Pas de deux

When I think of famous pairs, I think of Lunt and Fontanne, Beavis and Butthead, Mick and Keith, Buck and Bubbles, Abbott and Costello, Heloise and Abelard, Gilbert and Sullivan, and Fred and Ginger. And, of course, of Paul and Woody. (I've switched their names in order to protect their identities.)

I had the good luck of looking up an old pal on the Internet (which is now on computer!), tracked him down, and it turned out he and another friend of his (and mine) were coming to Cincinnati, to see the Reds turn in whatever pathetic performance they might muster against a team--with the possible exception of the Phillies (see below)--with almost nothing but a glorious history of pathetic performances. They got me a ticket, I drove down, and we caught up. Great weather, interesting conversation, a less than riveting ballgame, and they paid for everything. How cool is that?

Typically, all of us had lost a bunch of hair, gained a bit of weight, and we were wiser indeed (but with so much further to go). I first met Woody in 1975, when he was a naïve, enthusiastic freshman; I met his friend Paul--who is, more or less, still a naïve, enthusiastic freshman--a bit later. I hadn't seen either of them for about 20 years, but as has been pointed out by many others, perhaps a good sign of friendship is that one can step back into these conversations without missing a beat. These two make a point, each summer, of visiting a different ballpark and taking in a game (or three), a fine idea, very much following in the footsteps of the afore-mentioned Heloise and Abelard.

In addition to catching up on mutual friends and what they had done (and to whom), we discussed important things, such as identifying the three rivers that meet at Pittsburgh to give their old ballpark its name; to see if I could name, from memory, the starting 9 of the 1967 St. Louis Cardinals (I could); and the role of unions in a global economy (here Woody started sounding like he had spent too much time paying attention to certain kinds of law professors).

The day was great, capped off by Paul's idea of walking on the wild side: appetizers and/or dessert at Applebee's. Eatin' good in the neighborhood. It was like hanging with Tupac and Notorious B.I.G..

It was a most enjoyable time, and reminded me of how important both old and new friends are to making our way through this particular spatio-temporal fragment of the cosmos. I think the entire experience can be encapsulated by the moment Paul looked at me, after a brief, contemplative silence, and asked slowly, carefully, and thoughtfully:

Kurt, do you respect knuckleballers?