Sechelt & Skookumchuck

Skookumchuck Narrows   1 hour drive from Sechelt and 45 minute hike (in & out)

Check the tides and go 1/2 hour before the extreme high tide and stay for an hour.

The Old Boot Eatery   Great pizzas

Daphne Restaurant (Greek)

Remembering Bart Giamatti

The late MLB commissioner's oldest son recalls his father and all he stood for

Updated: September 1, 2014, 10:10 AM ET

By Marcus Giamatti | Special to ESPN.com

Ronald C. Modra/Sports Imagery/Getty ImagesA. Bartlett Giamatti served as MLB's seventh commissioner from April 1-Sept. 1, 1989.

Editor's note: Marcus Giamatti, an actor, writer and musician, is the eldest child of the late A. Bartlett Giamatti, the former Major League Baseball commissioner who died of a heart attack on Sept. 1, 1989, eight days after announcing Pete Rose's ban from baseball.

Monday marks the 25th anniversary of the passing of my father, Bart Giamatti, at the age of 51. The world has changed quite a bit since that crisp September afternoon. There are those who remember him, those who have forgotten him and those who never had the pleasure to know him. So it seems appropriate on this anniversary to remind us who Bart Giamatti was and what he stood for.

My father was a man of great humor. Not a day passed for him without a warm conversation on the street with a police officer or cab driver. He was a man of great insight and heart. A man from Italian immigrants and Yankee stock. A scholar. A poet. A teacher. A husband and father of three children. A baseball fan. A leader.

But most importantly, my father had genuine convictions. He stood by them -- with courage and without apology. He was a man who acted and did what he felt was right and true in his heart, not what was popular, hip or trendy. He understood his responsibility to respect and uphold the principles and laws of whatever institution he had been tapped to steward, whether it was a classroom, a university or Major League Baseball, and he did so with integrity. My father believed in his soul, unequivocally, that this function was his moral duty. For him there was no greater honor than to be entrusted with this responsibility because these institutions mattered. They were worthy guideposts. When properly managed, they had the power to set examples for us so we might conduct our lives in a more productive, honest way.

Major League Baseball is an institution built on the back of a simple game, one constructed on failure, with all its Zen riddles, poetry and tradition, a game of equal opportunity for all shapes, sizes and colors. For my father, baseball provided the perfect mirror, one reflecting what was good, and what needed tweaking, in our modern society. There is emptiness without him today, especially in the world of sports where his voice is sorely missed. His voice served as a reminder about the simple value of good citizenry and fair play.

With the debate over Pete Rose's ban rekindled recently, I have been asked what my father might say if he were alive today. No doubt he would applaud law men such as John Dowd and Fay Vincent who provided solid proof why Rose should remain on MLB's ineligible list permanently, excluding him from Hall of Fame induction.

But regarding Rose's banishment on a different level -- a moral one -- my father might add that Rose does not deserve a second chance without earning it first. Rose has done nothing to earn his way back into baseball. He vehemently denied his actions for 15 years, blaming others for his plight. Then when it was suddenly convenient for him (Rose published an autobiography in 2004), he comically did an about-face, sort of confessed and expected to be coddled.

My father would seek true remorse, which would lead to the reconfiguration of one's life. It would mean making the effort and having the courage to get help and turn a mistake into something positive, such as spreading the word to kids about the dangers of a gambling addiction. Instead, Rose and those who stand with him seem oblivious to the principles and standards of good citizenry that my father held so sacred.

The Rose dilemma isn't about how great a player he was. It also has nothing to do with today's steroid debacle or Rose's opinion about whether those accused of using performance-enhancing drugs belong in the Hall of Fame more or less than he does. It's about a broken rule. It's about arrogance. It's about stomping on the heart of baseball by committing its cardinal sin -- betting on the game -- and then somehow believing you should be given a pass. My father treated Rose, the all-time hits leader, with the same force he would have treated a small-time rookie. And he proved to Rose and everyone else that one player was not bigger than the game he loved.

Drawing closer to the end of another baseball season, we can honor my father's legacy by recognizing the beauty and poetry that he believed made baseball so special. He would encourage us to focus on the hope of baseball, on the possibilities that each season, each game, each pitch and each trip to the plate embody, and on making it a positive part of our daily lives.

But perhaps the best way to honor my father's legacy is to attend a baseball game. When you do, celebrate that which binds us together, the connection that is unique to baseball, one my father knew was a fundamental part of the American experience. A connection spanning generations. From boyhood to adulthood. From fathers to sons and daughters to grandmothers. From cities to familiar places. To simpler times.

Honor him by remembering that fair play and treating people with respect matter. After all, Bart Giamatti was an idealist who loved a human game with all its imperfections. A game that reflects our vulnerability. A game, like life, capable of great joy and redemption. A game, always and in every way, designed to break your heart.

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HISTORY

40 maps that explain the Roman Empire

http://www.vox.com/2014/8/19/5942585/40-maps-that-explain-the-roman-empire

Jerry Seinfeld on Baseball                 

   

Updated: August 14, 2014, 5:51 PM ET

By Mark Simon | ESPNNewYork.com

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Jon Soohoo/WireImageWhat's the deal with instant replay? Jerry Seinfeld doesn't mind if the umps get it wrong sometimes.

One of the world's funniest people is also one of the world's biggest baseball fans.

Comedian Jerry Seinfeld says he thinks about baseball all the time and that he's fascinated by almost anything related to the sport and to his favorite team -- the New York Mets.

Seinfeld is currently preparing for the fifth season of his popular web series, Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, and producing "single-shot" mini-episodes on various topics, the next of which, on marriage, will be on the site Thursday afternoon.

We talked to Jerry on Wednesday and got his thoughts on all things baseball.

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AP Photo/Bill KostrounAs a kid, Seinfeld wore a shiny new pair of white Keds to his first Mets game at Shea. These days, he gets to toss out first pitches.

What was your first baseball memory?

It's a cliché, but walking through the tunnel at Shea Stadium of a night game, seeing that color -- the green and the seats and the lights. My cousin, who was much older than me, took me. My dad wasn't a sports fan. I was probably 10 or 11, and when those lights hit you and you see the green grass -- that's my first really powerful baseball moment. I remember getting a new pair of sneakers and saving them for that day, because I wanted a new pair of sneakers for my first time going to see a baseball game. They were white Keds.

When did you get really into it?

I was 11 or 12 years old. We had a huge orange La-Z-Boy recliner downstairs in my house on Long Island, and I just started watching the Mets. I fell in love with them instantly. I never liked the American League. The Yankees weren't my kind of team. I loved the Mets, the players they had and the way they played. I still love them.

How did you gravitate to having Tommie Agee as a favorite player?

Believe it or not, I was very fast when I was a kid. And I still love anyone that's fast. I love speed. He was one of the great ball hawks of his time. He had a great running style. I also like stylish guys. Also, 1969 with those two catches in the World Series -- he was fun to watch.

Who are some of your other favorite players?

I'm a huge [Curtis] Granderson fan right now. I love [Jacob] deGrom and [Matt] Harvey. I'm hoping Harvey comes back fully. He seems like a great competitor, which I like.

What was your evolution as a fan like as the rest of your life evolved?

There was a period of time in which I really immersed myself in the world of nightclub comedy. When I descended to that world -- there's a line in "The Producers" where Max Bialystock says to Leo Bloom, "In the days to come, you'll see very little of me." That's what happened to me as a stand-up. I just wanted to learn this and be this. I left baseball for most of the '70s and early '80s, and in the mid '80s once I was a real touring act, I really liked that '85 World Series -- Kansas City and the Cardinals. A great series.

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Brad Penner/USA TODAY SportsSeinfeld sees a lot of similarity between the often brutal life of a ballplayer and a stand-up comedian.

Then I started relating my life to their life. The life of a stand-up comic is very similar to that of a baseball player. You perform on this 85 to 93 percent level on a daily basis. You can't give 100 because you've gotta do it every day. When you're that road comic and doing it twice a night or three times a night, the obvious analogy to the season of a baseball player. It's an everyday thing and an up and down thing. It's all about having a short memory and being in the moment of that game.

Bob Costas recently did an interview withClayton Kershaw and Mike Trout, and at the end of the interview, he said Michael Jordan never stepped on the court and went 0-for-20, that Tom Brady never stepped on the field and didn't complete a pass. But that happens to guys like Kershaw and Trout all the time.

That brutality, as a comedian, I can relate to that, because stand-up comedy is brutal that way. When you make movies or television, you spend a lot of time in the front office, casting, editing, producing, writing. When you're a stand-up, you're lacing them up and you're out on the field every day. You're hitting baseballs, running drills and you're in front of the crowd. When I finished the TV series, that's the life I wanted.

What was it like to be at Game 6 of the 1986 World Series?

I had a gig in Montana the night before. It took four planes to get there. I got to LaGuardia at 6 p.m. and raced over to Shea. I was in the upper deck with my brother-in-law.

I remember [it was like] the World Series was over [with two outs in the 10th], and then everybody's jumping up and down, and you're a little confused. You were halfway into mourning already. We left the stadium in silence, got in the parking lot and couldn't get out of the lot. I said, "Just turn the car off, I don't want to leave anyway." We sat in the parking lot listening to the radio and let the parking lot empty out, just in shock.

Then, the Game 7 rainout. That was great tension building [for what would happen -- the Mets winning the World Series] ...

Do you still have to warn people when they call you that you haven't seen the game and taped it, so don't say the score (which happened in the "Seinfeld" pilot)?

Not in the MLB At-Bat era. I have all the alerts on. It's really fun to see how fast your phone beeps after a run scores.

What is the experience of going to a game like for you?

I have one of those fancy boxes now, which I don't like that much because people want to socialize, and I don't really like to socialize at a baseball game. I just want to sit there quietly and watch every pitch.

“

Baseball is a two-day sport. You have the day of the game and the day after. Each game is big. If you win, you're happy that day and the next day. If you lose, you're bumming for two days.

”-- Jerry Seinfeld

I am completely absorbed by every pitch. I don't need to watch every pitch or do anything else. I'm always aware of all the wheels turning every second.

I've been doing this joke lately, because I turned 60 this year, and people around that age make a bucket list. I made a bucket list, turned the "b" to an "f" and was done with it. If you want to kite surf down the Amazon, go ahead. I'm going to crack open a beer and watch a ballgame.

When I think of retirement, all I would think of is going to a baseball game every day.

I kind of got into the World Cup a little bit and watched some Stanley Cup this year. They're both great, but it's not as good as baseball. Even in replay, the sequence of how the events took place is not as clear to understand. In baseball, you understand as it's happening, you see something that's transpiring in the moment because of the geometry of the game. These other sports don't have that clean geometry. Even in replay, you can't fully diagram in your mind, how did that even transpire?

In baseball, when someone tags up, knowing the excitement of what each guy has to do, and then you watch it. It's unbeatable.

The next "Single Shot"episode of "Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee" is about marriage. Did you have to sell your wife on baseball? What's it like teaching the game to your kids?

She was into baseball when we were dating, which was a huge thing.

It's great to explain it to my kids. They sense the enthusiasm, and they get into it. We play every day in the yard or in the living room. It's the announcing. If you do good announcing, you can get kids into baseball. I do different home run calls, like "That one's not coming back."

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Getty ImagesKeith Hernandez to the Hall of Fame? The ex-Met has at least one prominent supporter.

How much of your day do you spend thinking about baseball?

All day. Baseball is a two-day sport. You have the day of the game and the day after. Each game is big. If you win, you're happy that day and the next day. If you lose, you're bumming for two days.

Did you play baseball at all?

Only in the street, but never had a uniform or was never on a team. I played in the Broadway Show League. That was tons of fun. When The Comic Strip played the Improv, that was always the big game. [My kids and I] play hardball in the yard or in the living room.

Let's do a few quick-hitter questions: Do you like replay?

No. I don't care about the getting it right. It's part of the charm of the game. It's not that important. I like the umpires. These guys sacrifice more than anybody. Whatever that guy says, I'm good with it.

Do you prefer 1-0 games or 10-9?

I don't care. I like every game. I did an opening [for a game] and I said, "As long as the grass is green, the bats are wood and the gloves are leather, that's all I care about."

I've been debating this recently: Who would win a race, Mookie Wilson or Jose Reyes?

How long?

Home to third, like hitting a triple.

Reyes. Can't you just time it and find out?

I don't have a lot of Mookie triples footage.

You only need one. You've got to do something with that! Who is the fastest, home to third?

Trout?

I didn't think he was that fast.

I asked scouts a few years ago, and they all said Ichiro [Suzuki] was fastest home to third when he was younger.

I'm obsessed with Ichiro. He's one of my favorite players. If I could be any athlete, that's the guy. He played the game in his own way on a unique level, with an amazing unique skill set: the hitting, the defense, the focus. He's a cool guy.

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What are your thoughts on the current evolution of statistics in baseball?

I love it. I haven't fully absorbed them yet. OPS is better than batting average. WHIP is better for me than ERA, but it's hard to get them into your bones. There's no such thing as too many stats.

Can you make an argument for Keith Hernandez for the Hall of Fame?

Maybe. I don't think the Hall of Fame is that big on intangibles. You talk about a guy who reinvented his position, you would definitely say he did. That should be a criteria. That would be my argument. If you can reinvent the way a position is played, that's noteworthy, and you're a part of baseball history.

Has there been any thought of doing anyone in baseball for a guest spot on "Comedians In Cars Getting Coffee"? What about someone like Bob Uecker, who played baseball and has done comedy?

Maybe. That could be. I caught Uecker on the radio one time in Milwaukee. He was describing a brat, a beer and mustard. He ended it with "Call it a perfect day." [laughs]

Can you preview anything about the new season of your show?

We keep the guests a secret. We do have some new camera equipment. We're always trying to up our visual game with the cars and the coffee. There are a couple of big legends that I'm pursuing that I haven't gotten yet, but I just love doing the show.

Let's end with this: What do you like best about baseball?

I learn something every time I watch it. Sometimes it's about baseball, sometimes it's about life. But it's always something.

There is no other game that is so shockingly correct in its original form. You look at the fact that a shortstop bobbles the ball and the runner can run much faster. It still works out that they still have to do what they do as best as they can, and it's still exactly even. That's just incomprehensible. If it's 91 feet, it's different.

Jeter state of mind  

Savor the last season of the incomparable Yankees shortstop

Originally Published: May 28, 2014

By Rick Reilly | ESPN.com

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AP Photo/Chris O'MearaDerek Jeter plays baseball with a grace that belies a strong competitive desire.

To Derek Jeter's kids (whenever you come along):

You were born too late to know your father the way we did, so I want to take just a minute to let you know what he meant to us.

He was a kind of prince in baseball cleats, George Clooney in pinstripes, the guy every woman wanted to bring home to mom, and very few did. He was humble and handsome and yet hard to hate.

He was like a good magician. You could never figure out how he did it. He was the best player in baseball for a good 10 years straight and yet he never won a batting title, never won an MVP, never was the highest-paid player in the game. The only thing he did better than anybody else was excel: five rings, 13 All-Star games, the greatest New York Yankee since Mickey Mantle. He spoke to the media every day, yet managed to say nothing. He dated the most traffic-stopping women, yet never seemed to wind up on Page Six or TMZ or "Extra."

He never showed up in the clubhouse with a black eye to explain, a headline to deny or a photo to justify.

"He could sense trouble coming," said his best friend, former teammate and retired catcher Jorge Posada. "We'd be at a restaurant. He'd say, 'That guy in the blue shirt. He's going to come over here and ask for an autograph.' And sure enough, 15 seconds later, the guy would be standing at our table."

And he'd always sign. And look them in the eye. He got that from his parents, of course, your grandparents, Charles (Jeter's father's name) and Dorothy, who made him sign a contract every year promising to behave. You could swear he kept signing that contract every year he played.

How he was loved! In a league full of bloated steroid cheats, he kept the same body, the same weight, the same helmet size. In a game full of bat-flipping prima donnas, he ran out every ground ball, hard. In a world of my-agent-doesn't-want-me-to-play multimillionaires, he played hurt more than we know. "Most of the time, he wasn't 100 percent," Posada said. "He'd come out of spring training and tell me, 'I'm already hurting,' but he wouldn't tell anybody else. He just kept going."

Your father was everything men wanted to be. The guy with the $15 million Trump Tower penthouse. The dude dating Miss Universe. The man with all of the talent and none of the jerk. He was everything women wanted, too. The elegant athlete who loved books, paid for everything, and had a limo waiting for them when it was time to go.

The stat-heads scoffed at him, but then the stat-heads never figured out a way to measure the things he did. Some guys would lean over the wall in foul territory to make a catch. Jeter would launch himself over it, sometimes two rows deep. He'd come out with a bruised face, a cut chin, and the ball.

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Elsa/Getty ImagesJeter has played the game in a way that any fan can appreciate.

Fourteen Yankees were captains, but none longer than your father, and that includes Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig.

Your father was like a rooster's crow. You could always depend on him. The only way to make him mad was to give him the night off. "He hated to sit out," says 39-year Yankees trainer Gene Monahan. "He'd drive me crazy. 'What am I supposed to do all night?' he'd say. I'd go, 'I don't know. Go run some laps!' He'd just sit there hoping they'd pinch hit him in the seventh."

Oh, he had his faults. If you crossed him, even once, you were out forever. If he didn't get to the World Series, he would slip into a terrible funk. He could be a bit of a germ freak. He refused to use public bathrooms unless it was an emergency.

He had zero patience for excuse-makers. One time, in Chicago, when he was a rookie, he tried to steal third with two outs and the big slugger Cecil Fielder up. He got caught. What did he do? He went and sat next to his manager. "I knew I'd screwed up," he said. "I wanted him to be able to yell at me if he wanted."

Nobody had to yell at him much. He threw right, hit to right and did right. He began a foundation called Turn 2, which helps kids growing up in lousy situations, and he gave far more to it than money. One time, he showed up to watch a hapless Turn 2 Little League team. Not only hadn't they won a game, they hadn't even scored a run. When they finally scored one that game, he celebrated as though they'd all just landed on the moon.

King or cook, he cared about you. When Monahan was fighting throat and neck cancer, Jeter would text him instead of call him, because he knew talking hurt. "Get back here," he wrote. "We've got your spot right here waiting for you." Said Monahan: "That kept me going."

He had this way of making you feel you belonged. Before the first World Series game at Yankee Stadium after 9/11, President George W. Bush was to throw out the first pitch. Everybody was tense. Jeter walked up to Bush and said: "Throw from the mound or else they'll boo you."

He was hilarious, but he didn't want you to know it. In his final goodbye season of 2014, I asked, "Who would you cross the street to avoid?"

"You," he said.

More than anything, he cherished playing for his beloved New York. "It's like a Broadway play here every night," he said. "You never know what's going to happen, but you know it's going to be a thrill."

When his body just couldn't do it anymore, it was bittersweet. Nobody loved playing baseball more than your dad, but he was ready. "I'm going to finally see what Europe is like in the summer," he told me. "I've been on a schedule my whole life. The plan now is to have no plan."

After that, he said he was going to settle down and have a family, which was unthinkable. Derek Jeter settling down? It was like an eagle deciding to take the bus. Glad he did, though, because genes this good shouldn't be wasted.

If there was a better man in sports, I never met him. Your father was a gentleman. A charmer. A 1,000-point star. "He was the kind of guy you wanted to be next to," Posada said.

He was ours for 20 years, but he's yours now, and I just wanted you to know how lucky you are.