Share the road. Running is not a real sport like fishing

Real sports - I remember when runners first began running early morning races from Anglers Road in Lewes assembling at Irish Eyes. The fishermen had owned that vista and venue for a hundred years. Grown men in ball caps drinking coffee slowly drove old pickups through a sea of skinny striders. No one ever said anything, but the anglers just looked annoyed, and I understood that these two divergent groups of sportsmen just didn’t mesh together. After all, running isn’t a real sport, like fishing. Last week, Facebook was showered with real men holding up dead fish. From the ocean to the millponds, no fish was safe. Meanwhile, birders and bikers shared the network of trails. The social contract means the greater society agrees to share space and follow the same rules. It’s best to know the rules of the road and follow them to keep all humans safe and habitats harmonious. Bigger fish always win.

Phillies flopping - The Phillies have been enticing me into an early season sense of hope my entire life. The first word I ever spoke from the stoop of my North Philly rowhouse was, “Ashburn.”  But this latest early season crash I never saw coming. If I were the GM, I’d fire manager Gabe Kapler, simply saying, “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, dude, I just know it’s something.”

Landry Dog - Delaware may have named rescue dogs as the official state dogs, which is a nice, sentimental gesture, but retrievers rule Sussex County to the point that people who own dogs from the same litter consider themselves related for life. Years ago, I told someone, “Jay Prettyman, owner of the Rusty Rudder, and I are related.” “How’s that? You ain’t from here,” a local snapped back. “My dog and his are brothers. Bought from Rick Towsend, electrician, on Christmas Eve.” I named my dog Barkley after Charles, but then the Sixers traded him to Phoenix for Jeff Hornacek. Barkley ignored me when I commanded, “Get in the truck, Hornacek!” I recently met 7-week-old Landry dog, owned by Fred Best, named after Dallas Cowboys coach Tom Landry. Landry is the daughter of Rebel, Gary Chorman’s dog, who chills like a Frigidaire at Millman’s Appliance Store. My dog Darby came from Matt’s Auto Care and legendary Ruby Dog came from Fairhill, Pa., and was a great-granddaughter of Dennis Forney’s dog Lizzie. My next pup will be named Swamp Fox after former Eagles Head coach Marion Campbell (1983-85).

Simplistic stamina - I’m into the focus-on-one-thing-at-a-time phase of my life. On April 18, it was Atlantic lacrosse girls hunting for speckled eggs and shooting on Cape’s goalies. The Cape softball team was simultaneously losing to Red Lion 8-2 after four innings. I thought of going over there, but was already walking like a 1957 robot in a Flash Gordon movie. Cape put up 10 unanswered runs over the last two innings to win 12-8 and improve to 6-5 on the season with six of seven remaining games at home. The Vikings next host Indian River at 1 p.m., Friday, April 26.

Came for the B Game - I don’t like the term JV. I prefer a single letter like B game or school color, like Cape Blue team. JV has got to go to the bin of discarded labels, like scrub and bench player. A solid JV team tells a story of a strong program. Cape’s boys’ lacrosse is undefeated and the girls are 9-1, having lost an 11-10 game at South River. Cape baseball is 6-0. A solid JV program means there are players in the program who can give the varsity a go every day in practice. “There are more and more teams cancelling their JV schedules,” said Cape Athletic Director Bob Cilento. “I feel bad for our good teams that can’t get enough games.”

Snippets - A featured middle school boys’ lacrosse matchup is unbeaten Sussex Academy at unbeaten Beacon at 4 p.m., Monday, May 6. Personally, I think the game should be moved to Champions Stadium at 6 p.m., but I have no say or sway in the matter, just my own column. This is Penn Relays weekend at Franklin Field in Philly, the place I first heard the two words that would change my life, “Cape Henlopen.” The next year, my own Cape relay runner was heading to the paddock and began to drop his sweatpants and exclaimed, “Daggone, coach, I forgot my shorts.” That’s a story for another column. Go on now, git!