Scout.com > Cleveland The Sooner ... Or Later State Of Mind Story URL: http://indians.scout.com/2/844853.html Chuck Murr IndiansInk.net Mar 6, 2009 It's been a good drive to Goodyear -- thus far. But a delayed start on day one has set up a long second shot -- a swing-from-the-heels 3-wood. No worries. It's always been the short game that has posed problems. Let's tee it up and go for the green -- the greener pastures of Goodyear, Ariz., new spring training home of the Indians. From Missouri to Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas and New Mexico. TUESDAY, MARCH 3 It’s cold and windy … how can it be like Cleveland, 800 miles away from Cleveland? It’s Springfield, Missouri … starting point for Day Two of the Great Grind To Goodyear. It isn’t far to Oklahoma. Unlike the 1971 Three Dog Night song, “Never Been To Spain,” (but I've been to Ok-la-ho-ma...) the Sooner State will be new ground. Should have gotten their sooner. Actually, it would be even later than planned. Seeking to get out of the cold and wind, along with not relishing the thought of paying toll fares from the Oklahoma line to the capital city, the decision is made to leave I-44 in Joplin, Mo., and head towards Arkansas. That’s new ground, too. And it’s time for a new freeway. The exit is for highway 71 south, not to be confused with I-71 in Ohio. And it becomes I-540, a new stretch of highway that winds its way through hills. First however, it finds its way alongside an interesting golf course … the “course” just goes on and on, for miles. One hole after another, appearing quite challenging with sand traps, creeks and luxuriant greens, runs parallel to the highway. Turns out, it is SIX championship courses and a nine-hole “executive” course all strung together between the freeway and creek … followed by a walking park. Pretty neat. Looks inviting, but for the first time in more than a decade of spring-training trips, the clubs were left behind. The move southward was not a particularly wise one. While the roadway was fine, it added 135 miles and two hours to an already long journey. Better to stay on I-44, pay the toll, and avoid the side-car show. Otherwise, just lots of billboards for places that sell knives. No forks in the road, though. Otherwise I would have had an axe to grind. OK, enough spooning out of the puns. Hooking up with I-40 in Arkansas, it's back on a westward route, towards Oklahoma City, which is where I-44 connects anyway. It's the Sooner State ... and just to let you know, "Sooner Or Later" by the Grass Roots is along for the ride on the CD player. It's one of 3,173 downloaded songs ... which Mr. Minutiae has ranked in order of preference. The Grass Roots place five in the top 200, with "Sooner" coming in at No. 181. Thanks for reading. And now, back to our countdown on American Top 3,173, Coast To Coast ... More than music, this route provides amusing thoughts. Most of the towns and side roads have Indian names: Tecumseh, Muskogee, etc., etc. One that popped up was Lotawatah Road. The instant thought was that it was named after a flood. Lo and behold, the road takes a turn and there’s a huge lake. Somebody did have a clever mind. The highway cuts over the lake (Lake Eufala) and that gave another instant thought: maybe this was named for the clumsy young papoose who failed to heed the warning “Eufala, Eugetwet”. The mind does odd things when trying to stay alert in an area that has nothing for scenery except browned-out grass, horses, cows and steers. There was one llama farm and another with buffalo. Also a stray donkey: must be a democratic area. There’s a sign for a restaurant serving “Buffalo Burgers”. I was tempted, but passed … figuring they may be served with Buffalo chips. The Indian names continue, and so do the weird thoughts. Potawatomie? No thanks, but I’ll try a small serving. Wetumka? Is that a small tumka or an undry umka? Enough. The sprawling state capital of Oklahoma City looms on the horizon. Back to civilization at last! The highway goes right past Tinker Air Force Base, which has plenty of moth-balled planes on display, including an old Air Force One. Maybe the plane where Texan Lyndon Baines Johnson took the oath of office after JFK was shot? Got a suggestion for the Oklahoma City police: you can save some paint and man hours by not being so redundant. Police cars there have painted on the side: City of Oklahoma City Police. Is that opposed to the Planet of Oklahoma City? Oklahoma City Police should suffice. Time to gas up again, uh, vehicle-wise. Price is $1.67 a gallon. The weird thoughts are refueled, too. Time to cross the North Canadian River. Now wait a minute, Marco Polo … a Canadian river in Oklahoma is amusing enough … but the NORTH Canadian? Of course, a few miles up the road, there’s the South Canadian River. Never mind that we went WEST to get to it. Naturally, the town nearby is named Yukon. There’s plenty of Indian casinos along the way. Didn’t stop. Figured this was their way of getting even. You took our land? We’ll take your money. One was named the Kickapoo Casino. Maybe after somebody who tried those Buffalo chips? There’s the Gordon Cooper Technical Center. Leroy Gordon Cooper was my favorite of the Mercury 7 astronauts. Why? He just looked like a pioneer. John Glenn looked too old, even when he was young. Wally Schirra and Gus Grissom looked dumpy. Scott Carpenter, Alan Shepard and Deke Slayton looked too military. The early space age was a hoot. Time to recall each guy’s space capsule (which they named themselves): Shepard – Freedom 7. Easy to remember, first one up. Grissom – Liberty Bell 7. Easy to remember. It sank and he nearly drowned. Glenn … uh, oh. Can’t remember it. Despite a photo of him getting into it at home. Well, he didn’t get into it at home. He got into it in Florida, got out of it in the ocean. The photo is at home. Not his home. (Thinking like Hank Kimball a lot … well not a lot … and if you don’t remember Green Acres, too bad.) Carpenter was Aurora 7. I remember thinking that was the coolest name of them all. Schirra was Sigma 7. I remember thinking that was the stupidest of them all. Cooper was Faith 7. And Slayton got grounded and never flew until late in the last Apollo mission, when they docked with the Russian Soyuz… but what was Glenn’s capsule named? Had to be an “F” … that’s it! Friendship 7! Whew, Mr. Impeccable Memory For Minutiae was worried for a minute. Later on, it’s Weatherford, Okla., which proclaims itself the home to astronaut Thomas Stafford, another of my faves from Gemini and Apollo. Let’s see, there were … never mind. Too many to list. What’s this in the middle of cow pastures? A giant soccer complex? Looks like 20 fields – in Altus, Okla.? Well, the Tulsa Roughnecks were a good team in the old North American Soccer League in the early 1980s. Then came the Oklahoma City Slickers. Cool name, bad team in the American Soccer League. Walter Schlothauer, an All-American at Mentor High School and Cleveland State played one winter indoor season for the Roughnecks. He’s the only guy to have played for the outdoor Cleveland Cobras and both Cleveland indoor soccer teams – the Crunch and the Force. Great left leg. Saw him score from 50 yards off the opening kickoff one time for CSU. His right leg? Still doesn’t do much with it other than to stand. Here’s a billboard for a campsite: “Where the deer and the antelope play.” That’s the perfect term for Tribe manager Eric Wedge’s office – because that’s where seldom is heard a discouraging word. Say what you will about Wedge, but his greatest asset is an innate ability to motivate every player on his roster. Well, every player not named Milton Bradley. Ending the trail in Oklahoma brings to mind that former Indians pitcher Cal McLish (19-game winner in 1959) was born in Anadarko, Okla. And he was a part-Indian pitching for the Indians – with the longest given name in big-league history: Calvin Coolidge Julius Caesar Tuskahoma McLish. As he explained it to me in an interview five years ago, he came from a big family and his mom named all the others … easy, simple names. Bob, George. But dad wanted to name one of the kids and “he got carried away.” The kicker to this story? McLish said that growing up, he was called Bus or Buster … because when he was born, his dad said, “He’s as big as a bus.” On to Texas, but not by bus … and crossing at its narrowest point, which is still plenty big. Now, it is REALLY boring, as in “Oh, look, Emma, a tree. Where? Over there, about a mile away.” The signs bring welcome humor. You are entering Donley County … but wait, only a mile later, it says, welcome to Gray County. How can there be such a small county in such a gigantic state? It gets better … or worse, depending on your point of view. Another mile, and it switches back to Donley County … then a mile later, Gray County, but back to Donley and then Gray again until finally … Heeeeeeeere’s Johnny – Carson County! Despite a storehouse of info in the old medulla oblongata, it’s difficult to fathom the county switcheroo. Maybe the surveyor was drunk. Or maybe it was Hank Kimball. A trip to Google Maps shows that both counties are perfectly square … but apparently I-40, straight as it is, goes precisely on the border. A curve a couple feet to the left or right puts you in another county. Them Texans sure is precise. Next is Pampa, Texas. Pampa ain’t like Tampa. There’s no bay. In fact, it is so sparse that there is no there there. A great sight is that of huge windmills, turning the gusting winds into electric power. The wave of the future … and by golly, there should be more of them. First off, they look cool. Secondly, they are providing clean energy. There’s nothing to lose. Get ‘em now. Next, a sign for Johnson Ranch Road … could that be the LBJ Ranch? Nope. Just some copycat in a forlorn place. Amarillo is the place to be in this neck of the woods, which doesn’t have any woods, just burnt grass. Time to stop to avoid the dastardly sunglare. (By the way, any Clevelanders embarking on this trek need only to stop at South Park Mall in Strongsville, right off I-71, and go to the Sunglass Hut … just a plug for the manager, who doubles as a baseball reporter at Indians games and is unfailingly accurate in his knowledge of the game. You need the shades, he’s got ‘em in all sizes, shapes and prices. And he’s not shady, like Mr. Haney.) On to New Mexico, where the speed limit goes to 75 … but the construction picks up, putting you down to 55 anyway. Is it a conspiracy? I-40 becomes one lane each way, with a temporary concrete barrier on one side and orange cones on the other … at night, it is like going through a dark toboggan run with a strobe light on. Told you the whining would return. But with a giant semi’s lights a few feet from the rear bumper, and only the strobe effect in front, this was not a fun run. A little past Tucumcari, and not quite to Albuquerque, it was time to call it a day. It’s been 1,700 miles total, would have been about 1,570 without the Arkansas Traveler thrown in. Only about 450 to go and should be a piece of cake. Ever see the Billy Crystal movie “Forget Paris”? If so, you know to never say, “piece of cake.” Day three shall prove that theory correct-a-mundo. Copyright © Scout.com and IndiansInk.net