Sunday, September 20, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
Grand Slam Career
A True Story.At about 11 years old I was a little on the small side. But I did love baseball. Watching Hank Aaron at Fulton County Stadium with my brothers Matty and Brian - and the Reichlings. Yea, Kim, Tom (T-bone), Bucky, Ponder, and Willie. We all went.
It was fun to watch, but even more fun to play.Playing baseball, wanted to be just like my dad. I still remember watching dad play ball when I was even younger up in Jersey. Baseball was the most awesome game I had ever seen. Dad was good too. I knew he was good. Best in South Amboy, maybe. Well, maybe.
So, here, of course it was my turn. Living now in Atlanta, all my friends played, and we had a blast. Ira Haber, Ronnie Topper, Jim Duke, Marc greene, Lou West and few other goober heads.
I was an OK player, but a little on the "crummy" side when it came to hitting. Yea, I was growing more nervous with each strikeout. Sometimes to the point I didn't even like going up to the plate. I wouldn't say afraid. I wouldn't.
My dad decided all we needed to do, was go the the batting cages. He bought me the biggest baseball bat he could find, a giant 36 inch piece of lumber. Off we went to Jim Hearn driving range and batting cages on Buford Highway, and he set me up in the fast pitch cage. Well, here we go. Dad said, "This is gonna be easy." He had me choked up almost three hands so I could swing the stupid tree trunk. I was tired after twenty swings. Done by thirty.
Dad told me the bat was so big, it would make hitting the ball easier? All I had to do was make contact. He taught me not to bring the bat back all the way, and up so high - but to lay it out, then step, and turn my hips into the pitch. In time, I even hit a few of the fastest pitches, eventually. OK, I fouled off one or two. We went home.
On the way, after McDonalds, he explained, if I could just learn to swing that big bat and just "make contact", the faster the pitcher, the further the ball would go.Dad took me back to the batting cages, again, and again, and again. Week, after week. No one wanted to go to the batting cages that much. No one I knew. Soon, I was hitting some, then half, then most of the fastest pitches. But I still didn't love going. Who would? Two, three times a week?
Back on the baseball field, the season was grinding on, and about half over. My little league coach would still NOT let me use the giant baseball bat my dad got for me. He said no kid should be swinging a giant hunk of lumber like that, and certainly not a small strikout specialist like me. I wasn't striking out every time? Was I?
Finally, before one game, our coach told me I would be able to use the rediculous giant baseball bat. (I still think my dad had a chat with him). I had at least a little confidence with it, so, I got excited. The excitement faded. I was batting last. This giant bat made me look silly. In time, wouldn't you know it. The bases are loaded, and it's my turn to hit. There are two outs. Perfect. I remember thinking, "I hate this stupid bat". As I stepped on deck I could already see the look on my coach's face. Not happy. Not happy.
This could be the most humiliating day of my life. Best pitcher in the league on the mound. He was one of the biggest kids, and the fastest pitchers I would ever see.. My dad was behind the fence almost out in left field. I could see him wave his hand as if to say, "this will be easy for you." I thought he was a nut. A lunatic who yelled at me allot at the batting cages. Certified crazy. Easy? My butt.
Up to the plate I went, a few practice swings. Here comes the first pitch. I took a swing, turned my hips. CRACK! No one was more shocked. I hit it. I hit the stupid ball. I watch it go high and left, and to the side, see my dad's smiling face following the ball as just barely, and I mean barely - we all watched it go over the left field fence.I was in a slow stride of surreal shock to first base and beyond. Everything at that moment played in slow motion. And by the time I got around to home plate, my entire team was there waiting, screaming, jumping. I was so excited, and so in shock. My stomach felt like we had just crested the giant hill on a roller coaster. Felt a little like I was going to throw up. What just happened? A Grand slam.
A kid had retrieved the ball, and after the high fives and settling down - my coach was sitting there with a pen. He was about to sign my ball. I jumped up without really thinking what I was doing, not thinking I may hurt his feelings. He had just given me a great idea! I snatched the ball from his hand, and the pen from the other, ran out to near the left field fence. I tossed my dad the ball, and the pen, (he knew what for) and ran back to the dugout for the rest of the game.
By the way, two innings later, I hit a second home run. You're not going to believe this, but I hit a home run in each of the next four games to wrap up the season. All with that big, stupid tree stump, baseball bat - choked up almost three hands. I don't mind going to the batting cages.
My dad would tell ya.
Get a big bat.
Go to the cages.
Do what no else wants to do.
Grand Slam. Easy.
It was fun to watch, but even more fun to play.Playing baseball, wanted to be just like my dad. I still remember watching dad play ball when I was even younger up in Jersey. Baseball was the most awesome game I had ever seen. Dad was good too. I knew he was good. Best in South Amboy, maybe. Well, maybe.
So, here, of course it was my turn. Living now in Atlanta, all my friends played, and we had a blast. Ira Haber, Ronnie Topper, Jim Duke, Marc greene, Lou West and few other goober heads.
I was an OK player, but a little on the "crummy" side when it came to hitting. Yea, I was growing more nervous with each strikeout. Sometimes to the point I didn't even like going up to the plate. I wouldn't say afraid. I wouldn't.
My dad decided all we needed to do, was go the the batting cages. He bought me the biggest baseball bat he could find, a giant 36 inch piece of lumber. Off we went to Jim Hearn driving range and batting cages on Buford Highway, and he set me up in the fast pitch cage. Well, here we go. Dad said, "This is gonna be easy." He had me choked up almost three hands so I could swing the stupid tree trunk. I was tired after twenty swings. Done by thirty.
Dad told me the bat was so big, it would make hitting the ball easier? All I had to do was make contact. He taught me not to bring the bat back all the way, and up so high - but to lay it out, then step, and turn my hips into the pitch. In time, I even hit a few of the fastest pitches, eventually. OK, I fouled off one or two. We went home.
On the way, after McDonalds, he explained, if I could just learn to swing that big bat and just "make contact", the faster the pitcher, the further the ball would go.Dad took me back to the batting cages, again, and again, and again. Week, after week. No one wanted to go to the batting cages that much. No one I knew. Soon, I was hitting some, then half, then most of the fastest pitches. But I still didn't love going. Who would? Two, three times a week?
Back on the baseball field, the season was grinding on, and about half over. My little league coach would still NOT let me use the giant baseball bat my dad got for me. He said no kid should be swinging a giant hunk of lumber like that, and certainly not a small strikout specialist like me. I wasn't striking out every time? Was I?
Finally, before one game, our coach told me I would be able to use the rediculous giant baseball bat. (I still think my dad had a chat with him). I had at least a little confidence with it, so, I got excited. The excitement faded. I was batting last. This giant bat made me look silly. In time, wouldn't you know it. The bases are loaded, and it's my turn to hit. There are two outs. Perfect. I remember thinking, "I hate this stupid bat". As I stepped on deck I could already see the look on my coach's face. Not happy. Not happy.
This could be the most humiliating day of my life. Best pitcher in the league on the mound. He was one of the biggest kids, and the fastest pitchers I would ever see.. My dad was behind the fence almost out in left field. I could see him wave his hand as if to say, "this will be easy for you." I thought he was a nut. A lunatic who yelled at me allot at the batting cages. Certified crazy. Easy? My butt.
Up to the plate I went, a few practice swings. Here comes the first pitch. I took a swing, turned my hips. CRACK! No one was more shocked. I hit it. I hit the stupid ball. I watch it go high and left, and to the side, see my dad's smiling face following the ball as just barely, and I mean barely - we all watched it go over the left field fence.I was in a slow stride of surreal shock to first base and beyond. Everything at that moment played in slow motion. And by the time I got around to home plate, my entire team was there waiting, screaming, jumping. I was so excited, and so in shock. My stomach felt like we had just crested the giant hill on a roller coaster. Felt a little like I was going to throw up. What just happened? A Grand slam.
A kid had retrieved the ball, and after the high fives and settling down - my coach was sitting there with a pen. He was about to sign my ball. I jumped up without really thinking what I was doing, not thinking I may hurt his feelings. He had just given me a great idea! I snatched the ball from his hand, and the pen from the other, ran out to near the left field fence. I tossed my dad the ball, and the pen, (he knew what for) and ran back to the dugout for the rest of the game.
By the way, two innings later, I hit a second home run. You're not going to believe this, but I hit a home run in each of the next four games to wrap up the season. All with that big, stupid tree stump, baseball bat - choked up almost three hands. I don't mind going to the batting cages.
My dad would tell ya.
Get a big bat.
Go to the cages.
Do what no else wants to do.
Grand Slam. Easy.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Low Ball Offers Not Always A Hit
Another gentleman from NY called today with a low ball offer on a waterfront. The bank has it at $299,999. Previous value was over $600,000. Yep, it's a short sale and the price has been approved. That means if you offer $299,999, the ball starts rolling and you move toward a closing. If you offer LESS than $299,000, there is NO ball rolling. If the bank wants to consider YOUR offer at all, they will start from scratch and do another BPO or two. This could take weeks, while they also entertain other offers and essentially try to bid the price back up.
My buyer wants to offer $230,000. I made the call, the bank's agent told me he got a full price offer last night and is moving to close fast. The last time this happened (same buyer) the price was $315,000 for a waterfront. The bank took the home off the market and said they would auction it off. That was 3 months ago and the home is still sitting there. Some bank owned properties are PRICED RIGHT, and not open to low ball offers. Good luck, and come see me at www.SavingBeach.com
My buyer wants to offer $230,000. I made the call, the bank's agent told me he got a full price offer last night and is moving to close fast. The last time this happened (same buyer) the price was $315,000 for a waterfront. The bank took the home off the market and said they would auction it off. That was 3 months ago and the home is still sitting there. Some bank owned properties are PRICED RIGHT, and not open to low ball offers. Good luck, and come see me at www.SavingBeach.com
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Beach Area Bank Owned and Foreclosures
About 17-20 on averge in the beach area are bank owned. When you throw in foreclosures the number go to 80-120. The foreclosure numbers include short sales, which are problematic and slow to close if and when they do. Check out some video tours of bank owned on the web site at www.KeithConnors.com
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
REALTOR.com AGENTS BEWARE.
So I'm talking to a rep, Denise at Realtor.com, and telling her that I just upped my on line budget to $300 a month using Google AD WORDS, and have gotten 26 leads in the first 3 weeks. I am buying some additional services and asking about banner ads, and how many leads they produce. She says she will send me samples and when I ask, how many are they producing? Denise says the local Pinellas agents are getting 15 leads per day. I asked if I would be able to SEE web stats, impressions, clicks on line as well? She says yes.
Code of ethics for Realtors? Yes. REALTOR.COM...Not so much.
Code of ethics for Realtors? Yes. REALTOR.COM...Not so much.
Friday, June 5, 2009
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