Say it ain't so...

There are some days when I miss the United States terribly. I think fondly on our wide open expanses, the freedom one feels with the windows down, the radio blaring, hitting 75 or 80 mph on the interstate highway. My stomach still catches an itch or two when pictures of New York City flash on the movie screen or I watch David Tyree make a miraculous catch in the Superbowl. But there are days, when I’m glad to be distant and far away from the American media onslaught.

Having just watched the competing testimonies of Brian McNamee and Roger Clemens before the House oversight committee and after reading the New York Times article, “Clemens says Pettitte was Wrong about H.G.H. Remark,” I’m rather distraught. For the sake of Clemen’s own kids and the millions of children who have grown up idolizing The Rocket, I’d like to think he is speaking the truth, that he has, in fact, been falsely accused. I’m sorry to say that his story just doesn’t add up. I’m not a Yankee fan, but I seem to remember a close bond of friendship between Clemens and Pettitte. They played together as both Yankees and Rangers, sharing plans to retire. Throw into the mix affirmation by Pettitte and that rascally Chuck Knoblaugh that McNamee injected them, and the incident with Clemens and his nanny from seven years ago, and what you have is one royal mess - at least in my humble, across the Atlantic opinion.

The truth often hurts; it can even be outright offensive, but it still remains the truth. Without it, what do we really have - illusion, deception? The game of baseball has been forever tarnished. Our players are no longer viewed as Olympic gods, but as mere men and rightly so. We were wrong in the first place to expect and demand perfection, and they were wrong to succumb to the temptation they could deliver it. We were both sadly mistaken.

Home run records and low ERAs are great stuff, but integrity and honesty are the mark of a real man.

A Little Fresh Air Does the Spirit Good

On Friday afternoon I got a call from my friend and co-conspirator Imelda to see what my Saturday plans were. Fortunately, I had a blank slate in front of me, but not for long. Turns out Saturday morning I joined Imelda and her husband Ondra, Iva (a friend and colleague from the radios), and Mariana (a friend of Imelda and Ondra's) on a trip to Liberec and for a hike up to Jested peak - some 1012 meters above sea level. Despite a few initial glitches - my metro shutting down because someone jumped in front of a train and Ondra forgeting his hiking boots - the day was spectacular or what I and Mary Poppins like to call supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. I didn't quite know what we had in front of us. I thought knowing Ondra and Imelda we'd probably do a hike with some amount of physical exertion. Let me tell you we took on one heck of an incline! Whoa. We decided early on against following the asphalt road. No, we were determined to climb right up through snow, rocks and boulders, and that is exactly what we did.

To be honest, I think Saturday was the longest period of time that I've spent in the great out doors in quite some time. Boy, was this trip ever needed! My lungs felt as if they were given new life. I seriously had a high breathing in the fresh mountain air and exercising just about every muscle in my lower limbs. When I first heard we were headed to a tower, I had my doubts. Prague has a very distinct TV tower that dominates the sky above Vinohrady, where I happen to to live. It's not exactly my cup of tea: the structure is quite bold - a cold metallic structure save for several sculptures of crawling babies some artist added several years back. I'm not very big on the Communists' love of putting ugly harsh structures in historic parts of town or worse in the middle of mother nature. However, I was surprised when we entered Liberec and I viewed Jested from down below. I found it to be a majestic addition to the mountain view. Jested tower and hotel, which was built in the later part of the 60s, actually had some architectural charm and oddly pleasant Communist decor. I felt as if I were in a James Bond movie as we sat in the hotel's panoramic restaurant eating soup and drinking pudding-like hot chocolate. The absolute coolest thing was watching hang- or para-gliders float around in the ether just outside of the window by our table. After our nice break inside, getting warm and nourished, we decided once again for the road less travelled. We basically walked down a closed ski slope. There were signs notifying us of high risk areas and great potential of accidents, but we proceded down the hill as if blind. It would have been much nicer to have skis, but I took this as a challenge. My legs are strong like a bull, so I managed the steep descent with aplomb. At one point I opted for my buttocks to carry me down part of the slope. It was quite the trip and caused only minimal wetness to my jeans. Our downward journey was a race against darkness, which fully engulfed us at the bottom of the mountain.

Before we started yet another mini-adventure to find the car, we stopped along the way at the ski jumping center. It was just our luck that an international ski jumping event was taking place. Remember Eddie the Eagle from the UK back in Nagano or was it Salt Lake City? I can't remember. It doesn't matter - I'm a new fan of the sport. I mean - You will never ever find me strapping on two skis, sitting on a bench at the top of monstrously steep hill, only to ski down the hill, picking up momentum and then flying into the air, finishing this crazy feat with a two-ski landing. For me, watching something so beyond me is a huge adrenalin rush. I could have stood there all night watching the jumpers. I think I lost my breath each time a jumper took to air - it was just that darn cool. Okay - I think I've used "cool" one too many times. I'm just lost for words trying to describe my great wonder and joy experiencing Jested on Saturday afternoon. It was the simply the best!