come over to the club that

Just when you think you've found a suitable restaurant, antisocial hospitality reveals itself. We went out to a restaurant recently. It’s momentous for us because, usually, it all turns out to be a disappointment. The food is usually lacking. It’s too salty or too dry. It’s overcooked to the point of being burnt or undercooked, to the point of being almost raw.  Sometimes, I like raw food. Sashimi is good. Steak Tartare, although it sounds wrong, is also a treat. But not if I bite into a chicken and it’s pink. That’s just not right. Steak can be pink and be perfect. Not chicken or pork.  The point to all of this is that going out to eat is always a gamble. When it has nothing to do with the food, it’s the presentation. And when I say presentation, I am talking about not only the look of the plate when it’s served, but the people that make up the restaurant staff.  Servers and waitresses have a demanding job. It’s way more difficult than it should be. Working with the public can b

Son, meet baseball . My old friend.  I was thinking back to the favorite sports conversation we had a few days ago, and I thought that spelling out my love for baseball would help you understand more than just telling it. When I was 8 years old, my grandfather called me into the house where he was watching a game. He sat me down and said, ‘I want you to watch this next hitter. His name is Willie Mays. He’s the greatest player I ever saw. I want you to tell your children that you saw him play.’ That was the beginning of my romance with baseball.  Baseball is unlike other sports for my generation because baseball is truly generational. My father took me to my first baseball game, just like his father took him.  I had the pleasure of attending a game with them both, which gave us a commonality, something of a reference that led to bonding unlike anything else. It was a shared experience that we could relate to.  I played baseball with my friends. The game would take place in an abandoned

A hospital orderly with a wheelchair arrives with the nurse. “Okay Sarah, we’re ready.”  Mike asked the nurse, “Is it okay if I go in with her?”  The hospital orderly gives the nurse a quick look.  “Getting stitches is a minor procedure that may take a little longer than you think. You mentioned something about food a little while ago and you could go now if you like."  “I will be fine. Have something to eat and I will text you when its over.” Sarah said. Mike leans over and gives Sarah a peck on the forehead.  “Okay. Please text me. I’ll see you when you get back.”  They took Sarah out of the room. Mike walks to the exit and heads out of the hospital.  As he walks through the waiting room, his eye catches a young girl.  She’s around 9 to 10 years old. Her face is white, and she has dark bags under her eyes.   “She looks haunted,” Mike said to himself.  Mike exits the hospital. He looks across the street and sees the 24-hour diner that the nurse recommended. Mike jaywalks and dash