Coffee.

Coffee has become my fuel. It’s the gasoline to my car and the yellow sun to my Superman. I drink it and it pushes me. Ahh, coffee.

I’ve been a two cup a morning guy for three years now, but I’d managed to cut out day consumption over the last year or so…until grad school.

Now I need it. One cup when I wake up. A tall cup for the commute to school. And an afternoon Vente Black before my last classes of the day. I told myself I wouldn’t do that, but after the first time, it was all downhill.

Weekends are no different. I went to brunch at 11:30 yesterday, and by the time we left at one, BOOM, my persistent waitress had topped off my bottomless cup four times. Didn’t even realize it. Until I was bouncing in my chair and chewing my nails.

I’m one down right now, waiting to go get food and itching for my next cup. It’s one o’clock.

Oh, coffee. I love you and I hate you at the very same time.

So long, Bobby. We'll miss you.

The Braves were eliminated from the NLDS Monday night, but that wasn’t the real story. While reaching the end of the season is always rough, it was harder this year because it meant the end of Bobby Cox as manager.

In 25 years of managing the team, Cox lead the Braves to 2,149 wins and 15 straight division titles, including winning the 1995 World Series. He loved Atlanta and his players so much that he’d fight and stand up against every bad call, leading to 158 ejections in his career—first on the all-time list. But he was never bad-tempered. He had heart, and usually got fired up to prevent his players from getting kicked out of a game.

For me, Bobby was always a link to my grandfather. Granddaddy was the reason I loved the Braves. Growing up, I collected the cards and tried to play for a year or two. I faded numerous Braves hats and loved being a fan. However, I didn’t really watch the game until I was a little older.

I remember the moment I started to truly get into the Braves. We’d go to the beach every summer with my grandparents and family, and of course, my grandfather had control of the TV remote. These were the Turner hay-days, when the Braves were on TV six nights a week.

We’d finish dinner and Granddaddy would take his seat on the couch and turn it to baseball. My cousins and I knew this would happen every night, and we’d get bummed because we would want to play movies or watch cartoons, but we knew we were there because of him and respected what he wanted to watch. He’d go to bed kind of early, and we’d get the TV from there.

We got used to this trend over the years, and we’d continually repeat the cycle. Dinner--Braves--Granddaddy to bed--TV control. After a while though, instead of just waiting for control of the remote, I sat down and started to watch. I absorbed the lights on the green of the field and the sound of the bat and learned the players’ names and positions. I became more than just a kid with the faded “A” on my hat. I became a fan sitting next to my grandfather, and it was a great bond.

Granddaddy passed away July 1, 2001. It was my first experience with loss, and it was hard (Of course, it’s never easy). The night before his service, the Braves trailed four runs to the Phillies halfway through the fourth inning. I was down, and the Braves were down. But then Atlanta scored. And they scored again. And again. They went from four down to batting in the runs and winning the game by seven! It was a great game, and it lifted my spirits.

The next day, we said our goodbyes to Granddaddy. When it was my turn, I looked at him, and all I could think of was how peaceful he looked. I got my voice to rise out of my throat and told him about the great Braves comeback the night before. It was our bond, and I know he would’ve been proud. I had to tell him, but I probably didn’t need to, because I’m sure he was watching from somewhere that night.
The Braves went on to win the division again that year, but they entered the playoffs with the lowest win total of the other playoff teams. They lost to the Diamondbacks in five games in the NLCS, and the season was over, but my love for the Braves and the tie to my grandfather lived on.

Of course, I’ve continued to love the Braves since, and I’ve been lucky enough to make it to a few games in Atlanta. Through it all, Bobby Cox has been on the bench in the corner of the dugout. Looking at him, hat low and sun-worn face, he always reminded me of my grandfather, and seeing him always took me back to sitting on the couch and watching the game with Granddaddy.

Last night was Bobby Cox’s last game as manager of the Braves. Besides Chipper Jones, he’s the last Brave on the team who was part of the organization when my grandfather watched them play six nights a week. His impact on the game will be felt for years to come, and while the Braves will move on, it will be different. I know, though, that just like the bond I have with my grandfather, his legacy will live on forever.

Thanks for everything, Bobby. We’ll miss you.

Drew.

R.I.P. Jetta

My Jetta is officially gone. The insurance people finally came to evaluate the damage, and the tow company picked it up while I was at school Monday. I didn’t get to say goodbye.

I’m not gonna lie. I cried. But I’m a crier. I lose it every time I watch “Field of Dreams” and Ray’s dad asks him if they’re in Heaven. “No, we’re in Iowa,” but there IS a Heaven. I tear up sometimes when I tell my girlfriend how much I love her, because I’ve been on the shit side of it and never thought it could be like this. I cried every summer on the last night of camp growing up, and YES, I’ve even shed a few while watching “Gravity” being played in person.

So when my car was taken from its final resting place, I cried.

My mom put a flower on the spot where it got hit, and coming home with it gone (as pitiful as it had been), the whirlwind of the last week caught up with me. Everything’s been non-stop since I had to get out of bed at 3 a.m. a week ago to see the damage, and it really didn’t hit me that it was destroyed until now.

It’s crazy to put so much into an OBJECT, but I’m a sentimental dude, and cars are different than other material goods. They take us places and protect us along the way. They’re a stereo on wheels, and you know you need music for any drive. They’re the last stop for a personal pep-talk before an interview or a first-date, and they take us back when the pep-talks work and things are good (or get us out when we need to run). They are the most important part of any road trip.

And speaking of ROAD TRIPS, my Jetta got to go on quite a FEW (or maybe I should say that I got to go on quite a few because of my Jetta). Together, we went through a total of 11 states and countless trips to the mountains and the beach. We also went to 11 Mayer shows. We drove all over North Carolina, down to Auburn, up to DC, and hit Tennessee from tip to tip. The driving partners changed over time but my Jetta took whoever was riding wherever we needed to go.

I’m looking for a new-used car now, but I feel like the kid from “Old Yeller” when he doesn’t want the new puppy. It’s just not the same.

So, R.I.P., my driving friend. Thanks for the miles and the memories.

Thank you, Michael Franti.

Today is Monday. It’s hard not to think about this fact. The weekend’s done, and a new week is starting up. It’s cloudy out, I’m dragging, and it’s gonna be a lonnnnnng week.

But I’m not gonna Eeyore this morning. Nope. Why?

Because Michael Franti and Spearhead made me smile on my ride to school.

His music is plain-old HAPPY. I saw him open for Mayer in March, and I knew he brought this feel to the stage, but I only danced to it (not on stage, unfortunately [cough]). I didn’t listen hard enough at the time. The song that I was lucky enough to hear today, though, was called “I’ll Be Waiting,” and it turned my “case of the Mondays” attitude into more of a “case of the Tuesdays” vibe. I listened this morning, and the lyrics that really caught me were:

“The best things in life are things

The laughing and crying.

The best things in life are things

The frightened, they’re still fighting…”

He’s speaking TRUTH. The musical aspect of the song was friendly, and the lyrics are right. It’s all about smiles and cries. I wanna add this song to the mix tape of my life right now.

“I Won’t Back Down” by Tom Petty and “War of My Life” by Johnny May are on this list too. They all have similar themes with various degrees of badass-ness thrown in. Franti’s has more of an “I’ve got your back” feel to it, but it’s got the same message: “Keep fighting on. Don’t give up, and things will be ok.”

The back of my mind believes this message, but when outside forces try to take this belief away it’s a lot harder to hold onto. Songs like this and moments of clarity in between the bullshit and the work are what bring the idea BACK. It’s the last limb on the bottom of the tree you’re falling out of, and it’s there to catch just before you hit the ground. You’ve just gotta throw your hands up and try to grab it, because I promise it’s there. Hang on, climb back up, and keep going, because there’s a much better view at the top of the tree than from the bottom.

I’m working on getting to the next branch now, and I’m gonna tell myself to keep going.

Until I get to that next one, I’ll sit through this Monday with a thanks to Michael Franti and a good song in my head.

D.