31 October 2009


Eight years ago, I had the pleasure of bringing my son and daughter to NYC for all 3 games of the 2001 World Series. I had been to hundreds of games at Yankee Stadium in my life. Saw Roger and Mickey and Whitey and Thurman and was lucky enough to be in the upper deck of the Stadium with 10+ college buddies when Chris Chambliss propelled the Yankees into the 1976 World Series at the expense of Mark Littell and the Royals.

But no Yankee Stadium or baseball experience compared to the 3 days of the 2001 World Series. The emotional specter of returning to New York for an event like the World Series mere weeks after 9/11 was overwhelming. Emotions that included excitement, anticipation, curiosity, anger and even fear gripped me for the entire 5 days that we were there.

And the one memory I shall always hold near and dear til my grave was when Tino Martinez cracked that game tying home run in Game 4. For the 1st time in my life of spectating games at that old venerable gray mecca, I felt the structure move when the ball landed in the stands.

Ghosts? Release of volcanic like emotions of a local population harboring pain and angst over the events of the previous month? An old structure showing it's age under the burden of 50,000+ exuberant fans? All of the above? Whatever, it was easily the most unique experience of my life.

All summed up in the following essay my son wrote for a College English class two years ago.
I am reprinting it here without his permission. Cuz I couldn't have said it any better. He gets mad at me when I share it, but I don't care. I'm proud of it and proud of him for writing it. I'm proud of the Yankees and proud of New Yorkers. And I think he captures the essence of what it is to be a fan of the Yankees and a fan of New York. And on this Halloween anniversary of that seminal event in our lives, I am proud to publish it again.

More than Love for the Game

Most people in the world can only dream of seeing baseball's greatest team, the Yankees, partaking in the single most important series of the whole season, the World Series, at the single greatest sports complex in the world, Yankee Stadium. Some dreams do come true, and my World Series dream did just that and at a very significant time in my life, and history.

New York was in mourning, the nation was in a shock, and I, too young and ignorant to comprehend much of anything, was the happiest kid in the world. Though I could comprehend what was going on after the terrorist attacks of 9/11, my head was too filled with Social Studies, my evil 7th grade English teacher Ms. Pappas, and of course baseball. The world was too far away to touch me, and politics was just what the parents talked about during 6 o' clock dinner. How could I be bothered with such things when I was going to the World Series in New York City? Apparently it bothered my mother who feared for our safety while travelling at such a time.
There was no stopping my father and me however, both of us being experienced travelers, we were gone before we left, with new Yankees jackets and caps packed up a week before we left. It is for reasons like this that I love my father unconditionally. He would never let me miss an opportunity, and would urge me to take any that come. I didn't know that then, but then again there is much I didn't and don't know.

If I could describe the relationship I have had with my Father in my short eighteen years of life it would be one word, Yankees. Any significant experience or sentiment I have held with the 6' 3" 220 pound Long Island, New York native and Manhattan College alum can be attributed to the "Evil Empire," and anything associated with it, including New York. I felt safe and comfortable traversing New York with him, I had done it before; he had done it too many times.
The city I had expected however was not the city I arrived at. What was usually a city of hustle and bustle, packed streets, and lines of cars seemed almost like a ghost town. The memory of what had happened only a month before our arrival and mere blocks from where we were staying hit like a stone. My father seemed to understand it would be like this, walking not in surprise but in a morose condition. I couldn't quite grasp why this great city could be so sad; buildings fell and people died, things like that happened everyday all over the world. Life and death was still a foreign concept and soon my mind travelled to the buildings, birds, and hot dog vendors, travelling was very easy in New York with all the things to look at.

The Marriott on Times Square, my father always did big trips well. All the travelling had put my mind in a daze and the reason as to why we travelled from our home in Albuquerque to here was prevalent in my mind again. With the first game hours away there was hardly time for relaxation and so we travelled again, subways, cabs, and subways again. The train was fun, we rumbled and bumbled along and soon it was filled with people like us travelling to the stadium. These people represented a character quite unlike the morose Times Square I had seen earlier. They laughed loudly and talked louder, typical of the New York form, I couldn't be happier. I sat there soaking up the finest spirits of the city, feeling enlightened and ecstatic I watched these people who looked as if nothing was wrong in their lives. Even at my young age I recognized how this thing called baseball could bring people together in such a dreadful time. I felt like I was a part of a very great thing and almost forgot where I was going until the train emerged at a station with bright blue lights gleaming YANKEE STADIUM over it.

They won the first game; I can hardly recall anything from the filing cabinets of my mind. It was loud, the Yankees won putting them behind in the series 2-1, and then we headed back to our hotel through a sleeping city somewhere around 2:30 in the morning. The next day we slept, ate, and did it again. Game Two of the World Series in New York was almost as necessary for the Yankees to win as the first one and the fear of losing game one was shown in our fingernails which were half gone from the anticipation during the game the previous night. Back to the streets and back to the trains we went, Yankee Stadium was gleaming down on us yet again.

The Stadium is everything a young man could dream and more. A bright light blasted my eyes upon entrance, below us was a perfectly lit field, perfectly lined, and perfectly kept. Vendors selling everything were everywhere. Crowds of people made their way through crowds of people and everyone was wearing Yankees somewhere on their bodies. It was sheer beauty in and of itself, everyone who was there shared an excitement unexplainable by words.

It was a blessing to be following the "big man" as he parted crowds much easier than I could have and I was sure to stay close. Our seats, the same as the night prior, were more likely to see a hawk than a baseball so we arrived early to catch some up close batting practice. I was enlightened by it, so sure I would be the next shortstop for the Yankees and so enthralled by what was going on that I hardly remember feeling appreciative at all. He was right there too, the man who made it all possible, who instilled all he could into me. He loved baseball with a passion, appreciated education, and was understanding. So I loved baseball, worked towards college, and understood as much as I could. None of this crossed my mind as I sat next to him though. I thought this was the way life was supposed to be, I couldn't be anywhere but where I was. Youth and ignorance generally go hand in hand of course and rather than turning to him right there and saying "thank you" I continued watching enraptured.

The players looked like dots on the field, but it didn't matter. The game was just as intense and magical as the night before. We cheer for the Yankees, and boo for the Diamondbacks; every fan was as raucous as a high school student. The bottom of ninth inning rolled around and the mood was a solemn one. The Yanks were down by three with only three outs left to their name.
Nervousness swept the crowd, the Yankees hanging on by inches by getting two runners on with two outs. Tino Martinez, Yankee first baseman and cleanup hitter, came to bat on a stage that must have been louder than a 747 engine. From our seats there was no way we could see details but every single person in the stadium stood at attention heads turned one direction and hands clapping loudly. With one pitch and one swing there was an eruption to rival Mt. Vesuvius and what seemed to be an earthquake to rival the San Andreas Fault. It was as memorable as 9/11 itself, people were jumping up and down, wiping away tears of joy rather than sad ones for a change. An adrenaline surpassing any dangerous stun or extreme joy I have ever felt rushed over me as I screamed my head off and was thrown on strangers shoulders also cheering madly.
I returned to my smiling father after calm swept the stadium and watched the rest of the game. The Yank's pulled off another win in a similar dramatic and just as loud fashion, and culminated with Frank Sinatra's voice cooing the fans out of the stadium. It was back to the full and cheering trains and back to sleep to do it again.

We did it again the next day, the same magic, the same excitement nothing was daunting or drawling about our lives. Finally, we boarded our plane and were left with a good six hours to recall our past three days. I had a new found love for the New York Yankees, a sentiment greater than one for sport or franchise. It was the bringing together of people in which I found my profound respect for the team. During a time of dismal situations especially for the city of New York it seemed almost magical for Tino Martinez to hit bottom of the ninth homeruns in New York. During a time of such a spongy youth it was the Yankees which brought me unconditional respect for my father. All he had done, sacrificed, and shared with me is culminated in our trip to New York. It must have been a good three years later until I realized most of this but it always brings me back to the World Series, 2001.

28 October 2009


Jimmy Rollins of the Phillies is an idiot and has a big mouth.

There is nothing worse than a baseball player who "prognosticates" that his team will "win in 5, maybe 6 if we are nice". As cocky as that may sound, the underside of his prediction is even worse. With this comment, Rollins has also said that his team will "lose one game, maybe two".

Which games will they be Jimmy? Which pitchers and players, TEAMMATES, from your locker room will lose those games, asshole? Care to enlighten the world with those pearls of wisdom, sir?

Baseball players who predict LOSSES for their own teams are no better than Pete Rose betting on games. Cuz at what point does Rollins start thinking about the importance and notoriety of his predictions over the greater good of his team? Think that's crazy? It's HUMAN NATURE, FOLKS.

Jimmy Rollins should STFU. (But I'm glad he doesn't......cuz I would love to be in the Yankee Locker Room reading and listening to his BS).

Speaking of STFU........My virtual good friend and world reknowned blogger Bob Mantz posted this gem on his website today: http://njfrogman.blogspot.com/2009/10/top-10-madonna-songs-phillies-sould.html

It's a list of Top 10 Madonna Songs that the Phillies should play when A-Rod comes to bat.

In the interest of equal time to Bob's NONSENSE, I offer this response..

Top 10 Songs To Play For Jimmy Rollins At Bats
  • 10/Just My Imagination (Temptations)
  • 9/Dream On (Aerosmith)
  • 8/Proud Mary- "ROLLIN" Down The River (Ike and Tina)
  • 7/I'm With Stupid (Pet Shop Boys)
  • 6/Oops, I Did It Again (Britney Spears)
  • 5/I'm A Loser (Beatles)
  • 4/19th Nervous Breakdown (Stones)
  • 3/You Talk Too Much (Thorogood)
  • 2/Idiot Wind (Bob Dylan)
  • 1/Dumb (Nirvana)

27 October 2009



And I'm not talking about the story about this poor kid who took a brief nap in the hallway of the hotel after running with the big dogs for 10 hours or so. The kid put up a valiant effort. Hopefully, he'll now be better equipped to run a better game next time he's around professionals.

Nope, I'm gonna talk about some things that my daughter and my new son-in-law did (disclaimer- I had little input and knew even less about what was going into the event) in planning their wedding that made this old salt very proud, renewed my faith in the future of the human race, and gave two sets of parents cause to believe that they did a pretty good job of raising their children.

And what more could a parent ask for on a day like this?

The Bride and Groom established early on in their ceremony a wonderful theme for the entire affair. That the basis of their relationship was first and foremost built around friendship. To each other and more importantly, how friendship and the support of friends and family had made them who they were that wedding day.

The opening remarks (written by the bride and groom) by the minister emphasized the appreciation of the couple for all (about 110 people) who had travelled from so far (15 states at last tally) to attend this gala as no greater demonstration of the love they had received from so many in their still short lives. Nothing about "what great people" or "what a great couple" they were gonna be, but, instead, their words illuminated "what a great life" everyone in attendance had "provided for them" leading up to their blessed day. And the praise from the couple did not stop with simply those in attendance. The minister made a point of recognizing all of those who could not attend, especially those family and friends, who were no longer with us, and what a lasting influence those people would always hold in the couple's souls. (Highlighted by a heartwrenching pictorial display in the lobby of the reception hall of all of those who's earthly influences had moved beyond).

And then, in a brief moment before exchanging their own vows, I was witness to and was part of an experience that I had never seen before in the 40 plus weddings I have attended in my life.

The minister asked all four parents to stand up and the bride and groom turned and faced us. He then read off a sometimes humorous and completely touching litany of experiences and love that had shaped the couple in their lives. They thanked (profusely) all four of us for all we had done as parents. And vowed to continue what they had learned from us in their own lives together.

It damn near popped a crocodile from this til then rock solid Father of The Bride.

But more importantly, their wedding theme provided an incredible atmosphere for the rest of the evening. An evening/night/next morning that can best be described as "Truly Bon Vivant". Everyone was family, I sensed no traditional "their side/our side" behavior of until now unfamiliar families that is prevalent at so many other weddings. There were some moments during the reception (hey, what's a wedding reception without evicting /"86'ing" someone, or a few raised eyebrows over three brothers named Hanson wearing exact replica Slapshot Charlestown Chiefs jerseys), but one thing I noticed throughout the night was the constant intermingling and enjoyment that both crowds enjoyed with each other.

So much so, that the highlight of the entire week, weekend, night for me was the final song of the reception (including all of the bawdy and decadent "post-reception" activities).

As "Piano Man" rang out from the speakers while the couple did a stirring Lindy on the dance floor, the entire crowd was circled around them and drowned out Billy Joel's vocalizations. And I found myself with not only one armed draped around two of my best childhood friend's shoulders (we grew up a short bike ride from Billy Joel's neighborhood) but had the other arm draped around a guy from the groom's side who sang louder than me....and I had a sense that we all truly believed what we were singing to the dancing couple......

....."for we're all in the mood for a melody, and you got us feeling alright".

Which, is what weddings are supposed to be about, I think....and while I'm thinking, is also kinda how that guy on the hallway floor was feeling later on when he selected that corner of the world to take a nap.

And God Bless Him for feeling that way.

Cuz he had friends to trust and to watch over him.

Who can get through life without that?

14 October 2009


Has anyone noticed the new rage gripping America? The "6 Degrees of Separation" game? How any Joe Sixpack or Donna Doublewide is 6 (or fewer) acquaintances away from someone famous? Have we all become so desperate for notoriety that we'll start dropping names like a Gotti hitman at a Senate RICO Hearing?

Well, with that in mind, I got to thinking (I do that once a day) about how close I am to John Wooden. The All-Time Greatest Basketball Coach in History, who is celebrating his 99th birthday today. John Wooden is truly a living icon, the Wizard of Westwood, as his great UCLA teams of the 60's brought national attention to college basketball which, in turn, made March Madness and office gambling pools as popular in America as political corruption and Wall St. trading scams.

So I figured out how close I am to being a good acquaintance of John Wooden.

  • John Wooden is 99 years old today.
  • Nena wrote and performed 99 Red Balloons (99 Luftballons for those of you of Teutonic Heritage), and started out as the lead singer in a German band called "Stripes" in 1983 .
  • I saw a VHS copy of the movie "Stripes" starring Bill Murray and Harold Ramis, in 1985.
  • Bill Murray and Harold Ramis are from Chicago and were big supporters of Barack Obama, also from Chicago, last year. (And most likely asked to bust some Bush Ghosts out of the White House).
  • Barack Obama ran a campaign marathon against a lady named Sarah Palin last year.
  • Sarah Palin was a High School basketball star in Wasilla during the early 80's, the same time that your's truly was dropping numerous dollars in Wasilla hotspots named "Huppy's Roadhouse" and "Haa'lea Lodge".

So how come I'm not invited to Coach Wooden's birthday party?

(Bonus minutes from Two Time Zones Away to anyone who correctly guesses how many Red Balloons are in the picture posted here).

09 October 2009


I have just become aware of what may well be the leading candidate for The Irony of Ironies Award for 2009. As well as another indication of how far behind the American Experiment has fallen.

Lenore Skenazy, author of my favorite book of the year "Free Range Kids: Giving Our Children the Freedom We Had Without Going Nuts with Worry," will be speaking about her book at Yale University today.

As part of the "Parents Weekend" festivities for incoming freshmen.

You know....Parent's Weekend, that 2 day Propaganda Tour where colleges try to convince the check writers and loan co-signors that little Johnny and Mary are going to get an education beyond the PH.D in Alcohol and Drug Abuse that come with a 4 or 5 or 6 year sentence to their institutions.

Who is Lenore Skenazy and what is Free Range Kids, you ask?

Ms. Skenazy and her work are a much needed breath of fresh air in America. In short, Ms. Skenazy encourages parents to allow their kids to do incredible things like ride a bike to the library, walk alone to school, take public transportation (her 10 year old solos on NYC subways)

.....basically GET THE HELL OUT OF THE HOUSE!!

Encourage kids to acquire the social skills that have disappeared over the last 2-3 decades thanks to computers, overregulation by our lawyers and government, and media sponsored fearmongering.

Shocking, isn't it?

Downright revolutionary, isn't it?

You can learn more about Lenore and her work here...


(Disclaimer... I have become Facebook Friends with Ms. Skenazy, so yes, this is a shameless plug of her work by me....BUY HER BOOK!!)

So where's the irony that comes with a confluence of Lenore Skenazy, Yale University and Parent's Weekend, you ask?


Isn't it a tad late for Ms. Skenazy to be waxing poetic to these post pubescent freshmen and their parents?

Or maybe it isn't.

And that's the really scary part.

One of the Top 10 Universities in America is engaging a lecturer to teach a class that should be called "Apron Cutting Skills 101" to parents and freshmen.

Oh, the humanity.

Finally, if I may, I'd like to volunteer some ancient words of advice for Ms. Skenazy to pass along to these young Eli's and their parents.

It's a phrase that I ingrained within my own children's psyche at an early age. A phrase that teaches them to think first when confronting new and unusual circumstances, the kind of confrontations with life's unique challenges that can be scary at first, and often require a slow approach before following through with a decision:

"Unh Uh...mighta choked Arti, but it ain't gonna choke Stymie".

Give 'em hell Lenore Skenazy!!!

07 October 2009



The Tigers tried.

I give them A+ for effort. It was a great game. One for the ages. Made all baseball fans proud.

They had the game won going into the bottom of the 10th inning. Had a one run lead. Their stud closer was in the game, and he was dealing. The Tigers avoided all the usual nonsense that comes with playing in the Hump Sack during a 9 inning game. The crowd noise, the waving hankies, the disappearing popups, superball bounces, screwy ground rules, hockey glass in the outfield walls, Hefty Sak drapes, homemade windstorms when someone opens an exit door, rug burns, the warm beer that arrives when you order from a vendor 45 seats away (one time zone), all the stuff that makes that dump the worst baseball venue in the world.

But then in the bottom of the 10th, the Movie Theater that was supposed to die, remembered it was October and Jason never dies in October.

The Glad Bag that won't go away reared it's ugly head in the form of a leadoff flare to leftfield that Ryan Raburn misplayed into a triple after losing it in the roof. Followed soon after by a routine double play ball that took a magic hop (it made Wham-O proud) and snaked beyond the reach of 2nd baseman Placido Polanco to allow the tying run to score.

And just like that, the Twins scored in the 12th and The Dome lived to kill another day.

Next victim? The Mighty Yankees. MY TEAM. A team that has been destined to win their 40th American League Pennant and their 27th World Championship this year. A team with the best record in baseball, and the best Yankee team that Steinbrenner's millions (billions?) has fielded in a decade.

I'm scared.....I am very, very scared. The Yankees couldn't handle nature's widges in Cleveland two years ago, how are they gonna handle this supernatural beast? Put New York's Cardinal Egan on the 25 man roster? Pack a couple of chainsaws in the gear bags? Give each player a tiny crucifix to wear around his neck?


Never watch 'em.

Don't wanna see one now.......So....Yankees...listen up guys....Throw the ball, catch the ball, hit the ball hard and keep your damn heads in each and every inning of every game. Win every inning, win every game.


I can't think of a better team to finally send that Den of Iniquity off to the Netherworld...forever.


06 October 2009



I am rooting for the Detroit Tigers today. I want them to defeat the Twins and move on to face my beloved Yankees in the ALDS. The Yankees have had success against both the Twins and the Tigers this year, going 7-0 against the Twins, while winning 5 of 6 from Detroit. And in recent years the Twins have been a pushover for the Yankees in the playoffs.

On the surface, most Yankee fans would most likely opt for Minnesota as the Yankees next opponent, given the recent successes the Yanks have had against them. Coupled with the fact that the Tigers have a potential Yankee killer in the name of pitcher Justin Verlander. A guy who could conceivably shut down the Yankee lineup for two games.

But I'd rather take my chances with the Tigers in the ALDS. They are a team very similar to the Yankees...just lacking in depth and overall quality of talent.

I don't want any part of the Twins this postseason....nope....not at all....no way.

I don't care that the Yanks have owned them the last few years. I don't care that Carl Pavano, a worthless overpaid POS when he was with the Yanks, is now pitching for them. I don't care that there is hardly a baseball fan in America that can name more than two players in their starting lineup besides Mauer and Morneau (BTW sports fans....Morneau is OUT for the season).

A potential Twins/Yanks matchup has all the makings of a MAJOR upset, and that scares the hell out of me.

Unscientific of me, isn't it?

The Twins are playing the BEST BASEBALL in America right now. They are a walking baseball thesaurus of cliches, getting "just enough" pitching, incredibly timely hitting, stellar defense and have one of the best field tacticians in the game in Ron Gardenhire. They play "small ball", they bunt, they steal, they hit and run, they have some guys capable of hitting a 3 run homer.

But MOST IMPORTANTLY.......they have that friggen anomaly of a baseball stadium.

The Hankie Dome, The Glad Bag, The Movie Theater, the place where routine popups turn into adventures, an arena where baseballs are the EXACT same color as the ceiling, the Stadium with the most uncomfortable seats and worst sightlines I have ever been a part of in a Major League Stadium. The Stadium that was SUPPOSED to have had it's last baseball game played on Sunday.

An anomaly that won't go away, an aberration that just played host to another pimple (Favre) that won't go away.

I don't want the Yankees playing in the Dome this postseason....too many stupid things can and do happen there. And what Yankee fan doesn't remember the widges in Cleveland?

Please Detroit....please.....put the worst baseball stadium in America out of it's misery tonight. Send it to the great plastic recycling plant in the sky. Let the wind out of that place, PERMANENTLY!!

Baseball needs you Detroit. Time to make a balloon payment on all the bailout money. Eliminate the Hump Sack. Turn that place into my next pair of recycled footwear.

And know that I'll be praying very hard today that Miguel Cabrera doesn't get waylaid in Dinkytown (the northern Mississippi extension of the French Quarter, where locals offer Leinenkugel and Head Cheese in lieu of Hurricanes and Gumbo) on his way to the Baggie.

Cuz we all know he's not gettin' any other kindalaid for awhile.

Just my opinion....

02 October 2009



10/Oprah wanted the opening ceremonies held in her backyard.

9/ACORN was not allowed to register IOC voting committee members.

8/Naming Richard Daley as Director of 'Event Judge Scheduling" may not have been the best idea.

7/Neither was putting William Ayers in charge of security for the games.

6/Nor was having Jeremiah Wright deliver the opening benediction.

5/Chicago refused to allow the UN International Atomic Energy Agency to inspect those dark green, perfectly shaped gelatinous cubes that locals put on their hot dogs and call relish. (There's enough green dye in one of those "things" to paint a stripe across I-80 from Chicago to NYC on St. Patricks Day)

4/The Italian Delegation stormed out of the meeting after sampling the proposed Official Olympic Food......Chicago Pizza..., calling it "Wonder Bread dipped in Ragu with a sprinkling of Kraft"

3/Opening Ceremonies featuring Bill Murray as Nick the Lounge Lizard, with James Belushi and Denise Richards singing "Take Me Out to The Olympic Games" did not score high with the Voting Committee

2/Hanging framed copies of Obama's "Hope" campaign poster in every dorm room of the Olympic Village did not go over well with Western European and Russian voters on the Committee.

1/Having a cow named Daisy kick over a lantern to light the Olympic Flame did not ignite the excitement of the IOC.

01 October 2009


USAir announced that the dynamic duo of Captain "Sully" Sullenberger and First Officer Jeffrey Skiles will return to the air today and try to get to Charlotte again, 9 months after their last attempt made an unscheduled maintenance stop in the Hudson River. (recently given a 3 digit airport designation of "H2O" by the FAA).
They will be in the cockpit for a late morning flight out of Laguardia, and USAir plans a gala celebration to honor the event, as well as added security precautions.

For a $15.00 fee, all passengers will receive a commemorative Tempur-pedic goose down pillow, which can be located and picked up in the overhead bins above aisles 19 and 20.

Bottled Hudson River water (Energized with General Electric Polychlorinated Biphenyls) will be available as part of the inflight beverage service for a nominal cost of $3.00.

A special meal has been prepared by world reknowned airline caterers "Oldendry of Bayonne".
Passengers can savor 2 millimeters of Foie Gras on a Ritz for $6.00.

To the relief of passengers, Discovery TV star Bear Grylls will be aboard, and paid a $15.00 premium seat fee to be located over Engine Number 2 for the duration of the flight.

Flight attendants will eschew traditional uniforms as a new line of custom safetywear is being test marketed by Onda De Mer and Anika Brazil.

A representative of PETA has been authorized to ride in the cockpit jumpseat for the flight. As a concession to complaints from the Airline Pilots Association (ALPA), Captain Sullenberger has been authorized to blindfold and gag the PETA representative as soon as he feels like it.

Pre-takeoff Grey Goose Jello Shots will be available for $4.00, or 6 inflight beverage coupons.

The Air Force announced that an AC-130 Gunship will circle the airport before and after takeoff. NYPD Harbor Boats will patrol Flushing Bay with AKC Labradors to retrieve any fallout.
34 orange Carhartt clad sharpshooters from the Outdoor Channel will set up and man duck blinds at the end of the runway, as well as along Orchard Beach in the Bronx. (Spittoons provided by The Brass Shop of 5th Avenue).

And finally...
As the first class cabin has already been sold out, no high level USAir officials will be onboard the flight, citing a company policy that prohibits them from flying coach while on company business.