There is no clock
90 feet between bases is genius
There are secret signs
Hanging curveballs are sexy
Numbers are magic: 755, 56, 7, 61, 1.12
Tinker to Evers to Chance
Ivy at Wrigley
The Green Monster
The suicide squeeze
Cracker Jack
Walt Whitman liked it
Jackie Robinson and Pee-Wee Reese
It just feels American
The seventh-inning stretch
Superstition
Guys in tight pants
Bull Durham
Centerfield
There’s no crying in baseball
Cooperstown
A great play at the plate
Chatter
Pepper
High socks
Tradition
Spring training
Keeping score
The rubber game
The infield fly rule
162 chances
How many pre-teen early evenings did I spend wedged in a blue bean bag in front of the TV watching that spectacle of pop music and elaborately choreographed dance routines known as Solid Gold? At the time, it was...I'm trying to refrain from cursing these days...the shiznit. Dionne Warwick was the first host and always seemed like she actually enjoyed the music, and at the time I wasn't attuned to the fact that she was a fading star. Marilyn McCoo came later, joined by Andy Gibb and then a progression of smooth-talking guys. Nina Blackwood from MTV was even in there somewhere.
The show generally had some good live performances. And by "live" I mean live bodies lip syncing on stage. Rick Springfield, Madonna, Lionel Richie...I still have vivid memories of Prince being on the show. But when it comes down to it, it was the dancers that set it apart. Most of them are just a blur of lycra and sequins, but one dancer stands out -- Darcel. She was the lead dancer, the head cheerleader of sorts. She seemed to get all the best dances and even got to talk every once in a while. She looked like she was 6 feet tall, all legs, and all that hair, which she often wore her hair in one ponytail. How many girls sat glued to their televisions on Saturday nights, dreaming about going to Hollywood and making it big as a Solid Gold Dancer?
Cheesy? Undeniably so. But if you are of a certain age and have a penchant for pop music, just thinking about Solid Gold gives you a warm, fuzzy feeling, like leg warmers on a cold morning...
I love Match Game. There, I said it. The cheesy sets, the almost porn-worthy soundtrack, the bawdy humor and the relentlessly stupid contestants* -- what's not to love? So I was sad to learn today that Match Game fixture Charles Nelson Reilly died this weekend. RIP, Charles...you were one of a kind.