Q's Views

Okay, I said this blog is about my literary journey through the American novels of the late 19th and early 20th century, but I think I'll expand it to include some observational entries as well.

My wife and I enjoy watching the major tennis tournaments. There's a statistic that gets thrown about during these events relevant to the force with which a player has hit a serve -- miles per hour. Serena Williams hit that serve 121 miles per hour. Now, with all due respect to Ms. Williams, I'm sure she hit that server damn hard and it travelled very rapidly over the net, but there's no way on God's green earth it's going 121 miles in one hour.

The same measurement is used on baseball pitchers. Nolan Ryan threw that fast ball 99 miles per hour. Okay, fella, go stand 99 miles from right here. Mr. Ryan is going to throw the ball and in exactly one hour you'll be able to catch it. Go on, we'll wait. Let us know when you get there.

The measurement is absurd. The true measurement is feet/sec or more likely just the number of seconds from delivery mechanism (hand, racquet, whatever) to the delivery point (catcher's mitt, tennis court, etc.).

While we're on the subject of speed, I know I'm growing old and curmudgeonly, but I've grown impatient with the drivers on a two lane road, one in the right lane going 55 and the one in the left going 56. An hour from now the one on the left will be one mile ahead of Pokey McPuttputt on the right. I knew those word problems in math would come in handy some day, but I didn't realize they'd be so important to my road rage. Oh, and Lefty's lack of pace is most likely because there's a left hand turn 12 miles in our future.

Whew, I feel better. How about you?

Have a nice day and stay out of my way.