Walleye for dinner!

Anyone reading this blog knows fishing has not come easy for me. I've spent an awful lot of time staring at a line going into the water, but nothing ever coming out. So it was very nice tonight to sit down to a dinner of walleye, allegedly caught by me while ice fishing. I say allegedly, because my young fishing companion Zach picked the spot, the bait and practically held my hand. That's OK, I'll take it! The result was the very respectable 19-inch walleye you see above. At least I can take full credit for the cooking and eating you see below.

A good man laid low

You've probably heard the expression, a "nodding acquaintance." That was my relationship with former Detroit Tigers manager Sparky Anderson. We never went to dinner (although I vaguely remembering wolfing down something he was also wolfing down). We never had a drink together. We certainly never socialized. But we were locked, whether we liked it or not, in the complex ballet that was the relationship between the Detroit Tigers and the Detroit media.

When we would pass each other, we would acknowledge that fact with a nod and smile, although I never kidded myself that I was anything more than a spear carrier to his star.

Detroit struggles with its problems. But it's a great sports town. To be a member of a pro sports team, especially during the good times, is to be under a microscope of powerful magnification. Some handle that attention poorly. Some handle it well. Mr. Anderson seemed to be born to it. Like Madonna, he only needed one name ... Sparky.

I usually covered breaking news and the streets of Detroit. But I was sometimes drafted to grumblingly fill gaps in our sports coverage. So it was my job -- occasionally -- to shadow these sports "giants." Many were fools. Many were flaming assholes. Most were just average guys who made the leap from high school/college fame to "the bigs" and seemed almost bewildered by it all. But there was the occasional character like Sparky that made you believe in some of the myths.

He was kind, gentle, shrewd rather than smart, tough when he needed to be and a living encyclopedia of baseball knowledge. At first I didn't understand why his players and staff damn near worshipped him. But several years of watching him in action up close made me understand. He was the real deal, not a product of hype and marketing.

Now he's facing a terrible adversary. It was made public today that his family has been compelled to put him in a care facility that specializes in dementia. My heart aches for him.

Public figures make enemies. Scholars, artists, athletes, actors, authors, politicians grow a crop of hateful adversaries who will miss few opportunities to point out their shortcomings.

I never heard a bad word from anyone about Sparky Anderson.

Happy 10th Birthday to Me

I just passed a milestone that has generated some pondering and reflection. It was 10 years ago on the Fourth of July that I had the plane crash that could very easily have claimed my life. Fortunately, I ended up with a broken back and a laundry list of other lesser injuries, none of which linger today. The photo above was taken of the wreckage an hour or so after the accident, while I was still busy amusing the emergency room personnel at U-M Hospital.

The NTSB cleared me of any blame in the incident and so the FAA took no disciplinary action, but I'm still persuaded that the crash was essentially my fault. Perhaps that's a subject for another day.

When I reappeared at the airport after some recovery and rehabilitation, Eberhard Geyer, who flew FW 190s in the Luftwaffe on the Eastern Front said, "This is your Extra Birthday." I discounted his words at the time, but I must now admit I'm not the same person I was before that brush with the grim reaper.

Initially I insisted that I hadn't changed a bit, but the accumulating evidence said otherwise. Within five years after the crash EVERYTHING in my life had changed. I now concede that the accident was a turning point.

Perhaps the single biggest change was perspective. There's no doubt that you view life -- the time we have on the planet -- differently after a brush with death. Things that were more important lose some urgency and things that were neglected move to front and center.

The sad part of this metamorphosis was that parts of my life that I had treasured ended or were left behind. The happy part is that new doors seemed to open and new challenges appeared.

My personality changed, too. I listen better now. My monumental ego is kept in a stronger cage. It's less important to me now to be "right" or to "win." And I'd like to believe I'm more sensitive, in the good sense of that word rather than the phony, "New Age" meaning.

When the ledger is examined, I hope there are more things on the positive side and I think I can make that case.

So Happy 10th Birthday to me!