Another Short Post

During a conversation with a friend, I realized that the fact that I enjoyed being a catcher for so many years may mean that I fundamentally like having things thrown at me. Not that this is an invitation.

I Have Never Thought Of It That Way

My sister Julie thinks that my area of research, single-agent search, sounds like a dating service for spys.

Ricardo, Richard, Rick, Ricky, and Dick

Maybe it is because St. Richard's Day was only a few weeks ago, but I am still somewhat surprised to have stumbled on a few different interesting ideas about my name since then.

For those who aren't in the know, when I was younger I generally went by the name Ricky. At some point, I decided to move on to Rick, just as I assume Timmy's generally move on to Tim at some point. This was a semi-conscious decision which was done by slowly phasing out the old name - mostly by introducing myself to new people as Rick instead of Ricky.

Anyways, while Ricky Gervais proves that the name is not just for children any more, Michael Ian Black, in a recent blog post, describes why it is the perfect name for a drug dealer:

My hypothetical drug dealer’s name is Ricky because it sounds like the kind of name that is both friendly but also scummy, which is how I want my drug dealer to be.

Considering that Ricky from Trailer Park Boys is a friendly yet scummy drug dealer, it is starting to seem that this belief is fairly universal.

Now, while Richard is my legal name, only a handful of people call me that, including my Nonna, who pronounces it "Ric-kard" (as in rhyming with mallard). I don't really have a problem with Richard, as it is a fine name. It just sounds so regal, which is why I don't really go by it except in formal situations. In any case, I share said name with one Rick Ankiel of the St. Louis Cardinals who, accordng to stltoday.com, apparently has similarly been pondering the various incarnations of his name:

Ankiel has been preoccupied recently about when it is age appropriate for him to shorten his given name, Richard, to "Dick" instead of "Rick." Some friends and clubhouse denizens have already taken to calling him "Dick" this spring. He calls it an instant "ice-breaker."

Interesting. So at some point, I felt "Rick" was more age-appropriate than "Ricky," and now Mr. Ankiel believes that I should move onto "Dick" in the near future. Well, I suppose it is better than being a friendly, but kinda scummy kid.

Update: I'd like to dedicate this post to Ricky Romero who was nails tonight in the Jay game, even if they lost. I'd like to dedicate the use of the word nails to the Drunk Jays Fans and some anonymous fan named Joshua Waitzkin.

More Opening Day Hype

This video has been floating around various Jays blogs for the last few weeks, but I still have to throw it up here:




Thanks to the Tao of Stieb and the DrunkJaysFans for finding it first.

Sometimes I think I am too young to be this nostalgic.

Boundless Optimism

I haven't posted in a while and so I thought I better write something to appease my rabid fanbase (by which I mean the 3 people who actually check this blog out, mostly just to humour me).

I am also a little hesitant to throw up another baseball post because I want to keep things as varied as possible. But today is Opening Day and so I must.

For the uninitiated, I am referring to the first day of the new baseball season. More specifically, I am referring to the first home game of your favourite team.

I love Opening Day. Until I moved to Edmonton, I had seen something like 5 or 6 straight Opening Day games in person. It was a tradition for a group of us. The only classes of undergrad that I missed (I was really adamant about going to every class so that I would get my moneys worth) were for Opening Day.

In Toronto, Opening Day is the only game of the year that will reliably be sold out (at least until they reliably become a playoff team), and while I can do without some of the morons who only show up for that game - really people, do you have to throw stuff on the field or run on the field - the atmosphere can be electric.

I still remember a particularly good Opening Day in 2005. The opponent was the hated (well I hate them) Red Sox. I am pretty sure this is the game when Rogers made the ill-advised decision to give out fridge-magnet schedules that would be thrown onto the field in large quantities. But regardless of the stupidity of the others in the crowd, baseball prevailed.

In the bottom of the ninth, with the Jays down 6-3, good ole Corey Koskie singled to start the rally. As the Jays battled back, the crowd became electric. Of the group that day was a friend of mine who only had a cursory understanding of baseball, and I remember her mentioning that even though she didn't quite know what was going on, she was trembling from excitement. Even though the Jays feel achingly short with two men on and one run short, I remember thinking "This is what Opening Day is about." For those in the know, I believe it was after this game that I ordered that glorious Molson Ex.

Anyways, my expectations for the Jays are pretty low for this season. But today is Opening Day, and so I can't help but think about the things that may break the right way this year. Particularly with Roy Halladay, maybe my favourite athlete (nay, human being) on the planet today, pitching today, I can't help but be optimistic. What was that Morgan Freeman said about hope?

International Baseball Madness

I am incredibly pumped for the World Baseball Classic game tomorrow. USA vs. Canada. A rematch of the game. I have no idea how I am going to watch it, but I definitely will try.

The game is of course the Canada vs. USA World Baseball Classic game in 2006. I was still on the U of T campus when the game began, and didn't know the score until I got into my dad's car for the ride home. It was only then that I found out about the ridiculous lead that Canada had built, in Arizona no less, from the FAN590 (the local sports radio station). Needless to say, I was shocked. Remember, we are talking about baseball here. America's national pastime.

Unfortunately, none of the radio stations was actually playing the game, and so I remained at the mercy of the FAN590 and their game updates. Considering it was still early in the game, the car ride only got more and more nerve-racking, even as the Canadian lead kept growing. Could they actually pull off the upset?

When we finally arrived home, I bolted out of the car, into the house, and to the nearest available TV. We arrived joyously to see the Americans were still down by 8 runs.

However, Adam Loewen, who was the starting pitcher for Canada, had to be pulled from the game - despite having handcuffed the US for the first few innings. With the departure of Loewen, the Americans started to mount an incredible comeback in the 5th inning, much to my dismay.

After having already put up 6 runs in the fifth so as to pull the game back to 8-6 Canada, the Americans loaded the bases with two outs and set the stage for Chase Utley, the American second baseman.

At this point, I was terrified. Not only had the Americans clawed there way back, but we had some pitcher I had never heard of on the mound, and he was pitching to probably the best hitting second baseman in the game. And just as expected, the pitcher threw a beachball right down the middle of the plate that Utley was more than willing to crush.

All I could manage to do was slump over in my chair in agony. The game had gone sour. The momentum had completely changed in favour of the Americans. Even worse, Canada's pitching staff was essentially cobbled together from whomever they could find, and so I did not believe that they could keep the Americans from running away with the victory.

The game was essentially over and I knew it. So did Chase Utley, who made the moment so much more devastating when he allowed a smarmy grin to creep onto his face. He even raised his fist in triumph before the ball had left the park, a moment I expected would haunt me in my sleep. But then Adam Stern happened.

Adam Stern was/is a middling prospect who, at the time, had played a handful of games at the Major League Level, and has hardly played any more since. But this was his day. He was batting ninth, and yet somehow managed to collect 4 RBI's which included this glorious piece of work. Just watch that clip. The announcer didn't even know who he was.

Most importantly, Adam Stern was not about to let Canada lose this game.

I wish I could find a video of the ensuing play. All I remember is the ball sailing off of Utley's bat, headed to the bleachers behind centerfield. Both Utley and I assumed it was a homerun, but instead, Adam Stern came out of nowhere to make a ridiculous leaping catch right by the wall. As he fell into a heap on the ground, I leaped out of my chair and screamed in joy. The inning was over. Canada still had the lead. We could still win this game!

Sure enough, the scrubs that together formed Canada's pitching staff somehow managed to hold on for the win. Canada 8, USA 6. IN BASEBALL! It was one of the most satisfying sports victories I could possibly imagine.

The rematch of this game goes down tomorrow at the Roger's Centre in Toronto. I wish I could be there, however I am in Edmonton. But I am proud to hear my sister is keeping the faith and attending. If you enjoy baseball (particularly if you are Canadian, or even just mildly approve of Canada), you should make every effort to go.

If you do go, give the team (especially for Adam Stern) a standing ovation. And when you are done, give them a second one for me.

A Good Day

Yesterday was a busy one, and I was actually quite productive, particularly considering it was a Friday. I even missed lunch (which is atypical) because I really wanted to get a few proofs written, proofread, and emailed to a prof before a group meeting I had to attend in the late afternoon. I finished some other work after the meeting, and then, in the evening I went out for drinks with some friends.

As our crowd dissipated, I headed over to another friend's home for some poker. We ended up playing dealer's choice (in which the dealer decides at the beginning of each hand what variant of poker, from any in existence, we will be played for that round) well into the night. After finally losing my $5 buy-in hours after we had started, I decided to head home.

So it is 3am, and a friend of mine and I decide to walk instead of call a cab. Well, I should mention that I wouldn't have minded taking a cab (it was 3am), except my friend kept insisting that the walk could be done in 25 minutes. Stubborn old me was more than willing to humour his delusions just to prove him wrong (which I did quite successfully).

In any case, it is February in Edmonton and after an absurdly warm winter thus far, the weather has finally started to become more typical for the season. That means our walk is accompanied by -20 to -25 degree Celsius temperatures. Both of us were well-equipped for this particular situation and so we just shrugged off the conditions and entered into a lengthy (much longer than 25 minute) discussion about how the cop-win number of an arbitrary graph is bounded by a function of the graph's genus.

Now, I don't expect you to have any idea of what that last line means. As it is, I barely do. But I bring it up to make the following point: in grad school, no matter where you are, what time it is, what shenanigans you have just engaged in, or what weather is being thrown at you, science is never that far away.