One Hundred and Fifty Million Hotdogs

One hundred and fifty million hotdogs were consumed over the Fourth of July. So what does this say about Americans? Be it Chicago Dogs or New York Dogs foot longs or wieners...we love our hotdogs. We are a fun loving nitrate eating people who really owe a debt to that German vendor who improvised one day at a baseball game when he ran out of bacon and started offering sausages wrapped in a bun. We don't really care that much about what is really in a hotdog after all that scare tactics of the hotdog haters of the world.

And while the World Cup played on we were busy slathering our 150 million hotdogs with tons of ketchup and mustard and relish and onions. And how many pickles did we consume? Lets give us one pickle for every two hotdogs and we are at seventy five million pickles. The cucumber farmers must love this holiday. And that also means we inhaled 150 million buns. And used 150 million napkins and you know we had to have something to drink.

So what...one hundred million gallons of pop? Lets give a quarter of the dogs fries. 35 million fries and how many spuds does that convert to...well...you get the picture. And the funny part is people all over the world love hotdogs too. They see it as the American food. So while the rest of the world was losing their mind over soccer we were clenching our nitrate tubes of animal parts and clogging our hearts and stirring up the toxins.

Ah...Happy Birthday America! And please pass the mustard.

www.williamhazelgrove.com
The Pitcher

Where did the Summer Go?

You start out in early June telling yourself that summer is long. That you are just in the beginning of June and there will be unending days of sunshine and heat. And you feel good that the warm sunny days are just the beginning. And even when the fourth of July rolls around you still feel like there is lots of summer left. Why there is all of July and August! Lots of time to do all those things you do in summer. Like vacations. Swimming. Playing with the kids. Lots of time.

And then somewhere in July when the days turn weirdly cool you have a premonition. You think for the first time that the summer is half over and you better start getting your time in because it is going. So you go to that ballgame. You go on that vacation. You go to the pool. And then just like that it is August 1 and somebody has mentioned school and the summer camps are over and those weird cool nights are coming back already. Still it is only August.

So you roll along. You still believe there is plenty of summer left even though the grass is burned out and the trees look funny. The leaves are curling. Now there are a few more of those cool days and you realize the heat of the summer is behind you. Still. It is only August. But then comes the nuclear bomb of summer. About August 15 your wife or husband mention school is starting next week. What??????????

And that is it. School begins next Wednesday and the summer will end. Because everyone knows summer is over when the school year begins. It has always been that way. So now you are down to less than a week. And you realize, you have missed summer once again.

The Pitcher...sometimes a dream is all you have

 

A Night at Wrigley

You get there and of course you need a hotdog and a beer. The best stand has the grilled onions and there is a line but you wait. The Budweiser is cold and tastes like ballpark beer...slightly metallic. A bag of peanuts and now you are on your way. The Cubs have not been doing so well so your thirteen dollar tickets are no longer relevant. There are many places to sit and no need to go into the nosebleed sections. So you plop down along the third base line and watch the Cubs warm up.

The rain has blown off and the sky has cleared and it is blue toward the lake. The honor guard is lining up for the National Anthem and the players have their hats off as some guy belts out the Star Spangled Banner. And he really lets it all fly on the final verse and everyone goes nuts and then you sit down and someone shouts: Play BALL. So you finish your hotdog and drink your beer and start cracking peanuts as the Cubs look like they might actually beat the Brewers.

There are some Brewers fans around you who are mostly quiet in the sea of Cub jerseys. And you pick out the lifers the ones who live in the city around the stadium. And the guys who sell the hotdogs and beers and are probably pushing sixty. Everyone in the park is an amazing testament to the national pastime to the old ladies in their Cub hats and the solitary fan scoring quietly by himself to the young girls in the tight Cub tank tops.

And the rain comes and they stop the game and you watch them roll out the tarp. An amazing orchestrated ballet really. And you sit there with everyone for an hour and watch the rain and lightning but you don't care. You are sitting in the middle of the greatest city in the world in one of the last great old ball parks. And the rain does stop and the players hit the field. Seventh Inning stretch comes and you sing with  thousands of other people Take Me Out to The Ball Park.

And then it is over and you are on the train headed back out. The Cub Fans are rowdy and then asleep and everyone is winding down. The rain has come back as you leave the train and walk toward your car. And you think, sometimes...life does deliver.

www.williamhazelgrove.com
The Pitcher...sometimes a dream is all you have