Normal 0 MicrosoftInternetExplorer4 /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:”Table Normal”; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:””; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:”Times New Roman”;} Yesterday I had my first baseball practice in 30 years. It was with a group of guys with names like Chico, Blaze, Rip, and Easton — guys who even sound like baseball players. My name is Ned, which is why this morning I am so sore my nostrils are the only part of my body capable of responding — albeit only to simple verbal commands such “Flare” and “Sniff.”

Yesterday I had my first baseball practice in 30 years. It was with a group of guys with names like Chico, Blaze, Rip, and Easton — guys who even sound like baseball players. My name is Ned, which is why this morning I am so sore my nostrils are the only part of my body capable of responding — albeit only to simple verbal commands such “Flare” and “Sniff.”

For this reason, I’d like to apologize in advance for any typos you may find in this column. Please keep in mind it was typed using only my my nostrils, and a dried lima bean that was strategically dropped onto the appropriate keys through a combination of sniffing and flaring.

I should also mention the Spellcheck feature on my computer requires holding down the SHIFT key while simultaneously pushing F-12. Although I tried, I was unable to execute this function successfully before dislocating my tongue — which is actually easier than you might think. Especially if your tongue becomes pinched between two keys and, in  an attempt to dislodge it, you begin swinging the keyboard from side to side until you are knocked unconscious.

Let’s face it: given my athletic background, I have no illusions about being a great player. I have one year of organized baseball experience. That experience came when I was 10, while playing on a team called The Giants, which was quite possibly the worst team in the history of little league baseball. We had nicknames like “Squint,” “Waterboy,”  “Strike,” and “Phlegm.” I remember these names because they were at the top of the rotation. Our only win of the season came by way of forfeit when, after witnessing “Phlegm” blow a large mucus bubble, the other team was too nauseous to continue.

Considering all of this — and taking into account my lack of athletic talent, fundamental skills, conditioning and, according to our coach, a league a rule prohibiting the use of oxygen tanks anywhere on the field — I’ve tried to set realistic goals for myself this summer.

Here are a few examples:

1) Realistically, I should be able to run all the bases in 15 seconds, as long as it doesn’t have to happen in a single game.

2) Realistically, by the end of the season, I should be able to catch a fly ball; next year, I’ll try for two.

3) Realistically, I should be able to stop thinking of my athletic cup as a bull’s-eye, and therefore overcome my fear of getting hit in the groin on a line drive from someone nicknamed “The Sterilizer.”

4) Realistically, number three is never going happen, but I’ll learn to deal with it.

5) Realistically, I will have to stop blaming pretend gophers every time I miss a routine grounder; eventually, I will need to bring in real gophers.

And lastly,

6) Realistically, I should be able to hit a home run if I work on my fundamentals and eventually execute them in a game where, in one unforgettable moment, the entire outfield is swallowed by a giant sink hole.

By setting achievable goals like these, I can measure my progress and hopefully contribute to our team’s success. On the other hand, it doesn’t mean I don’t have a back-up plan. I’m not going to tip my hand to the opposing teams by getting into the details here.

But “Phlegm,” if you’re reading this, please give me a call.

(You can write to Ned Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com, or at the Siuslaw News at P.O. Box 10, Florence, OR 97439.)

From time to time a column strikes a collective nerve with readers. These readers then respond — in many cases — by calling me collect. After my column a couple of weeks ago, it’s obvious that excessive ear and nose hair has been on a lot of people’s chests. And by that I mean in terms of subject matter, not actual hairs falling from men’s ears and noses during the course of conversation, eating or…whatever.

From time to time a column strikes a collective nerve with readers. These readers then respond — in many cases — by calling me collect. After my column a couple of weeks ago, it’s obvious that excessive ear and nose hair has been on a lot of people’s chests. And by that I mean in terms of subject matter, not actual hairs falling from men’s ears and noses during the course of conversation, eating or…whatever.

It seems I have become the “go-to” guy when it comes to ear and nose hair confessions. The subject is generally brought up by wives, such as while standing in line at A&W and ordering a chili cheese dog for their husbands. One minute they’re talking about the origin of the Coney dog, the next I’m being told what it’s like trying to carry on a conversation with a spouse who doesn’t seem to notice he has hardened Cheez Whiz in his nostril hair. This puts me in the difficult position of trying to sympathize with the wife while, at the same time and being a male myself, trying to defend his honor by saying something like, “Has he tried the chicken strip basket?”

And this isn’t to say the topic hasn’t been brought up by men. In fact, it has come up several times — while getting gas, buying groceries, attending a funeral mass, standing at a urinal — and usually starts off with, “Have you been talking with my wife?”

There have also been e-mails and letters, wherein readers feel safe describing — in frightening detail — nose and ear hair abominations they have witnessed, are married to, or are currently cultivating. One individual even sent a photograph, which arrived by e-mail under the heading “Look at my nostrils!”

Sure, I probably should have known better than to open it. Especially before I’d had my coffee or gotten within arm’s reach of a defibrillator. As a result, I now meet once a week with a psychiatrist, who says I can begin the next phase of my recovery as soon as I’m able to look at the photo without wearing a welder’s mask.

I should point out this photo was intercepted by Homeland Security because agents believe this person’s nose hair could be hiding a small terrorist cell.

Don’t get me wrong; as a columnist, you hope to illicit a response so you know that people are reading. My thanks to all of you for letting me know you’re out there. But for a few of you, it’s just good to know you’re out there — and I’m in here.

(You can write to Ned Hickson at nhickson@thesiuslawnews.com, or at the Siuslaw News at P.O. Box 10, Florence, OR 97439)