Toto, Kansas, and other bands from the 70's

              

       Have you ever been to Kansas?  I have.  It is as flat as a pancake, unless you make lumpy pancakes, and totally land-locked.  There are people who are born, raised, and die in Kansas and never get to see the ocean.  We’ll come back to Kansas in a minute, but right now I need to get something off of my chest, and I don’t mean egg from breakfast (I’m growing a beard, so that should remedy at least one problem). 

    

Now, I bleed Dodger Blue, which means that of all the teams that play Major League Baseball I root for The Los Angeles Dodgers.  I was born in L.A., and even after we moved up to Oregon I remember hearing talk about “Sandy Koufax”, so I root for them.  But that is ear elephant.  The fact is they are in the playoffs this year, and I am actually in the position and state of mind to put my reputation as a baseball fanatic (fan to the layman) on the line and hope against hope that the Dodgers win it all.  And best of all?  The playoffs are of TBS, a station that is “pirated” from Costa Rica and beamed in glorious color to my T.V. in here in Boquete.

       I waited all week, through all the teasers and commercials, and with each one got more excited.  Finally the day arrived and I sat down to watch the pregame show, which is where the announcers come up with more expressions and terminologies to describe the “show down” between the two teams than Donald Trump says something stupid in a whole week.  This year The Dodgers from California, are pitted against The Mets from New York – it is “Shakespearian”, A “Greek Tragedy” in the making a…well, you get the point.

       Finally after all the hyperbole, the introduction of the teams, the national anthem, and close-ups of cute little kids fidgeting in their seats, it is time for the first pitch of the game. 

      As the screen goes black, I am at first stunned. I sit slack jawed staring at the screen.  Then I begin going through the stages of grief. 

1.) DENIAL:   “Oh, there is a commercial before the actual first pitch and something went haywire, that’s it!”  There is a message at the bottom of the screen, but my brain can’t read the words.

2.) ANGER:  “What the…!” Suddenly the words come in to focus; ‘Due to restrictions…’  I begin to threaten the network, then the T.V. itself, even the remote.  Betty slinks away.

3.) Bargaining:  “Please, please, please!” Maybe I can pay extra somehow.  “Yeah!  I can do that! Just, please…!”

4.) Depression:  “Why does this happen to me?  What have I done to deserve such vengeance upon my soul?  Now what

am I going to do?”

5.)  Acceptance:  “Well, shit.”

       And so, as it turns out, some mucky-muck back in Atlanta has decided that just because some unseen Costa Rican guy is stealing their signal and selling it to some unseen Panamanian guy who profits from it, I am the one who must suffer.

       Instead of switching to a different program, I decide to play the martyr and simply turn off the television completely.  Outside the rain has started to fall and the distant sound of thunder can be heard. I decide to put on some music, something to match the weather.  A little John Denver fits well.  I light a few candles and turn out the lights as the rain gets heavier on the tin roof, and the warm breeze gently moves the curtains.

       Betty jumps up and cuddles on top of me as I lay on the couch watching the shadows dance on the wall.  I stroke her head lightly and smile.

   “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”  I say.  “Thank God.”

                  The Dodgers lost.  I really don’t care. 

                                             Yes, I do.   

DP