So My Team Stinks

Friday I got to the office early, after giving vials and vials of blood for my annual MDVIP physical. Each year they send a gallon or so of my life fluid to a lab run by Cleveland Clinic, to analyze, absurdly, probably, all aspects of it, and then the doc spends an hour with you telling you, essentially, to lose weight and exercise more.

The last few years she also says to take more Vitamin D. Apparently latest studies show this is a miracle chemical which staves off bad stuff.

Anyway, I corrected a few letters, and left as my man Stu was getting in at the crack of noon, per usual. And later we fetched D2 and Jonathan, on the way to MiMo to meet D1 and Joey.

We went to Gregory's Diner, a new place that opened in the Vagabond Motel, a beautifully restored place on 73rd and Biscayne. The Vagabond claims to have been a Rat Pack hangout. I researched it, and the claims appear to be false. Indeed, the Rat Pack, when they left the big Beach hotels, went to Vagabonds, a supper club that existed near Freedom Tower, Downtown. The place was named after Arthur Godfrey's dancers, and Frank would sip a few and maybe sing, and Sammy would join him, along with Gleason. Ah -- those were the days - just not on 73rd Street...

But the meal was terrific -- I had the best chicken since Michael's Genuine -- and much cheaper -- and the drinks were nicely poured. The GM said hello, and recognized D1, as did a young Dietetics student in the valet line. Our girl is famous! At least locally...

Saturday am I met D2 and Jonathan at the gym -- and Enrique put Jonathan, especially, through the exercise wringer. He was lighter on D2 and me -- she ran half of the required distances, and I power walked most of them -- I HATE running -- always have, even as a 16 year old member of the MacArthur High baseball team...

We then went to breakfast at Le Boulangerie, French for "The Boulangerie," which Jonathan suspected was owned by Jewish Venezuelans in Aventura. He was correct -- I asked our waitress Yolanda, and she confirmed it. We stopped in Mega Liquors for some supplies for my upcoming tailgate and their apartment, and then I brought home breakfast to Wifey, who was hosting an electrician, who was replacing our old fixtures with new ones.

My game wife Mirta arrived at noon, and we were off to Joe Robbie -- Norman was just setting up -- and Maria's husband Ramon was in full grill mode.

It was a great tailgate -- my nephew Scott brought his lady Sam, and she had a great time. Maria gave her approval -- Sam helped with the cleanup without asking -- and Maria pronounced her a keeper.

Old friend Brian came, with his three boys, the oldest of whom is a UM freshman. The Ds and Mirta used to babysit them. The middle boy Logan wants to come to the U, too -- away from Orlando, but not too far.

Brian was raised here and loves it, but his native born wife wanted out. I think she didn't like being one of the poorer members of their wealthy synagogue -- in Orlando they'd move up some rungs. Well -- it worked, but then she and Brian separated. I think he wishes he never left, but is doing wonderfully there with his career, and his boys are soaring, too, so things are ok. Plus, now he has an excuse to come back more often -- his oldest in college here, plus some locally venued cases.

I consumed the perfect amount of vodka -- much of it American Founders -- a local Arlington, VA brand that I enjoyed when at a restaurant for Scott's graduation. He had a bottle shipped to his house, and we enjoyed its smoothness.  I walked into the stadium perfectly buzzed.

And then the game happened. The Canes were awful. They were down 28-0 in the first half, to a Va Tech team they were supposed to beat by 14.  I took Mirta to the club before the half ended -- I knew my Canes teams -- though they would likely fight back against this crappy Tech squad, they would not win.

So we sat in the Club -- Barry, Donna, Scott and Sam joined us -- and drank water and diet coke to rehydrate. And  Mirta and I left  -- in the 3rd quarter. We made it home to watch the "thrilling comeback" which fell short. In short, my team sucks.

They're worse than last year, when they were mediocre. I predicted they'd go 8-4 this year, against a weak schedule. No I'm thinking 6-6 or even 4-8 is more likely. I thought they were a year away from returning to greatness. No way. If I'm blessed with a grandchild, that kid will be starting kindergarten before my team is very good again.

And that's ok. I love when they win, but when they lose, I get realistic. My friends and I, all high achievers with our UM degrees, but NOT athletic, pin our moods on the antics and whims of a bunch of 18-22 year old kids, mostly from inner cities and dirt poor towns, just because they wear orange and green uniforms instead of another color.

Ah -- who am I kidding? I DO care.  When we beat long time foe Notre Dame 2 years ago, I cried in the stands with happiness -- a little.

I hope the locally born and raised Cuban coach, Manny Diaz, can bring the team back. He sure has great gimics and slogans -- the turnover chain, which every team now copies -- and "TNM" -the New Miami. As Greg Cote wrote in this am's column, TNM stands for The Neutered Miami.

But the togetherness counts most. We play again this coming Friday night -- to a UVA team much better than we are. Mirta is going to let me know if she can go. If not, I may cruise there solo -- Wifey is leaving the next day for Vero Beach and will be home packing.

So for now my team really stinks. My friends shine. And it's all about the latter...