Mountain Views News, Sierra Madre Edition [Pasadena] Saturday, June 9, 2018

OPINION

B3

 Mountain Views News Saturday, June 9, 2018 


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JOE GUZZARDI


BUSH SR. REMINISCES 
ABOUT HIS COLLEGE 

WORLD SERIES DAYS

For the next three weeks, baseball fans will have a chance 
to see the game played the way it should be. The NCAA’s 
best college nines, well-schooled in fundamental baseball, 
will display their talent in Omaha at the annual College World Series.

 Given the choice between watching the College or Major League World Series, 
I would unhesitantly pick college. Even in the CWS’ opening rounds, the players 
demonstrate an ability to advance the runner, hit the cut-off man and lay down 
a bunt, skills that too often elude multimillion-dollar MLB players. If the college 
players donned major league uniforms, fans couldn’t tell the difference. Many 
of the college pitchers throw over 90 miles per hour and field their positions 
flawlessly.

 The CWS has a rich tradition that dates back to 1947 when Kalamazoo, 
Michigan, hosted the event. Two players from that year’s final that pitted the 
California Golden Bears against the Yale Bulldogs went on to achieve outstanding 
success in their professional careers: Jackie Jensen with the New York Yankees, 
Boston Red Sox and Washington Senators, and George Herbert Walker Bush, 
United States president.

 Although Jensen pitched for the Golden Bears, by the time he was named 
the American League’s Most Valuable Player in 1958, he played outfield. Bush, 
nicknamed “Poppy,” was a slick-fielding, no-hit first baseman and a recently 
returned decorated World War II hero who earned the Distinguished Flying 
Cross, three Air Medals and a Presidential Unit Citation.

 In the series opener, Jensen came through with a pinch hit single to drive in 
Cal’s game-tying run. Red Mathews, Yale’s third baseman, recalled that Jensen was 
“… strong and fast and big. I was very impressed with him.” The game wasn’t close 
for long. The Golden Bears scored 11 runs in the top of the ninth to win easily; Cal 
17, Yale 4.

 Then as now, the series final had a best two of three format. In the next day’s 
deciding double header, Jensen started the opener. The “Golden Boy,” as Jensen 
was known, gave up a run in the first inning but then held Yale in check until the 
bottom of the fourth. The Bulldogs made a fatal mistake when manager Ethan 
Allen ordered Cal’s number eight hitter walked to face Jensen. Years later, Bush 
recalled that: “He [Jensen] hit one that’s still rolling out there in Kalamazoo.”

 Eventually, Jensen tired and was lifted in the bottom of the fourth with the score 
tied, 4-4. In the end, the Bears prevailed 8-7. Bears’ relief pitcher Virgil Butler 
struck out Bush, 0 for 7 in the series, to end the game. As Butler later joked: “On 
the last pitch, I struck out George Bush on a curve ball. I got my 15 minutes of 
glory!”

 In January 1960, after only 11 mostly outstanding years in professional baseball 
and his career declining because of his air travel anxiety, Jensen retired. While 
Jensen starred on the baseball diamond, his later life was plagued by personal 
and financial misfortune. He was married to, and divorced from Zoe Ann Olson, 
an Olympic diving star. By 1974, however, Jensen returned to Berkeley to coach 
his beloved Golden Bears who he led to more than 100 wins. But in 1982, age 55, 
Jensen died from his second heart attack in two months.

 Bush, on the other hand, turns 94 on June 12. His political resume includes two 
terms in the U.S. House of Representatives, stints as the U.S. Ambassador to the 
United Nations and Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, two terms as Vice 
President and one term as President.

 As for his CWS memories, Bush disputes his teammates’ criticism that he 
couldn’t hit. According to Bush, he batted about .250. Bush added, “And I think if 
I were playing today in the bigs, I’d probably get about $8 million a year for that.”

 Many other CWS superstars followed Jensen’s MLB career path, and some 
reached the Cooperstown Hall of Fame. Among the most well-known are Dave 
Winfield, Barry Larkin, Mike Schmidt and Paul Molitor. But only “Poppy” reached 
the White House.

-

Joe Guzzardi is a Society for American Baseball Research member. Contact him at 
guzzjoe@yahoo.com.


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BLAIR BESS

JASE GRAVES


DANCE LIKE YOUR DAD’S 

NOT WATCHING

Although some men long to have a son to carry on their 
family name (and their male-pattern baldness), I’ve always 
felt lucky to have three daughters. 

 Having girls is more interesting for me since I’ve been 
doing the whole boy thing for almost fifty years - and not all 
that well. Also, when the girls were very young, my patriarchal, narrow-minded, 
predisposed, non-pc, androcentric (I got that one from the thesaurus) expectations 
told me that, with daughters, I might be able to avoid spending every Saturday for a 
decade watching my children play sports.

 I know it seems un-American, but even when I played little-league baseball, the 
only enjoyment I ever got out of it was visiting the concession stand for Pop Rocks, 
grape Shasta, and some artificial cheese-product nachos after the game. It also didn’t 
hurt that there was usually a cute, older teenage girl working the stand who I hoped 
was into slightly chubby younger guys with chili bowl haircuts and glasses thick 
enough to double as a binocular telescope.

 I’m sure you’re ahead of me by now, but I soon realized that even if I managed 
to avoid branding my cheeks with hot metal bleacher imprints at a ballpark every 
Saturday afternoon, there are a plethora of other equally-excruciating spectator 
events lying in wait for unsuspecting dads of girl children.

 One of these ordeals I experienced recently was a day-long dance recital. Our 
family attended because my eldest and most expensive daughter participates in 
every possible activity that requires me to watch a procession of other people’s 
children perform for hours on end while I wait to see her finally do her thing for 
three whole minutes.

 What I first noticed about the recital (other than the lack of a concession stand) 
was the staggering amount of sequins. Now, don’t get me wrong. I like sequins as 
much as the next adult male who isn’t a figure skater. I fondly remember many a 
grade-school craft project that involved gluing sequins onto paper plates, cotton 
balls, toilet paper tubes, and other household goods sacrificed in the name of art. 
But I’ve never witnessed a Mt. Kilauea of sequins like I saw at this dance recital. 
Every dancer seemed to have dipped herself in Karo syrup and performed a swan 
dive into an enormous vat of sequins. And judging by the cost of the two costumes 
we purchased, these sequins may have once adorned a garment worn by Cleopatra 
herself - or a Kardashian. 

 Once my retinas had adjusted to this sequin throat punch and I’d used my iPhone 
to invest in the international sequin cartel, I soon became distracted by my fellow 
spectators. Based on their audience etiquette, many of them had never attended a 
public performance of any kind, unless you count watching domestic disputes in the 
Walmart parking lot. 

 Several audience members felt compelled to screech out the names and nicknames 
of every performer they knew before, during and after each dance. (I think I heard 
“Go, Nay-nay!!!” at least fifty times - and not for the same person.) 

 Then there were the babies and toddlers doing what babies and toddlers do when 
you take them to a two-hour event featuring lots of earsplitting techno music and 
flashing lights. That’s right, Sherlock as played by Benedict Cumberbatch, they don’t 
sleep, and thanks to them, neither could I.

 Finally, the pre-teens seated behind us spent the show debating, at full volume, 
which Disney Princesses the dancers were depicting on stage at any given moment 
while kicking the back of my seat. (After the show, I located my spleen several rows 
up.)

 Despite all of these minor irritations, I beamed with pride when my own be-
sequined daughter took the stage and danced her heart out. When she came out 
to the lobby after the recital, I spread my arms to catch my little dancer in a warm 
fatherly embrace. Instead, she handed me a bundle of hangers, garment bags and 
costumes, and ran off to take Instagram photos with friends.

 Oh, well, I know she loves and appreciates me, and at least she isn’t playing 
baseball. But I do miss the nachos.

-

 Copyright 2018 Jase Graves distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper 
syndicate.

 Graves is an award-winning humor columnist from East Texas. His columns have 
been featured in Texas Escapes magazine, The Shreveport Times, The Longview News 
Journal, and The Kilgore News Herald. Contact Graves at susanjase@sbcglobal.net. 

CRAZY RUDY’S 

FULL COURT PRESS

Last year, as the tightly wound spool of scandal surrounding his 
administration started to unravel, President Trump reportedly 
asked a roomful of White House officials rhetorically, “Where’s my 
Roy Cohn?” 

 In addition to serving as the president’s mentor, attorney, 
and fixer, the late Mr. Cohn is an ignominious footnote in our nation’s history for 
the persecutorial role he played during Sen. Joseph R. McCarthy’s investigations into 
communist activity during the 1950’s. 

 Every passing day brings further evidence that the president has found his Roy Cohn 
redux. His name is Rudy Giuliani.

 Heralded as “America’s Mayor” in the wake of 9/11, Mr. Giuliani has reemerged – 
demonically, phoenix-like, eyeglasses often crazily askew – from the political netherworld 
into which he slithered upon leaving the New York City Mayor’s office and failed bids for 
the U.S. Senate and the presidency.

 Without question, during Mr. Giuliani’s first few years as Mayor, he enforced arcane 
laws and statutes to clean up New York City. In that, he proved to be an unabashed success. 
Unfortunately for Mr. Giuliani, he was unable to sustain the popularity, good-will and 
achievements of his first term throughout the entirety of his reign. 

 And then came the fall of the Twin Towers, after which Mayor Giuliani was catapulted 
onto the national stage. It was a public redemption that even the most callous of politicians 
could appreciate. Giuliani stood amidst the rubble of Wall Street almost godlike. He was a 
hero for our time.

 What happened to that guy? The answer: that guy never existed. 

 Rudolph Giuliani was and is a figment of his own imagination. To many, however, he 
was and is one nasty son-of-a-gun. Granted, those who share those feelings most might 
include his two (soon-to-be three) ex-wives; discarded advisors and confidantes; former 
colleagues; political opponents; mob bosses; and white collar criminals.

 While not inventing the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organization (RICO) 
statute, as U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York, Rudy Giuliani used it in an 
innovative and highly-effective manner against New York’s Mafia families, drug traffickers, 
wayward politicians, and Wall Street manipulators alike; who, as Mayor, punished scofflaws 
to the fullest-extent possible. 

 This former standard-bearer for law and order now believes, however, the president of 
the United States can get away with murder - of fired FBI Director James Comey, one of 
Mr. Giuliani’s former subordinates - without facing the same consequences that we mere 
mortals could expect to face. Like arrest, incarceration, prosecution, conviction and, 
in some instances, execution. He doesn’t believe the president can be subpoenaed. Or 
indicted.

 President Trump may sound a bit crazy when he voices opinions such as this. But he’s 
crazy like a fox; his are Machiavellian efforts to retain power.

 Rudy Giuliani, on the other hand, appears to be as crazy as a loon. 

 Giuliani has vilified Mr. Comey. He’s launched attacks on the FBI and the Justice 
Department, institutions he claims to have once respected. Not anymore. As early as 2016, 
Mr. Giuliani told Fox News’ Sean Hannity that he was “so ashamed of the Justice Department.” 

 Shamelessness, however, was clearly his Modus operandi when he served in that very 
same Justice Department. 

 As reported in The New York Times on July 11, 1989, Walter S. Mack Jr., once a senior 
prosecutor and chief of the organized crime unit in the Southern District until he was 
relieved by Mr. Giuliani said, “The overwhelming perception was that what was good for 
him was what was going to be done. If it was going to put him in the most positive light and 
give him the image he wanted, it was going to be done.”

 That point was reiterated 29 years later in Comey’s book “A Higher Loyalty,” when Comey 
noted there was an unwritten code among those working for Mr. Giuliani back then that 
“Rudy was the star at the top and the successes of the office flowed in his direction.”

 Now, he is a man in search of relevance and, once again, the limelight.

 In another era, Rudy Giuliani might have used the RICO statute against Donald Trump 
and his “Organization” much as he did when combating organized crime, Ivan Boesky, 
Michael Milken, and the Wall Street firm of Drexel Burnham Lambert. Instead, he is a 
man who appears to be hellbent on taking down the institutions he once served and the 
Constitution he once swore to uphold by propagating the lies and obfuscations of the Trump 
administration to whoever will listen.

 So much for truth, justice, and the American Way.

-

Copyright 2018 Blair Bess distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.

 Blair Bess is a Los Angeles-based television writer, producer, and columnist. He edits the 
online blog Soaggragated.com, and can be reached at BBess.soaggragated@gmail.com.


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