The Writer's Life 4/27 - Llamas

There's been an interesting development in MLB. Two-and-a-half years ago the Anaheim Angels signed OF Josh Hamilton to a five-year 125 million dollar contract. It was a big risk for two reasons. He was 31, beyond middle age for an athlete, and he had a history of substance abuse. The latter reared its ugly head, incensing the club's owner, Arte Moreno, who bad-mouthed Hamilton publicly and couldn't wait to dump him. He has traded the former all-star to his old team, the Texas Rangers, and will pick up almost all of the 80 million still owed Hamilton. Moreno has gotten a lot of guff from sportswriters for his cold stance. If it'd been my money, I'd have been pissed too. Hamilton is a rich man and should get his act together. He has a family, children that need him sober. He is privileged. If not for his skill, who knows where he might be, skid row perhaps. His career stats reveal how lucky he is to be making a fortune: a batting average of .292, 192 HRs, 676 RBI in eight seasons, hardly superstar numbers. In three of those years he played 90 games or less, one being his rookie year. As of now, his history will be one of what might have been. Let's hope he pulls himself together and starts earning his salary.


One of my college roommates at 524 Oak St. in Kalamazoo, Michigan, recently visited his daughter in New Mexico. There, Geoff met with his old roommate from Harvey Hall, Bill, who owns Santa Fe's only skating rink and has a farm and 12 llamas! Geoff is retired from sales and working on his golf game. I am embarrased to admit that I am unable to conjure Bill's image. In my defense, I have not seen or heard of him since 1972. I used to have near total recall. Not so anymore.


It was another session of the floating book shop where people complained of the cold. It was really the wind that made the day unpleasant. I was unable to showcase my most marketable books. They had to be kept in boxes. My thanks to the young woman who bought the book in Russian, to the gentleman who bought the Popeye DVD, and the middle aged woman who had passed a thousand times without a word, who donated two books on healthy dieting. As I expected, she has a Russian accent. Another middle age woman, whom I dub Cutie Pie because of her flowing red hair and fondness for bicycling, has been sans wheels so far this Spring. What's up with that?
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