today started out like any other...at noon. most of my days start that way, me having to talk myself into getting up at the crack of 12. I told myself I wouldnt sleep in so late when i was in Germany; i'd wake up early, do a crossword puzzle, read the Times to stay current with the national climate, maybe have a coffee (I've never been a fan of coffee, but then again I wasnt a fan of beer at first and look how that turned out). then I got here and realized that no matter what continent I'm on, i'm still a night owl, why read when i can sleep, and i still dont like coffee. and until this week, its been way too cold to get up before noon. I know some of you are reading this and saying that makes no sense, what bearing does the temperature outside have to do with me getting my ass out of bed. Well here's my story and i'm sticking to it: (then i promise I'll get to why this post is called Full Day's Work.)
Here in Germany, they dont have central heating, no furnace. instead they have individual heating units in every room (i'm pissed i can think of the name of the damn thing right now but basically it heats up water and the hot water runs through these things in each room and that heats up the air.) well theres no need to have these heaters on when you're sleeping because youre wrapped up in your blanket and who cares if its 50-60 degrees when youre sleeping, so we turn them off at night. also with this system there is no real air movement, so the only way to get fresh air in the rooms (to get out the stench of dirty baseball clothes) is to open the windows during the day. Until this week it barely got to 5 degrees celcius. so you can imagine the ground is a bit chilly when you first roll out of bed in the morning. and if you know me at all, you know i despise being cold, so that is why it is too cold to get out of bed until noon.
so back to this full day bit. At noon, when it was finally warm enough to let my feet hit the floor, I remembered that I told Henrik that I'd help him with the roof on his house. I made this promise sunday when i was hammered so i cant imagine he had too high of hopes of me actually coming at 5 am. So i got dressed, jumped on the bike, and pedaled over. 3 minutes later, i was across town at Dallmann Farm just in time to see Henrik pulling out of the barn in his tracker. He told me that they had good weather yesterday so they went ahead and tore the roof off when i was at practice yesterday afternoon. but there was still more work to do inside if i so desired to venture in. There was a bit of a smirk on his face as he said this that almost made me turn around and just ride home, but i stuck to my word that i would help despite my fear that there was some nasty stuff to be done. walking up the stairs I could here hammers and drills and scraping. No, he couldnt possibily want me to...no, i dont remember seeing any when i was here a week ago...no surely not. my feet hitting the last step, I was staring my worst fear in the face...well, shit. I thought i left this behind, I thought i was passed this, I thought i had pulled my last piece. Obviously I thought wrong, hanging there in front of me is what i dreaded the most...wallpaper. But this was not any paper i'd seen before, no, this was different and really it should be called ceilingpaper. and its thicker than normal paper, about 4x as think, and 4x as hard to get off. Dad, I know youre cracking up as your reading this, picturing me holding my 2 inch knife (they didnt have a 6 inch) cussing every motherloving piece that wont come off when i think it should. Luckily our starting 3rd baseman and lead-off man, Johannes, or Hinesy as we call him, had already gotten half the ceiling done and had wet the rest of it down pretty well. I'll spare you the boring details but suffice it to say the rest of the room didnt go as well as the first half. (it never does) in all we spent 5 hours in that room and just got half of the ceiling done and half of one wall. I will say that German construction crews know how to work. at 2:00 today we stopped and had a beer. we had another one at 5:00. its surprising how much faster the day goes after you've had a beer.
I had softball practice today at 7 pm, so i went straight from peeling wallpaper to the field. Today was a good practice, since day lights savings hit here on sunday, we've been able to have half our practices in the light of the sun before having to turn on the field lights. By doing all this coaching and hitting ground balls and flyballs I'm learning that there is a real art to hitting Fungos. Its not as easy as it looks to hit a ball right where you want exactly how you want. I'm gaining a new appreciation for coaches that are able to hit fungos without messing up. Although i will say that im pretty damn good at hitting it straight up to the catcher. The girls wanted me to help them with pitching at the end of practice and its a good thing at least one of them know what they are doing, because i have no idea how to throw like that. I tried secretly after they all left in the privacy of our very well-lit field surrounded by open farm lands. I'm sure being the only tall, bright spot lights on for miles wasnt a beacon calling people to look at the moron flinging a ball against (and sometimes over) a fence in the middle of the night. needless to say I'm no Jenny Finch nor will i ever try to throw like that again.
I think from now on i'll rake and drag the field too. Maybe its the coach in me, but having a perfectly manicured yard is my new goal for the season opener. there wont be any more dragging the rake over the grass, no more nasty lips on the infield, no more weeds growing behind where the 3rd baseman plays. (and will someone please explain to me why that is always the spot where the grass grows. Every field ive ever played on has always had grass grow behind 3rd base. Is it because no one really walks there or what? I'm opening the floor for debate.) You have to take pride in the place you call home, and it all starts with the coach. Practice got over at 8:45 today and i didnt leave until almost 11 because i de-weeding the basepath between 1st and 2nd (that is my first order of duty on the field) Im also want to reshape the circle around home, fill the trench infront of shortstop and the hole at 1st base, and continue to pick up rocks around the infield. This place is going to look like Fenway when i'm done with it.
So despite the fact that i didnt start until noon, I still put in an 11 hour day on my feet. You know, if the work day started at noon everyday, I think i could get a lot more done. I'm pretty worthless before lunch and ive never really liked doing work during the day, I feel like im wasting the sunlight....even if i am in bed all morning. I do my best work from 10pm and 4am anyway. Hey it worked out in college didnt it...
A-Ron
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
detox
lets start from the beginning, thats as a good a place as any, right. Ok so the boring details first, 7pm on friday is practice. the whole week we've been talking about going to the bar after practice, so everyone is talking about how excited they are to go get hammered in the woods at this bar. I'm thinking its a small, hole-in-the-wall place off the road someplace. (I was hugely mistaken, but i'll get to that detail in a minute). after practice we all shower and meet at one of their friend's houses for his birthday/pregame for the bar party. Johst, this is for you buddy, you wanted to know what i was thinking and i told you it'd be in here on monday. all these guys play soccer, so i've already got the Phi Psi vibe going before i even get there. so it was no surprise when i noticed that most were wearing trendy, way-too-short-to-even-be-considered-a-sleeve'd t-shirts about 2 sizes too small while all the baseball guys had on regular t-shirts/sweatshirts/buttondowns/polos. and the phi psi similarities dont end there; no, this is the i'm-just-waiting-for-tommy-vaughn-and-soyer-to-come-out-of-the-closet-together icing on the cake. We (the baseball guys) are all throwing back rum and coke (cola or pop for all you northern folk) or beer trying to get hammered before the bar and i see they are sipping on Bacardi Razz and Sprite. I honestly thought Lacass was going to pop his head around the corner and ask if anyone wanted a Cosmo. so you can rest tonight knowing that soccer players and baseball players are the same in Germany as they are on DePauw's campus.
So we jump in the cars and take off for the bar. we're driving away from town for about 10 minutes when we take a left between two trees. I cant be certain because it was dark and i was already drunk, but im pretty sure it was a dirt road. 2 rights and a left (all dirt roads) later, the trees opened up to neon lights and the sound of Akon. Apparently a black french guy owns the joint and im pretty sure he and Kevin Costner heard the voices in the corn field because no one in their right mind would put a bar that far out in the sticks. but he built it and just like in the movie, they come. this place was packed to the gills with kids barely old enough to see over the steering wheel to get there and 20-somethings looking to have a good time. the middle of the bar is sunken down-the dance floor- and there are tables perched up around it for people to sit at and watch the debauchery of the young, drunken teenagers. and while i did manage to get down in the mess and cut a rug with the kids-some 9 years my junior- i spent most of my time inWild Farmers Cove. like any respectable drinking team with a baseball problem, the Wild Farmers make their home right up next to the bar. Technically we were in the way of people trying to check their coats with the bartender, but this cove was perfect for 10 guys who just wanted to get drunk and not talk to anyone but who they came with. the more and more i'm around these guys, the more and more they remind me of the DPU baseball team and ATO's for that matter. it has not been difficult at all meshing with these guys because they are so much like my friends in the states. and like my friends in the states, they pick the worst shot and make it the drink of the night. the shot of choice on this particular night was vodka and liquorish shnopps. They were awful and i cringed when i took all 7 of them-they told me i didnt have to drink it...but how can i turn down a free shot. they called them 'black shots' and for good reason...I dont remember the ride home from the bar, but i was told that i was dancing in my sleep in the car. All i know is that i had the presence of mind to set my alarm for 11 am on saturday and i came home with everything i left with.
Saturday was supposed to be our day to put the backstop up on our field- but everyone was hungover or still sleeping at noon, except the softball team, so we put up their backstop instead. I say we, and i really shouldnt, they did everything, i just sat back and watched. I was the self appointed Foreman on this job- but i did touch a rake...carrying it back when 'we' were done. after a tough day of working on the field, a bunch of grease and a nice frosty coke are just what the doctor ordered. There is a Burger King just down the road so we hopped in the car and Had It Our Way. i went with the #4 with a coke, and much to my surprise, though i didnt realize it until the end when i was chewing on it, there was ice!
Germany is a country rich in tradition and Dohren is no different. When a man turns 30 he is expected to have a wife and on their way to a family. if one is not married however, his 30th birthday is a town-wide celebration. It just so happens that Johst's 30th birthday was Sunday and celebrated in grand Dohren fashion. the festivities began around 10am when we met Johst at his house with a few "presents." Johst has a...i dont want to call it hatred; i dont think he's racist, but he just really doesnt like Turkish people or anything to do with them. so there was a turkish flag on a baseball helmet and a bag of chips that were flavored in Turkish spices. He was also given a pair of spandex and the jersey of his most hated player in baseball, a guy by the name of Lange, #4. (i guess he is a real dirty player and pissed in our dugout once) there was also a sheet that he wore like a wedding vail that said something about being a scared bride, or somehting like that. so dressed in all his "presents" he had to wheel himself around town on a broken motorcycle pulling a wagon of beer while we paraded around him drinking. in past decades, this is when all the women would see him and know that he was the towns most ellegible bachlor. tradition has it that after riding around town, everyone meets at the town centre and the man must sweep the streets until he is kissed by a virgin, at which point he can stop. the Modern day version, bags of sawdust and wood chips were spread out on the ground and he was to use a toothbrush. at about 20 minute intravals he was given a push broom with the stick in 4 hinged pieces, a broom with a roadcone as a broomstick, and lastly a broom where the broomstick was a bunch of wrenches held together with nuts and bolts. after about an hour of watching the little kids jump in and kick the piles that he swept up, a young girl who i dont think was too keen on the idea, (her parents made her do it i think) finally came up and kissed him. so then it was back to the Dallmann family farm for lunch and more drinking. the latter is really what is was all about and i did more than my fair share of it. there was beer, whiskey, rum, and these shots that they kept giving out like it was candy. all i know is that i woke up in my bed at 10pm not knowing how the party ended or how i got home. I called up Johst and he said the party was still going on so i got up, put clothes back on, hopped on my bike and took off for round 2. it was a much smaller crowd than before, though just as loud. when i walked in everyone started cheering and giving me high fives- people that i dont even remember seeing there earlier (though my memory of the afternoon has to be taken with a grain of salt). apparently i threw up twice, and had to be picked up by Antje, who took me home and put me to bed. against my better judgement, i started drinking again. in round 2 there were conversations about german music and bands ive never heard of, though i talked about them like i did, an arm wrestling tournament, fucking around with a calf, and me trying to talk everyone into going to get food at 2 am.
all in all i'd say it was a successful weekend and one i wont soon forget, though i dont remember most of it. and in other news, day light savings started sunday so now i am 7 hours ahead of you in the central time zone.
A- "in the drunken whirlwind that was this weekend, I agreed to get up at 5 am tomorrow and help Henrik put a roof on his house" Ron
So we jump in the cars and take off for the bar. we're driving away from town for about 10 minutes when we take a left between two trees. I cant be certain because it was dark and i was already drunk, but im pretty sure it was a dirt road. 2 rights and a left (all dirt roads) later, the trees opened up to neon lights and the sound of Akon. Apparently a black french guy owns the joint and im pretty sure he and Kevin Costner heard the voices in the corn field because no one in their right mind would put a bar that far out in the sticks. but he built it and just like in the movie, they come. this place was packed to the gills with kids barely old enough to see over the steering wheel to get there and 20-somethings looking to have a good time. the middle of the bar is sunken down-the dance floor- and there are tables perched up around it for people to sit at and watch the debauchery of the young, drunken teenagers. and while i did manage to get down in the mess and cut a rug with the kids-some 9 years my junior- i spent most of my time inWild Farmers Cove. like any respectable drinking team with a baseball problem, the Wild Farmers make their home right up next to the bar. Technically we were in the way of people trying to check their coats with the bartender, but this cove was perfect for 10 guys who just wanted to get drunk and not talk to anyone but who they came with. the more and more i'm around these guys, the more and more they remind me of the DPU baseball team and ATO's for that matter. it has not been difficult at all meshing with these guys because they are so much like my friends in the states. and like my friends in the states, they pick the worst shot and make it the drink of the night. the shot of choice on this particular night was vodka and liquorish shnopps. They were awful and i cringed when i took all 7 of them-they told me i didnt have to drink it...but how can i turn down a free shot. they called them 'black shots' and for good reason...I dont remember the ride home from the bar, but i was told that i was dancing in my sleep in the car. All i know is that i had the presence of mind to set my alarm for 11 am on saturday and i came home with everything i left with.
Saturday was supposed to be our day to put the backstop up on our field- but everyone was hungover or still sleeping at noon, except the softball team, so we put up their backstop instead. I say we, and i really shouldnt, they did everything, i just sat back and watched. I was the self appointed Foreman on this job- but i did touch a rake...carrying it back when 'we' were done. after a tough day of working on the field, a bunch of grease and a nice frosty coke are just what the doctor ordered. There is a Burger King just down the road so we hopped in the car and Had It Our Way. i went with the #4 with a coke, and much to my surprise, though i didnt realize it until the end when i was chewing on it, there was ice!
Germany is a country rich in tradition and Dohren is no different. When a man turns 30 he is expected to have a wife and on their way to a family. if one is not married however, his 30th birthday is a town-wide celebration. It just so happens that Johst's 30th birthday was Sunday and celebrated in grand Dohren fashion. the festivities began around 10am when we met Johst at his house with a few "presents." Johst has a...i dont want to call it hatred; i dont think he's racist, but he just really doesnt like Turkish people or anything to do with them. so there was a turkish flag on a baseball helmet and a bag of chips that were flavored in Turkish spices. He was also given a pair of spandex and the jersey of his most hated player in baseball, a guy by the name of Lange, #4. (i guess he is a real dirty player and pissed in our dugout once) there was also a sheet that he wore like a wedding vail that said something about being a scared bride, or somehting like that. so dressed in all his "presents" he had to wheel himself around town on a broken motorcycle pulling a wagon of beer while we paraded around him drinking. in past decades, this is when all the women would see him and know that he was the towns most ellegible bachlor. tradition has it that after riding around town, everyone meets at the town centre and the man must sweep the streets until he is kissed by a virgin, at which point he can stop. the Modern day version, bags of sawdust and wood chips were spread out on the ground and he was to use a toothbrush. at about 20 minute intravals he was given a push broom with the stick in 4 hinged pieces, a broom with a roadcone as a broomstick, and lastly a broom where the broomstick was a bunch of wrenches held together with nuts and bolts. after about an hour of watching the little kids jump in and kick the piles that he swept up, a young girl who i dont think was too keen on the idea, (her parents made her do it i think) finally came up and kissed him. so then it was back to the Dallmann family farm for lunch and more drinking. the latter is really what is was all about and i did more than my fair share of it. there was beer, whiskey, rum, and these shots that they kept giving out like it was candy. all i know is that i woke up in my bed at 10pm not knowing how the party ended or how i got home. I called up Johst and he said the party was still going on so i got up, put clothes back on, hopped on my bike and took off for round 2. it was a much smaller crowd than before, though just as loud. when i walked in everyone started cheering and giving me high fives- people that i dont even remember seeing there earlier (though my memory of the afternoon has to be taken with a grain of salt). apparently i threw up twice, and had to be picked up by Antje, who took me home and put me to bed. against my better judgement, i started drinking again. in round 2 there were conversations about german music and bands ive never heard of, though i talked about them like i did, an arm wrestling tournament, fucking around with a calf, and me trying to talk everyone into going to get food at 2 am.
all in all i'd say it was a successful weekend and one i wont soon forget, though i dont remember most of it. and in other news, day light savings started sunday so now i am 7 hours ahead of you in the central time zone.
A- "in the drunken whirlwind that was this weekend, I agreed to get up at 5 am tomorrow and help Henrik put a roof on his house" Ron
Friday, March 27, 2009
Ok Ok, so i missed yesterday, big deal. It was a minor slip up and not the beginning of the end of this whole thing. Before you start saying, "Typical Aaron, I knew he wouldnt last till April," calm down and hear me out. Yesterday was my 2nd day in the school in Nenndorf (the home of mini-Ben Baenen). Waking up at 6:30 was a bit more difficult than anticipated considering i only got 3 hours of sleep. now you (cough-Dad-cough) are probably saying to yourself that he went out and got drunk wednesday night and stayed up all night. and you would be wrong. I found episodes of Chuck and thanks to Ultrasurf (shameless plug) I was able to watch the entire season and get myself up-to-date. so 7:15 rolls around and im wide-eyed and bushy-tailed as Mr, Biermann picks me up for school. If i didnt know any better, I would have swore A-Rod rather than A-Ron walked into the school building that day...maybe they got it wrong on the marquee outside...i dont know. But i was mobbed by 150 ankle-biters all screaming in foreign tongue. Searching for assistance, i scanned eyelevel and found all the teachers, Mr. Biermann included, standing back and laughing at my predicament. finally getting the courage to look down at my attackers, i noticed they all had pens and markers and sheets of paper. and not being one to disappoint a young fan, i started signing my Herby Hancock. muscle memory was something i thought was just a coach's way of getting players to do more reps and waste a little more time, but after the 10th "autogram" as they called it, my wrist knew the strokes while my eyes scanned the crowd for the next thing to sign. through it all i realized that my signature needs to be simplified if im going to be doing it 150 times in a row. I also came to understand that it wasnt about the autograph at all, and really it shouldnt be, its not like i'm George Ruth, rather it was about how many times and in the oddest place they could get me to sign. I signed the usual paper, hats, shirts (while still on the kids) but then it started to get crazy when i was signing forearms-both of them, bare shoulders, and empty plastic bottles. then the line was toed even more when one kid wanted me to sign his forehead and a 4th grade girl lifted up her shirt and wanted me to sign her hip ( i wish i was making this up) but i declined on both counts. there are some things a superstar like myself just wont do. and the last thing i need is to come back to America and register as a sex offender because some 4th grader in Germany thought it was real cool to have my name on her hip for a day and a half.
so after that all went down, it was time to bring in the 2nd graders and teach them baseball. We started out just throwing and catching...a simple enough concept that got out of hand in a hurry when they started fighting over whose ball was whose. fielding ground balls went about the same way and had to be cut short to keep fights from breaking out. We then played a game like ultimate frisbee, except there is a ball instead of a frisbee and you can only roll it-no throwing- down the field. the boys in the class took to this like ducks to water, the girls had a difficult time because whispering to eachother in a group in the back isnt part of the game. introducing the bat was the highlight of the class, everyone was good at hitting the ball off the tee, though they all held the bat at their hip like in cricket. after a few rounds of hitting, it came time to put it all together in a game of t-ball. the teacher in the gym with me, though quite attractive, didnt speak a bit of english, so explaining the game to the kids because more of monkey see-monkey do. I would demonstrate and they would mimick. the reporter, there to take pictures and ask me a few questions for the local newspaper-on news stands Saturday, got a kick out of me running around with the kids. I'll see if i can pick up a few copies and send back to the States.
the next two classes with the 4th graders went exactly the same, though more coordinated and less bickering. and they have been learning a bit of english, so they just kept asking me what my name was and how i was doing. it might have been a bit cruel to give them long, elaborate answers to their simple questions, but i personally found it amusing. but i have to hand it to them, they know more english then i know german.
School gets over at 1:30 in Germany so then it was back to Dohren and back on my lifeline-this computer. Since there are no english tv channels or anything, im forced to sit check my email every two minutes-even when i know it is 6 am in America and no one is sending me emails, look at facebook friend updates, and stream american sitcoms illegally overseas. So much for not letting the language thing hold me back, huh.
Here in the next couple of weeks, Hasi, the oldest Hassenpflug brother and a catcher on the team, said he would show me around Hamburg to the best bars and coolest places to go. then hoping on the train for the 30 minute ride will be a weekly routine.
"There was little bitty, stinging rain, big ol' fat rain, rain that comes in sideways, and rain that even seems to come up from underneath." I dont know why, maybe it was the "sideways rain" i was riding into going to girls softball practice, but this is the one line i kept repeating to myself. Despite the 5 layers of clothes i was wearing, this might have been the most miserable practice i've ever been apart of. there was some practices at DPU that were down right cold, and i can even remember practicing in the snow and sleet before, but last nights practice was dreadfull. I was soaked, freezing, and not moving much since i was just helping out. the best part about it, is that the wind was at my back riding home, so the rain wasnt pelting me in the face.
Well my friends, all this talk about Forrest Gump has inspired me to... watch the movie...you thought i was going to say run, but we all know running is not high on my list of things i want to do. plus we have practice later tonight and im going to the field early to throw...so theres no sense in using a bunch of energy now. Nope, a good classic movie is just what i need right now.
A-Ron
so after that all went down, it was time to bring in the 2nd graders and teach them baseball. We started out just throwing and catching...a simple enough concept that got out of hand in a hurry when they started fighting over whose ball was whose. fielding ground balls went about the same way and had to be cut short to keep fights from breaking out. We then played a game like ultimate frisbee, except there is a ball instead of a frisbee and you can only roll it-no throwing- down the field. the boys in the class took to this like ducks to water, the girls had a difficult time because whispering to eachother in a group in the back isnt part of the game. introducing the bat was the highlight of the class, everyone was good at hitting the ball off the tee, though they all held the bat at their hip like in cricket. after a few rounds of hitting, it came time to put it all together in a game of t-ball. the teacher in the gym with me, though quite attractive, didnt speak a bit of english, so explaining the game to the kids because more of monkey see-monkey do. I would demonstrate and they would mimick. the reporter, there to take pictures and ask me a few questions for the local newspaper-on news stands Saturday, got a kick out of me running around with the kids. I'll see if i can pick up a few copies and send back to the States.
the next two classes with the 4th graders went exactly the same, though more coordinated and less bickering. and they have been learning a bit of english, so they just kept asking me what my name was and how i was doing. it might have been a bit cruel to give them long, elaborate answers to their simple questions, but i personally found it amusing. but i have to hand it to them, they know more english then i know german.
School gets over at 1:30 in Germany so then it was back to Dohren and back on my lifeline-this computer. Since there are no english tv channels or anything, im forced to sit check my email every two minutes-even when i know it is 6 am in America and no one is sending me emails, look at facebook friend updates, and stream american sitcoms illegally overseas. So much for not letting the language thing hold me back, huh.
Here in the next couple of weeks, Hasi, the oldest Hassenpflug brother and a catcher on the team, said he would show me around Hamburg to the best bars and coolest places to go. then hoping on the train for the 30 minute ride will be a weekly routine.
"There was little bitty, stinging rain, big ol' fat rain, rain that comes in sideways, and rain that even seems to come up from underneath." I dont know why, maybe it was the "sideways rain" i was riding into going to girls softball practice, but this is the one line i kept repeating to myself. Despite the 5 layers of clothes i was wearing, this might have been the most miserable practice i've ever been apart of. there was some practices at DPU that were down right cold, and i can even remember practicing in the snow and sleet before, but last nights practice was dreadfull. I was soaked, freezing, and not moving much since i was just helping out. the best part about it, is that the wind was at my back riding home, so the rain wasnt pelting me in the face.
Well my friends, all this talk about Forrest Gump has inspired me to... watch the movie...you thought i was going to say run, but we all know running is not high on my list of things i want to do. plus we have practice later tonight and im going to the field early to throw...so theres no sense in using a bunch of energy now. Nope, a good classic movie is just what i need right now.
A-Ron
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
March Madness
March Madness takes on a whole new meaning in Germany. There aren't frequent news breaks filled with bracket-busting upsets and highlights of season-saving-buzzer-beaters by the yearlong benchwarmer turned most popular kid in school. There is no bracketology, no special edition Sportcenter to see which 12 over 5 first round upset the "pros" picked. And I surely don't miss Dicky V screaming about how Awesome some diaper-dandy was in the game last night. Nope, in Germany, March Madness means that when i wake up in the morning, there will be an inch of snow on the ground and by the time i'm done writing this, the snow will have changed to rain, then stopped, and then the sun will come out and it'll be nearly 50 degrees...but only for about an hour, then the wind will pick up to about 15-20mph and bring in a cold front that cuts through 5 layers of clothes like a hot knife through butter. it really makes getting dressed in the morning quite an ordeal.
The trip into the booming metropolis of Tostedt was altered a bit yesterday due to this March Madness. it was in fact raining, so instead of going it alone on my bike, Antje, my host-mom, took me around in the car. She had some shopping to do, so i tagged along, not far from her back pocket. Down a small side street near the middle of town, local farmers and gardeners set up their stands selling fruits and vegetables, flowers, meats, and cheeses in what Americans might call a farmers' market. they call it going to the grocery. Crossing the major street, we then went into a store called Bade. they sell everything from toys, to clothes, to alcohol, to bread and milk. Picture a very small version of Wal-Mart without the fishing section, yellow smiley faces rolling back prices, or the old man greeting you at the front door. One-stop-shops like Bade arent very popular in Germany, there are a lot of little privately owned specialty shops lining the streets as well. Because we bought fresh fish in the "grocery" we had to cut our tour short and get back to Dohren. But looking down the side streets, there are plenty of hidden gems I'll have to go back and check out when it gets warmer.
today we went to another, bigger town about 30 minutes away, I dont know the name but it started with Bux...something or other. here, in the middle of town, there are 5-6 square blocks of shops and stores lining the narrow brick streets. there are little pubs and big pubs, old stores and new stores, global logos like Adidas and T-mobile (the prefered carrier here in Germany, even the phone booths on the street corners are T-mobile) and locally owned wine shops and flower boutiques. all these shops are converted houses from 200-300 years ago. each storefront has a year carved into a beam above the store's name. I would have liked to spend some more time walking around and going into some of the stores, but we were right in the heart of the 2nd round of March Madness (rain).
I dont know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I found a way to stream videos internationally so I can watch American tv shows. I cant take all the credit for discovering this...ok so i cant take ANY credit for it, Johst (the guy I orginally spoke with on the phone who invited me to come over here) told me about this great piece of software called Ultrasurf. I downloaded it (Don't tell Dad, he'll kick my ass if he knows i downloaded something on his computer...But the fate of President Taylor and Dunder-Mifflin depends on me watching the shows.) and now i can watch all the mindless American sitcoms I've come to know and love.
speaking of, there are a few episodes of Chuck that i need to catch up on...
A-Ron Hasselhoff
The trip into the booming metropolis of Tostedt was altered a bit yesterday due to this March Madness. it was in fact raining, so instead of going it alone on my bike, Antje, my host-mom, took me around in the car. She had some shopping to do, so i tagged along, not far from her back pocket. Down a small side street near the middle of town, local farmers and gardeners set up their stands selling fruits and vegetables, flowers, meats, and cheeses in what Americans might call a farmers' market. they call it going to the grocery. Crossing the major street, we then went into a store called Bade. they sell everything from toys, to clothes, to alcohol, to bread and milk. Picture a very small version of Wal-Mart without the fishing section, yellow smiley faces rolling back prices, or the old man greeting you at the front door. One-stop-shops like Bade arent very popular in Germany, there are a lot of little privately owned specialty shops lining the streets as well. Because we bought fresh fish in the "grocery" we had to cut our tour short and get back to Dohren. But looking down the side streets, there are plenty of hidden gems I'll have to go back and check out when it gets warmer.
today we went to another, bigger town about 30 minutes away, I dont know the name but it started with Bux...something or other. here, in the middle of town, there are 5-6 square blocks of shops and stores lining the narrow brick streets. there are little pubs and big pubs, old stores and new stores, global logos like Adidas and T-mobile (the prefered carrier here in Germany, even the phone booths on the street corners are T-mobile) and locally owned wine shops and flower boutiques. all these shops are converted houses from 200-300 years ago. each storefront has a year carved into a beam above the store's name. I would have liked to spend some more time walking around and going into some of the stores, but we were right in the heart of the 2nd round of March Madness (rain).
I dont know if this is a good thing or a bad thing, but I found a way to stream videos internationally so I can watch American tv shows. I cant take all the credit for discovering this...ok so i cant take ANY credit for it, Johst (the guy I orginally spoke with on the phone who invited me to come over here) told me about this great piece of software called Ultrasurf. I downloaded it (Don't tell Dad, he'll kick my ass if he knows i downloaded something on his computer...But the fate of President Taylor and Dunder-Mifflin depends on me watching the shows.) and now i can watch all the mindless American sitcoms I've come to know and love.
speaking of, there are a few episodes of Chuck that i need to catch up on...
A-Ron Hasselhoff
Monday, March 23, 2009
Into the Wild
I was shoveling dirt yesterday, to fill in around our new backstop, listening to the others bicker and banter solely in German, when i actually looked around at my new home for the next 7 months. Wild Farmer Stadium is nestled into the farmlands on the outskirts of town. down the rightfield line there is a soccer field and the clubhouse. trees run the length of the leftfield, butting up against the bean field that outlines the rest of the outfield fence. there is a concessions stand a.k.a. the beer stand and enough seating for about 100 spectators behind the new backstop. the 292ft down either line and 350ft to center is very short by American standards and German ones as well, though not many homeruns are hit here. "its not our game," i'm told; we're a small ball type team, bunting, stealing, and hit-and-run-ing our way to victories. the playing surface looks good, despite the softball team continually practicing on the infield grass. nice even edges are a sign that it is a well kept field with true hops and no surprise "ground-crew singles." The mound is still a mystery to me, they tell me there are problems with holes being dug next to the rubber, but i've yet to throw off of it so i dont know how bad it is. My project this season is to see if i can fix this problem with some clay or something. rocks and pebbles litter the dirt around home plate however, which only worries me when i think about sliding at home. I spent a while on Sunday handpicking a bucketfull of rocks but to look at it now, you could never tell. I see it as a work in progress, and it got me wondering if there was a better way to rid the batter's box of rocks. maybe i'll invent a fine toothed rake to help me with my conundrum. I'm very open to suggestions on this one so feel free to share your solutions.
It was at that moment, as i was on one knee, picking up rocks with numb fingers and aching hamstrings, that it finally set in that we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. It was that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach that usually acompanies moments when your mom is taking pictures, crying behind the camera, saying something to the effect of, "I can't believe how fast you're growing up." one of those moments when you realize that from this point forward you're going to be a different person. What about that moment made me finally realize that this isnt just a short term gig, but in fact the majority of the 2009 year, and a defining period in my life, I dont know. maybe it was contemplating how difficult its going to be to learn german so i can understand whats going on, maybe it was thinking how picking up rocks in May might pay dividends in September, maybe it was a combination of random deep thoughts. nonetheless, it sparked something in me, a desire to explore, learn my new home, prove to myself that i can survive amongst people of a foreign land as well as i can amongst the trees of the wilderness. tomorrow is my day off and as long as its not raining, im jumping on my bike and taking off on an adventure to nowhere.
As you've probably guessed by now, today was a slow news day here in Dohren, hence the inner thoughts and personal dialogue. but now i feel i owe it to myself and to my growing number of readers to not sit at home on my ass all the time and see what there is to see in this country and come back with some good stories. I'm refusing to be bound by the language, i'm breaking the barrier, jumping the hurdle, unlocking the shackles, untying the ropes...you get the picture.
So tomorrow, Useful-German-Phrases-For-Travelers book in hand, I go Into The Wild.
Alexander Supertramp
It was at that moment, as i was on one knee, picking up rocks with numb fingers and aching hamstrings, that it finally set in that we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. It was that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach that usually acompanies moments when your mom is taking pictures, crying behind the camera, saying something to the effect of, "I can't believe how fast you're growing up." one of those moments when you realize that from this point forward you're going to be a different person. What about that moment made me finally realize that this isnt just a short term gig, but in fact the majority of the 2009 year, and a defining period in my life, I dont know. maybe it was contemplating how difficult its going to be to learn german so i can understand whats going on, maybe it was thinking how picking up rocks in May might pay dividends in September, maybe it was a combination of random deep thoughts. nonetheless, it sparked something in me, a desire to explore, learn my new home, prove to myself that i can survive amongst people of a foreign land as well as i can amongst the trees of the wilderness. tomorrow is my day off and as long as its not raining, im jumping on my bike and taking off on an adventure to nowhere.
As you've probably guessed by now, today was a slow news day here in Dohren, hence the inner thoughts and personal dialogue. but now i feel i owe it to myself and to my growing number of readers to not sit at home on my ass all the time and see what there is to see in this country and come back with some good stories. I'm refusing to be bound by the language, i'm breaking the barrier, jumping the hurdle, unlocking the shackles, untying the ropes...you get the picture.
So tomorrow, Useful-German-Phrases-For-Travelers book in hand, I go Into The Wild.
Alexander Supertramp
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Alex Ovechkin and Pizza
Luneberg is a Southern suburb of Hamberg that has a rich history of big cathedrals and big old-money houses. back in the day when salt was a major commodity and in high demand, Luneberg, Germany was the place to be. I've been told at least twice on each trip there (2) that Luneberg sits on top of an old underground salt flat and that if i look hard enough, i can still see old sink holes throughout the city. (i've yet to find any, but I'll keep looking because i know you're dying to know where they are). Luneberg is also home to the Woodlarks of German baseball's 3rd division, this means they use metal bats instead of wood. this was a game for our 2nd man's team, the younger, less experienced squad. the first pitch I saw in the visting half of the 1st inning resulted in a lazy fly ball to deep centerfield. jogging to first not wanting to waste too much energy on an easy out, i watched as the camped centerfielder, dropped the ball and it roll back to the fence. turning on the jets, i raced into 2nd with what i thought to be a error-enduced standup double. but in an effort to catch me napping as a rounded the bag, they threw to 2nd and an arrant throw bounced off the glove of the 2nd baseman and into shallow right. running to 3rd i watched the 3rd baseman's eyes and i could see him gauging where the throw would end up on his end, a little short and outside judging by his positioning on the bag so i took an inside route with my slide. popping up, i saw the 3rd baseman leave his feet and the ball sail over his head into left field. out of breath and legs burning, I jogged home for an error-filled homerun. Not the way you draw it up in the books, but the end result was still the same...3-0 good guys.
that would set the stage for the rest of my day at the plate; not that i reached on an error, but in all 5 plate appearences I made it safely on base. on the mound, in 3 innings of work, i gave up 2 hits, 1 walk, i pulled a page out of Jay Caldwell's book and hit a guy...in the helmet...my first pitch out of the stretch since May. and i had 5 Ks.
Ok enough about baseball, I'm sure you're wondering how Hockey went Friday night. there will be a video posted at a later date, but for now suffice it to say it was Apolo Ohno meets Brian Boytano, meets Alex Ovechkin...a artistic display of grace, power, and skill one even has a difficult time dreaming about, its that rare. My first strides on the ice took me back to that little pond behind our house where me and Dad used to skate for hours shooting pucks into an old net, where he taught me that famous Meyers double fisted slap-shot. I was just at home on that ice as i was in my own bed. Taking a few laps around the rink, smelling the ice, feeling the cool air run across my face, ahh, I was home again. It was evident to me at first glance the other players werent quite on my level, so i decided to play left handed. By the end of the first period, i had become accustomed to playing southpaw and had sliced and cut my way through the defense for a hat trick and 3 assists, well on my way to MVP of the game.
(screeching record noise) cut to reality...i was wearing rented skates 2 sizes too big, I had worn every pair of sweat pants and hoodie/jacket I could find, not for warmth, but as padding, and for good reason. I didnt have gloves, my hands were freezing, and im still not sure if i am right handed or left handed when it comes to Hockey. This was the first time on the ice with a stick in my hands and my 3rd time ice skating ever. I was a fish out of water to say the least and i believe it showed in my performance. I had one "shot" on goal, an pass deflected off a skate and into the open ice infront of me...needless to say it never found the back of the net. I did learn that falling on the ice isnt that bad, if you turn a 360 or two to slow yourself down first; this became my trademark move as the beer flowed and the game went on. I'll stick to the dirt and cleats of baseball.
After convincingly earning the OHACPH (Obviously He's American and Cant Play Hockey) award, a handful of us decided to stay in the city and go get some food. We settled on a pub called September, a welcomed english word after 2 hours of German on the ice. the 1st thing i noticed as i sat for my first German restaurant experience is that gay German men stick out just as much as gay American men. Next to us sat a table of limp-wrists, all bleach blond hair, trendy, small framed glasses, and tight black turtlenecks. that is except for one who was wearing a magenta silk shirt unbuttoned except the for the bottom two who kept hugging everyone and rubbing their backs for an awkard amount of time. but it was fine, because all of us made fun of them at our table. I've found that despite the American stigma that Europeans are more accepting, the people of Dohren didnt get the memo. We've made jokes about women drivers, Asains, Mexicans, gays, there have been black jokes, jew jokes, and a group I had no idea there was such a distaste for in Germany-- the Turkish. Its just like being in the halls of ATO.
By the time the waitress had gotten there, i had rehersed my order countless times so as not to look quite so out of place. Pizza Salami- easy to say and nice on the taste buds. she came to me and like i had done in my head so many times before, I said it, Pizza Salami. everyone at the table started chuckling and it was only then brought to my attention that we were ordering drinks first...i had overlooked the liquid portion of the menu and had no idea how to order a beer. luckily the kind souls at the table ordered for me, a Luneberger. Its a good beer, not one i would get again if given another option, I much prefered the 2nd beer i had, a darker, heavier one, though i have no idea what its called (that one was ordered for me as well).
the food came out and i could feel the eyes turn to me as i cut my personal handtossed goodness into 4 equal parts, folded the first and took my first cheesy bite. I had thought it a bit odd when i noticed the waitress give forks and knives to everyone who had ordered pizza a few minutes prior but dismissed it as September protocol that everyone got silverware. So you can imagine my shock when i saw everyone cutting their pizza into bite-sized pieces and eating it with a fork. Dont get me wrong, i've eaten pizza with a fork, Chicago style deep-dish demands it, but not the 10 inch pie that sat infront of me on this night. I thought about following suit but stuck to my guns and ate my Pizza Salami like a true, red-blooded American, with my hands.
A-Ron
that would set the stage for the rest of my day at the plate; not that i reached on an error, but in all 5 plate appearences I made it safely on base. on the mound, in 3 innings of work, i gave up 2 hits, 1 walk, i pulled a page out of Jay Caldwell's book and hit a guy...in the helmet...my first pitch out of the stretch since May. and i had 5 Ks.
Ok enough about baseball, I'm sure you're wondering how Hockey went Friday night. there will be a video posted at a later date, but for now suffice it to say it was Apolo Ohno meets Brian Boytano, meets Alex Ovechkin...a artistic display of grace, power, and skill one even has a difficult time dreaming about, its that rare. My first strides on the ice took me back to that little pond behind our house where me and Dad used to skate for hours shooting pucks into an old net, where he taught me that famous Meyers double fisted slap-shot. I was just at home on that ice as i was in my own bed. Taking a few laps around the rink, smelling the ice, feeling the cool air run across my face, ahh, I was home again. It was evident to me at first glance the other players werent quite on my level, so i decided to play left handed. By the end of the first period, i had become accustomed to playing southpaw and had sliced and cut my way through the defense for a hat trick and 3 assists, well on my way to MVP of the game.
(screeching record noise) cut to reality...i was wearing rented skates 2 sizes too big, I had worn every pair of sweat pants and hoodie/jacket I could find, not for warmth, but as padding, and for good reason. I didnt have gloves, my hands were freezing, and im still not sure if i am right handed or left handed when it comes to Hockey. This was the first time on the ice with a stick in my hands and my 3rd time ice skating ever. I was a fish out of water to say the least and i believe it showed in my performance. I had one "shot" on goal, an pass deflected off a skate and into the open ice infront of me...needless to say it never found the back of the net. I did learn that falling on the ice isnt that bad, if you turn a 360 or two to slow yourself down first; this became my trademark move as the beer flowed and the game went on. I'll stick to the dirt and cleats of baseball.
After convincingly earning the OHACPH (Obviously He's American and Cant Play Hockey) award, a handful of us decided to stay in the city and go get some food. We settled on a pub called September, a welcomed english word after 2 hours of German on the ice. the 1st thing i noticed as i sat for my first German restaurant experience is that gay German men stick out just as much as gay American men. Next to us sat a table of limp-wrists, all bleach blond hair, trendy, small framed glasses, and tight black turtlenecks. that is except for one who was wearing a magenta silk shirt unbuttoned except the for the bottom two who kept hugging everyone and rubbing their backs for an awkard amount of time. but it was fine, because all of us made fun of them at our table. I've found that despite the American stigma that Europeans are more accepting, the people of Dohren didnt get the memo. We've made jokes about women drivers, Asains, Mexicans, gays, there have been black jokes, jew jokes, and a group I had no idea there was such a distaste for in Germany-- the Turkish. Its just like being in the halls of ATO.
By the time the waitress had gotten there, i had rehersed my order countless times so as not to look quite so out of place. Pizza Salami- easy to say and nice on the taste buds. she came to me and like i had done in my head so many times before, I said it, Pizza Salami. everyone at the table started chuckling and it was only then brought to my attention that we were ordering drinks first...i had overlooked the liquid portion of the menu and had no idea how to order a beer. luckily the kind souls at the table ordered for me, a Luneberger. Its a good beer, not one i would get again if given another option, I much prefered the 2nd beer i had, a darker, heavier one, though i have no idea what its called (that one was ordered for me as well).
the food came out and i could feel the eyes turn to me as i cut my personal handtossed goodness into 4 equal parts, folded the first and took my first cheesy bite. I had thought it a bit odd when i noticed the waitress give forks and knives to everyone who had ordered pizza a few minutes prior but dismissed it as September protocol that everyone got silverware. So you can imagine my shock when i saw everyone cutting their pizza into bite-sized pieces and eating it with a fork. Dont get me wrong, i've eaten pizza with a fork, Chicago style deep-dish demands it, but not the 10 inch pie that sat infront of me on this night. I thought about following suit but stuck to my guns and ate my Pizza Salami like a true, red-blooded American, with my hands.
A-Ron
Friday, March 20, 2009
Charlie Conway, Minneapolis, Minnesota
since hearing about this night, a week ago, I've been mentally replaying all the great Mighty Ducks moments in my head. theres the Kenny Woo triple axel against Iceland, Fulton Reed casually shooting pucks into a suitcase in an alley just as Bombay happens to be driving by, the knucklepuck by Keenan from Keenan and Kel, the absurdness of the entire junior olympic team becoming the jv squad at the prep school (if those guys were so good, why werent they playing against Trinidad and Tobago), the infamous flying-V, "I woke up and the pain was gone," and my all time favorite, the Charlie Conway wisdom, "just think, Coach, half inch the other way and you would have missed completely." You may have noticed that none of these classic moments were from D3, and that is by design. I dont even consider that part of the trilogy because it was awful. but enough about Emilio and the gang. lets move on to the fact that i've skated twice in my life and never with a stick in my hand. I wish i could take a video of this for everyone to see, but i think im going to need both hands to pick myself off the ice every two minutes so i think the video would look a lot like the Blair Witch Project when it was all said and done. keep me in your thoughts today.
after discovering an internation extention of the Baenen family yesterday, i was also propositioned with being interviewed and photographed for the paper in the town of the school i was at. I guess its not everyday that a "pro baseball player" comes to Nenndorf (i'm pretty sure the teacher told the students that I was some kind of professional from America because I signed 40 autographs, 1 on a soccer ball and 2 on tennis balls and the kids kept looking at me like i was a circus attraction- i now know what Venus Hotentot felt like with her big ol booty.) they want to take pictures of me next week when im there and ask me a few questions.
I tasted a local delicasy yesterday called a Doner (pronounced DOUGH-na) its a lot like a Pita pocket, the bread's a bit thicker, a thing of beauty. i got mine with beef, but i think next time i'll try the chicken. and if you get one, i recommend the hot sauce. As i made a mess of the deliciousness, i couldnt help but think about how good it would be if i was drunk. the explosion of flavor in my mouth would have been tenfold had i been enebriated. This would have been a go-to at Marvin's; throw in some Franks fries, delievered by a Dahman brother rocking a bandana of course, and call it a night.
Tomorrow we go back to play the Woodlarks, a team we beat handily on Sunday. this time I'm predicting a 3-4 day at the plate. 2 doubles. my only out is going to be a pissrod at the shortstop. this is all considering there is no wind, because if there is even the slightest breeze out to left im dropping and driving.
A-Ron
after discovering an internation extention of the Baenen family yesterday, i was also propositioned with being interviewed and photographed for the paper in the town of the school i was at. I guess its not everyday that a "pro baseball player" comes to Nenndorf (i'm pretty sure the teacher told the students that I was some kind of professional from America because I signed 40 autographs, 1 on a soccer ball and 2 on tennis balls and the kids kept looking at me like i was a circus attraction- i now know what Venus Hotentot felt like with her big ol booty.) they want to take pictures of me next week when im there and ask me a few questions.
I tasted a local delicasy yesterday called a Doner (pronounced DOUGH-na) its a lot like a Pita pocket, the bread's a bit thicker, a thing of beauty. i got mine with beef, but i think next time i'll try the chicken. and if you get one, i recommend the hot sauce. As i made a mess of the deliciousness, i couldnt help but think about how good it would be if i was drunk. the explosion of flavor in my mouth would have been tenfold had i been enebriated. This would have been a go-to at Marvin's; throw in some Franks fries, delievered by a Dahman brother rocking a bandana of course, and call it a night.
Tomorrow we go back to play the Woodlarks, a team we beat handily on Sunday. this time I'm predicting a 3-4 day at the plate. 2 doubles. my only out is going to be a pissrod at the shortstop. this is all considering there is no wind, because if there is even the slightest breeze out to left im dropping and driving.
A-Ron
Thursday, March 19, 2009
despite the language
I got a new phone last night, a small Nokia, a far cry from the luxury and endless possibilies of the Blackberry, but as phones go it does what its supposed to...I guess, no one has called me yet, and to be completely honest I havent the slightest idea what my number is. In essence it is more of a "pocket watch" for the time being, though simply carrying it fills me with a sense of purpose and comfortability. Frued would say it has to do with the Ego, or maybe the Super-ego, I can never keep them straight. speaking of Blackberry, I miss brick breaker, I spent my time in the Copenhagen Airport (all 3 hours) dodging the Flip pills and putting a nice blister across my right thumb. Im sure most people walking by thought i was deep into an important company email, making million dollar deals even as i sat in my Garth Brooks t-shirt in an airport that bares a striking resemblence to a mall with all the high end clothing stores and Porche cars for raffle; little did they know i was shooting Lasers, snagging Life pills.
Today, I found out that despite the language, 20 3rd graders all yelling at once sounds the same all over the world. I had the luxury of experiencing the german version today as I went to a local elementary school in Nenndorf, about 30 km north of Dohren. it was my task to introduce the kids to the game of baseball and i think ultimately to wear them out before nap time. the 1st class was by far the best, throwing and catching were no problem, nor was hitting the ball off the tee...they were actually a lot better than i anticipated when i set up the field for a short 2 inning game. Having no prior knowledge of the game and continually wanting to impress one another (this too is no different than america, though I guess it shouldnt be. but nontheless, it suprised me wheni noticed it) they inched closer and closer to the plate. i think everyone can see where this is going, and youd be right to assume that one of them got hit in the face by a screamer back up the middle. It was a glancing blow, right off the right cheek bone, but at that speed a tennis ball still stings quite a bit. To my astonishment, the little Chinese girl (dont go back and read it, your eyes didnt decieve you, there was a Chinese girl in the class) jumped right back up without shedding a tear... I was impressed.
the next class was 2nd grade and they were a lot less coordinated than the kids one year their senior. nothing exciting happened that class. But the 3rd class of the day, again 3rd graders, was one i will always remember. it wasnt that there was a stud player, a kid im going to bring back to the states and make millions off of as his manager. I'm sad to report that it wasnt a hot teacher walking in with her hair blowing in the wind with halaluya playing in the background like in the movies (though there is a hot young teacher that i saw in the teachers lounge, but i dont think she speaks any english) No my friends, it was on this day, March 19, 2009, that I found Ben Baenen's long lost, slightly younger twin brother. If he had been wearing a polo instead of a t-shirt with his gym shorts, I would have swore Ben Baenen himself had gotten in the Wanka-Vision machine and transported himself (losing a few particles along the way, "i just cant seem to get it quite right.") just in time to get my lesson on pitching and catching. he dominated the class too, another reason he reminded me of Ben. He later asked me for my "autogram" and a part of me wanted to ask him for his in return, but i dont know how to say that in German, so i just signed my name on his paper and smiled, all the while wondering if he ever imagined that his twin brother Ben was in America Supermaning that ho.
German word of the day: "Prost" = cheers
A-Ron
Today, I found out that despite the language, 20 3rd graders all yelling at once sounds the same all over the world. I had the luxury of experiencing the german version today as I went to a local elementary school in Nenndorf, about 30 km north of Dohren. it was my task to introduce the kids to the game of baseball and i think ultimately to wear them out before nap time. the 1st class was by far the best, throwing and catching were no problem, nor was hitting the ball off the tee...they were actually a lot better than i anticipated when i set up the field for a short 2 inning game. Having no prior knowledge of the game and continually wanting to impress one another (this too is no different than america, though I guess it shouldnt be. but nontheless, it suprised me wheni noticed it) they inched closer and closer to the plate. i think everyone can see where this is going, and youd be right to assume that one of them got hit in the face by a screamer back up the middle. It was a glancing blow, right off the right cheek bone, but at that speed a tennis ball still stings quite a bit. To my astonishment, the little Chinese girl (dont go back and read it, your eyes didnt decieve you, there was a Chinese girl in the class) jumped right back up without shedding a tear... I was impressed.
the next class was 2nd grade and they were a lot less coordinated than the kids one year their senior. nothing exciting happened that class. But the 3rd class of the day, again 3rd graders, was one i will always remember. it wasnt that there was a stud player, a kid im going to bring back to the states and make millions off of as his manager. I'm sad to report that it wasnt a hot teacher walking in with her hair blowing in the wind with halaluya playing in the background like in the movies (though there is a hot young teacher that i saw in the teachers lounge, but i dont think she speaks any english) No my friends, it was on this day, March 19, 2009, that I found Ben Baenen's long lost, slightly younger twin brother. If he had been wearing a polo instead of a t-shirt with his gym shorts, I would have swore Ben Baenen himself had gotten in the Wanka-Vision machine and transported himself (losing a few particles along the way, "i just cant seem to get it quite right.") just in time to get my lesson on pitching and catching. he dominated the class too, another reason he reminded me of Ben. He later asked me for my "autogram" and a part of me wanted to ask him for his in return, but i dont know how to say that in German, so i just signed my name on his paper and smiled, all the while wondering if he ever imagined that his twin brother Ben was in America Supermaning that ho.
German word of the day: "Prost" = cheers
A-Ron
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
St Patricks Day
yesterday was my day off, and by that i mean i still ran 3.5 km (about 2 miles) and im sore as hell today. And unlike my american counterparts, out celebrating the Irish holiday with green beer and Lucky Charms Cereal, we stayed in and watched movies. (Germans dont celebrate Irish Holidays) Most of the movies the Hassenpflug's have are burnt onto an external harddrive, making them solely in German, so after raiding every drawer and cabnet in the house there were only two actual DVDs- Happy Gilmore and the Walt Disney classic Brother Bear. so once the movie started and we figured out how to change the language to one that we could both understand, we settled in for a night of animated, talking animals and a hockey player turned world class golfer. we also found Green Street Hooligans, here called Hooligans, but only after the fact. we did find a few english channels as well- CNN and a BBC newscast from the UK. I tried to watch 24 yesterday on hulu.com but to my surprise i cant stream any american shows internationally. After 3 hours of searching for some way to watch Jack take on the world of terrorism, i finally settled on watching it on YouTube in 5 8minute segments...not ideal but at least i got to see 24s07e14.
well its 1:00 and for me and GSE, "its futball day!"
A-Ron
well its 1:00 and for me and GSE, "its futball day!"
A-Ron
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
food and drink
we had our first practices yesterday. first up was the young kids 5-9 and we played t-ball with them. next were the older kids 10-14 and we took batting practice with softballs in the gym at their school. by that point i was worn out from chasing balls all over the place, but it was then time to have a practice of my own. the 3rd man's team is the lowest and really just for fun, a lot of the younger players are on that team as a way to get experience before moving up to the more competitive 2nd and 1st mens' teams.
finally got to see the surface of the home field at practice last night...much better than the beach of an infield we played on over the weekend. the batters box was 10 fold better at holding up to the abuse of batting practice. I didnt get a chance to get on the mound but it looks like its in good shape, i hope there is clay under the top layer of dirt so we dont dig a bunch of holes. we also have lights on the field, wait, check that, we have lights on the infield- two poles with two fllod lights a piece. they made it nice for batting practice but playing a game would be impossible given the darkness of the outfield.
ok enough about baseball, lets move on to food and drink. in the days ive been here i really havent had anyhting that unusual or different from back home state-side. ive had lasagauna, stews, toast, eggs, sausage, nothing out of the ordinary. the milk has a more straight-from-the-udder taste to it, and they have some different fruits over here that they bottle juices from but it tastes a lot like the stuff from home. one odd thing they do is mix apple juice and water, a common drink here. the juice itself isnt strong or concentrated at all, they just like it half and half with water. now for the question on everyone's mind, hows the beer. im sad to report that ive only had 2 kinds of beer. the first, Astra, is the cheap beer here, but it reminds me a lot of killians...not too bad for 10 euro a case. the other beer i had, a wheat beer, which i cant remember the name of, was pretty good. it tasted a lot like bluemoon without the orange flavor. and they also told me that it is really good if you put banana juice in it...just dont let anyone know you fruited your beer...it seems the Miller Man Laws are universal- burt reynolds would be proud.
finally got to see the surface of the home field at practice last night...much better than the beach of an infield we played on over the weekend. the batters box was 10 fold better at holding up to the abuse of batting practice. I didnt get a chance to get on the mound but it looks like its in good shape, i hope there is clay under the top layer of dirt so we dont dig a bunch of holes. we also have lights on the field, wait, check that, we have lights on the infield- two poles with two fllod lights a piece. they made it nice for batting practice but playing a game would be impossible given the darkness of the outfield.
ok enough about baseball, lets move on to food and drink. in the days ive been here i really havent had anyhting that unusual or different from back home state-side. ive had lasagauna, stews, toast, eggs, sausage, nothing out of the ordinary. the milk has a more straight-from-the-udder taste to it, and they have some different fruits over here that they bottle juices from but it tastes a lot like the stuff from home. one odd thing they do is mix apple juice and water, a common drink here. the juice itself isnt strong or concentrated at all, they just like it half and half with water. now for the question on everyone's mind, hows the beer. im sad to report that ive only had 2 kinds of beer. the first, Astra, is the cheap beer here, but it reminds me a lot of killians...not too bad for 10 euro a case. the other beer i had, a wheat beer, which i cant remember the name of, was pretty good. it tasted a lot like bluemoon without the orange flavor. and they also told me that it is really good if you put banana juice in it...just dont let anyone know you fruited your beer...it seems the Miller Man Laws are universal- burt reynolds would be proud.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Day 3 in Germany
After arriving in Germany Saturday at 5 pm local time, we came home and I met the rest of the host family. we ate and talked about america and things like that. Then it was off to the clubhouse to meet the rest of the team and have a few beers to celebrate the beginning of the season and the arrival of the new coach. its a good thing they all speak english because i would have been completely lost and to be honest a bit bored. after drinking 4 beers, i was told i had to try the german whiskey...and we all know i cant deny whiskey. the conversation soon turned to women and Hamburg's Keets district and the prostitues that frequent the bars and strip clubs there. I was told that i would have to make a trip before i leave. they all told me about their trips to america and what they had seen and where they had been. Since this was my first time out of the country, i could only speak of the airport in Copenhagen and the few hours i had been in germany. at 1230 there was 4 of us left drinking at the clubhouse and since we needed to get up in 7 hours to play baseball, we decided to go home. the ride home in the milk truck...one of the guys on the team is the local pig farmer and milkman...is a bit hazy, but i woke up in my bedroom, a small room tucked back in the basement with a table, chair, closet, and queensized bed. there are also about 250 books in a set of bookshelves next to my bed. At first glance I thought it would be fun to start at one end of the bookcase and work my way to the other before I leave, but then i remembered how much i dont like reading...and they are all german texts so there went that idea. Sunday morning came around a lot ealier than desired and rolling out of bed reminded me of quite a few Spring weekends at DePauw. head spinning, trying to catch my balance, i put together my things and headed upstairs to the kitchen. Breakfast was waiting...sausage, eggs, rolls; a standard american breakfast by most standards, but i was in no shape to eat that much. I had half a roll with strawberry jelly and made a sausage biscuit for the road. I was also given 2 hardboiled eggs to take as well. SInce we are putting up a new backstop at our field, we had to travel to a neighboring town for our first preseason games. the pregame warm up was like most others id seen or been apart of, running at first, stretching, batting practice, then throwing while the other team is hitting. I was to start in right field, a familiar spot, though it felt a bit foreign due to the fact that i was so close to the infield. the fence is about 300 ft down the lines and there was a wind blowing in at the start of the game. that coupled with the fact the hitters are using wood calls for shallow play by the outfielders. not one bal was hit my direction all day but at the plate, in my first plate appreances since high school, I was 2-4 with a triple and 3 RBIs. we won the first game by a wide margin though an exact score was not kept since it was a "friendly" match. the 2nd team we played was exponentially better, though still nothing overpowering by any means. again i started in Right and hit 3rd in the lineup. the wind had changed direction, now blowing out to left at about 10 mph. the overconfident athlete part of me took over at that point and told me to drop and drive and put one into the VW on the other side of the leftfield fence. I ended this game 0-4 with 3 "just missed it"s on the infield and a swinging bunt back to the pitcher. I think its way to early in my comeback to even be thinking about hitting homeruns. From now on its hard the otherway...that is unless the wind is blowing out to left again, in which case i cant help myself. i also threw the last two innings of the day. 4Ks no hits, no walks. the gaolfing score would not have been good at all, threw way too many pitches in the 2nd inning- lots of deep counts. the arm felt decent, it took a long time to warm up and even then it was a bit tender. it was not until about 5 pitches into the 1st inning that i actually felt good. i realy thing i have messed somehting up, its hard for me to believe its still just sore from getting back in shape. oh well, in our league, a pitcher can only throw 3 innings per game. the most inings i could throw would be 6 (the last 3 innings of the first and the first 3 of the last) and if this first outting was any indication, i think i will dominate. time will tell though.
today, in about an hour (3:30) will be my first practice with the younger kids. its going to be a marathon day...330 to 9. i just hope i dont have to throw that much, i dont htink my arm can take it.
that is enough for today, we are watching married with children before practice. even in german this show awful.
A-ron
today, in about an hour (3:30) will be my first practice with the younger kids. its going to be a marathon day...330 to 9. i just hope i dont have to throw that much, i dont htink my arm can take it.
that is enough for today, we are watching married with children before practice. even in german this show awful.
A-ron
Monday, March 9, 2009
T-minus 4 days
Everyone,
Even though I have denounced the thought of blogs in the past, I've decided this is probably the best medium to use to keep everyone up to date with how things are going during my time across the pond. Honestly, this is going to be more like a public journal of the exploits, trials and tribulations, and all-around experience of me and the Dohren Wild Farmers for the next 7 months. i've got every intention of updating this thing daily...but most of you know me well enough to know, like i do, that is highly unlikely. I will definitly write after every weekend to let you know how the team did. to keep track of the team stats and latest news, go to Google and search Dohren Wild Farmers and click on the "translate this page" link. or if you prefer to read it in German, www.wildfarmers.de.
Well, here goes nothing.
A-Ron
Even though I have denounced the thought of blogs in the past, I've decided this is probably the best medium to use to keep everyone up to date with how things are going during my time across the pond. Honestly, this is going to be more like a public journal of the exploits, trials and tribulations, and all-around experience of me and the Dohren Wild Farmers for the next 7 months. i've got every intention of updating this thing daily...but most of you know me well enough to know, like i do, that is highly unlikely. I will definitly write after every weekend to let you know how the team did. to keep track of the team stats and latest news, go to Google and search Dohren Wild Farmers and click on the "translate this page" link. or if you prefer to read it in German, www.wildfarmers.de.
Well, here goes nothing.
A-Ron
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)