April 26, 2006
The Cornell offense stalled like an old Buick in a snow storm yesterday against Siena (14-24-1), as the baseball team (10-25, 6-10 Ivy) dropped an afternoon non-conference affair by a score of 14-3. Saints pitchers Ryan King, Will Hassett, Kevin Snyder and Trevor Reid combined on a two-hitter against the Red, while the Siena offense collected 17 hits on its way to the lopsided victory.
Despite playing two back-to-back weekend slates that were both pushed back a day due to weather and a midweek doubleheader against LeMoyne last Tuesday, fatigue wasn’t used as a reason for why the Red looked so sluggish yesterday at Hoy Field.
“There are certainly no excuses and I’m sure the guys don’t have any as well,” said head coach Tom Ford. “We just didn’t get things done. We didn’t play well in any particular phase of the game. We only got two hits and we didn’t even really pitch that well.”
The Saints collected six extra-base hits on the afternoon, but the real story of the game was the four pitchers who combined to strikeout nine Red batters. Despite striking out one batter per inning, they did experience control problems as the Saints staff issued six walks and had four hit-by-pitches on the afternoon.
Cornell’s only hits on the afternoon came on singles from senior catcher William Pauly and freshman third baseman Nathan Ford. Sophomore Bryce Klinesteker took the loss for the Red. Sophomore Antonio Cardona, junior Kevin Conlin, freshman, Stephen Osterer and senior Michael Hudson pitched in relief for the Red.
The game was put away early, as Siena capitalized on erratic control from Cornell pitchers, scoring five runs on just two hits in the top of the second inning. The Saints took advantage of two hit batsmen and five base-on-balls, with hits coming from Michael Ambury and Jake Willis. Siena could have made it even worse in the third inning, but only scored one run as they left the bases loaded.
Cornell got on the scoreboard in the third inning after a leadoff walk and two hit-by-pitches loaded the bases for Ford. Ford hit a sacrifice to score the first run while sophomore Ry Kagan hit an RBI groundout and Pauly hit a run-scoring single to cut the Saints lead to 6-3.
Siena stopped any Red momentum immediately in the top of the fourth, scoring two more runs highlighted by Billy Lazio’s double to right center field. The Saints eventually tacked on three more runs in the sixth and scored single runs in each of the final three innings to end the game.
The Red will refocus and restart the engine this Friday as it plays host to Princeton at Hoy Field in Game 1 of a four game set. The Red needs to win three games against the Tigers to successfully defend its Gehrig Division title.
“We have no choice,” Ford said in response to asking if the team needed to wash away the loss. “We wanted to pick up some momentum going into the weekend but we will regroup. We need to take care of business this Friday.”
Archived article by Tim Kuhls Sun Assistant Sports Editor
April 26, 2006
I’m 24-years-old, which means that for the first time in my life, I’m old enough to have been someone else before.
I used to be an athlete. I used to be Varsity. I used to go fast. I used to be 215 pounds of twisted steel. I used to be a cocky, arrogant, supremely-confident tall walking bitch of a man, who loved nothing more than to spend his evenings rowing on Cayuga inlet with his best friends. I used to win.
I used to do and be all of those things. I used to.
But that’s all over now. These days, I’m just another kid graduating from college, without a job or a place of my own to live. Just like the rest of you, the faceless mass of seniors venturing forth from Ithaca, I’ll clutch tightly my little piece of paper with the Big Red “C” on it and show it to anyone and everyone to prove to them that I matter, that I am relevant and talented and that I am worth something. Because Ezra said so.
And after awhile, I will get a job in an office, where I will spend most of my time doing something I will tell myself that I enjoy. The cubicle walls will either be feces-brown or battleship-gray, and I will pin on them little pictures of my favorite Red Sox players and clever cartoons from The New Yorker. Maybe I’ll put up one of those motivational posters with the cat grasping the tree branch with both paws that says, “Hang In There.”
I’ll have drinks with my co-workers every other Thursday, and we’ll talk about our boss (who will be strict but fair) behind his back. Then we’ll move on to sports and the weather. We’ll act like we earnestly care about each other’s personal lives, take a few minutes figuring out the tip, and maybe split a couple of cabs back home to our apartments.
I’ll open up my refrigerator in my overpriced studio and realize for the third time that day that all I have are condiments. I’ll write a little note to buy some real groceries on the magnetic pad my mother gave me when I moved in, the one with the little golf pencil hanging from the string, but I’ll forget to read it later and eventually just throw it out.
As I lie in bed waiting for darkness to sweep over me, I’ll tell myself that I am happy, that I am living the dream, and that tomorrow will be exciting because it’s Casual Friday and I can wear sneakers.
I’ll be just like you.
Because this is the sort of life that Cornell trains us for. To be sure, a handful of us will become obscenely famous and undeniably influential. Conversely, there will be a few who make four or five bad decisions in a row and end up managing the second shift at a Jack-in-the-Box. Or maybe the recreational drug use from college will turn more serious, and they’ll spend the next 10-20 thinking about the halcyon days back at the frat while making friends with “Bunny” in the top bunk.
But the vast majority of us will live out our existence in the warm embrace of the Upper-Middle Class, comfortable but not carefree, important but not vital. And there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, I am looking forward to it.
But I cannot help but shake the feeling that we are missing something, that I am missing something. This life that we live can be so easily laid out before us, filled with resumes, jobs, promotions, mortgages, and two-week vacations, but it can also seem so harrowingly incomplete. Not bad, and not depressing or sad, simply incomplete.
What I am missing right now is rowing. I miss being an athlete.
I think it would be helpful to explain why, at age 24, I’m still here. I’m certainly not a graduate student – although, with the receding hairline and my never-ending supply of black T-shirts, mistaken identity is inevitable.
I had the need to take two extra semesters at Cornell, and I did so after first spending a year working for a Fortune 100 company. Last fall marked my return to campus, nearly two years after my best friends received their diplomas (it’s officially a life goal of mine to outlive everyone who graduated in 2004 by at least two years). But I didn’t come back for friends, I came to do a job, to earn a framed piece of paper with a Big Red “C” that proves I am worth something. And in that I have thus far been successful – I’m three weeks away from turning in my last assignments as a college student. But this final lap around Cornell has been lacking, because I have not had an oar in my hands.
Perhaps because of my situation I am one of a the few people on this campus qualified to put into perspective the true value of athletics, since I have lived on both sides of the coin. And after four years as an athlete and this past one as a “mere” student, I can with all conviction say that I prefer the former arrangement.
There are those that say that sports are just games, that they are simply pastimes to be quickly forgotten and pushed aside as we grow older and move into our battleship-gray cubicles. The mind, after all, is the arbiter of a successful future in a capitalist nation, not the body.
I say that those people have missed the point. I say that those people are the kind that have wheels on their luggage and no dirt under their fingernails. I say that straight-A’s at the expense of your body is just as horrible a crime as four varsity letters at the expense of your mind.
The great philosopher Durden once said, “how much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?” Well, how much can you know about life if you’ve never really lived? Sure, maybe rowing around in the lake at the base of the East Hill isn’t the pinnacle of human existence, but it’s a damn sight closer to that bright shining edge than anything found in the classrooms far above Cayuga’s waters.
When I was an athlete, I participated in something everyday that reminded me that I was alive. Everything and anything was possible through sheer force of will and strength of heart. And I will dearly miss that feeling. I will not say that sports are more important than academics. But I will say that the days since my final race are not as bright, the sounds of passing time not as echoing, the taste of air not as sweet.
My final plea in my final column of this, my victory lap, is for you to not allow yourself to go through life without having lived. Not all of the answers are in your books. A 4.0 GPA may ensure your financial success, but you will never be able to say that your life was richer than those of us who spent but a short time playing games.
I would be remiss if I did not thank Sun editors Chris Mascaro, Olivia Dwyer, Erica Temel and Erica Fink. Thank you for respecting your elder and for letting him get away with just about everything he wanted to.
Also, thanks to