The Krude Experience - A Fitting Tribute

Life is about surviving bad news. The previously planned Krude Experience blog will be shelved in favor of this tribute.

January 9,1977. Young 6 year old Krude was sitting at a bar watching Super Bowl 11. Oakland Raiders verses Minnesota Vikings. Why would a 6 year kid be sitting at a bar and watching football amongst a bunch of bookies and boozers? Because my father owned the restaurant and the television was in the bar area. I remember eating a cheeseburger and fries and being totally impressed by the players on the Oakland Raiders. So were the barfly gamblers who bet big with the Silver and Black.

October 15,1978. 8 year old Krude is sitting in Yankee Stadium a few rows over from the Los Angeles Dodgers on deck circle,first row,with my father. A tight relationship with Gene Michael has gotten my father these prime seats. Also,field passes were provided so we could stand by the cage during batting practice. Holy fucking shit! When the time came to step onto the field, a security guy held me back for being 'too young' to be standing near the cage. I was crushed. But my father went onto the field and chatted with some of his player pals anyway. While I was sitting in my seat sulking,Gene Michael came by and promised when I was old enough that he would get me on the field for Yankees batting practice. Cool guy. Yanks won big that game. It was awesome.

Being around my sports heroes wasn't uncommon when I was a kid. In fact,a few of them would come over to our house to do business related matters with my father. It was all good to my sports loving Krude ass.

Music is a big part of my life. The Beatles song Paperback Writer is the first rock song I ever remember hearing when I was 3. It was in my father's car being played on an 8 track stereo. Everytime I hear a Jim Croce or Bobby Darin tune,I think back to being in my father's land yacht Caddy. Waylon Jennings was favorite of his (mine too). But I couldn't get into the Oak Ridge Boys (he loved them).

I remember being in south Florida in the winter 1995. My father was living there and was trying to get me to relocate near him. I'm not into Florida whatsoever. But when he took me to the Snook Inn on Marco Island for lunch one day,I almost caved. Eating fresh seafood,real Key Lime Pie,drinking beers and watching football by the Gulf of Mexico. Damn.Just couldn't do it. But to be able to sit with my old man at that time and have a few laughs was something special. I've never forgotten. It was the last time we ever did anything like that.  

For two guys who have the same birthday.Born in the same hospital. Same hospital room. And at the exact same time of day.We couldn't be more different. And exactly the same. Loud shirts from different generations.

This is my little way of saying Thank You Dad. I will miss you. I hope you have found peace....

Love,
Peter

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