…and goes out for a cup of tea.
So I sang as I headed back home via Route 1, Easy Avenue. The Long Beach State women’s basketball team got back on the winning track, dismissing a winless Cal State Northridge squad, while Barack Obama took South Carolina in the primary down there. I sat down, and read a nice little article about me by Doug Krikorian on the Long Beach Press-Telegram.
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These locks a lock to remain uncut
Article Launched: 01/25/2008 02:10:11 AM PST
I went out to the Walter Pyramid Wednesday night to witness what I thought would be a rare victory by the Long Beach State basketball team since, after all, it was facing the Cal State Bakersfield Roadrunners.
Now nothing against the Cal State Bakersfield Roadrunners, who came in 6-13, but they had always been a Division II entity until this season.
They are so modestly regarded in the sporting orbit that Las Vegas oddsmakers don't even bother to put lines out on their games.
They are so lightly regarded that they were considered distinct underdogs - honestly! - against 4-12 Long Beach.
Why, they are so lightly regarded that the Big West - perhaps the weakest Division I basketball conference in the country - is actually hesitant about admitting them into its low-profile lodge.
As I walked into the eerily empty arena that seemed to have more band members and cheerleaders and dance team participants than patrons, I could have sworn there were more people working out upstairs at Frogs than were in the stands.
"It's a shame a rainstorm keeps so many fans away," said Long Beach State president Dr. F. King Alexander.
Yep, I'm sure there would have been at least, oh, five or 10, maybe even 15 more people who would have shown up had the weather not been lousy to observe what quite frankly were two lousy teams.
"We're going to win tonight," promised the former Long Beach State athletic director Perry Moore,
49er booster extraordinaire.
"Are you kidding?" I asked incredulously.
"We can beat this team," he asserted, bravely.
Well, before I reveal the horror that was to ensue, I want to say a few positive things that surrounded Wednesday's event just to prove that I'm really the milk of human kindness and always try to view matters through rose-colored lenses.
I want to publicly applaud the human beings who sat at courtside without paper bags over their heads. Although this might cause some of these fine folk civic embarrassment, I feel it's my duty as a journalist to reveal their identities.
Their names are F. King Alexander, Perry Moore, Norma Poe, Glen Bickerstaff, Michael Walter, Arline Walter, Barry Sher, Thadd MacNealy, Morris MacNealy, John Chavez, Craig Matheny, Bob Seynour, Jim Young, Bad Stu Ledsam, Marilyn Bohl, Jamie Mulligan, Whit Lacimer and the immortal Rick Bryson.
There was once the infamous Chicago 8, and now there is the Gutty Long Beach 18.
For a while, I didn't spot the Long Beach AD, Vivacious Vic Cegles, who has developed this bizarre obsession in recent times about wanting me to shave my head for the benefit of his favorite charity.
"Is Vic on the lam from the basketball team?" I asked Cegles' bodyguard and marketing guru, Dangerous Dave Benedict.
"Oh no, he's here," claimed Benedict, ever the loyal employee.
And a few moments later, before the proceedings commenced, lo and behold, ol' Vivacious Vic made an appearance, and the first thing he said to me was, "We can auction off your hair at the Jewels of the Night fund-raiser. We'd raise at least $5,000."
I know Vic Cegles is quite the Bucknell Man, but I never realized he perceived himself as some sort of comedian.
I felt like telling Mr. Cegles the 49ers had a better chance of finishing with a .500 record than threads of my hair being peddled for $5,000, but I didn't want to hurt his sensitive feelings.
The game finally started, and Dan Monson, floor commander of the 49ers, knew right away that this could be another frustrating evening for him and his team when he yanked out all five starters before even three minutes had elapsed, albeit, blessedly, he didn't pull their scholarships on the spot.
So out went Messrs. Donovan Morris, Greg Plater, Brice Gallow, Cornell Williams and Brian Freeman and in came Messrs. Artis Gant, Darnell Porter, Maurice Glady, Brandon Johnson and Arturas Lazdauskas.
Sorry, guys, for divulging your names, but I have to be fair and balanced in my reportage. You must understand I already have mentioned the names of those brave souls willing to display their faces without masks in courtside seats.
As usual, the 49ers were getting terrific support from Super Fan, aka Jo-Ryan Salazar, a recent Long Beach State graduate who for the entire game stands in the bottom row of the student section in his camouflage outfit with "Monson Maniacs" inscribed on the back of it and screams, dances and loudly mocks opposing players.
If only Monson's players were as animated as Mr. Salazar, or even as animated as the Long Beach dance team members who recently finished second in national competition at Walt Disney World in Orlando. As always, they were exceptional, although they didn't perform enough routines to divert my attention from the uneven play unfolding on the hardwoods that included some ghastly shooting, ghastly ball-handling and ghastly decision-making.
Still, despite it all, the 49ers somehow seem destined to make Perry Moore's bold prediction come true, as they held a 68-62 advantage with just 56 seconds remaining.
I thought I was witnessing a bit of history - the 49ers actually walking off the court with a victory.
I should have known better.
A 6-5 sophomore from Bakersfield named Trent Blakley hit a couple of dramatic 3-point shots in the late stages to send the match into overtime - and you just knew what evil fate awaited Monson's troops as they inevitably went on to drop a 80-77 verdict that was even more galling because of the quality of the competition.
"This ranks among our toughest defeats," said a downcast Perry Moore.
"We have a long road to go," said a disappointed King Alexander.
"This is a rough one to take," said despondent Vic Cegles.
"We just don't know how to close out games," said a depressed Dan Monson.
"How tough is this what you're going through?" I asked the first-year coach who succeeded Larry Reynolds, who was fired for having too many of the kind of seasons Monson is now enduring.
"I knew it (the losing) was coming, but, well, this is like going into surgery," he says. "You know it's going to happen, but it still is painful and you just have to live with it."
I walked outside the locker room where Monson had met the press, and spotted Vic Cegles, and tried to inject some humor into a dark situation.
"I'll shave my head if your basketball team winds up with a .500 record," I said, and that's quite possible if the 49ers win 11 of their final 13 games, the likelihood of which is roughly tantamount to my stealing Gisele Bundchen away from Tom Brady.
"Why don't you do it if we win 10 games?" persisted Cegles, momentarily forgetting about his basketball team's miseries and once again discussing what suddenly and weirdly has become one of his favorite subjects.
Actually, to be truthful, ol' Vivacious Vic should spend more time and energy worrying about the future of his basketball team these harrowing days than he should about the future of my disheveled locks. ...
One of the delights of watching the AFC title game between the New England Patriots and the San Diego Chargers was that the officials decided to let the players decide the outcome and kept their hankies in their pockets.
One of the irritations of watching the NFC title overtime classic between the Green Bay Packers and the New York Giants was that the officials reverted to meddlesome form and made a bunch of marginal calls that unnecessarily disrupted the flow of the memorable game. ...
Can't believe all the fuss about LaDainian Tomlinson deciding to pull himself out of his team's game last Sunday against the Patriots. How could anyone doubt his courage and toughness?
Obviously, the guy was hurting badly - he had a knee injury - or he would have continued playing. ...
In the fourth quarter and in overtime, Brett Favre looked every bit his 38 years against the Giants. ...
Had a blast at Dennis Gilbert's Baseball Scouts Foundation dinner last Saturday night, and the memorabilia was terrific, including everything from a proclamation signed by the 16th president of the United States, Abraham Lincoln, to a signed baseball by the 28th president, Woodrow Wilson, to a signed baseball by Babe Ruth.
Actually, I was set to purchase the Ruth item for the Press-Telegram's executive editor, Rich (Mr. Cub) Archbold, who has a sizable collection of baseballs autographed by Hall of Fame players.
But earning brownie points with the boss has its financial limits. The price tag was $10,000.
One of the highlights of the night came when the former USC and NFL tight end Jim O'Bradovich introduced Bad Stu Ledsam to Hall of Fame third baseman George Brett, who took one look at the strapping, ruggedly handsome Long Beach tough guy and Belmont Shore Rugby Club co-founder and said, "Who are you? I know you're somebody."
For the first time in his adult life, Mr. Ledsam was left speechless. ...
One of the nice guys in the area, Brian (Spyder) Binder, a Los Alamitos High graduate and ReMax real estate whiz, has been passing out cigars since 7:30 Wednesday morning when his wife Natalie gave birth to a seven-pound, seven-ounce boy. The thrilled Seal Beach couple named their first child Hudson. ...
Dick McGree was a big man - 6-4 and in the 270-pound region - with a soft heart who liked to paint and sing, which he did in his younger days when he was a maitre d' at the old Hawaiian Restaurant near the Traffic Circle.
He was over the years a member of the Century Club - was even its president in 1979 - the Committee of 300, the Rotary Club, the Southern California Tuna Club, the Long Beach Yacht Club and the Alamitos Bay Beach Preservation Group.
He was a graduate of Jordan High, Long Beach City College and Long Beach State and a Marine aviator who went on to fly for Western Airlines and then Delta.
He was a charismatic character who enjoyed all the pleasures of life, and there was a room in his home on the Peninsula that became famously known as the Aero Bar where he exchanged yarns and served drinks to his many pals.
He was a gourmet cook who actually owned a restaurant on 62nd Place, and always had season tickets for events at the Hollywood Bowl.
He was for a time a member of the Long Beach Fire Department and even owned a beer bar, as he and a partner opened the 49'rs Tavern on Pacific Coast Highway in the early 1960s.
He was a smiling, gregarious, affable fellow whose widespread popularity was reflected in the large turnout for his 1994 retirement affair at Cohiba.
More than 600 people showed up to toast Dick McGree, who passed away the other day at 73 after a long illness.
"Dick had a lot of nicknames - `Major,' `Captain,' `The Big Guy,' - but I thought `Larger Than Life' fit him best because that is what he was," says one of his closest friends, Roland Scott, himself a former commercial airline pilot. "He ate, drank, smoked and lived life to its fullest. He was one of those people always fun to be around. Never a dull moment with Dick."
"Dick always staged the greatest Christmas Eve parties at his house on 64th Place," says Susie Atwood, "The Aero Bar was really alive during those parties. Dick was a just a terrific guy that I will miss and so will a lot of other people in Long Beach."
I used to see Dick McGree often at Kelly's, but in recent years he and his wife - the former Ruth Yeargin - spent a lot of time in Palm Desert.
"Dick was one of those rarest of individuals - no one had a bad word to say about him," says Steve Folger, who lived across the street from McGree for 15 years and was a regular at the Aero Bar.
A nice epitaph for a nice man. ...
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That Doug Krikorian, always bringing quality articles onto the Press-Telegram. A tough act to follow, too.
I could not believe how easy-going I was today. I could actually breathe, and I didn’t need to wear my vpoice again. You know, there is a reason why the basketbimbos from Northridge are winless. It puts Hegarty’s season in perspective.
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