Comments & Curiosities -- Peter Buffa

Mostly sunny, 68 degrees, 90% chance of fun. Today’s forecast for

Newport-Mesa. At this very moment, a thundering horde of runners,

joggers, walkers and shufflers are assembled at Fashion Island for the

19th Annual Spirit Run, which benefits local elementary schools.

Runners are huffing and puffing in a 10K, a 5K, kids’ races and a

Toddler Trot. I’m not quite ready this year, but if I stick to my

training program, I should be ready for the Toddler Trot by 2003,

assuming I can crouch and run at the same time.

Ever wonder how long 10 kilometers and 5 kilometers are? And don’t say

“10 kilometers and 5 kilometers.” A 10-kilometer race is

6.2137119223733395 miles long. A 5-kilometer race is 3.1068559611866697 miles long.

Wait. Here’s one you can really impress your friends with. A 26-mile

marathon is how many kilometers? 42.3257472. Can you find this kind of

information anywhere else? I say you cannot.

Speaking of kilometers, is it “kil-o’-meters” or “ki’-lo-meters?” It’s

probably “ki’-lo-meters,” like centimeters and millimeters, but that

always sounds funny with kilometers. Does anyone care about this but me?

I guess not. Now I’m sorry I brought it up. This is embarrassing. Where

were we? Oh yeah, the Spirit Run.

I think big, raucous, outdoor community events are great. We should

have them more often. Most of us spend 80% of our time in a house or an

office, and the other 20% alone in a car. Every once in a while, it’s

nice to get everybody up and out and all together in one place, where

they can see and talk and shake hands and just act silly if they want to.

If you can do that and benefit a good cause, so much the better. But

doing it for no reason at all might be reason enough. I say, once a year,

every city should do a citywide block party, even if it is an oxymoron.

Close off some streets and invite everybody to bring a few beach

chairs and a couple of sandwiches and some sodas. No booths, no

exhibits, no “taste of anything” -- just sandwiches, sodas and people

milling around and introducing themselves to each other. What do you

think? Too crazy? You decide.

And today, as you almost certainly know, is the final act for the 2002

Toshiba Senior Classic. It’s the seventh year for the Toshiba at the

Newport Country Club, following its debut at Mesa Verde Country Club. If

you’ve haven’t been to a pro golf tournament, you should go, assuming

you’re reading this on Sunday morning. If you’re reading this on Sunday

night, don’t go. Wouldn’t be prudent.

Golf, like most sports, can be deadly dull on television, unless

you’re a fan. But it’s a whole different story in person, even for people

who don’t know a thing about golf, like me. In every sport, you can’t

really appreciate the sights and sounds unless you’re there, in real

life, in the thick of it.

First all, a golf course is a pretty place to be, no matter how you

cut it. It’s a big park with a lot of trees and vast stretches of grass

that your lawn aspires to but can never equal. Except for an occasional

cheer or a smattering of applause, it’s a very quiet setting, thanks to

that loopy tradition whereby golf and tennis can only be played in

complete silence.

Baseball, basketball, football and hockey players can do their work

with thousands of fans howling and shrieking and cursing at them, but

golfers and tennis players just can’t do it unless everybody is really,

really quiet.

At least golf is consistent about the search for silence. Have you

watched a woman’s tennis match lately? On almost every shot, the place

reverberates with tortured screams and grunts from the players. Both

women sound like they’re playing with two broken ribs and a shattered

ankle. But if someone in the top row takes a bite of a soft pretzel

before a serve, the server glares in that direction and the announcer

says in his sternest voice, “Quiet, please.”

I don’t get it. But a golf tournament is, for the most part, a quiet,

subdued business. You do a lot of strolling from place to place, a few

minutes here and a few minutes there, always in search of a good vantage

point. You watch a few players go by, marvel at how they can make the

ball fly and jump and stop on a dime, then move on to the next spot. You

stare at the famous players, trying to decide if they look older or

younger in person.

Later in the day, you stake out a spot at the 18th green, watch a few

groups finish, “ooh” and “aah” at the great shots, then get a drink and

stroll some more. Very civilized.

So get out there, get going and do your thing, whatever said thing

might be. Watch or do, run or walk, breathe in, breathe out, “ooh” and

“aah.” It’s spring, we’re still here, the sun is shining, no worries. I

gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs Sundays.

He may be reached via e-mail at [email protected].