The Yankees made me do it

My life and relations are interwoven in the pinstripes of New York Yankee baseball. While growing up in the Big Apple, the Bronx Bombers and me were practically neighbors. (The House that Ruth Built was only an hour subway ride away). 

Many of my fondest childhood memories revolved around the northern borough’s Boys of Summer. 

My personal highlight films are:

Sneaking a transistor radio under my pillow to listen to WPIX  and Phil (Holy Cow!) Rizzuto, when I should have been sleeping.

Talking Sid Sambur into taking me to Yankee Stadium, even though my European born father didn’t understand the game. It was an afternoon of Baseball 101, and a rare Sid and Jeffy bonding session. 

1961’s famous Home Run derby featuring the “M&M Boys,” Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris. 

Seeing the aging and gimpy Mickey Mantle steal second base (Live!)

Somehow preserving through The Dark Ages of Yankee Baseball 1965-1976. Those were our summers of discontent. The stadium was so empty I remember sharing a joint in the bleachers with a few Black Brothers from the ‘hood. Afterwards, we watched the rest of the game with illegal smiles. 

Drinking my first-ever beer. It was a Schaefer, “ the one beer to have when you’re having more than one.” It was love at first sip.

I moved West in 1978, but my baseball allegiance still resided in the stands of Yankee Stadium.

Now, the Yankees are a common playing field for me, my family and a few friends. 

With my youngest nephew Justin, I’ll bring him up to date on the standings, who’s hot and who’s not and some questionable management calls. Doctor (of Chemistry) Justin is a busy guy. He manipulates sub-atomic particles, writes scientific papers, has a family life and teaches at Colorado State University. He’s well known in his field. Doctor J scores invites to science conferences all over the World. I’m proud to be his Uncle. I’m OK with providing him a short ESPN Yankee synopsis over an IPA.

Older nephew Keith is a high-end bankruptcy lawyer. He lives a frenetic life balancing work, family, Boulder to Denver commutes and a dog walking gig. He’s also my CFO keeping my vast financial empire afloat while I’m gallivanting around the globe. Despite wearing all these hats, he stays up on top of what’s happening with America’s Team. Keith will be aware of the latest trade rumors, rookies coming up from the minors and can name the current roster. His memory astounds me.

My brother/hero/mentor Mike and I are content to just chill in front of the tube while taking in a game. (Although he surprised me by securing tickets for Mariano Rivera’s farewell game at Yankee Stadium in 2013.) We’ll sit on the couch. He’ll sip vodka tonics, while I nurse a bottle of IPA. We’ll talk baseball, family, shared memories, travel stories and politics. My sister-in-law Robin will join us when the game is getting interesting. She knows when that’s happening. Mike and I both shut up to focus in on the action. 

It’s safe at second to say, being a Yankee fan is a Sambur family tradition.

So... when Keith informed me in the Fall of 2018, that the Yankees would be playing the Boston Red Sox in London in June of 2019, I said “I’m in!” 

I was hoping he’d say, “Me too!” But that didn’t happen. He’s a busy guy.

However, three others were crazy enough to travel overseas to witness the New World’s Major League Baseball debut in Old World UK. 

Big Al hates the Yankees but Is a true baseball fan. He’ll even keep score while taking in a game. His wife Jean (a 40 year friend of mine) likes to travel and observe how others go about life’s daily routines. She enjoyed sampling English Ales and British cuisine too. Samatha is a long time Yankee/baseball fan as well. In Colorado, we caught many Rockies games with our mutual buddy Joe. 

    

It was a wild weekend of baseball. The Yankees prevailed 17-14 in Saturday’s marathon session. On Sunday, the Bronx Boys must have been a bit beat. After spotting the Sox four runs in the 1st inning, the Yankee bats went nuclear for nine runs in the 8th. Final score 12-8.  A SWEEP! Clearly these matches weren’t pitching duels.

The MLB deemed the weekend a success. Next year the Chicago Cubs and the Saint Louis Cardinals will travel to London for a two game series.

Will I attend? 

Nope! Why would I go through all that hassle and expense to get to the U.K. if the Yankees aren’t playing?

Let’s Go Yankees! 

From the start point of Hadrians Wall,

Cheerio!

Jeff

A Tale of Three Traditional...

B&Bs.

Warning: This is a story of woe, sadness, hunger, cluelessness and worse,  a night without beer. It’s a story that needs to be told. If just one person learns from my multiple mistakes, I feel my mission in writing this is complete.

When I decided two months ago to walk the Cotswolds Way, I had neither the knowledge or the patience to deal with the logistics of negotiating 103 miles of U.K. countryside. I bought into a shuttle service who would move my backpack between accommodations along the Way. The accommodations were recommended by the shuttle service. Easy right?

After I paid Company X, my itinerary promptly arrived. Just as promptly, I forgot about it until I had to deal with it. That’s how I roll.

I bought a map, at least.

When I got to the start at Chipping Camden, I reckoned maybe I should look at where I’m going and where I’m staying. Hmmm. Of the nine evenings, I’d be staying in pubs five nights. (British pubs are one stop shopping. They provide accommodations, meals, beers and an English (Yawn!) breakfast in the morning). I’m good with that. The other four nights were to be traditional B&Bs. From past experiences I knew these weren’t “my cup of tea.” 

After eating, drinking and sleeping in a pub in Chipping Camden, I set off for Traditional B&B # One. In about four hours I arrived and knocked on the door. No answer. The door was ajar so I entered, “Hello! Hello!” No one was home. On a desk I noticed a note bearing my name. In a proper and polite way, I was informed I’d be sleeping in the attic. The worst guest room in the house. I know I looked. It was then, that I gazed around. I was in a house of horse-themed hoarders. There were paintings, photos, thirty year old magazines and porcelain statues of beasts of burdens. Where their wasn’t  equine stuff, there was clutter. There were no clean lines. Oh well, at least the town had a pub. 

It was closed.

When the homeowners arrived, I thought surely they would offer me a sandwich knowing the local pub was shuttered. They didn’t offer and I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to NAG them. 

That was my sum total of interaction with the owners. My dinner that night was two Clif bars and water. The bed was lumpy too.

I rated this stay “I” for Inhospitable. The best thing about the sleepover was leaving.

B&B # Two was nestled in several paddocks. The closest pub was three miles away. My digs were a newish Mother-in-law bungalow which was detached from the family home. It was bright and clean. It was a do-it-yourself B&B where all my food needs were already there. That is if you like a dinner of frozen pizza or a deli chicken sandwich. Well, at least there were two beers in the refrigerator. 

It was a long night. 

B&B # Three was in a town which had the feel of a suburb. For U.K. standards the town was spanking new. The B&B was somewhat hidden from the street. Inside there were two handymen doing odd jobs but no owner. (Apparently they weren’t there to clean up the mess though). When I asked them of his whereabouts their answer, “He’s at the pub.” It was 1:45 pm. The owner wasn’t there to eat. 

In the morning, the English (Yawn) Breakfast was as hungover as the cook. The egg was served runny with just a hint of salmonella. For this I paid £85 in cash. I rated this B&B “I” for intoxicated. 

I was supposed to have another joyful, charming (yeah right!) sleepover in one more remote B&B. I thought to myself, “Self! No freaking way.” I secured a room in a pub in the lovely town of Wotton-under-Edge. I ended up paying for both places for that one night’s stay. I wasn’t happy about this, but I wasn’t happy sharing too much space with B&B owners either.

So here’s my point. Do your homework. If you don’t want to feel like you are “couch surfing” with strangers and paying them for the displeasure, stay in Pubs. You will even score your own room key!

My job here is now done.

Cheers

Jeff

A Trail of Trespassing...

A few days ago, I began walking the United Kingdom’s 103 mile Cotswold Way. It didn’t take long for me to realize this hike was different than the ones I’ve experienced in the US. 

First off, there’s lots of ambling through paddocks. When you enter a paddock, a gate must be unlocked and then relocked. Between the paddocks, there’s woodlots enclosed in fences with more gates too negotiate. Grazing sheep, horses and chewing-the-cud cows abound. The farm animals live there full time I suppose.

Then the light came on. I’m mostly walking through private property. I’m trespassing and no one is threatening me or brandishing a weapon in my face. In fact, an owner of an estate (there’s lots of estates in the U.K.), gave me directions when he discovered me walking down his private driveway. He went on to say, “It’s a shame you don’t have a compass. You could walk through my land and be there sooner.” Simply amazing. He was encouraging me to trespass! 

I started thinking about this. (This is what happens when your accommodations aren’t near pubs and you have too much time to ponder.) So...I went to the source of all knowledge. I Googled stuff. 

The U.K. has 67 million people who speak a version of English. The U.K is a wee dram smaller than the state of Michigan. So here’s some comparison shopping. In the U.K. 8.5%  of the land is publicly owned. In fact, one percent of the population owns 50% of the cloudy and rainy land mass. On the other side of the Atlantic, Michigan has 10 million residents and 28% of the land is open to all.

Apparently, private land owners in the U.K. are willing to share their space with the masses. There’s even a name for this, (dare I say it?) socialistic idea. The trails are called “permissive pathways.” Definition from my AZ Adventure Cotswold Way map: “Footpaths which landowners have permitted public use but which are not right of ways. The agreement may be withdrawn.” In other words, if the walker, mountain bikers and equestrians play nice, they are allowed continued access through the private land. So far, I’d say the public is doing a fine job of stewardship. I’ve seen plenty of mud and sheep poop, but no litter. 

Somehow this cooperative notion got scuttled when those Europeans migrated to the New World. To sum it up, I’d be likelier to order a Bud Light in a brewpub than knowingly trespass in the US. Trust me, I’m not doing either. 

US laws heavily favor the sanctity of house and home and property. IE Fifth Amendment and the  “Stand-Your-Ground” law. A perceived threat (like trespassing) might be a fast way to end a pleasant hike. (I have a great aversion to suddenly contracting lead poisoning.) Hell! There’s White Males openly carrying sidearms in the Larimer County Parks of Colorado. (That’s a No-No BTW. The Dudes were intimidating without the weapons, I wasn’t going to chastise them.) If these sorts are armed on Public Land, they must wield a bazooka while at home. I’m guessing there are more “No Trespassing” and “This property protected by Smith and Wesson” signs than  Stop” signs in the US. 

And THAT’S why we need to save every acre of Public Lands in the US. People who wander (like me) would end up on the wrong side of a gun way too often. 

We need Public Lands for the simple reason, that Americans don’t play as nice as British Citizens. 

Think about it.

For further reading: 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2018/04/the-fort-collins-syndrome.html

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2017/04/utah-national-monument-status-isnt.html

Cheers from Kings Stanley, UK