Clinging to the Pot Luck
Debauchery and exhaustion take a turn for the better when Nathan finds his way into a gospel Church. A heartwarming familyish story.
Comedy Writing
Game 3: Cards vs D-Rays; Beach Balls vs Security; and a Busted Hand
It’s been so long, I almost forgot who pitched, let alone who drove in any of the twelve total runs. All I remember about the game is that we won and, thanks to an overzealous kid in the left field stands, one of our beach balls landed on the playing field. Before the game, I had told my step-dad that I was brining some beach balls because security was actually gutting them with hunting knives and, as a result, I caused this conversation to happen in St. Louis:<br /><br />Mom: Uh oh. Someone threw a beach ball on the field.<br />Step-dad: I think your son might have had something to do with that. <br /><br />Isn’t it awesome to be able to say hello to your parents from over a thousand miles away with nothing more than a phone call and a beach ball?<br /><br />Don’t answer that. <br /><br />Anyway, the beach balls didn’t stand a chance. Every ball we launched got gutted by some security guard. Next time, I’m bringing twenty. We will overcome this fascist, beach-ball hating regime (how can you hate a beach ball? I mean, what a symbol of innocence and good clean fun. Nazis). If we all bring ten apiece, they’ll still have the guns (er, knives) but we’ll have the numbers. <br /><br />Another weird thing that happened at the game: they wouldn’t let Peek and I bring a broom into the stadium, so we found a janitor’s broom outside one of the ladies' bathrooms. So there I was, swinging this disgusting, very-used, bacteria-ridden broom in the box seats. And no one stopped me. Apparently, a disease-ridden broom is a lot safer than a beach ball. Stupid Nazis. <br /><br />As I mentioned before, after the game I busted my hand. I wanna clear this up: I did not get in a fight; I did not pull a stunt; I did not break a law. I was helping a friend move and things got ugly. I can’t give the details because he wants to recoup his financial losses and he warned me against discussing this event before he talks with his lawyer. Just believe me when I say that this was not at all some kind of crazy, Nate-being-an-idiot thing. It was a legitimate accident complete with blood, health insurance, ten stitches, doctors, and this really cute nurse who said she liked my smile and took one of my business cards. <br /><br />So, in honor of the Cardinals sweeping the D-Rays, let me just say, “Wooooooooooo!” And, in honor of my cut hand, let me offer the obligatory, “Awwwww.” And in honor of the Beach Balls, let me just say, “You served valiantly and died for a noble cause. Your sacrifices will not be forgotten, mainly because, I will never again set foot in that awful field until the Cardinals come back to town.”<br /><br />I’ll leave you with this snippet:<br /><br />Peek: I don’t know if I can go back to Tropicana Field.<br />Me: Come on, man. This time, we’ll sit on the other side?<br />Peek: Okay, I’m in.
Writing Time: 30 seconds
My hand is messed up. I'm medicated. It hurts to type. The Cardinals won. I'm not in much of a good mood. I promise a wrap of game three (Cards D-Rays) and a seriosuly fatty serving of snippets in the next two days. I apologize if my injuries are causing you any problems, but I know they're not.
Game 2: The Full Price Version
<p class="MsoNormal">We actually had to stand in line.<span> </span>There were only four of us, and we actually had to stand in line.<span> </span>We paid full price ($10 per ticket).<span> </span>Granted, we ended up sitting about thirty feet from the field, but that doesn’t matter.<span> </span>What matters: we paid full price.<span> </span>We stood in line.<span> </span>Wow. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wish I had more for you, but Saturday wasn’t nearly as insane as Friday.<span> </span>Sorry.<span> </span>So, with that in mind, here are some tips for out-of-towners in Tropicana Field:</p> <ul> <li>The trick to getting into the box seating area:<span> </span>all the ushers are like ninety years old.<span> </span>Their bladders are not what they used to be.<span> </span>Be patient, walk the perimeter and wait for an opening.<span> </span>It will come to you and you will sit in a nice spot.<span> </span>Trust me.</li> <li>Don’t get mad when the Tampa Bay fans try to drown out the crowd noise of your fans.<span> </span>Let them try.<span> </span>It is, after all, their stadium.</li> <li>Don’t park in the city.<span> </span>The meter-maid industry is huge in St. Pete.<span> Just suck it up and pay the parking fee.<br /></span></li> <li>Don’t get the Nachos Supreme.<span> </span>Their definition of supreme involves cheese, salsa and jalapenos.<span> </span>Man, I’d hate to see the regular nachos.<span> </span>What do they do?<span> </span>Throw a bag of tortilla chips at you and tell you to f--- off (I’m self-editing).</li><li>Try the foot-long dog and the fries.<span> </span>Nothing to write home about, but they ain’t bad.</li> <li>Always try to get tickets outside.<span> </span>People give these away like you wouldn’t believe.<span> </span>In this town, having a pair of Devil Ray tickets is like having a rash: no one even wants to look at them, let alone touch them.<span> </span>If you’re not from Boston, New York or (apparently) St. Louis, you’ll never pay full price.<span> </span></li> </ul> <p class="MsoNormal">And finally, the game: we won.<span> </span>It wasn’t pretty, but we won.<span> </span>Izzy made it interesting in the late innings, Albert Pujols took one out (while I was in the beer line, which meant I high-fived a total stranger.<span> </span>Man, I love the random, total-stranger bonding moment) and Scotty Rolen is on the mend, a fact which caused this conversation between Peek and I:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Me:<span> </span>Do you think the Cardinals wanted Scotty to go one rehab assignment in the minors, and he was like, ‘hell, we’re playing the Devil Rays.<span> </span>Can’t I just do it there?’</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peek:<span> </span>Yes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He ain’t the best color man in the game for nothing (all homage paid to Bob Ueker and the move, Major League).<span> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peek just read this blog and mentioned that I left out one important thing: Peek brought a beach ball, which he inflated and sent flying in the box-seat section. A security guard eventually got a hold of it and then cut it in half with a large knife, as if he was taking care of a major nuisance (or gutting a deer). So, here's a shout out to that security guard: thanks for protecting us from the Beach Ball. Oh yeah, and we're bringing ten more for today's game so sharpen that hunting knife. Jerk.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
Cardinals vs. D-Rays, Boxers vs. Briefs, and a Throwback Jersey vs. the World
<p class="MsoNormal">Before attending the first game of the classic Cardinals/Devil Rays interleague series, I had the following conversation with my dad:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Me:<span> </span>We’re going to all three games.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dad:<span> </span>Wow, how’d you get tickets?</p>
Writing Time: Four Minutes
<p class="MsoNormal">As I write this, I am sitting in the house that slack built in St. Petersburg, Florida, home of friends Peek and Dan (former home of Brain and Aaron).<span> </span>If you’re a fan of tight writing, smooth transitions and beautiful wordplay, then you will be disappointed.<span> </span>I’m scatterbrained from two straight days of moving all my stuff, I’m hungover and this house offers about as much piece and quiet as a demilitarized zone.<span> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have written before that true friends will always bail you out of jail and help you move. <span> </span>Peek now qualifies as a true friend.<span> </span>Loudog, in the past, has served in that capacity.<span> </span>But he helped me move six months ago and he helped me move a year before that and he and Cheri have bailed me out of jail and she didn’t even get really mad when I broke into her house, set off the alarm and attracted the attention of the Hillsborough County Police Department.<span> </span>If Loudog were a classless bastard, he would remind me how much I owe him.<span> </span>But he’s not.<span> </span>And since I am aware how much I owe him, I didn’t ask him to fight the Florida summer and lug all my belongings.<span> </span>So Peek helped.<span> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, today’s a great day because the St. Louis Cardinals are in town and I am going back to Tropicana field (the worst stadium in baseball) for the first time since March of ’98 when the Cardinals and Devil Rays played the first game ever there (it was spring training).<span> </span>I attended that game with my buddy, Ian, who is a diehard Cardinal fan.<span> </span>I have also mentioned before that there is no rhyme or reason to a lot of the fandom decisions down here.<span> </span>Ian has been as big a Cards fan as I’ve been because his Dad, Red, who grew up in Tallahassee, was told by his older brother to pick a team to root for when he was a little kid.<span> </span>Red picked the St. Louis Cardinals because he thought it was cool how the city’s name was abbreviated (the kid was six at the time).<span> </span>Ian was actually raised as a Cardinal fan based on this.<span> </span>I know, it’s strange.<span> </span>What can you do?<span> </span>My friend Brian is a Cubs fan based on the fact that, because they had no lights, the games were always on when he got home from school.<span> </span>And Brian’s as diehard as my acquaintance Chicago Tom, who grew up in north side Chicago.<span> </span>Welcome to the weirdness, sports fans.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">At any rate, we get to see the Cardinals play three games in a row (tickets are still available—I know, it’s shocking).</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And the winner for worst blog entry thus for goes to…. Whatever the hell I title this one.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
Welcome Back
Hockey is coming back. Hockey is coming back. Hockey is coming back. I’m gonna say it again for the cheap seats, “Hockey is coming back!” <br /><br />Okay, I am not the biggest hockey fan that ever lived. I’m roughly five foot ten inches, one hundred seventy pounds and I tend to eat healthy foods, but I still love the game.<br /><br />Despite the strike, I am a fan and I will be watching next year. I will be paying for tickets and watching on television (if they broadcast any of the games). So, let’s get into the meat and gristle of what I’m trying to say here (sorry guys, I’m hungover) and address the issues facing hockey next year.<br /><br />1. The southern cities will be hard for hockey to win back. As many of you know, I live in Tampa. Two years ago, the Tampa Bay Lightning won the Stanley Cup. Please note: Only three of those playoff games actually sold out before the day of the game. Three! Keep in mind, they hosted fourteen games. Also, please note: most people down here still don’t know what icing is, have no idea how precious a Stanley Cup win is and will not be going to games. They won’t even bother to blame the strike for their lack of attendance, either. It’s just not that interesting to them. I imagine Dallas, Miami, Nashville, Los Angeles and any other warm-weather town will have the same issues. I don’t know why this is, but it is. <br /><br />2. Minorities don’t really care. White people may be used to watching people of different races win for their towns, but minorities are not. I made up a stat that says that .007% of the Hispanic population gives two rat turds about hockey. And they’ll be the majority of our citizenry by 2025. Doesn’t bode well for hockey.<br /><br />3. ESPN doesn’t want to show the games anymore. Folks, ESPN shows dog shows, poker games and bass fishing. This is not good.<br /><br />If hockey can successfully address these issues, I’ll do the chicken dance naked on live television. <br /><br />With all that said, I leave you with this hockey-related joke:<br /><br />Q: How many hockey players does it take to screw in a light bulb?<br /><br />A: What’s hockey?
At the Ends of the Rainbow
Sunday, as I drove out of my apartment complex in search for food, I spotted a beautiful rainbow (one of the few consistent benefits of a Florida summer). I decided, because I didn’t have anything to do, that I would follow it to the end. At the end of this rainbow were the flashing lights of a police car (and the police car, and a police officer, and probably a weapon or three) and two totaled vehicles. There was literally a car wreck at the end of the rainbow. I pulled into a sandwich shop close to the accident and said to the pimply faced Puerto Rican behind the counter, “Whadda ya think of that rainbow?”<br /> <br />“I think it caused that accident.”<br /><br />“How so?”<br /> <br />“I think those two people were checking it out and not paying attention and then bam, they nailed each other.”<br /> <br />“We better watch out,” I said. “The way this country’s been working, someone’ll find a way to sue the rainbow and then the government’ll find a way to make ‘em illegal.”<br /> <br />“Are you gonna order something or what?”<br /> <br />“Roast beef and swiss on wheat, please.”<br /><br />After I ate the sandwich I thought, what the hell, I’ll drive to the other end of the rainbow (seriously, sometimes I really need something to do). The other end of the rainbow (how can something have two ends? Does that mean the beginning’s in the middle? This is messed up) was in a grass field behind a grade school. I was not at all surprised with what I found at the other end of the rainbow: two teenagers smoking a joint.<br /><br />“What’s up?” I asked them.<br /><br />“Not much. Just toking the pot at the end of the rainbow,” said the taller of the two longhairs. <br /><br />“How long have you been waiting to use that one?” I asked.<br /><br />“Twenty minutes or so,” said the stoner. “What you doin’ here?”<br /><br />“I guess I just don’t have enough to do.”<br /><br />“Wow, man. I never have that problem.”<br /><br />And then he inhaled deeply.
My Dang Advice
You gotta give it up to the good people at Cardinal Baseball, incorporated. They’re running this gimmick whereby a special guest gets to sit in a miniature car and let (mascot) Fredbird drive him or her out to the outfield wall after five innings (when the game is official). Once they get to the outfield wall, the special guest gets to pull down a piece of paper with a number on it. The resulting number is the number of games left in Busch Stadium II (III opens up next summer). This is a neat option, but it is not nearly goofy enough. With that in mind, here are some suggestions to improve the goofy number-pulling gimmick. <br /><br />Get a giant trash can and put a basketball hoop over it, so after the number gets ripped off the wall, the number-puller can ball up the paper and shoot it into the trash can. Miss and get booed; make it and win a ticket to Busch Stadium III for next year.<br /><br />Put a turbo engine in the little car. This way, Fredbird can go ninety miles an hour to the wall. How awesome would that be? <br /><br />Someone has to use the numbered paper as a big rolling paper. I don’t know who would do this, but they would get my vote for Brass Balls of the Month. <br /><br />Fireworks and explosions make everything better. Could we have a representative of the armed forces go out and burn one of the numbers off with a flame thrower? Please? How about some smoke bombs and bottle rockets? Come on, why not show a little pizzazz here? It is the last year for Busch II, after all. <br /><br />If Ozzie Smith gets to pull a number, I wanna see a back flip. No excuses, Wizard. Get flipping.<br /><br />If Stan the Man pulls a number, I wanna hear some Harmonica, dangit.<br /><br />Just once, I’d like to see Fredbird crash the little car. Tell me you wouldn’t laugh. Go ahead, tell me. I don’t believe you. <br /><br />My candidate suggestions for the number pulling: Chuck Berry; The President of Imo’s Pizza; Willie McGee; Rex Hudler; The Guy who owns Dirt Cheap; The Dirt Cheap Mascot; The President of St. Louis Bread Co.; My buddy Ty (who used to work at St. Louis Bread Co); a waitress from Eat-Rite (the cuter the better); Tommy Lawless (if you know who he is, you’re a Cardinals fan); a relative of Miles Davis (‘cause he’s dead); the guy who canceled the Hamburger Soup at Blueberry Hill (so we can all publicly stone him); the president of Fitz’s; Jack Buck’s wife (‘cause he’s dead); Joe Buck’s wife (‘cause you know he’s not around that much and she deserves some recognition) and last but certainly not least, me (because I’d bring a megaphone and have some fun with it). <br /><br />People who should not be allowed to pull a number: Nelly (I know he’s a St. Louis tradition and all but I’m sick of him showing up at every dang St. Louis event even though he lives in Los Angeles. Either he moves back there or he doesn’t get to represent the Lou no more); Bob Costas (I’m sick of him); anyone who ever played for the Cubs (except Lou Brock, Bruce Sutter and Lee Smith); Don Denkinger (unless we get to bring guns to the game); anyone from the Busch family (because Gussie is dead and no one else there deserves it) and last and definitely least, the worst television announcer on earth, Tim McCarver (if you need an elaboration, you’re not a fan of decent announcing). <br /><br />I don’t know when Cardinal management is gonna learn that I should be Director of All Things Cool, but until then, maybe they’ll at least heed my advice.<br /><br />Heed it, Dangit!
Fatty Snippet Serving
Ben: So I come out of the bathroom and my date’s eating a plate of bacon. Me: What? What time was this? Ben: Around Six PM.
NBA Finals: Game 1
In Tampa, if you ask someone why they like certain teams from different cities, get comfortable. You’re in for a tale.
Last Night
I accidentally bumped into a girl and knocked the drink out of her hand. The glass shattered on the floor.