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All good things must come to an end. This blog is one of them. I did not want it to end this quickly but my hands were forced by the wonderful deed of a guy named Jason Kelley.
He built me a website called TerryFostersblog.com. I like it. And I hope you will like it. It is more professional than this and it is something I would never be able to do on my own. But I will post my views and thoughts over there and I hope you enjoy.
Feedback is welcome. I will keep this up and running a few more days before we completely move everything over there.

This cyber fighting must stop

                                                                        

My son and daughter Brandon and Celine got into a fight this morning and I put an immediate stop to it.
Celine was in her bedroom and Brandon was in the kitchen and they were fighting via Skype. I told them that is unacceptable that if they were going to fight they had to do it the old fashion way.
They had to punch each other and scream in each others' face until I rush to put an end to it.
This whole electronic age has jumped the shark. How in the world do you get into an argument with somebody in the same house and not say a word? That is what it came to when I caught Brandon feverishly typing something into my I-phone. Meanwhile Celine was telling him off upstairs.
Do you remember your first fight with your brother or sister? It probably began with fists and ended with somebody crying to momma. Momma would mediate and administer initial punishment and then daddy came home and finished it.
I can't even begin thinking how you punish kids who argue via Skype. There is no noise. Nobody cries and it is over before you even knew it began. This is silly stuff and part of the new age I do not understand.
But it happens all over the place. We text but do not talk. If you thought about the evolution of electronics you would think texting would come first followed by talking on the phone. But it is the other way around.
I've seen people text one another in a noisy restaurant rather than talk. Come on, there is nothing wrong with a little screaming.
Meanwhile my kids are upstairs talking and having a good time. If it gets quiet then I know they are skyping again and I must step in and stop the argument before somebody gets hurt.

A tense weekend for soccer parents

My daughter Celine wore number 266, a purple T-shirt and a white pair of shorts.

And she was killing it during the Bloomfield Hills Force soccer try outs Saturday morning. There was no doubt she was making the team “A” although she often questions me where she will play if she does not make the team.

If you are a soccer parent you know that this weekend is one of the biggest of the year.  It is sort of like mating season. A number of travel soccer teams both big and small, with big reputations and no reputations, dangle out try out schedules hoping to lure girls and boys from ages 8-18.

We are lucky. Five teams invited Celine to tryout and all guaranteed she would land a spot on the coveted “A” team. Celine has played four seasons with the Force and her asset is her speed burning down the sidelines or up the middle challenging the defense.

She lacks a blistering shot, but she became a goal scorer this season by finding openings in the defense and guiding the ball past the goalie.  She’s been a guest player with the Livonia City Soccer Club and the Hawks during winter tournaments.

We are lucky. We know she will always have a team.

For other parents it is not the case.  We sat next to parents who were nervous as all get out.

“I can’t even watch my daughter I am so nervous,” one woman told me.

Her daughter has played the last two seasons on the “B” team and wanted so badly to move up. She has had extra training, worked on her speed and endurance but never made the top club.

Often parents with “B” invitations move onto the second day of tryouts looking for a team that will bump them to the big club. If they can’t find that team then they either stay with their original team or move on.

Some kids don’t make any team after two days.  Those are the ones I feel badly for. They want to play but their dreams of playing for one of the top teams are dashed. So they move to a lesser travel team, a house team or play recreation soccer. Some flat out quit.

There is a lot of pressure on these kids. The parents have expectations. The kids have expectations and often their hopes and dreams are dashed. It is sad.

You see tears. You see people toss their equipment after learning they did not make the big club. Often they’ve put in a year of effort and only have 90 minutes to show they belong.

On Friday told Celine she could try out for one other team besides the Force on Saturday. She said she didn’t want to do it.

On Saturday morning she changed her mind and said she wanted to try out for the Hawks or Livonia. I panicked trying to find their practice times so we could dash from Force tryouts to the next.

After her tryouts Celine walked off the field with a big smile. She officially made the team. Teammates scheduled lunch and swimming to celebrate.

Celine wanted to participate.

“Are you sure,” I asked.

“Yes dad,” she said.

Friendship won out. One of her best friends on the bubble made the team and Celine wanted to celebrate with her and others.  Sometimes it is wonderful to be courted and wanted by others. But in Celine’s case there is no place like home.

I hope all these girls and boys who remain on the bubble find a home soon.

Oh no he didn't

I avoid confrontation. I do not like to fight. I do not like to argue.

However, sometimes you are forced to defend yourself because some people believe they can walk up to you and say whatever they want. I was in Royal Oak one night with friends enjoying food and drink at that Mexican restaurant with the red peppers on it. I can never remember the name.

Everything seemed to be going great. Then out of the blue my evening changed.

Some guy walked up to me with his woman and said: "You are a chicken shit writer and a coward."

He walked away. The first thing that went through my mind is that "sticks and stones may break my bones but words shall never hurt me."

But I could not let this guy get away with it. He walked up to me and insulted me in front of his woman. He probably figured I would not confront him but I was in a spicy mood. So I followed him to the entrance of the restaurant and tapped him on the shoulder.

"I don't know who you are," I said. "But you are the coward. Who are you to walk up to me like that and then walk away?"

He looked at me as if he were crazy. I could tell the young lad was scared. So I turned to his woman.

"Is this your boyfriend," I asked.

She nodded her head no. They were on a first or second date.

"My advice to you is to get rid of this loser. He shows no respect and he is a coward. He walks up to me and insults me and then when I confront him he becomes all respectful and quiet. Ditch this dude."

He never said another word and left.

I always wonder what happened to that couple. Did she take my advice and deep six this guy? Or did they become a couple? I do not think she hung with him for long.

I understand you are not going to like everything I write and everything I say. You are not going to like some of my show topics on the Valenti and Foster Show. We can debate. But let's do it in a respectful way.

What I do is not that serious. It is sports. It is talk. It is shooting the breeze. Sometimes you want to vent. I understand that.

I get phone calls on my Detroit News voice mail calling me all kinds of derogatory and racist names. I've had guys call disagreeing with a sports topic call and say they want to rape my wife and daughter.

Really?

They often do not leave phone numbers. But I've had people call me the N word and a coward and they leave their number. I often call them back and they become the nicest people in the world.

They just had a bad moment, they said.

Really?

A night with the Tigers and Killer B's

The Tigers lost Wednesday night to the Cleveland Indians 6-4 at Comerica Park. However, that didn't matter to the Killer B's.
It was a bit on the cool side and tiny rain drops pelted us for about four innings. But none of that mattered to the Killer B's. They were all smiles and took in every moment of the Tigers-Indians.
The killer B's are my son Brandon and his backyard buddies Barton and Bryce. School is out for summer and I took the Killer B's to a Tigers game. It is so wonderful to see the innocent love for the game of young boys. I enjoyed the banter in the car on the way to the game as they talked about pitcher Magglio Ordonez coming back and Justin Verlander's pitching.
It was great seeing them turn into adults as they stoically held their tickets out to be scanned at the gate. And I loved their smiles as we settled into our seats in section 330 to enjoy the game.
This was the only Father's Day gift I needed. It was the smile on Brandon's face along with his buddies. I don't need cologne, a tie or breakfast in bed. Being a dad is putting smiles on your kid's face and soothing them during their pain.
A few weeks ago Brandon had a terrible stomach ache and I sat up with him and gave him my famous hot towel treatment that magically makes the pain go away. He felt better but he wanted me in the room until he fell asleep. I grabbed two pillows and a blanket and lay by his bed. When I woke he was in peaceful sleep.
I never had that moment with my dad.
I never attended a Tigers game with him. Ronald Foster served in the Korean War and later in Germany as a soldier in the United States Army. A couple years after he came home for good my dad was shot and killed on Detroit's west side.
We used to go to Belle Isle and go to fairs and parades, but we never attended a game together. That wasn't unusual for my neighborhood. Black people did not feel comfortable at Tigers Stadium and I was the only kid in my entire neighborhood that regularly attended Tigers games. I was lucky that my mother worked at the Lindell A.C. and the Butsicaris brothers, Jimmy and Johnny, made sure I attended games with them.
My aunt Margo was a huge New York Yankees fan and she took me to several other games.
It was fun and I enjoyed every moment. But it is not the same as going with dad.
It is hard to explain but I know there is something special for Brandon when we order a hotdog together or share a box of popcorn at Comerica Park. He is enjoying something I never experienced. Brandon just doesn't know how special it is for me also.

Another special Verlander viewing

The Cleveland Indians probably saw those Justin Verlander dips in his curve ball all night in their sleep. I sure got a good look at it even hundreds of feet away in suite 236 in the second deck of Comerica Park.
When Verlander is on it is must watch television. When you see it in person, it is even more of a marvel to watch. I took in the game with the gang from 971 The Ticket. It was boy’s night out and all the radio talk show host were there to witness Verlander's near gem.
Verlander believes he shouldn't give up a hit every time he walks out to the mound. It sure looked that way from the stands. I thought I was going to witness history again. Verlander didn't give up a hit until the eighth inning when Orlando Cabrera lined a sharp single to center field. Verlander gave up two hits and already this season he has tossed a no-hitter and two other times took no hitters deep into the game.
After every weak swing by the Indians I looked up at the monitor to see if my eyes were seeing correctly. They were.
We've debated over the years whether Verlander is an ace? Is he a top 10 pitcher? Is he one of the best in the game? When he's on only a handful of pitchers can compete with him. He has a fast ball that he can churn anywhere from 94 to 101 miles per hour.
His changeup is wicked and that curve ball appears impossible to hit. He stands on the mound with a cocky attitude, almost as if he owns the world. Currently with an 8-3 record he owns the American League and we are certain to see him in the All Star game next month.
When you talk about the best pitchers you usually talk about speed, as in the speed of their fast ball. But Verlander is better because he is slower. He's slowed down the game by taking a little bit more time between pitches. He's fast but he doesn’t look like he’s rushing trying to catch the red eye.
He's toned down his fast ball. When Verlander's entire mission statement is to strike people out, he gets in trouble and runs up his pitch count with bad balls. When Verlander focuses on getting people out, the strike outs just sort of happen.
And when he needs that special fire ball, he can reach into his back pocket and smoke it.
The most interesting thing is the reaction of teammates. When he first threw a no-hitter they were like giddy kids. Now they expect magic from Verlander every time he steps on the mound.
"We expect him to give us a chance to win every time he is out," said catcher Alex Avila. "And our job is to give him the (offensive) support to win."
I know what I am doing every fifth day. I am sitting down and watch Verlander go to work. It might not be from suite 236, but every time he steps to the mound something special can happen. And I don't want to miss it.

Playing catch with Ben Wallace

I played catch with Ben Wallace.

And guess what? I am better at throwing a softball. It is not much of an accomplishment in the grand scheme of things but you always wonder if you could do something better than a professional athlete on any court or any diamond.

The Pistons center kind of soft tosses the ball and floats it. He threw a few over my head and apologized and he threw some in the dirt and apologized. This was during warm ups of a celebrity softball game that benefitted Meals on Wheelz between Team NBA and Team NFL.

Pistons forward Charlie Villanueva headed the NBA team while Lions receiver Derrick Williams was in charge of Team NFL. I coached the NFL team but Wallace and I warmed up before the game.

You could tell he had not thrown a softball in a long time. My ball had zip on it. His had zap.

His tosses floated like a butter fly and mine stung like a bee.

It should come as no surprise. Professional athletes train their bodies to do one thing. It is block and tackle, dunk and shoot or hit a baseball 400 feet. They usually have little time for anything else in order to be the best in their field.

Villanueva also cannot throw a softball. He is Dominican which is like a brother from Harlem not being able to dribble a basketball.

After seeing some of the swings by Lion and Pistons players I am convinced there are probably a couple hundred softball teams in Metro Detroit who could destroy them. Could you imagine NFL players trying to skate? Or NHL players trying to shoot hoop?

It would be a disaster. Even we common folks could compete with them.

I will give Big Ben some credit. He can hit a softball. He whiffed on some but he also hit one some over the fence during a home run derby competition. 

Here is one piece of advice however. Do not challenge hockey players to a game of golf. Chances are that won't end well for you.