Runner’s diary, Thursday

Five miles and I injured my ankle. Go figure. I was running along Schalks Crossing Road near the new senior development being built in South Brunswick when I stepped to my left to create a little more space between the oncoming traffic and poor little me. When I came down on my left foot, I must have hit a stone and rolled my ankle. I managed to finish off the run (I was at the four-and-a-quarter-mile mark). It’s not bad — I tried to ice it and I’m not limping — but I have no idea whether I’ll be able to run for a few days. Sheesh.

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Stating the obvious

Painless state budget postpones pain — so what else is new? When was the last time an elected state official — whether state legislator or governor — considered the longterm impact of their budgeting?

I can’t remember either.

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The boomerang effect

A reminder from The Baltimore Sun that draconian measures taken against immigrants and noncitizens — whether we are talking about denial of rights or denial of benefits — always seem to come back to bite the least fortunate among us:

Just as feared, a hateful effort to prevent illegal immigrants from getting health care through Medicaid has taken its greatest toll instead on Americans.

Hundreds of thousands of needy people, many of them children, are believed to have been denied Medicaid coverage or dumped from the Medicaid rolls over the past year because they can’t produce the documents now required to prove eligibility, according to The Sun’s Gady A. Epstein.

The absurdity of this requirement played out in agonizing detail for Renell Francine Ray, a 50-year resident of West Baltimore, who lost her Medicaid benefits because she couldn’t get her birth certificate from Virginia without a valid state ID – and couldn’t get a valid state ID without her birth certificate.

Congress, with the most virulent anti-illegal-immigrant lawmakers no longer in control, should move quickly to repeal this outrage. It was a poorly crafted solution to a problem more fantasy than fact that hurt the people it was supposed to protect.

Doesn’t it always work out this way?

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The lost art of baseball nicknames

Is Roger Clemens the only ballplayer left with a decent nickname? Rocket may not be imaginative, but it’s better than listening to Joe Torre call Jorge Posada “Georgie.”

So what happened? Back in the day, nearly ever player had a cool nickname.

Tom Seaver, still the greatest player in Mets’ history, was “Tom Terrific” and “The Franchise.”

Ron Guidry? “Gator” or “Louisiana Lightning.” Whitey Ford (as if a guy named Whitey needed a nickname) was “The Chairman of the Board.”

Bake McBride — his real name was Arnold, his nickname “Shake ‘n’ Bake” was shortened to Bake and an average singles hitter with speed, became one of the cooler players around.

And John Milton Rivers — Micky or, much better, “Mick the Quick.” And, of course, Ozzie “The Wizard of Oz” Smith.

“Say Hey” Willie Mays, Hammerin’ Hank Aaron, Joe “Ducky” Medwick, Enos “Country” Slaughter, Pee Wee Reese, Stan “The Man” Musial, Tommy “Old Reliable” Henrich, Catfish Hunter, Reggie “Mr. October” Jackson and so on.

There are a handful of good ones now: David Ortiz — “Big Papi” — and Slammin’ Sammy Sosa. There’s A-Rod and Pudge, (Ivan Rodriguez sharing a nickname with Hall of Famer Carlton Fisk).
And Randy Johnson is the Big Unit.

But the majority of players just go by their given names and the game itself is a little less colorful for it.

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