RIP Mayberry

Weekday mornings I watch the Andy Griffith Show on WGN at 3:30 and 4. There are 249 episodes, I've seen every one more times than I can count, but I still watch. Why? The easy answer is nostalgia, an appreciation of a simpler life in simpler times. Let's go to Floyd's Barber shop for a haircut and a shave, then stop in at the diner for the Blue Plate Special. And while we're out, don't forget to wave to Barney, who's busy writing parking tickets and checking doorknobs, And make sure you say hey to Goober when he fills you up with Hi-Test on your way to Mt. Pilot. Life sure is swell.

But I don't want to live in Mayberry

The Mayberry of 1960 and the world of 2010, a time frame spanning less than a lifetime, may as well be separated by eons. Imagine your life then, which for many of us is less imagining and more remembering, and see how far that nostalgia takes you.

Where did you get your news? From the three or pages of the local newspaper, which was unapologetically local. You knew all about the barn raising down the road, because that's where your world stopped but almost nothing about where that road might go. The big city, not to mention whole other countries, were things you barely thought about, because for you they barely existed. You could build an entire kingdom from a postcard someone's uncle's brother's friend brought back from somewhere, because that was all you had, Sure there was the library, but the most exotic thing there was probably an encyclopedia several years out of date.

How were you inspired? Where did the idea that there was somewhere better to shop than Weaver's Department Store, something better to eat than the pounded steak at Morelli's, come from? From the transients, the passers-through, the overheard conversations of the travelling salesmen? Seems awfully hit or miss to me. If you weren't fortunate enough to find yourself in one of those situations, you might find yourself sitting on the bench outside the courthouse, watching the world, or your world, at least, go by.

I could go on, but you get the idea. And please don't get me wrong. I have nothing against small town life or the 1960s. It's just that I remember some of the 60s, and have no desire to return simply because times were simpler. In the 50 years since Aunt Bee came to Mayberry as "The New Housekeeper," we've seen the world unfold literally before our eyes into an infinite array of possibility and choice. The four corners of the globe are only just around the corner, the sum total of the world's knowledge is available on demand, and if the future's not here yet, well, it will be tomorrow.

So every morning I enjoy an hour in Mayberry. It's a nice place to visit, but I'm glad I live here.

Michigan wins 2010 Big Ten Field Hockey tournament, 2-1 over Ohio State.

Field hockey?
Yes, field hockey.

Working nights, there's often not much going on around 2AM. But in Beijing, it's 4PM, and that was prime time during the 2008 Summer Olympics.While most everything was shown via tape delay, the NBC website offered raw video feeds live--no announcer, no commentary, just video and sounds of the game. So, looking through the available feeds one quiet summer morning, I saw the Netherland's Women's field hockey game and switched it on. I have to admit that I thought I knew what it was, but then again, I thought I knew what Olympic handball was. Turns out that's just dodgeball.

Anyway the Dutch women were playing I forget who, but within about a minute, it didn't matter. Because here was a game faster and more exciting than football (soccer, for those of us in the USA), where an awful lot of time is spent chasing a comparatively large ball with nothing to show for it, but not as out of control as ice hockey, and with the added advantage of players not periodically beating the crap out of each other. But it has one element that elevates the game to a level unmatched in any other sport, a moment of pure sublimity on the field of play.

The Penalty Corner.

When an infraction is committed in an area near the goal, the aggrieved team is usually awarded a penalty corner, which is a set play pitting a select group of attackers against five defenders. But in reality, it is beautifully staged choreography, as a collective breath is drawn, held and then violently loosed. Standing to one side of the goal, an offensive player assumes an exaggerated lunge, before rocking back and inserting the ball into the penalty circle towards her teammates. Another player blocks the ball, and it may then be deftly passed back and forth, confusing the defenders, until ultimately they take a shot on goal, hoping to tip in off another player's stick, or they may simply try and blast it past everyone. The defenders, meanwhile, have donned masks and, upon insertion, have burst from the confines of the goal cage in a display of controlled chaos, like so many Roughriders charging San Juan Hill, ready to stop the invasion at any cost.

Not surprisingly, an awful lot of goals are scored from penalty corners.

After the Olympics ended, the televised field hockey opportunities grew scarce, as in non-existent. While very popular in Europe among both women and men, in the US it's almost exclusively a women's college game. Fortunately, Northwestern University has a team, which means I've been able to catch almost every home game since. Unfortunately, the Wildcats lost in the first round of this year's tournament, which is how we get back to Michigan and Ohio State. We could go on, but let's save some for later. Catch the fever.

It really is called insertion.

And then someday we'll discuss curling.

Yes, I know it's been 4 years

I got distracted.