A deal is not believed to be close.
David Stearns addressed rumors Sunday on MLB Network Radio, saying, "There's no need for us to move … an elite-level player." Stearns added he would keep
Braun and catcher Jonathan Lucroy, another of Milwaukee's top trade chips,
apprised on talks.
?? Growing up with an older brother (Garland) and two order cousins (Earle and Harvey) who lived across the garden from us meant that I often was assigned
to the more inconsequential roles in games and sports. For example, all us
neighbor kids played baseball in a clearing in our orchard; actually, the
clearing was the infield, and any ball hit out of the infield went into the
orchard. I was stationed to the right of 2nd base where a pear tree grew about
10 feet behind the bag. I positioned myself securely behind the trunk, placed my
teeth firmly into the thumb of my baseball glove, and prayed "Dear God, don't
let the ball come to me". I kid you not; I still have that glove, complete with
the tooth marks of a seven-year-old.
If I ever ventured forth from the safely of that spot in the crotch of that comforting old pear tree, I have no
memory of it. I think I played out several seasons in that position, which might
partially explain why later, when I went out for high school baseball, I was
less than awesome. I tried to play shortstop like a normal person, but when
you're used to a pear tree shielding you from hard ground balls and line drives,
it's hard to get accustomed to standing out in the open. I tried hard, too, not
to bite my glove, but the taste of leather seemed so soothing that it was a
temptation I found difficult to resist.
My baseball career came to a crashing halt when I was playing for the 8th grade team at E.V. Cain Elementary
School. It was a pop fly to the infield, and the 2nd baseman and I both called
for the ball, then collided, allowing the ball to drop untouched by human
hands http://www.steelersfootballpro.com/Jarvis-Jones-Steelers-Jersey/ , in turn allowing the winning run to score. The incident itself was common
enough, but when really teed off my coach was that I apparently had the thumb of
my glove in my mouth while I was looking up at the ball.
"Shinn, I can't believe you had your glove in your mouth! If you need to suck your thumb, find
someplace else to do it. A baseball field is not the place."
I suppose that's why I took up the trombone. Nobody yells at you when you have a
mouthpiece in or around your mouth, and I didn't have to worry about line drives
or collisions with other band members. Besides, my big brother Garland played
the trombone, and he helped me get started. Tommy Dorsey was big in those days,
and he played a piece titled "Tromboneology" that Garland was learning, and that
intrigued me, too, with its' clever and jazzy moves. I visualized myself up on
the bandstand, adoring fans staring at me in starry-eyed adulation, playing the
great swing tunes of the day. I improvised deftly through the multi-faceted
chord changes of Cherokee, and then suavely broke into the smoothest version of
Stardust you could imagine. The crowd went wild. I could hardly finish my solo
before the thunderous applause drowned out the band.
My fantasy-dream was rudely interrupted by the annoyed voice of Mr. Newcomb, my 8th grade band
director.
"Shinn, what in the world are you doing? The rest of us are playing "Stars And Stripes Forever." Would you care to join us?"
The rest of my trombone career went somewhat better. In high school I worked my way up to
3rd chair, sitting behind Sybil McKenna, the excellent fat first chair, and Ola
Lee Murchison, the 6'6" skinny multi-talented athlete and 2nd chair (who went on
to play football for that new expansion team, the Dallas Cowboys), and ahead of
a friend named Gary, who wasn't much in music but later saved me from flunking
chemistry by cramming me full of formulas the night before the final. Even if we
hadn't sat in that order, you could always tell who the best trombonists
were http://www.steelersfootballpro.com/James-Harrison-Steelers-Jersey/ , as the eyeballs of the rest of us would be titled toward them seeing what
position their slides were in. Trombonists can't turn their heads without moving
their slides, so eyeballs had to swivel dramatically to the left or right,
depending upon where the superior trombonists were sitting. But since we sat in
the order of our ability, all eyeballs of the entire section were leaning left,
toward the first and second chairs. I was the closest to the only two
trombonists who could read music, so I would watch Ola's slide, Gary would watch
my slide, and so on down the line. Our director once suggested that we would
save on eyestrain if we learned to read the notes ourselves, an idea that had
not occurred to us until then. I worked on that some, but found Ola's hand a
more direct route to the correct note. Nevertheless, between note reading and
eyes-left-to-Ola's-slide-reading, I did pretty well in high school band. Well
enough, in fact, that by my senior year I was selected as the third most likely
band member to succeed. A buddy named Mike, a wonderful tenor sax player, was
chosen as most likely to succeed, followed by Ola. And while we certainly
appreciated the selections at the time, they turned out to be fairly inaccurate.
Neither Mike nor Ola nor I play our instruments much anymore, but a kid who
nobody noticed and played oboe; the only oboe in our band; now plays with the
Portland Symphony. Funny how things change as time goes by.
In our band building were a series of small practice rooms, with little windows in each door
so that you could look in to see if the room was occupied. All sorts of wild and
wonderful things went on in those little rooms, including the conjugation of
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