One Size Fits All

Hello World, Happy Spring! It certainly seems as if we are finally throwing off the shackles of Old Man Winter at long last in these parts, crawling out from under his steely grip of snow and ice that bedeviled us for months on end up to now. It didn't take much encouragement from the weather for all of our early crocus shoots to burst into perky purple flowers all over the yard, although admittedly, the first blossoms are much later this year than they usually are - but none the less welcome for all that, in fact, probably even more so. I was outdoors in the glorious sunshine earlier today and actually saw a bumblebee out in the flower bed, and I don't know which of us was more surprised at this turn of events. In the southern climes, Spring Training continues apace, and Opening Day will be here before we know it, on March 31st this time around. It will be a bittersweet season for the vaunted Yankees, as they bid farewell to their captain and mainstay, Derek Jeter, who has announced that this will be his final year as a player. Of course, Da Bombers always manage to carry on, over the course of their illustrious history, regardless of who stays or who goes, so there's nothing to worry about, but he's certainly leaving behind some mighty big shoes to fill, and that's not just a lot of peanuts and CrackerJacks, believe me. In other sports news, the ever-resilient New York Knicks stunned the hoops world, and gave the long-suffering hometown fans reason for hope, by luring former player and coach Phil Jackson out of retirement to take the helm as their President, and bringing with him the promise of a return to the glory days of yore that is long overdue. Jackson played with the team from 1967 to 1978, winning championships in 1970 and 1973, as well as 11 other titles over his storied coaching career in Chicago and Los Angeles, with an outstanding won-loss percentage during that period that is off the charts. The prevailing wisdom seems to be that if anybody could take an over-paid, under-performing bunch of prima donnas currently on the team, and mold them into a lean, mean winning machine, Phil Jackson is the man for the job, and might be just the kick in the pants this franchise needs to get it back on the winning track. Even in the woeful Atlantic division, the Knicks are at a paltry 28-40 record and 10 games out of first place, so there's certainly room for improvement, and lots of it, before the playoffs. So it should be interesting times ahead at the self-titled World's Most Famous Arena, and where it remains to be seen if the Rangers and Knicks will continue to outdo each other in mediocrity, or whether the long-awaited turn-around finally happens for either club. I'm having a hard time pinning this on the evil spirit of Affirmed, try as I might, but if I was Phil Jackson, I would steer clear of the racetracks for the time being. And while we're on the topic of sports, recently the Sports section of our local newspaper ran a feature story on the increase of Tommy John surgery among pitchers at all levels of the game, from the elder statesmen of the pro leagues, all the way down to the pipsqueaks still in high school, and everywhere in between. This ground-breaking procedure is more officially known as ulnar collateral ligament reconstruction, but like Lou Gehrig's disease (ALS or amyotrophic lateral sclerosis) is way more commonly known for the athlete it's named after, even decades after the fact. "It doesn't surprise me at all. Tommy John surgery will grow exponentially in the next 50 years," stated no less an authority than Tommy John himself, who obviously had been contacted for his comments on the phenomenon. Now, I will freely admit that I'm easily amused (and I can certainly do without all the ill-mannered snickering from our old friends the dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery, that's for sure) but I thought it was pretty funny that even the legend who started it all, with the revolutionary treatment way back in 1974, refers to it blithely as Tommy John surgery, and apparently without a hint of irony. Usually by the time something is named after anyone - like a bridge, postage stamp or plaza - the person has long since been lost to the mists of history, and so there would be no chance of JFK tipping anyone with a Kennedy half-dollar, or The Great Emancipator telling a cab driver to take the Lincoln Tunnel. In fact, it's entirely possible that youngsters nowadays assume that the pride of Terre Haute, Indiana, was named after the historic procedure by his athletically-inclined parents, and not the other way around, I shouldn't wonder. On the local front, it was our anniversary earlier in the month, and I also had a special birthday this year (now officially older than dirt, according to the Periodic Table) so we decided to mark the occasions by indulging in a spa weekend at Foxwoods in Connecticut, where we had been the previous year for the first time, and enjoyed it enormously. Once again, we stayed at the opulent MGM Grand hotel, this time on the 27th floor, which offers a panoramic view of the Ledyard countryside that would be hard to beat, as well as all of the amenities that anyone could stand. It was easy to appreciate one of the advantages, now that we were already familiar with the resort, so we were less overwhelmed, and had a good sense of where things were and how to get around. That being said, it was still interesting to see what had stayed the same, and in contrast, all that was different since our previous visit at the same time last year. Most of the restaurants seemed unchanged, but many of the shops were gone, relocated, or replaced in the interim. We took the opportunity to meander around when we first arrived, and scope out the lay of the land. They had opened up two new food courts since our last visit, which had the advantage of being a handy place to grab a quick and easy lunch on the go. After a bit more walking around and shopping, it was time to get ready for our first spa visit, where I enjoyed another heavenly foot massage, that was just what the doctor ordered after a long hard winter stuffed into boots the whole time. From there, we splashed in the pool a bit, and had a soak in the hot tub. and then relaxed on their lounge chairs in peace and quiet, where we pretty much had the whole pool area entirely to ourselves. All this pampering and indulging builds up an appetite, so meal options were next on our agenda, and I can tell you that we tackled it with gusto. We had already found out that at 5:00, any place that serves food has huge lines of people that pour out of the doors, but by the time we left the spa, things had cleared up tremendously, and we were able to get into The California Pizza Kitchen for dinner with no trouble. They have a wide-ranging menu, in spite of their name, and last year, I found their garlic fettuccine to be simply divine. This time, I opted for their ravioli pomodoro instead, and while it didn't make me forget the fettuccine, I was glad I gave it a try. We followed that up with more shopping, but by then, things were getting pretty noisy and crowded, so we decided to head back to the hotel and call it a day. The room was quiet and comfortable, although it must be said that I was tired enough that it wouldn't have made any difference, one way or another. In the morning, we checked out and put our bags in the car, then back to the spa, and this time a facial for me, which was also heavenly. Once again back to the pool, hot tub and lounge chairs, with just ourselves and a couple of other people, so it was as quiet and relaxing as anyone could hope for, and a soothing refuge from the everyday slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that assail us on every side. We finally wrapped up with one last bit of souvenir hunting in the shops, and then hit the road, making a bee-line for the Denny's in West Haven that was calling our name. In a weekend of special treats, this was the cherry on top, and always one of the highlights of our travels, wherever we go. The trip home was uneventful, and we even arrived while it was still light out, so we weren't stuck lugging all of our belongings and 200 pounds of souvenirs from the car in the dark of night, which was a marked improvement over most of our excursions, I don't mind saying. At least we came back safe and sound, all in one piece, and didn't need to have any special celebrity procedures to put us back together. With my luck, rather than Tommy John surgery, I would have had Elton John surgery, and have to spend the rest of my life wearing enormous rhinestone glasses everywhere - and which, like the Phil Jackson half-dollar or Derek Jeter Tunnel, may well be something whose time has not yet come, I dare say. Elle