Tom Talks

Most compelling thing on draft day -- the outdoors

I know the draft is compelling but if I have a choice between watching players getting picked or playing outside, im going outside. Nothing against the draft. I think the draft is compelling. My car radio is tuned to the thing. I have a convertible, so driving is almost like being outside. I did go in for awhile. I ate lunch at Picasso's and talked to my buddy Tim behind the bar and on the TV we watched Matt Leinart not get picked.

I tried to make myself go to Bank of America Stadium, Panther draft headquarters, early. But this is one of those days when being outside feels like a privilege. I'll get to the stadium. Eventually. Meanwhile, I'll stay close enough so that if the Panthers trade up, I can get there quickly. No rush, though. Not on a day like this

First soccer game in ages was pretty 'cool'

I was goaded into going to a soccer game Friday night, and am glad I did. Diego, whom I did not meet until Friday, had sent me several emails the last few months, each interesting and funny.

Most of the time when somebody wants me to write about something the email they send goes like this: If you don’t show up you’re a coward and everybody will know.

This means that if I do show up, I’m a moron, so I don’t.

Diego subtly shamed me into attending my first soccer game in at least a decade.

The Charlotte Eagles, the defending United Soccer Leagues Second Division champions, played Cincinnati at Waddell High. The weather was great and the crowd enthusiastic, with lots of kids wearing soccer jerseys and filling up open space with pick-up soccer games of their own.

I recognized a guy I last saw at a minor league soccer game at Memorial Stadium in the early 1980s. Soccer must be like boxing; every time a jab is thrown, the same 400 fans show up. Yet there were more than 1,000 soccer fans at Waddell.

The final score was 1-0. The final score is always 1-0. But it was a cool 1-0. Midfielder Sam Casey kicked the ball to Jacob Scoggins on a fast break, or breakaway or whatever you want to call it.

Running full-speed, Scoggins beat the goalkeeper from about 10 yards. There’s probably a technical term, but to me it looked as if he scored with, like I said, a cool kick.

The atmosphere reminded me of minor-league baseball, all loose, upbeat and unpretentious, with everybody having a good time.

I told Diego I would be back, and I will.

Chowder and the perfect dive in Boston

BOSTON - I’d been looking for the perfect Boston dive - and I use dive as a compliment - since I hit town Friday. I found it Tuesday afternoon, later than I would have liked but better than not finding it before I returned to Charlotte.

Avoiding the tourist shops, I saw a flight of stairs. When you have to walk downstairs to get into a place, that’s a good sign.

The Salty Dog was small, and inside the door were two bars at which customers could eat. I ate clam chowder, half a turkey sandwich, drank water and watched the Boston-Texas baseball game on TV.

Something about the game was familiar. I opened the paper and saw that the score through five innings was the same as in Monday’s opener. I also saw, when Texas finally came to bat, that Curt Schilling, who threw hard and well Monday, was pitching again.

Monday was tantamount to a holiday in Boston, fans breaking away from work and finding a TV to watch their beloved Red Sox in an afternoon game from Arlington, Texas.

Lots of cities get excited about opening day. Only where baseball is special do fans get excited about watching an opening day replay a day later. Salty Dog employees often sneaked in to watch an at bat or part of an inning, and when I walked in, a guy at the bar, an employee it turned out, watched transfixed.

There's just that special something about Fenway Park

The NCAA threw a party Saturday night at one of Boston’s most hallowed spots. To share Fenway Park with only a few hundred folks made up for the last time I was there.

Years ago, I went to Fenway for the first time and was properly moved. I loved the building and looked forward to watching the game with knowledgeable Boston fans.

And then they did the wave. I’m in storied Boston, watching baseball at storied Fenway, and fans are as silly and as bored as they are anywhere else.

The four guys behind me encouraged me, and then pressured me, to stand up. Sorry, fellows, but if you stand for anything, you fall for nothing. I think that’s how it goes. And if you have a beach ball, I’m not playing.

On Saturday, we sat in the Green Monster, took batting practice and mainly just stood and stared. I took what I thought was a great picture of the ballpark with my cell phone, but 80 percent of the picture is of my thumb. There are no great pictures of thumbs. You can see some of the grass, though.

I don’t like baseball the way I do football and basketball and, I guess, boxing, but the sight of neatly trimmed outfield grass and infield dirt always gets to me. Some of you understand.

If Charlotte ever becomes astute enough to build a minor league ballpark downtown, the rest of you will.