Ahh, Baseball and Fresh Dirt. What could be better? 5/13/22

With summer rapidly approaching, our thoughts turn to baseball. And since this is the New 60 Comic, we turned to the joys of taking your grandchild to a baseball game. As summer rituals go, this one can’t be beat. But, it gets even better when it comes to teaching your kids (and now grandkids) how to keep a proper baseball scorecard, a feat both John and I managed to pass down. My first job out of college was as a sportswriter for the Pawtucket Times, and part of that job was, from time to time, to be an official scorekeeper for the beloved minor league team, the Pawtucket Red Sox. Trust me when I say it didn’t pay well. You got $4.50 for the scorecard you turned in to the league and an additional $4.50 for the one you turned in to the team. I learned this one night when covering for the sports editor for the local newspaper (my boss) who was attending the wedding of his 8th or 9th chlld (I didn’t do such a hot job of keeping score of how many children this guy had). Before the game ended he called from the wedding to tell me to just leave the scorecards on the scorer’s table, and he’d turn them in. When I turned to a fellow reporter who worked for the Woonsocket Call and asked why my editor would ask me such a thing, he replied, “Because he’s a cheap bastard who was thinking about the $9 bucks he was missing out on.” That summed up my editor perfectly. Anyway, suffice it to say that the experience made me into a pretty good scorekeeper. For instance, do you know what it’s called when a guy steals a base and the catcher doesn’t try to throw him out? Defensive Indifference, and it goes in the scorebook as DI. Did you know when the pitcher walks a batter, you don’t score it as a “W” for walk, but a BB for “Base on Balls?” Did you know when a pitcher strikes a guy out, it doesn’t get scored as an “SO” it gets scored as a “K?” Unless the batter strikes out without swinging his bat, in which case it goes into the books as a backwards K (there’s no way to type that on a computer)? Did you know, and more importantly, do you care? Well, it’s a time-honored tradition to pass this skill along to the next generation, but it is becoming a lost art form. When my dad used to take me to games, he’d buy a scorebook and pencil for 0.15 cents. And he’d lose interest in scoring by about the 6th inning. So is it any wonder that when Al teaches his grandson, the kid takes his eye off the ball, so to speak, and turns said eye to a gigantic swirl of cotton candy? I’m proud to say that my son, even at age 7, would’ve known how the bases got loaded, and besides, he never cared much for candy. My wife and I used to routinely steal his Halloween candy and when he got a little older, he’d just hand it to us.

Our other comic this week goes to the joys of grandparenthood (is that even a word?). Unlike scorekeeping, which never changes from one generation to the next, the rules of being a parent, and therefore a grandparent, are constantly changing. Hence when you treat your grandchildren the way you treated your own children, you may be out of step with current thinking. Our childhoods were more laissez-faire. When we said we were going bike riding with our friends, our parents said, “Okay, just make sure you’re home for dinner by 6.” Not so much anymore. Nowadays the parent drops the kid off for a playdate, and then the playdate parent says “You can ride your bikes but just around the block and don’t you dare go into the street!” So it is in this changing environment that Al falls a bit short of his daughter’s expectations. Although both John and I thought his comeback was pretty good. Anyway, it’s a new dynamic. We were used to telling our kids what to do, but when it comes to taking care of their kids, they’re the ones telling us what to do. Although we still might let them stay up a half-hour after their appointed bedtimes, but shhh, please don’t tell.

Have a terrific weekend and we will be back next week with two new ones.

Andy and John

On the Joy of Baseball Day Games and Click Clack 05/06/22

So many things we used to play with as children have now been reconsidered as hazardous. I am reminded of a scene from Mad Men. Sally Draper, daughter of Don and Betty, was having a good time, running around with a plastic, dry cleaning bag over her head. Her mom, Betty Draper, possibly the worst mom in the history of television (June Cleaver she wasn't) calls her daughter over to chastise her. But what comes out of her mouth is “If the clothes that were in that dry cleaning bag are on the floor of my closet, you are going to be one unhappy young lady!” It was with that type of empathy and foresight that the makers of Click Clack must have tapped into when inventing their product. It was two acrylic balls attached at the opposite ends of a piece of string. When you flipped your wrist up and down the balls would click together at the top of their arc and then clack at the bottom. Click, clack, it went faster and faster until, oops, the acrylic balls had a previously undisclosed tendency to shatter, sending shards of sharp acrylic pieces flying through the air. As the saying goes, what could possibly go wrong?

The other comic at the baseball game, that scene actually happened to me. Or something close to that. I went to a midweek afternoon game, my favorite kind, just me and thousands of brightly t-shirted camp kids, and randomly started a conversation with another guy two seats to my right. The seat between us was empty. Somewhere in about the third inning I heard somebody in the row in back of me address his friend by his full name. I recognized the name so I turned around and saw not one, not two, not three, but four guys I used to work with, including the guy who initially hired me. I was happy to see them but mortified that I was there by myself. I wondered what they were thinking, “Poor guy, he has no friends,” so I started talking more to the guy two seats away in my row. I think I fooled them. But when I told this story to John, he came up with the whispered bribe, “If I buy you a hot dog and beer will you pretend to be my friend?” Now in reality, I didn’t quite sink to that level, but I came pretty darn close. Truth is, I plan to go to a couple more midweek afternoon games this summer, so if I sort of know you, do me a favor and sit somewhere else.

Happy Cinco De Mayo and Happy National Cartoonists Day to the best cartoonist I know, and also the one I work with, John Colquhoun.

Andy and John

On Rabbit Holes and Jackie Robinson 04/15/22

The third time is the charm. We could have gone on amost endlessly with Marv’s trip down the rabbit hole. But enough is enough. And anyway the next step would have been from the Monty Python skit, which would have seen Marv in women’s garments. “I am a lumberjack/I work all day/And I wear women’s clothes. As the New 60 is a family-rated site, we just couldn’t be having that. So Marv stopped with the rugged flannel shirt.

Now it just so happens that today is Jackie Robinson day. And we decided to bring back a New 60 classic. Got to hand it to the Mets, who are unveiling a Tom Seaver statue on the very same day. Now Tom Seaver is probably the best Met player ever, but still, Jackie Robinson. Got to give the man his due. He was a fearsome player who of course broke baseball’s color barrier, and he was strong enough to not let himself be goaded by racist players trying to get him to fight. Everything about the man is admirable. Except if you’re an announcer. You see, Jackie Robinson day is April 15th, right at the beginning of the season. And since every player on both teams wears #42 in his honor, it can get a little confusing if you don’t yet know all the players on the team. Truth be told, I had trouble naming each player on the Pawtucket Red Sox, when I started out as a sportswriter. And they all had different uniform numbers.

But enough about me. Okay, one more thing about me. I have a pinched nerve in my neck and a horrible cough, so I am cutting the blog short this week and climbing back into bed.

Have a great weekend and we will start a series about Marv’s retirement (what the hell do you do all day) next week.

Andy and John

Disappointing Results 7/23/21

Did you watch The Queen’s Gambit, a remarkable series about a fictional chess prodigy? Well, if you’re anything like me, it renewed your interest in chess, a game with no luck involved. A game that mirrors life itself. Are you defensive-minded or aggressive? Do you hide in the bushes, waiting for the right moment to attack, or are you out there big and bold, saying to your opponent, “Come get me”? I for one am aggressive. But when I said, “Come get me,” people had no problem getting me. First up was my son-in-law Mark. He and I were both basically starting from scratch. We’ve now played 5 times and he’s beaten me 5 times. At one point, one of my attacking moves left me so vulnerable, he said with pity, “Oh Andy.” Okay, so maybe I can’t beat him. Next up we had a visitor to our beach house who proclaimed, “I haven’t played in at least 15 years and I don’t think I have ever won. You’ve got nothing to worry about playing me.” He won. Finally, we had another couple over and the wife loves games. She is an avid bridge player, but didn’t know the first thing about chess. I thought, “Haha, at last, someone I can beat.” I offered to teach her the basic moves, like “This piece, the pawn, can only move straight ahead but it has to capture on an angle.” So, I showed her and corrected her and at some point she moved a piece directly challenging my king. I said, “Now you are supposed to say check.” And she tentatively called out, “check.” After studying my options I realized it was actually checkmate.” So John changed my friend’s character to an 8-year-old grandson, because we figured it was more embarrassing to lose to a first-time chess-playing kid than a first-time chess-playing adult (either would be embarrassing and I’d lose to both of them). We tweaked the ending, and that was our first comic. Oh by the way, I take back everything I said about “The Queen’s Gambit.” Chess sucks.

Now onto one of our secondary characters Sam, who used to be an announcer who made money by reading commercials. Now he is the official voice of the “Boulder City Boulders” minor league baseball team. My first real job out of college was as a sportswriter for the Pawtucket Times in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, and our big team was the Red Sox’ AAA affiliate, lovingly known as the PawSox. As an aside, Pawtucket lost their beloved franchise to a newer stadium in Worcester (pronounced Wooster), MA, with the unfortunate nickname, WooSox, but there you go. Anyway, we invented a character for Boulder City, their all-time leading home run hitter, Bob “Long Ball” Bixon. As it turns out, Long Ball was a bit disappointed at the turn out for Bob Long Ball Bixon Bobblehead night, and who could blame him? As a former Boulder star who hit 38 career homers, he thought he deserved a bigger turnout. We didn’t tell him that half the people who attended were there for the postgame fireworks, because you know, Long Ball is sensitive about stuff like that. Let’s keep it as our secret, huh.

So that’s it for this week. We will be back at it again with two new ones. Until then, have a great weekend.

Andy and John

The (not so) great outdoors. 4/26/19

If you live in the northeast like we do, you’ve endured another cold, snowy, wet winter. Now that the weather is warming, you can’t wait to get out there. One of us did just that last Monday. I called a buddy on the spur of the moment and said, “Let’s play golf, right now.” The friend (names are omitted to protect the innocent) belongs to a country club, so we met there. I took out my pull cart and was told that pull carts were against club rules. My friend calmly strapped his bag across his back and started walking uphill to the first tee. Way uphill. Not wanting to panic or seem like a wimp, I carried my bag (for the first time in my life, I’m sorry to admit). John said, that’s a comic, and we dreamed one up.

The second strip comes from the fact that both John and I are big Mets fans. Watching a game a couple weeks ago, the announcers said it was Jackie Robinson Day. Jackie Robinson wore #42. That number can never be worn again by any player in the major leagues. But on this one day, every player in the major leagues wears #42. The visiting team made a pitching change and the Mets announcer, Gary Cohen, had no idea who the new pitcher was. He said “Coming in to the game, #42, uhh, wait, there is no #42.” Voila. Comic #2.

In addition to thinking up ideas, we also have to think about who plays what roles. In this case it was easy. The character of Sam Lipisi used to be a commercial voiceover, the kind of guy who says “This Bud’s for you.” So it was an easy choice to give him a side hustle as the announcer for the local baseball team, the Boulder City Bullets. We thought Sam needed a foil to play off, so he invited his friend Marv to sit in with him in the booth on Jackie Robinson Day and watch his buddy not know a single player on the other team. As the cliche goes, “you can’t tell the players without a scorecard.” In this case, you couldn’t tell the players even WITH a scorecard.

Enjoy the great outdoors this week, and let’s hope it turns out better than it did for our guys.

See you next week.

The New 60

Becoming a responsible adult at 65

Writing and producing a comic strip takes a certain amount of skill and self discipline.  No more bosses saying, "where are you going?"  No more phone calls claiming illness.  No "sneaking out" and hoping nobody notices.  Nope it's all up to you.  Which in this case is me.

Which takes us to tomorrow.  Tomorrow is Wednesday.  John and I have developed a rhythm. We meet on Wednesdays to develop three or four ideas ahead of our self-imposed deadlines of new comics every Tuesday and Friday.  By now there are millions of people breathlessly awaiting the new releases every Tuesday and Friday.  Okay, not millions.  Hundreds of thousands.  Fine, like a lot of people, okay?

Point is Wednesdays are important.  But some Wednesdays are Met home games during the day.  And we are both Mets fans.  I know, masochists.  There is something about a day baseball game that is delicious.  It is a throwback to yesteryear.  It is relatively uncrowded, save for a few zillion camp kids in the upper decks.  And it feels like playing hooky. Although with no boss and no school principal, who are you hiding from?

However, as much as I love baseball I am mature enough to realize that my new job comes first. So instead of going to the game we decided to work.  At the game.  But it'll be mostly work.  Except when the Mets are up to bat.  Or when deGrom is pitching.  But please, shhh. Don't tell anyone.  I don't want my boss to find out.