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Davis Young
- Oct 18, 2022

DY: In Just a Few Words (#105)

Wow! Just wow!

NOTE: I wrote this week’s blog before the Guardians’ loss to the Yankees in Game 4 and last night’s postponement of Game 5 to this afternoon. It doesn’t matter. This blog is about Game 3.

For me, the ninth inning comeback Saturday night was the single greatest baseball moment in the 60-plus years I have lived in Cleveland. I was in bed just getting ready to nod off when the bat of Oscar Gonzalez woke me up like a bolt of lightning. I was waiting for another in a long series of disappointments when he had an historic hit and the sellout crowd joined him to celebrate on the field. It was pandemonium. On the field, but also - I suspect - in living rooms and bedrooms all over town.

Years of fan frustration evaporated in an instant. It wasn’t much of a hit, but neither are lots of hits by this team. It was a typical Guardians hit and, once again, our guys had scratched out an impossible win. But, this was no plain vanilla win. It was a win for the ages.

It was a gift for nearly four million Indians fans who created 455 consecutive sellouts at the Jake. And, it was a gift for this first year of the Guardians and their Progressive Field fans who never, ever gave up all season, regardless of circumstances.

It was a gift for rock-steady ownership and management who have demonstrated through thoughtful actions that a small market team can compete with the big guys. The Guardians have invested in player development wisely, not some one-year, headline-grabbing fix. And, Saturday, they got their reward.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know Saturday was nothing short of magical. It was what’s called a moment. Our son, Denny, was right behind the Guardians’ dugout with his school friend of many years, Tom. Lifelong baseball fans.

Of all professional sports, baseball is the one where any team can get hot and beat any other team. That’s the reason they play the games.

Something that makes moments special is that they don’t last forever. Take it in. Enjoy it.

Maybe we need to immortalize this one by re-naming the intersection at the ballpark’s front gate. Instead of Carnegie and Ontario, what would you think of Focus and Hope? That’s what this team is all about - Focus and Hope. Ultimately, that pays off. And, it sure did Saturday.

Thank you, Dolan family. Thank you, front office and those staffers scattered around the country for player development. Thank you, Guardians manager Terry Francona and his coaches. Thank you, players, for listening and learning.

The Guardians can play with anybody - even the guys from the bright lights.

Moments like this are known for everyone claiming they were there in person. We were all there, even those of us in our bedrooms. One community. Focused and full of hope. Proving once again baseball is the best team game ever invented.

As fans of the old Brooklyn Dodgers used to say, Wait Till Next Year.

DY: In Just a Few Words is a blog that comes out when something needs to be said or every Tuesday - whichever comes first. Davis Young is a communications professional who adds 50+ years of experience and perspective to issues of the day. His emphasis in DY: In Just a Few Words will be humor (a touch of sarcasm here, a pinch of facetiousness there...). Once in a while, he will touch on something a bit more serious - but hopefully not too deep or depressing.

This blog is a product of DY Author & Speaker LLC. Feel free to quote content with attribution. Respond. Agree. Disagree. Share the content with your friends. Heck - even invite him as a speaker for your group! Enjoy!

Davis Young
- Oct 11, 2022

DY: In Just a Few Words (#104)

I can do many things. Speaking French is not one of them.

It was the spring of 1961, and I was finishing my seventh semester of French at UNC. Chapel Hill was all abuzz with plans for the upcoming graduation. It was a happy time for both graduates and their families. College seniors were ready to take on the world.

Now, you might think with seven semesters of French under my belt, I would be darn close to fluent - maybe even majoring in French. But it wasn’t exactly what it seemed. In my day (and I like to think every day is my day), students were required to take three semesters of a foreign language. I had taken French in high school, so it was a no-brainer to continue on that track. French 1 and French 2 at UNC were a snap; basically a repeat of high school French.

Next up was French 21 - a class intended to utilize the many Romance Language skills I possessed. We were translating lots of French literature into English and also becoming more and more conversant. I COULD DO THIS! And I did, over and over again. Ultimately, I dropped French 21 or received an incomplete four times.

Fast forward to the second semester of my senior year of college - and I still needed to pass French 21. I mastered the art of keeping my head down every time the professor called on students to answer questions in French, busily tying and retying the shoelaces on my white bucks for the entire class.

Soon enough the semester was coming to a close. The problem was, I really hadn’t learned anything. I had kept my head down and really barely listened for the entire class. But, I had to take the final exam. This was the final semester of my senior year - or at least I hoped it was. No turning back now.

The professor informed the class that the final exam would be graded 50% on how well we did translating a passage from French to English. The other 50% would be questions in English to be answered in English about French authors. That was my opening. I just needed a tutor to cram into my head a massive amount of information about the authors we had been studying all semester (or at least most of us had been studying). A friend of Karen’s was an outstanding student who was willing to help drag me across the finish line. She was my ticket to a diploma. We spent hours together. There was nothing I could possibly be asked about authors I couldn’t answer.

Crunch time arrived. It was exam day. I answered the English questions about French authors in English. I was getting pumped. Then came the translation exercise, which I recall was a combination of Russian, Dutch and Swahili, with a few recognizable French words (operative word few). I did my best. I took my exam blue book up to the professor at the front of the classroom and inquired as to how soon he would be posting grades. He looked up from his chair, peered over his scholarly glasses and inquired, Monsieur Young. I did not respond. He said it a second time, louder and slower, Monsieur Young. This time I recognized Young, likely not Monsieur, but that was good enough to engage. You need to pass this class to graduate don’t you?, he asked. Oui, I replied sheepishly. It’s worse than you know, sir. My parents are in their car now driving from New Jersey to see me graduate.

OK, Monsieur Young, let me grade your exam right now. You can stand right here and watch me do that. He looked first at the English answers to questions about French authors. Tres bien, Monsieur Young you have graded 50 out of a possible 50 points for that section. You need a total of 60 to pass this class and you already have 50.

Out came a red pen for the translation. You have never seen so much red on a piece of paper. Had I cobbled together enough correct answers to get me over the mountain top? Finally, he looked up and said, Monsieur Young, you have scored 12 on the translation. 50 and 12 equals 62. Congratulations. You will graduate.

He cut me some serious slack. Were it not for his kind heart, my 62 could easily have been a 59 or lower, and I might still be at UNC taking French 21 - with my parents making their annual drive to see if I finally made it.

UNC has long since tightened its academic standards. As an out-of-state kid I wouldn’t even bother to apply today. I would never get in. But, that was then and this is now, and that diploma hangs proudly in my office every single day as it has for the entire 61 years since I graduated.

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

Davis Young
- Oct 4, 2022

DY: In Just a Few Words (#103)

What are YOUR favorite commercials?

I’m not a big fan of most of what’s on TV. However, there are some exceptions. Sporting events (possibly including the Browns). Some political stuff if it’s a meaningful conversation.

I do watch Jeopardy pretty regularly in an attempt to get smarter. So far, that’s not working. I continually get stuck on easy questions like this: Who was the 16th century Croatian poet who gained lasting fame? I know the answer, and it was right on the tip of my tongue when some smart and faster contestant blurted it out. It was Junije Palmotic. I just couldn’t get that out fast enough. Maybe some network should start a show called Senior Jeopardy to level the playing field for those of us who have lost a step or two.

What has grabbed my attention recently are the commercials. They have really gotten me thinking. I had no idea that a floor isn’t just a floor until I got educated by watching TV. It’s not just a floor. Wow! It’s Nature Stone, says a dad and his two kids with great enthusiasm. Did you know that? If you're truthful, I’ll bet you’d admit you didn’t. My new house is not so new anymore. It’s seven years old and we all know what that means. One of these days the house or garage are going to need some floor repairs. It’s very helpful for me to know about Nature Stone.

And, speaking of house repairs, one just never knows when they’ll need to repair a window. I watch a commercial all the time that says, We don’t just stand behind our windows. We stand on them. I took one of my windows out the other day and was just ready to stand on it when Karen stopped me. Next time she goes out for an errand, I plan to complete this task. I’ll sleep better if I know I can do that. Don’t tell Karen.

I saw a commercial the other day that focused on a MAN and said, If you’re pregnant or plan to become pregnant, tell your doctor…. I thought that visual tied in well with the warning.

Then there was a beer commercial that I swear was pushing 6 a.m. as a good time to enjoy their product.

Now I’m sure you’ve probably seen the commercial currently running for the iPhone. A world famous athlete from our area keeps repeating Every iPhone? …. Every iPhone? …. Every iPhone? …. until the other person in the commercial has reassured him that Yes, every iPhone. Then the athlete signs off, saying My work is done. I have an iPhone and am greatly reassured to learn that it qualifies for some new service under the mantra Every iPhone.

I wanna see ya in a Ken Ganley Kia. I’ve had that in my head for months; maybe more than a year. It must work because I remember it. We’re a Ford family because my son-in-law spent an entire career with them. If it weren’t for him, though, I’d take a hard look at a Kia.

Then there are the skin commercials. Hide my skin? Not me. I can’t wait to walk around the neighborhood to see who’s not hiding their skin.

And, one for the road. There’s a medical clinic in our area treating ED. They’ve been all over TV touting their ability to help Men, get your love life back. They’re making some generous offers to get you to try their approach. These include free tune-ups. I’m not sure what an ED tune-up consists of, but it certainly has gotten me thinking. Maybe it’s like a car, where you get 10,000 additional happy miles after a tune-up. If there’s an ED reader out there who’s had an ED tune-up and would like to share his story, please let me know.

Have a great day!

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