Buffa’s Buffet, Vol. 91: Remembering Frank Jackson, closing a bad season, and the sexiest movie genre alive
The final day of summer has passed.
Summers are overrated. They slam into the body and spirit like a freight train, soaking out shirts and causing odors that we cover up like old pics. Friday was a good day, because summer technically died yesterday. Here’s to seeing if the bugs actually take notice, or become fugitives that replicant bug blade runners have to track down and kill. I volunteer as tribute for that job.
Think of A History of Violence, where the two brothers meet at the end of the movie in a mansion that only one of them will walk out of alive.
Summer: What can I do for you, Dan?
Me: You can die, summer. You can die, and take the bugs with you.
Let’s get into five things on my mind, volume 91. Reminds me of former St. Louis Blues winger, Vladimir Tarasenko. He could snipe a shot by the goaltender like few others, but couldn’t perfect one timers and endured a chronic shoulder injury near the end of his time here. But, the man promised this city a Stanley Cup and answered the bell, bum shoulder and all. Above average player who fell shy of all time greatness. Such is life…
Kevin Hayes is the new Blue in town. Brought in to supplement the loss of Ryan O’Reilly, the former Philadelphia Flyers right winger can add extra scoring punch to that winning formula. In 81 games last season, he scored 18 goals and tabulated 54 points. He’s spent ten seasons in the league, and sits in the 15-20 goal, 45-55 point range.
While we wait to see the 31-year-old’s first action in the preseason (it starts today!), we know the guy can hit a baseball. In an annual “let the hockey guys take a few swings in September” cool gesture from the Cardinals, a group of Blues hit the batting cage. Jordan Binnington could be mistaken for a senior in high school without his goalie pads on. All the gents acquitted themselves well. But it was Hayes who hit a real bomb.
The 6 foot 5 lefty smoked an inside pitch into the bullpen in right field. He had the lazy back leg finish and elevated upper body pose to go with a pretty swing. If there’s a need, a crossover wouldn’t be a crazy idea if a Cardinals’ opponent put a position player in the game to pitch. Hayes gives the whole sports town of St. Louis an instant upside.
His play on the ice wont determine the fate of the coming season, but it’s a nice acquisition after collecting draft picks for O’Reilly. Here’s to the Blues being easier to watch than the Cardinals this year. Moving on.
There isn’t a sexier scenario in Hollywood for a movie than a pack of special forces mercenaries going after Nazis during the war. From Fury to Inglourious Basterds to countless others, there have been plenty of award-friendly and straight up entertaining bangers in this sub genre. Revisionist history in the greatest sense of the reconstructive terminology.
Guy Ritchie is entering that realm of film with The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare, which is in post-production. Starting with a brick shithouse lead combo of Henry Cavill and Alan Ritchson, it follows a small band of soldiers dropped in behind enemy lines during World War II to take out some Nazis. Count me in.
If the underrated Wrath of Man and this year’s The Covenant was any indication, Ritchie can handle himself with a firm hand in the action genre. Adding a pro in Cavill and a legit hulk in Jack Reacher’s Ritchson, along with a bevy of a fine supporting cast, thickens the excitement for this likely early 2024 release. Since Cavill can’t punch a Warner Brothers executive or Dwayne Johnson for sinking his Superman battleship, he can smoke some bad souls from the darker side of America’s history.
The world can seem smaller than any of us can realize, and there are constant reminders. My reminder today was picking up plumbing supplies from a place called Gateway Solutions in Kirkwood. Just another place of business on my route that doesn’t mean much, but the building behind it on 572 Leffingwell Avenue sure does.
That’s the former Senoret Chemical production plant, housed about two long blocks from our distribution building over on Fillmore. It closed when the company was sold in 2012, but it took three seconds for memories of company cookouts (smoking a pig!) to plenty of sweaty afternoons spent hustling bug and mole repellent products for a living to rush back into the blood.
The unofficial mayor of that company was a man named Frank Jackson. He looked like a man who was pissed off that he woke up this morning, but also someone who could break a huge smile with the right joke. He always had a Budweiser on him during parties, and could make the word “motherfucker” sing. It wasn’t easy being his friend because he could be grumpier than Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino, but knowing some people comes with a disclaimer at times. You handle their way of view so you don’t tarnish what makes them tick.
One time, Frank and I were fixing something in the warehouse. Anyone that knows me understands that I am not a handyman. My wife fixes and I lift the heavy stuff. I can help and do certain things, but speed isn’t my game. As Frank was handing me tools, I was bewildered as to why he was allowing me to put something together.
“You got it,” he said. We continued on, and ten minutes later, the job was done. The cabinet shelf that held the coffee supplies in the break room was restored, in case you were wondering. Someone came by and questioned letting me do the tool work, and Frank shunned that thought process.
With a rigid but firm look that only Frank Jackson could, he was quick and blunt:
“You just got to let him do it. You need to let him focus, and leave him alone.”
Salute to that. I thought of Frank today when I saw that lot. He passed away this week, but seeing that lot and building somehow brought him back to life, if only for a few seconds. Raise a glass for Frank Jackson. We need more of those type of souls around.
The world is huge. I get that. But it’s times like these where the past can wink at you as the present carries on.
The Cardinals can’t wait for the present to carry on faster, bringing a highly disappointing season to a close. A baseball team with a $157 million payroll will struggle to finish with 70 wins in a 162 game season. The defense took a step back, the rotation was weak, and the offense was sustainable until the end of August.
Paul Goldschmidt and Nolan Arenado had fine seasons, but their stats will take a moderate drop from an MVP-caliber 2022 season where they each finished in the top 5 for voting. Jordan Walker rebounded well from a midseason slump, and Masyn Winn flashed highlight reel defense. The bullpen had brighter moments, but the levee broke early on in the season.
As I’ve written multiple times this summer, all of this has been teased for years; 2023 was just the season that the dam collapsed. The lack of accountability and ability in this team locating a suitable follow-up for Adam Wainwright (even while he stayed in form for years) has finally bit them in the ass. He’s retiring, and no one is ready to take the mantle.
The 2024 rotation has two members in it currently, and they’re each about as appealing as bagged chips at a Mexican restaurant. John Mozeliak has work to do, and the timetable for a return to contention will depend on how aggressive he gets this winter.
It may include having to trade one of his big boys. More on that later.
Last but not least, a few words about Bar K, the hip, new dog park in St. Louis that is a whole lot of fun for both human and animal. Well, relatively new I guess.
Leeroy, the new Buffa pet, got a good taste of this place last Sunday. Armed with the curiosity of a doting grandmother, he wanted to investigate every single dog there.
This includes sniffing asses, touching noses almost, and basically declaring war on each other before becoming friends. Whenever two dogs meet, it’s like watching the evolution of three Fast and Furious movies in less than a minute. He really has a *fondness* for the smaller dogs, because they do look like toys to a 66 pound-and-counting pit bull.
The place may be labeled as a dog park, but it’s a human sanctuary. We take them there thinking it’s for them, when it’s really for us. Maybe both.
Take care and be kind to your fellow humans this weekend.
One more time, for Frank Jackson, a man among men.
