• Ha. I was right. When watching ESPN this morning, the "draft experts" are busting on the Texans for not taking Reggie Bush. OMG what is wrong with them (Tom Jackson or Michael Irvin, I can’t remember which one, called him a player you only see “once-in-a-lifetime.”). Why, if they drafted Reggie then the could contend for the AFC South with the Colts and Jags. Some ESPN schmoe also said that if they would have drafted Bush then the Texans would have one of the most imposing offenses in the league. Funny, I remember other teams that recently drafted for offense -- Detroit and Arizona -- and look how great they turned out.
Like I've said before, I have no clue as to who any of these college players are, but it seems like many teams in the early first round did well with their pics, I guess. The Steelers moved a few slots up to get some hippie receiver from Ohio State. Uh, yay, I guess. Of course, I found out about this pick when turning on the late-night news and also seeing people tailgating outside of Heinz Field and a wedding party outside waving Terrible Towels. The sports talk radio should be interesting this upcoming week, considering most people had the Steelers pegged as drafting Lendall White from USC. In the end, I guess this was the best pick for the Steelers, considering they had lost two of the top three receivers over the past couple of years -- Plaxico Burress and Antowain Randel-El.
Oh, and I also find it funny that Vince Young and White are going to play on the same team, provided both survive training camp.
• I heard on the radio that some commies from Carnegie Mellon University created this video game on how to achieve peace in the Middle East. Basically, you take either the side of the Muslims or Jews and you have to react to situations, whether they are homicide bombers blowing up Israeli nightclubs or demolition crews flattening some Palestinian house. Oh, I'm sure this game is non-linear. Let's see. React with force when Abdul blows up a cafe -- GAME OVER.
• In my area a local topic has been brewing up over a different kind of draft. In a yuppie school district, some kids created this "Top 25 chicks" list of girls from their school and has graded each of them on all the important things, like breast size, derrieres, whether they put out, etc. Well, some people in the area are shocked and appalled over this, and some parents are demanding justice, even saying this is the equivalent of "written rape." Personally, I find the whole thing funny as hell, and I’m sure this is only motivating other boys from neighboring school districts to created one of these newsletters. Note to offended parents: If you think a "draft" like this is bad, you should hear what it's like in a school locker room, or in the basement of a kids house when him and his friends are talking about the opposite sex.
• When watching various first-round NHL Playoff games this past week, I have to say that some of my favorite crowds are from western Canada, particularly Edmonton and Calgary. Not only are they loud, but also they really seem to get into the action, which in many instances make the game even more enjoyable to watch.
• Well the NFL draft is tomorrow, and if you are looking for a place that will give you all the latest news and insight to this annual event … well, then keep on looking. I like the NFL draft and all, but I’m not glued to the television set for the entire weekend because it’s on. Actually, I have no idea who any of these can't miss mega-star college players are. With that being said, I’ll be sure to tune in several times during the day to see who gets picked where; I might even have it on as background noise depending on what I’m doing around the house. However, I do have one thought about this year’s draft. I’m sure Reggie Bush is a fine athlete and all, but is he really the second coming of Christ? Better yet, is he really what the Houston Texans need at this time? Unless Bush can block with the strength of three linemen, I don’t think he’s going to help out the Texans with their biggest problem since entering the league – pass protection. But then again, if Houston doesn’t draft Bush, and trades down a few spots to let some other team get him and ends up with that offensive lineman that’s supposed to go real early and a few other early-round picks, I’m sure Chris Berman will say mean things about the Texans front office, and we can’t have that.
UPDATE: Uh, oh. I just saw on ESPN that it looks like the Texans are going to take that Williams guy with the first overall pick. Man, I wouldn't want to be Houston's General Manager tomorrow.
• For the last several weeks our one cat Max has had a urinary tract infection. Basically, what this means is that he’s spending half the day in a litter box trying to pee out whatever fluid is inside him. While this can be serious, especially if there is blockage (which he doesn’t have), the vet has said his condition isn’t too bad. At first we had him on some antibiotics, but they didn’t do the job. Now he’s on some stronger stuff, and we’re going to have to change his, and the other two cats’, diet. In other words, we’re going to have to buy some overpriced shit and a water-purifying machine. Now although Max is acting normal (or at as normal as he acts) he’s still making a beeline for the nearest litter box a dozen or so times per day. Last night as I laid in bed, our female cat Dessa hopped up and laid down between the better half and me; she always sleeps with us. Now sometimes Max jumps up on the bed, too, but the problem is Dessa doesn’t take kindly to him or our other cat, JJ. This results in Max usually just laying beside me, away from Dessa. Well, that was the case last night. However, at around 2:30 in the morning I felt this weight upon my upper body and this water on/around my collarbone. Problem was it wasn’t water – Max was peeing on me. Yep. I have no idea why the little bastard decided to relieve himself on top of me, but thank god he hardly had anything in him. Fortunately I woke up when he was finished and he quickly jumped off me; I don’t know what I would have done had I been awake when he decided to start. The good news, if there is any to come from this, is that I think he was aiming for a crevice in the comforter or something and none of the urine got on the bed, although my pillows are going to take a trip to the washing machine tonight (while dealing with this infection a few times he’s tried to pee on towels that were crumpled up on the floor, which has us thinking he didn’t have time to make it to a litter box and needed a makeshift toilet).
I guess it could have been worse. He could have been going number two. Or my mouth could have been open.
• So I was listening to some RIGHT-WING RADIO today, and I heard this gem from Nancy Pelosi, “We have two oil men in the White House … The logical follow up from that is $3/gallon gasoline. It is no accident. It is a cause and effect.” How the fuck did this bitch ever get elected. Oh, yeah. California.
• Swift Terror recently talked about getting some kid to mow his lawn (dude, your yard isn’t that big, you lazy piece of shit), and I would strongly advice against it. When the better half and I moved into our house in July of 2004, the old couple we bought the house from kept it in very good shape. Well, the upstairs bathroom looks like it is a relic from the 1970s, but that’s no big deal; those people had trouble going up stairs and didn't care much about that part of the house. Anyway, one thing they didn’t do anything about for a month or so was their yard, and frankly I don’t blame them. Anyway, when we moved in one of the things we had to get was a lawn mover – we had always rented and never had to deal with cutting grass. Our thinking was instead of buying a mower and weed whacker then having to move it along with our other furniture and belongings, we would just buy these products once everything else gets settled in.
Well, a day or so after everything was moved into the new house, and we were in the process of unpacking, this kid came up to our house and asked if we wanted our lawn mowed. I had to laugh because God only knows what the neighbors thought of our neglectful ways regarding lawn care. I said “oh what the heck,” and agreed to have the kid cut our lawn. After all, it would just be one thing out of the way and I could focus on settling in. The kid came over a day or so later on one of those mowers you drive instead of push. A short time later he was done and I paid him. Then I went outside and took a gander at what he did. Ugh. Uneven patches of grass were everywhere, the edges of the lawn weren’t trimmed and there was no consistent mowing pattern. I appreciate the entrepreneurship of this kid, but damn he did a shitty job. I will say however that something good came out of this – he motivated me to soon thereafter purchase some landscaping equipment of my own.
• A while back I gave my opinion of Talker Magazine's best of RIGHT-WING RADO list and one of the people I didn't (and couldn't) comment on was some guy named Dave Ramsey. Well, since I recently discovered WPIT in Shittsburgh, which carries his show in the afternoons, I now give him my seal of approval. Basically, he's a money-management guy. Nothing too exciting, but after listening to politics and sports discussion all day, this is a nice change of pace; he's like a younger Bruce Williams -- MUCH younger.
Oh, and on Ramsey's show today, he mentioned that 550 WKRC in Cincinnati, which carries his show from 10 p.m. - midnight is having an on-line poll asking who should take over the 9 a.m. - noon timeslot now open since Tony Snow left his radio show for other career opportunities. Even though I no longer live in the southwest Ohio region, I'm sure you all know who I voted for.
• So I was listening to Dr. Laura today and she was pimping some book about how feminism sucks or something; I wasn’t really paying attention. However, when she was reading some promo sheet about this chick’s other books I began listening and heard the following:
Like I said before, I really don’t care about this housewife/career woman shit, but the line about the laundry got a hearty laugh, because that is so the truth. At the kkk house, the better half has for years bitched about the way I fold the laundry towels, as if there’s some official way to fold them. Believe it or not, these bitch sessions got quite heated at times; all because I didn’t fold these things horizontally (or was it vertically?) – of course, if I don’t fold them they stay in the laundry basket for weeks at a time because she never gets around to doing them. Even if I knew how to “properly” fold them, I wouldn’t now just for spite.
Another point of contention at our residence deals with yard work. I hate moving the lawn, and for some reason Mrs. kkk thinks all men should revel in bagging weeds and playing with machines able to sever limbs in a flash. Last year, late in the “mowing season” she was bitching at me because I was putting off mowing the yard for a day or two (OK, maybe it was three), and she “threatened” to do it herself. I said “go ahead.” Not even five minutes had passed when she came back in. “I can’t start the lawn mower.” Equal rights my ass.
• What the hell is wrong with California?
There are times when I seriously question the sanity of my co-workers, but after reading stuff like this I realize it could always be worse (but not by much).
• Being part of a drive-by shooting that killed someone and lying about your role to a judge? Six months in jail. Talking about selling weed while serving your time? Eight years. I’m not a real sympathizer to those that get entangled in America’s “War on Drugs” (don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time), but this is too much, even for me.
Swift Terror was talking about stupid callers to talk-radio shows, and even though there are some gems in the RIGHT-WING RADIO world, the best ones, in my opinion, call in to sports-based shows. Say what you will about Mark Madden back when he was a WCW employee, but his local sports radio talk-show in the Shittsburgh market is entertaining, and the best part of his program is when he opens it up to the callers. Yesterday as I was driving home I heard this genius call in and suggest the following: The Steelers should trade their compensation draft picks, or whatever those things are called that they got for losing some key free agents over the last season or two, and get Matt Leinart. Then, the Steelers could have him on the sideline for a year or two while Ben Roethlisberger played until Matt was ready to take over the job. God I love this town.
I don’t consider myself a sports expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I hate fans that over-analyze everything imaginable when it comes to their favorite team or player. When I was in high school sure I knew the batting average of just about every player in the major leagues, but then I grew up. I don't remember the exact time when I realized that my days of memorizing who was on every NHL’s team checking line was over, but sometime during the 1994-95 NBA season I was watching a game and realized I hardly knew any of the players from either team. From then on I haven’t followed sports as closely as I once did, although I still enjoy watching games; I just don’t know the minor-league history of every player that I’m watching.
This entry is not meant as a diss to the people that still follow sports; whatever you want to do with your free time is fine with me (besides, I don’t want to insult Bored just yet because I want him to do a review of the 1984 battle to see which shortstop had the best fielding percentage in the National League). I just chose to do other constructive things with my time, like play video games and watch movies. In a way, I’m glad we have the Boreds and Al Keipers at this place, because you can get in-depth perspectives of a variety of subjects related to the sports world and not have to spend any of your own time looking at the back of baseball cards. These guys are certainly better to listen to than one kid I knew in high school. After the Pirates lost in the ’92 NLCS, he gave me his opinion of what the Bucs should do if they were to contend for a fourth division title. He said, “You know, if the Pirates went out and got some pitching, like say that Randy Johnson guy, they might be a pretty good team.” He also added, “Also, if they went out and got another good hitter, like Ken Griffey Jr., I think they could get to the playoffs again.” Genius.
• Just heard on the radio that Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell is now bitching about the high gas prices and is calling for a “profit windfall tax.” Ha, you sack of shit. This coming from someone who jacked up the state gas tax a year or so ago. It’s funny that some of the biggest gougers when it comes to gas prices (state and federal government) are calling for an additional tax for when Big Oil makes “too much money.” It’s just like when the government tells us that we’re too fat. Meanwhile, the most obese, out-of-shape person I know is Uncle Sam. Oh, but Rendell is looking out for the little guy -- he's letting them work longer hours when delivering gas. If a Republican governor did this, the unions would have a shit-fit. Can't wait to see what these people say about Fast Eddie.
• Great, so the John Rocker of 2006 is going to be Keith Hernandez for saying "Women don’t belong in the dugout.” Now I didn’t listen to the audio of his comment, so I can’t say if he was joking or not, but if he wasn’t, then shame shame. Now I must disclose that I DESPISE female NFL sideline reporters, and I do have a problem with women reporters being allowed in a male locker room after a game. (If male reporters are allowed to enter women’s locker rooms after a contest, then I will strike my previous “locker room” comment; I don’t follow women’s sports so I don’t really know what their post-game policies are. However, I doubt a bunch of fat, ugly male sports reporters would be allowed access to a female locker room right after a volleyball or soccer match.) But regarding Keith’s response, he was talking about some chick that was her team’s personal trainer, and if she’s a good trainer, then she has every right to be in that dugout. No wonder Elaine Bennis turned him down.
• Well, Barry Bonds just hit his first home run of the season, so it looks like he will pass Babe Ruth on the all-time home run list. Now some fans want Barry’s stats to have an asterisk by them, or some other disclaimer saying he really didn’t “earn” his place in history due to steroid use. Now I’m a Bonds hater, but I don’t think this “qualifying” of his stats should be done. I’m sure the guy roided up, which is a shame because he was a damn good player even before he forehead exponentially, grew. But Major League Baseball did nothing during the “Steroid era” of the 1990s and early ‘00s, so it would by hypocritical to turn back and suddenly go “OMG you guys were CHEATING?!” Whether Bud Selig and pals turned a blind eye to the drug abuse going on during this time because of the revenue being generated during this time, or because they were afraid of the player’s union threatening to take action over any increased drug-testing regulations, don’t try to revise history. Deal with today’s drug use and make sure the game is cleaned up for the future. As for the past, it happened. Big deal.
• For all those in the white-collar work force, it has now become easier to goof off on the Internet. Well at least you can't get fired over it.
So I guess now if you get busted looking at on-line porn, you can say that you are reading the Sports page, which have ads like this littered in this section of many metropolitan newspapers.
• For those that think the name change from TNN to Spike was stupid, here’s one that gives “We Got Pop” (anyone remember that shit?) a run for its money. The Outdoor Life Network is changing its name to Versus. I loved this line.
Yeah, because you can’t think of “NHL” without thinking of “Versus.” If the “u” was changed to another “e” that would make for a pretty cool name for one of the dozen Jesus channels that are part of my cable lineup. Not saying I’d watch one of these stations, but couple a catchy channel name with the Buddy Christ and you might get a few more young people to tune in and watch nuns pray or whatever they hell they do.
• I’m not a hunter, but generally I don’t make fun of people that like to do this sort of thing. Personally, getting up at 4 a.m., going out to the wilderness, sitting around in the cold, damp morning air and waiting for a defenseless animal to walk into your sights is not my idea of a good time. However, if it floats your boat, then good for you. Then again, I have to ask what is so impressive about shooting a deer or turkey with a gun or arrow? Go kill a bear or mountain lion with just a knife and your wits; then you can really hang that animal's head up on your wall with pride. Oh, and when the animals fight back, I’ll be rooting for them. Not because I hate hunters, mind you, but rather I’m a sucker for the underdog, or in this case, underbear.
• Well the baptism thingy I talked about in yesterday’s entry went off without a hitch, for the most part. The mother-in-law decided to take over and pass the kid around, but that’s the worst which happened so all-in-all it wasn’t a bad day. We then went to the restaurant, where we were supposed to eat at 4 p.m. – we didn’t actually start eating until 5 p.m., and by the time we got out of that place it was past 7 p.m., so that was a nice chunk of 5+ hours on my day off. Oh well, it’s not like this chick is going to pop out another kid anytime soon, or at least for nine months.
• I’m sure many of you would agree with me that the winter months produce more automobile accidents and delays, but goddamn whenever spring really starts to get in effect the carnage seems just as bad. My commute from work been at least 10-15 minutes longer each day because of more traffic, accidents, broken-down vehicles and road construction projects which have the orange barrels/cones up with nobody actually working at the scene. And on top of that, there seemingly has been at least one car accident per day on the highway I drive on. At least when there’s snow falling down, the only people you have to worry about are the idiots with four-wheel drive going 60+ mph; when the weather’s nice it seems everyone thinks they’re a NASCAR driver.
• I was watching SportsCenter this morning, and they brought up a stat that talked about the NHL referees actually calling penalties in this year’s Stanley Cup Playoffs. It’s about goddamn time. I like hard-hitting hockey as much as the next person, but not at the expense of illegally clutching and grabbing a team’s star skill players and hampering the on-ice product. I never understood why officials allowed teams around this time of year to get away with play that would have netted them a penalty in the regular season. Hopefully, enforcing the rules will continue on into the later rounds and make the NHL as a whole better.
• I don’t know what would stink more: Your house getting blasted with 3,000 gallons worth of sewage, or hearing your local government promise they will clean up and repair the damage to your residence. In the article it says the house has a tax value of $101k while estimates for cleanup range from $75-150k – if I were this poor family, I’d rather pack up and move than to rely on the government to clean my, literal, shithole up.
Today’s going to be great fun. The better half’s friend who just squirted out her second kid is going to get it baptized today, and I have to go to the ceremony because Mrs. kkk is the kid’s godmother. I don’t get the whole “god” parents thing – to me it just sounds like an excuse to ask someone to pay for stuff for your newly born crumb snatcher. First the better half had to get this kid a christening gown for the big day, and on the drive home from work yesterday she said that she had to stop by the bank to get a “crisp $50 bill.” Here’s how it went down:
Her: “I need to go to the bank tomorrow morning and get a new, crisp $50 bill for the baptism.”
Me: “Why? Didn’t you buy that dress thing?”
Her: “Yes, but I have to get this, too. Actually, I think you should since I bought the dress.”
Me: “I’m not the kid’s godmother.”
Her: “Well she’s paying for your meal after the baptism.”
Me: “My ‘meal’ is going to be at a buffet, and since when did this kid get a job to pay for dinner? Besides, didn’t you tell me the kid’s rich grandparents (on the father’s side) are paying for this whole thing?”
Her: “I hate you.”
I loathe this whole gift-giving exchange thing. Oh we have to get a gift for these people because they’re getting something for us. Why just not exchange gifts in the first place and call it even? That way there’s no bitching about, “Well the gift I got Suzy was more expensive than what she got me.” And seriously, what’s the point? At my wedding we got $50 from this couple that were getting married several months after us. At their wedding what did we give them? Yep. $50. Personally, I think gifts should be given to people because you want to, not because you have to. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy giving gifts to people, but not because society deems it necessary to do so for every stupid occasion.
Here’s another story: Years ago I bought this game for the PS2 called “Looney Toones: Space Race.” Cute little game. Anyway, whenever my one niece and nephew in-law stop over, that’s one of the first games they like to play. At around May-June of last year I was at the local used CD store and found this game for sale in really good condition. I asked the better half should we get this for them because this game was now out of print. She said “no” because they only play that game at our house. A few months later it was time to get into Christmas shopping gear, and guess what was requested by these two kids? You guessed it. When their mother called the better half to give us an idea for gifts for her two kids, she asked the better half, “Is there any way you get that Looney Toones game you have at your house? That’s all they talk about when they are playing on their Playstation.”
Of course, the problem was that this game was no longer being made, and when I looked on Amazon, I didn’t find any available. A day or so later we went out to the local mall, and surrounding shopping centers, and there was no Space Race to be found. We then stopped in a used CD store (not the one mentioned above) and there we found a copy. Problem was there wasn’t an instruction manual, which turned off the better half. I eventually wore her down and convinced her to get the game, considering we had zero luck finding it elsewhere, and it was worth it to know that we found this game early on in the shopping season.
Well, when Christmas arrived, she was still bitching about the game because of no instruction manual and that since the game was “used” we didn’t spend the exact same amount of money on this niece and nephew than we did on Mrs. kkk’s other nieces. I kept telling her that it didn’t matter because this is what the kids wanted. (Then again, I went out on Black Friday to get her other nieces some gifts, and I asked the better half if she was calculating how much she “spent” on someone with a gift’s retail or sale price? That line of questioning didn’t go over too well.) When we arrived at the brother/sister in-law’s place (it’s a Christmas tradition), and after all the gifts were opened, guess which toy the niece and nephew played with first with the other kids who were also there? Yep. Did they even notice (or care) that there was no instruction manual included with the game? Nope. Was that the only Christmas toy/game they got to chose from? Not even close. Oh, that was quite a fun drive home. Not only did I get to say, “So what was that first game they played with?” 50+ times in a 10-15 drive back home, but I also saved $10+ for buying the game used. (Sorry, I couldn’t pass that one up.)
Oh, and for the record, we are each going in on half for the $50 baptism gift.
Every few weeks the kkk househould changes the four litter boxes scattered around the house. Last night it was my turn to do the cleaning. As I was doing this fun chore I had on ESPN’s draft special #374128957498 on, and they were talking with Bill Polian, the general manager of the Indianapolis Colts. I had this on as background noise so I may not be completely accurate in what I thought I heard. The ESPN guy was asking Polian about the recent asquisition of Adam Vinatieri, and Polian was saying how Adam was among the great kickers in NFL history and then he named a few players. One name that made me do a double-take was Scott Norwood. Um, OK. I’m sure Norwood may have had a good career and all (he's the Bills all-time leading scorer, last I checked), but I wouldn’t want to have my field goal kicker associated with this guy, especially since you’re expecting him to make some game-winning field goals in the playoffs. I’m sure Bill Buckner had a good career, but I wouldn’t want to compare my team's first baseman to him, especially if they're postseason-bound.
While I’m on this subject, there’s something else I need to grumble about. I get how it can be fun to watch the NFL draft and try to figure out who your favorite team is going to draft and stuff, but sometimes this goes just a tad overboard. Over the last few years I remember hearing from the ESPN gang on draft day about how some crappy teams have practically rebuilt themselves after a round or two with their selections. Look, I get that parity can make bad teams good, but can we at least wait until they win a few games in the regular season before considering teams that have done nothing in recent seasons to be postseason threats?
Even though the NFL Draft coverage can be overkill, this is still a fun time of the year for sports. The NBA and NHL playoffs are just getting started, Major League Baseball is in full swing, and the NFL gets its several rounds in the spotlight. However, there is one thing about the upcoming playoffs that gets on my nerves. It’s when talking heads start comparing postseason matchups and then say, about a lower-seeded team, “I sure wouldn’t want to be playing them in the playoffs.” Shutup. This is the playoffs – you’re supposed to be playing good teams. Who do you expect to be playing this time of the year – the Raptors? The Penguins? You’re supposed to be playing teams that have a few stars on their roster, and if this team is meshing come playoff time, then the higher-seeded team better be, too.
I’ll probably watch some of the NHL playoffs this weekend, which is funny because I have no idea who is in the postseason. All I know is that New Jersey is playing well, and I’m sure Detroit is the top seed at the other place. And let me say that there is nothing better than playoff hockey, especially if a game goes into overtime. What I love about this drama is that every pass, shot and check gets magnified even more when a crucial playoff game is on the line. Also, it always seems that in a tense, sudden death contest, the winning goal is always scored in a flukish sort of way.
It’s that time of the year again. Gas prices are shooting through the roof and Big Oil and their buddies in the Bush Administration are making record profits. You know what’s funny about this whole situation every time the price of fuel goes up? No, it’s not the soccer mom getting mad when filling up her Durango to take the kids to practice. It’s the same greenie weenies that bitch and moan about the cost of gas along with the rest of the masses. If these bitches had an ounce of honesty in them they’d welcome these $3/gallon prices and wish it would rise to the $4-5 range. After all, with a higher cost of fuel, more people would be tempted to take those clean, efficient vehicles that make up the public transportation system. With a higher cost of fuel, more people would be encouraged to buy hybrid cars, or at least shelve those gas-guzzling SUV’s. With a higher cost of fuel other alterative sources of energy would be encouraged even more.
So how come when the cost of gas rises do I not hear these people applaud? Oh, yeah. Halliburton.
It’s times like this that I thank God I no longer work at a convenience store. The wacky hours and crappy pay were bad enough; don't even get me started on the idiot customers (oops, too late). Those patrons were bad enough back when I worked there back in 1996 when gas was 99 cents a gallon; I couldn’t imagine putting up with these assholes now. Christ almighty, back then these people bitched when gas went up to a whopping $1.06 a gallon; I don’t want to know what they are saying now. One thing that has changed from 10 years ago is that many stations now require you to pre-pay; back then it was merely optional, unless it was late at night. I can’t blame the stores – I remember watching a few customers work up $100 bills back when gas was one-third cheaper than it is now.
Drive-offs were always weird for me. Our store was an extremely busy one, and it seemed that most drive-offs took place in the early afternoon, when there wasn’t much traffic. You would think the drive-offs would take place during a busy period, such as the morning or afternoon rush hour commute. Those drive-offs would get me pissed; you bust your ass for 6-7 hours without any theft, but the moment you turn around to do an inventory of behind-the-counter cigarettes, boom. There goes a $25 order.
Even though I had a few drive-offs in my heyday, there were several instances when I caught the bastards that tried to get a free ride. The most memorable one was this crazy broad who came up to my register, threw a bunch of change at me and just walked out. When I asked her where’s the rest of the money, she mumbled something and just casually drove away. I got the bitch’s license plate and called the cops. When the law finally caught up with this fugitive, I heard from a co-worker that this lady’s husband came in and calmly paid the difference – something like $10. Apparently, the woman was a few fries short of a happy meal and has done things like this before. The reason she gave for her exodus? When you need gas and don’t have enough money to pay for your order, gas stations are supposed to give you the fuel for free.
This lady’s car may have had a full tank of gas, but mentally she’s ran on fumes.
I have my choice of radio stations programmed, and it’s limited to 4-5 stations. For example, there’s the RIGHT-WING RADIO Clear Channel with the usual syndicated lineup. There’s also KDKA, a more local AM station. Then there are those bitches from WPTT that bumped Neal Boortz; I don't listen to them anymore. For sports I have Fox Sports Radio, which has a local morning show and Jim Rome, and finally ESPN Radio, which I listen to Mark Madden’s afternoon show. While I don’t complain much about the lineup of these stations, sometimes I want to listen to something different, so I began scanning the radio dial in hopes of finding something new. And something new I found.
I discovered WPIT, a local AM station. I looked up their lineup on-line, and they seem to be a Jesus-lite station. As I started scanning the hosts, I was less-than thrilled. Then I saw who was on from noon-2 p.m. – Dr. Laura.
Like I said in my “Best of RIGHT-WING RADIO” entry a while ago, I don’t listen to Dr. Laura for her politics, or moral opinions. Hell, if she found out how long I lived in sin, she’d spend a full segment yelling at me. However, I loved listening to her show in other markets because of her callers. I started listening to her show again this past Monday, and on Tuesday I heard one of the best talk-radio moments I’ve enjoyed in quite some time. This lady called and had her mother on another phone line. The daughter wanted Dr. Laura to tell her mother why she should leave her husband of 18 years. When asked how old the caller’s mother was, she said “71.” Then the mother started mumbling on the other line. The next question asked was, “Why do you want your mother to divorce this man?” Because he drinks and is always getting in trouble. The mother added, “I broke my leg when trying to bail him out of jail.” At this point tears were starting to trickle down my face. Dr. Laura then told the mother to hang up the phone because she wanted to talk to the daughter “one-on-one” (on a radio show heard by MILLIONS of listeners). The daughter then responded, “What should I do with my mother?” For the rest of the segment, when Dr. Laura was talking there were several interruptions (I counted four) by the mother randomly blurting out “Hello? Is anyone there?”
I was listening to her show again today, and there was a caller in tears because her young daughter sent some kid a card (she didn’t say what the occasion was – birthday/Valentine’s/etc.) and he didn’t respond to her daughter in kind. Another caller was getting her feelings hurt because her mother-in-law would re-arrange her furniture when she would stop for a visit. But the best caller of the day was the young twenty-something who had a kid at 16 with this guy, went on to have several miscarriages, and now she doesn’t know if her kid should be around another kid who her baby’s daddy fathered at the same time her kid was born.
Thank you, WPIT.
Yesterday I set up the events leading up to a party at a friend’s house back during my high school days. Now it’s time for the exciting conclusion.
When we got back to Jeff’s house, whose driveway was already filled with vehicles, we asked him why did he let people in already when we agreed not to until we got back from getting food. Unfortunately, we didn’t get all that coherent a response, considering he was already on the path to drunkenness. So all that planning of a cover charge and using Greg as a bouncer? Gone. When the first group of people rang the doorbell, Jeff had scurried over to the door and let them in before Greg could do anything. It was at this moment I decided to move a recliner up close to the living room television and just sit there and watch TV. If you ever saw that “South Park” episode with Christopher Reeve and Stem Cells, that’s pretty much how it went. I told everyone that, basically, I “was out” because I knew trouble was on the horizon.
A few hours later more people showed up. Then more. And more. In the early evening I was still planted in the living room watching television as uninvited guests populated this three-story suburban house. Because of a lack of available space, people were “forced” to join me in the living room. Since there isn’t a large contingent of Blue Jay fans where I lived, Game 6 of the World Series got switched over in favor of a Penguins game. It was around this time when some people began making fun of my choice to be a wallflower. “Boy, you really know how to have a good time,” was a common line thrown at me, but I just sat back and said “just wait.”
After a while I got up from my chair and decided to do a rough head count of people attending this gathering. After counting all just about everyone in the basement and the first floor, I totaled more than 80 people. I then went back to my chair. Shortly thereafter the fun really began. I forget the chick’s name, but suddenly I heard screaming from the second floor followed by some other shouting. From what I was told my one friend (I think it was Greg) was up on the second floor when he suddenly heard a commotion from Jeff’s parents’ bedroom. Suddenly, he saw a girl in her bra and panties trying to run out of the room only to be grabbed and dragged back in by 4-5 guys before being able to break out again and locking herself in a nearby bathroom. I should note that there was some consensual penetration going on as well -- Greg told me later that evening that he heard sounds in not only the parents' bedroom, but also in Jeff's and in his sister's rooms. In addition, he found a couple in a nearby broom closet going at it.
Right after this attempted rape, a few drunken idiots that got into a fight over something or other. When the one guy’s girlfriend tried to break up the scuffle, it only seemed to make matters worse. As the girl’s boyfriend stormed out he punched a neighbor’s fiberglass (or some other fancy material) mailbox, shattering it. At the same time someone else took their car and turfed up another neighbor’s yard, leaving several deep track marks in an otherwise impressive landscape design.
During the attempted rape and property damage, a few of my friends began noticing things ... missing from Jeff’s house. In all the action that took place, there were several ruffians that helped themselves to some items in the house. When it was all said and done, it was determined that several thousand dollars of property was stolen. Among the items I remembered that were taken included a set of golf clubs, several extension cords (?), a weed wacker (!), and a number of CDs, video games, video cassettes and sports memorabilia -- the most valuable of which being a football that was signed by the 1985 Chicago Bears team. Actually I should correct myself; the football wasn't stolen, someone just punted it from the backyard deck into the nearby woods. It turned up later, with all the signatures smeared beyond recognition.
As the night progressed, and the alcohol flowed, some of these uninvited guests began to get more physical, and several mini-scuffles broke out; all the while I was sitting in front of the television and watched the Blue Jays win their first World Series championship (I'm pretty sure the final out was when the Braves leadoff hitter -- Lofton? -- attempted a bunt and got out at first base). When 4 a.m. finally rolled around, virtually everyone had left. I decided to help Jeff try to clean up the house, especially since his parents would be back home Sunday. There were some things I couldn’t fix, such as the cigarette burn marks on a variety of furniture throughout the house. Knowing my limits of what I could repair, I decided to do the dishes. As I was cleaning off plates and glasses, that guy whose girlfriend tried to break up a fight that took place earlier that night got into another scuffle – this time with his girlfriend. After some shouting and the sound of flesh being smacked, I turned around to see the girlfriend in question fly through the air and hit her head up against the dining room table. Although she had blood coming out of her, she managed to pull her boyfriend’s earring out before getting tossed. It was about that time when I decided to go to sleep.
When I woke up at around 9 a.m., I looked around for Jeff, who was frantically mopping the basement floor in hopes of getting out the stench of smoke and booze. I asked him how it was going. We both laughed. After helping out with some more cleaning (and loaning Jeff $100 to give to the neighbor with the shattered mailbox), I had Don drive me back home. Of course when Jeff’s parents returned he had to fess up to what happened because, well, the furniture had irreversible damage, the house still smelled like smoke and the garage had a lot fewer items in it when compared to a few days ago. I don’t remember much of the fallout from this, although I know the police were involved, and the weed wacker and golf clubs were returned. As I look back at this event, I can’t help but laugh. Then again, this didn’t take place at my house.
When I started taking a trip down memory lane for the 1992 National League Championship Series (see my 4/15 and 4/16 entries), I remembered what it was like for the Pirates to field a winning team. Better yet, I was part of this by going to Games 3 and 4 of the NLCS. Although the Pirates lost in a heart-breaking Game 7 in Atlanta that year, my interest in baseball didn’t head to the showers afterward. I was also a Blue Jays fan back then. I’m not sure why I took a liking to the Jays; I think it might have been that bird symbol. In fact, it probably was due to that. As I followed this team in the mid-80s, I began to feel for them considering they always choked, both in the regular and postseason. (I'm sure Bored could spend a week talking about the "Blow Jays" of the 1980s and early 1990's.) Well, ’92 was different as they finally made the World Series, but would they have the fire power and pitching to defeat the Braves?
Who knows and who cares – I was getting ready for a party.
If you read the Game 3 recap from my 4/15 entry, chances are you remember my friend who went with me to this game. Well, this friend, Jeff, was going to have a party at his house on October 24. For some reason, his parents were heading off to their daughter’s college to spend a weekend with her and figured Jeff was mature enough to be left unsupervised. On a side note, Jeff’s sister attended Dickinson College and his parents had a bumper sticker on one of their cars that read, “I’m a Dickinson Dad.” The best part? That was the car Jeff was allowed to drive. Anyway, this party was going to be the shizzle because we had another friend, Greg, with a driver’s license that said he was 22 years of age; problem was he was only 17. However, this was a legit license; the DMV screwed up the date on his card. So whenever someone had a get-together and needed alcohol, Greg was the man to call.
In my opinion, your junior year of high school is the best out of the four years you're there. Many of us are old enough to drive and work, which means disposable income and non-parental transportation. In addition, you don’t have to worry about college and all that other crap because you’re not a senior. The junior year is your “free time,” and this October party was going to be our big celebration into pseudo-adulthood.
Besides myself, Greg and Jeff, there were two other friends that were planning this party: Don and Bryce. For weeks my friends were budgeting money for food and a variety of alcoholic drinks. Also, they were planning other aspects of an event like this: Who would be invited? Should there be a cover charge to pay for the keg? How will we enforce potential crashers? You know, all the important stuff. It was finally decided that we would invite a certain number of people, and we would have a $2-3 cover charge, which would finance the booze. We were also going to have Greg, who was a big guy, man the front door and act as the bouncer, refusing to let anyone in who wasn’t on our list.
The plan seemed good in theory, and we were all looking forward to this upcoming weekend. However, a few days before the 24th, there were some signs that were pointing to this being a problematic couple of days. Well, actually, there was only one – and it wasn’t even a sign; it was a map. A map to Jeff’s house that was created by this girl we knew named Shannon who passed it out to just about every kid in school without us knowing about it until it too late to do anything. We grumbled about Shannon’s actions, but we figured it wasn’t a big deal because our “bouncer” plan would keep the riff-raff out.
When October 24 came, we were all psyched. Sometime in the afternoon, we decided to get the half-dozen or so large pizzas we had planned on purchasing for this get-together. While me, Don and Kurt (another friend of ours) went out to get the pizza, Greg, Bryce and Jeff would hold down the fort. Before we left, the rule was not to let anyone in until the three of us got back; strength in numbers and all that. As we left to get the food, we joked about Jeff being “attached” to the keg (he had swigged down quite a few brews already). We picked up the pizzas and returned back to Jeff’s house. When we left there were only 2-3 cars in his driveway. When we came back there were at least a half dozen. For the last few miles to Jeff’s house, Don was saying, “He (Jeff) better not let anybody in.” When we pulled up to Jeff’s house and saw the newly parked automobiles, Don said, as he recognized some of the cars that belonged to people who weren’t invited to this get-together, “Oh that fucking idiot let them in.” I knew this was going to be an … eventful night. That is, if you consider attempted rape, theft, a physical altercation between the sexes and property damange to be "eventful."
Oh, yeah. And the Blue Jays were one game away from winning their first World Series title.
Yesterday I wrote about my trip to Game 3 of the NLCS and what a magical experience it was. The next night I headed out to Game 4 with another friend in hopes the Pirates could tie the series up at two games apiece. We headed to Three Rivers Stadium without any problems, and we found our seats just fine. The problem was that the drunken asshole seated in the row above us found their seats; they also had been able to find the nearest booze stand as well. For the first few innings of the game things were harmless enough, then sometime around the third inning when the Pirates made a clutch hit or something (I forgot what it was) two of these drunks fell down onto me. Well, at least they didn’t throw up, even though my knees banged off the concrete and hurt like hell for a little while afterward.
After falling onto me, one of these assholes began verbally harassing me. Of course, for about 15 minutes I didn’t realize he was trying to get my attention. He finally had to tap me on my shoulder and say, “Hey, I’m talking to you.” Seeing how this guy weighed at least 75 pounds more than me and was drunk off his ass, I simply turned around and went back to watching the game; amazingly enough he stopped talking about the homosexual acts he wanted to do with me and turned his attention to someone of the opposite sex – this female Braves fan (and her boyfriend) in the row behind him. It was sometime around the fifth inning when I began to hear some escalated shouting from behind my row. I turned around and saw the drunken idiot standing up and getting in the faces of those two aforementioned Braves fans. Without missing a beat I nudged my friend and showed him the trouble that was about to ensue. We both stood up and moved away from our seats. As we did this, the drunk took a swing at the other guy’s girlfriend and the boyfriend responded in kind. Seconds after we left our seats and moved, these two guys came crashing onto our seats and proceeded to wrestle down at least a half-dozen other rows. Chaos then ensued and everybody who had been watching the game in our section suddenly stood up and watched this fight.
Oddly enough, the 90-year old “security guard” in our section wasn’t able to settle things down, and it took several ushers of considerable younger age, and muscle mass, to separate the two brawlers. I’m not sure what happened to the idiot behind me, but he and his friends didn’t return to their seats. Unfortunately, neither did the couple that was being harassed by an asshole that thought going to a ballgame meant getting liquored up and causing a disturbance. I know nothing probably happened to this asshole, but I always hoped the Braves couple sued him.
The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful. The Pirates lost and faced a three games to one deficit. Regrettably, I had the chance to purchase Game 5 tickets when I initially bought my Games 3 and 4 tickets, but I decided not to. The reason I regret this decision is because the Pirates took Game 5 thanks to a gutsy performance by pitcher Bob Walk. This guy wasn’t the most talented player out there, but he managed to find ways to win more times than naught. (Currently, he’s a Pirates broadcaster, or at least I still think he is one.) Thanks to another Wakefield performance in Game 6, the Pirates took this series to a Game 7, where they were just one out away from going to the World Series. Oh well, my other favorite team at the time, the Toronto Blue Jays, beat the Braves to win their fires-ever World Series title. And you know what? On the night the Jays won it all, my friend who was with me for Game 3 had a party at his house that got out of control, but that’s another story for another day – like say, tomorrow.
I can tend to be a bit cynical and negative at times when talking about various things, so I figured why not share a happy memory? No, this won’t be about my wedding or a recent holiday experience with my family – like I said, I want to talk about a joyous occasion.
Whenever a kid gets his or her driver’s license (I’m not talking about that hippie permit, I’m talking about the bona fide piece of plastic letting you drive by yourself) one of the first things they want to do is take a few friends and shoot off somewhere to cause havoc and mayhem. Well, my first experience with this passage into manhood took place back in 1992. Now before this time I went with friends on a number of trips to places such as amusement parks and parties/get-togethers, but it was always with someone else driving. This time I would be the person in charge of navigation. What was this trip, you ask? It was to Game 3 of the 1992 NLCS between the Pirates and the Braves.
Back a long time ago the Pirates were actually a good team with good players. Well, they were good until the postseason hit; that was when the Andy Van Slykes, Bobby Bonillas and Barry Bonds(s) of the world wouldn’t hit. The Pirates had lost in the NLCS the previous two years, and this year there wasn’t any reason for optimism. Sure the Bucs lost to a better Reds team in the 1990 NLCS, but they had a golden opportunity to advance to the ’91 World Series but lost to the Braves, at home, in Games 6 and 7. This year, the Braves had gotten better, and the Pirates lost several key members from their ’91 team, including Bonilla. There was no reason to think the Pirates would advance to the Series in ’92, and the first two games against the Braves didn’t leave much optimism for Pirate fans. However, even though the thought of going through another grueling summer of baseball only to see the home team come up short wasn’t too appealing for me, this year was going to be different. Why? Because I was going to go to Game 3 with one of my best friends at the time, and we were going to go unsupervised.
After school ended for the day, we engaged in the initiation of a high-school freshman we had wanted to duct tape to a telephone pole for some time, but that’s another story for another time. After this fun was over, we headed to Shittsburgh in my dad’s pick-up truck that he agreed to lend me for the weekend. We pulled into an underground parking lot and made our way to Three Rivers Stadium. Even though the Pirates got manhandled in the first two games at Atlanta, it was a pretty upbeat environment at the ballpark. You see, back in ’92 the Pirates had this “rookie” knuckleball pitcher that was an unexpected surprise for the team, going 8-1 his first year in the big leagues. Who was this newcomer that was scheduled to pitch in Game 3? Some of you BoSox fans might know him as Tim Wakefield.
When we got to our seats, the crowd, which had been criticized for being lackluster in size and noise, was near deafening even before the pre-game introductions. And when Wakefield retired the Braves in the first inning, the crowd went wild. Even when the Braves took an early 1-0 lead, there was something about this game that told everyone in attendance the Pirates were going to find a way to win. And after Wakefield got the last batter out for the 3-2 victory, every fan at the ballpark had this feeling that the Pirates had a chance in this series; they might not win, but they weren’t going to roll over and die in four or five games. And the best part of this experience is that my friend and I got to enjoy it all to ourselves -- no parents, no chaperone, no big siblings, just the two of us; this is probably the closest I’ve ever been to a Brokeback Moment.
Now even though I had my driver’s license, it was still only a Junior License, which meant I wasn’t allowed to be out on the road after midnight. Well, this game got finished pretty late, and the traffic was crazy when we got to the truck back in the underground parking lot. For a 16-year old who was driving his dad’s stick shift, I thought it would be in everybody’s best interest if my friend and I just sat in the truck and finished off the pizza we bought for dinner until the traffic lightened up. About 45 minutes passed and we decided now would be a good time to head out. By now it was after midnight and traffic was still heavy, but not nearly as congested as it was before. As I pulled out of the garage on the street a police officer on traffic patrol suddenly pointed to me and yelled at me to stop: my heart stopped – was I getting busted for driving after midnight? My friend wasn’t providing much comfort, saying out loud, “God damn pigs, why don’t that just leave us alone? Fucking cops.” When I rolled down my window, he informed me that my headlights weren’t on. With all that time spent in the lighted garage, my eyes got adjusted to the darkness and didn’t realize my need to turn on my headlights. I thanked the officer, elbowed my friend in the ribs for shooting his mouth off loud enough for me (but thankfully not the officer) to hear, and the rest of the trip home was without incident.
Game 3 of the 1992 NLCS was an experience I’ll never forget. I also went to Game 4 with another friend, and that experience was an unforgettable time as well, but for other reasons as I’ll share with you tomorrow.
So I was listening to some sports-talk radio yesterday when I heard a commercial featuring a sound clip from Toby Keith's new album and the following voice-over: “White Trash With Money is now at Wal-Mart.” Sounds like somebody got their tax refund check. It’s funny to hear all this Wal-Mart hate, because if this corporation was really despised that much, they wouldn’t make so much money. Unlike an EVIL~ corporation like, say Exxon, there are a lot more businesses in the retail industry than the fuel industry. Also, how much of a schmoe do you have to be to despise Wal-Mart and the way they do business but shop there in order to save 4 cents off a bottle of shampoo?
I’m not a Wal-Mart hater, but I’m trying to think back to the last time I did any shopping at one of these stores. After much thought and reflection, I’m pretty sure the last time I bought something from Wal-Mart was this pseudo-vacuum in November of 2005 for the basement. Why the reason for my “defiance” of this company that will soon take over the world? Location might have something to do with it, but an even bigger reason is that I don’t want to be around all the white and ghetto trash that populate these stores. Have you seen the people that shop there? Of course you have; it’s Wal-Mart, after all. I think the highlight for me was one time when this kid, who was a few fries short of a happy meal, was throwing a fit over something stupid (all kids do) and his redneck parents proceeded to scream at him louder than he was yelling at them. I love it when the kids win in these parents vs. children fights; always pull for the up-and-comer hick rather than the established white trash.
How could I forget this encounter? Years back I was in a Wal-Mart electronics department when this angry customer caught my attention. Because I love hearing what other people get pissed off about I lingered in the DVD section to hear his complaint. Was he upset because the store wouldn’t return a defective DVD even though he had a receipt? No. Did an employee tell him to “fuck off” when he asked the customer service representative to open the locked video game case? Don’t think so. Here is what the problem was: This guy recently bought a regular television set – wasn’t flat screen, High-Def, Plasma or anything like that; just a regular TV. Well, apparently he wanted to return the television because he wasn’t satisfied with it; he gave no specific reason. However, instead of getting another television of equal or lesser value, he wanted one that was about $200 more expensive. No, he didn’t want to exchange his old television for the new one and pay the difference, he wanted the more expensive set for FREE. Of course, the poor teen-age clerk didn’t know what to say. Many people hear stories of stupid customers and think they can prepare themselves for the encounter, but when they actually experience this stupidity, many times they are like a deer in headlights. Well, after 2-3 managers were called in, nothing was resolved. The guy was getting more and more pissed and the employees had no idea what to do about the situation. That’s when the customer said something that got him into my Stupid Customer Hall of Fame on the first ballot: “Wal-Mart guarantees customer satisfaction!” I burst out laughing and had to walk away because I couldn’t take any more. I’m not sure how this incident got resolved, but if the guy did get new television, hopefully he was standing in a bucket of water while trying to figure out the best outlet to plug in his new prize.
I guess I shouldn't be too hard on the people that frequent Wal-Mart. After all, going there and seeing the dregs of society can really boost your spirits if you're feeling a bit down on yourself. Seeing how I haven’t had to get my fix in some time, I guess I’m doing pretty well with myself.
Swift Terror brought up the Cincinnati riots in his blog entry today, and man were those some fun times (this event took place in 2001, for those keeping score at home). After a black teen got shot by the PO-lice during a midnight chase, some of the more sophisticated folk in Cincinnati decided to frolic and engage in springtime activities like breaking into stores and assaulting innocents. I guess this was in retribution for the PO-lice killing 15 black guys over the period of several years. Of course, all but two or three of these PO-lice shootings involved these poor young men walking down the street. Did I say "walking down the street"? I meant "shooting at the PO-lice" or "assaulting them with a vehicle or some other life-threatening attack." Although the riots took place years ago, there are a few things that have stayed with me. The first is the image of some young thugs assaulting this old guy in his car. Of course, when the youths were caught they were charged with “ethnic intimidation.” Uh, if this is not a HATE CRIME then what is? Oh, wait, the old guy was with his wife, so he wasn’t gay, and he certainly wasn’t black, although he was black-and-blue after the scuffle.
Oh, here’s another oldie but goldie that’s been tucked in the back of my memory for some time. On WKRC’s crappy morning show they brought on some idiot professor from the University of Cincinnati to talk about the riots. The professor started out saying something like, “The problem here is that the PO-lice are out killing YOUNG BLACK MALES.” The conservative host of this morning duo then called the prof on his line of bullshit, basically repeating what I said in the paragraph above about how in nearly all the cases the PO-lice were being shot at or attacked. Without missing a beat, the prof replied, “That’s true, and we must be careful not to use inflammatory rhetoric.” It was at that point I started screaming at the radio while driving to work on I-71.
Did I mention that the New York Slimes called the riots “civil disobedience"? I better add that in here before I forget.
In addition, shortly after this incident some hippie activist group started up an exhibit at the Cincinnati Museum. I don’t remember much about the exhibit, but I’ll never forget the ribbons they were peddling. You see, this exhibit dealt with DIVERSITY, or some shit like that, and if you bought a ribbon then you cared about DIVERSITY. So far so good, I guess -- if you’re into that sort of thing. Oh, but here’s the good part. When you bought your ribbon for DIVERSITY, you got a certain color of ribbon based on YOUR SKIN COLOR. Nothing says "unity" like segregated unity ribbons.
One final note to this story: I remember hearing various idiots saying that the PO-lice and government in general are out to kill YOUNG BLACK MALES. Well, if that’s the case, they’re doing a pretty shitty job of it. I mean crack and AIDS were introduced in the inner-cities to wipe out the black population 20+ years ago, and these people are STILL around; glad to see my tax dollars are being put to great use. I’ve always contended that if you want anything done right you need to go to the private sector. Hell, I might even consider hiring illegals to get this job done – after they mow my lawn, of course.
SfaJack unknowingly opened up a can of worms with his comment in yesterday’s entry when he asked if I ever visited or plan to visit PNC Park. My answers? No, and fuck no. I bitched a bit about the way PNC Park was built a while back in my entry concerning local newspapers, but too bad; I’m now going to bitch some more.
The time was the early- to mid-1990s, and the Steelers and Pirates were playing at Three Rivers Stadium, a structure that when originally built in the 1970s was supposed to be the future of how stadiums were to be constructed, what with that futuristic-looking field turf and the ability for baseball AND football games to be played at the same site. Now I never had any problems with Three Rivers Stadium, but then again I didn’t have to play on that crappy Astroturf. In fact, I have quite a few memories from that place which I’ll probably share in an upcoming entry, and none of them dealt with how pretty the stadium looked.
The early- to mid-1990s was around the time when major-league franchises began extorting, err, telling their home cities that if they didn’t build them a new, state-of-the-art stadium or arena that the team would pack up and move to another city; Shittsburgh was experiencing this craze with both the Pirates and Steelers demanding new fields. These threats brought about a hippie referendum that went on the ballot in seven counties in and around the Shittsburgh area in 1997. The referendum was whether or not you approved of a one-half-of-one-percent tax to fund regional projects, which included of course new stadiums for the Pirates and Steelers (never mind the fact that a few years prior the region had implemented a tax for, [shock!] regional development, which included the area of sports facilities).
I’ve mentioned in the past that the liberal Shittsburgh Post-Gazette was all up on the nuts of the proposed tax increase, and for months this publication told us yokels how great this new tax would be, adding that if this measure wasn’t approved, the Pirates would move to a city like Raleigh, N.C., with the Steelers soon to follow. My favorite piece of media hysteria came a week or so before this vote when the Gazette ran an editorial that was supposed to be “the day after the Pirates moved to North Carolina,” where we got to learn of what a huge mistake all “no” voters were making. It was great fun to watch the voter backlash when this referendum crashed and burned in every county it was voted on. In the months leading up to this vote, we were constantly told how there was no “Plan B;” that this vote was “all or nothing” and would “deicide the future of (S)hittsburgh for years to come.” Oddly enough, after this vote, the local government found other ways of funding these stadiums. What was this measure called? Why, it was called “Plan B!”
Besides the pro-tax media acting like Chicken Little, the Pirates were also whining about the condition of Three Rivers Stadium, saying that with a sub par stadium they couldn’t financially compete with Major League Baseball’s bigger-market teams. The Pirates said that with a lack of luxury boxes, among other cash streams not available to them thanks to a crappy stadium, they couldn’t keep players like Barry Bonds and Bobby Bonilla, who at the time had both recently left for greener pastures. Why, if a new stadium was built, then the Pirates could be competitive again!
So against the will of the voters, the Pirates and Steelers got their new stadiums. And to this day I have refused to set foot in PNC Park or Heinz Field. Now considering people will their waiting list number for season tickets to their next of kin, I think my self-imposed boycott of Heinz Field games won’t be much of a problem. The Pirates are another matter. It’s been almost 10 years since the Pirates moved into PNC Park, and where are they now? For this team a good season is not losing 95 games. For this team a high payroll is more than $50 million. In fact, the Pirates are making a big deal because they increased their payroll this year, which makes them the fourth-lowest payroll in the big leagues. Sorry, but I refuse to pay major-league prices for a minor-league product. It’s like buying a leather recliner, a big-screen television with surround sound and watching a movie on a 30 year-old VHS tape. I must admit though that one time I almost caved into going to this den of evil, but that’s because my one friend from out of town was coming for a visit and expressed interested in attending a Pirate game. Fortunately, they were on the road for that week. The things I do for my friends.
Ironically, there is now talk of building a new arena for the Penguins, and the mood is quite different from back in the mid-‘90s. It’s funny because out of the three new structures: Heinz Field, PNC Park and a new arena, the arena would probably get the most use year-round. Yet politicians are dragging their feet regarding this issue. There’s currently some debate going on about having soon-to-be casino slots revenue go to pay for some costs of building a new arena, but that’s a whole other topic for a whole other blog entry. And despite the Penguins seriously contemplating moving to another city, there is a blip of the same media panic-mongering, if any at all.
Thanks, Sfa, for getting me inspired enough to bitch about the most expensive minor-league baseball stadium in America.
• Sure many Hollywood types are idiots when trying to espouse political viewpoints, but Michael Keaton is A-OK with me. I’m sure the guy’s a commie, but when it comes to sports, he’s a true Pirate “Bat-fan” – LOL-ONE-WIN-IN-EIGHT-GAMES. Before Keaton threw out the first pitch to the Pirates first home loss of the baseball season (and seventh overall), he stood in front of some news cameras and ragged on Pirate management, saying that ownership isn’t spending enough money on good players and taking the fans for granted. Ahahahaha. So the guy selected to throw out the first pitch for a new season – the ALL-STAR season – rags on the organization beforehand. Like I said before, God I love this team.
• Speaking of things I’ve said before, a while back I made some remarks about the alleged rape of a stripper by members of the Duke Lacrosse team. Like I said when the story broke, when it comes to rape allegations, if it’s a recent accusation, I’ll sit back and wait until more evidence presents itself. Well, more evidence did, or should I say, didn't show up. Gotta love the ol’ DNA test. Shit like this is part of the reason why I don’t bother with strippers or “exotic dancers.” The closest I ever came to this sort of thing was when a few of my friends chipped in and ordered a stripper to my one friend’s residence (I chose not to partake in this because I'd rather spend money on myself at the mall and oogle chicks there for free). From what I heard, the chick’s bodyguard threatened everyone there that if they even laid a finger on her she would leave and he would beat the shit out of all of them (from what my friends told me, he could have). So when the dancer did her thing, most of the spectators were shaking, due in part to the threats of physical harm, not to mention the inexperience many of them had in dealing with near-naked women.
• What the hell happened to Brad Pitt? No, he didn’t get a beer belly overnight. What I’m talking about deals more with his mental state than physical state. And no I’m also not talking about him dumping Jennifer Aniston for someone who Billy Bob Thorton stuck his dick into repeated times. (Actually, I do respect Angelina Jolie for her goodwill work; it's a shame she has to be affiliated with an organization as evil as the United Nations.) I remember back when Pitt did that “Seven Years in Tibet” movie he was asked by Time Magazine about his opinion on the whole China/Taiwan issue (or a similar topic dealing with that movie) and Pitt said something like “I’m just a fucking actor; I don’t know anything about that situation.” Now, years, later I read this:
Oh well, at least they’re not naming their kids (real or adopted) after fruit, although former NFL quarterbacks can’t be much bettet. However, if they named the kid "Garcia" they would get the best of both worlds: a fruity quarterback.
Not that there's anything wrong with that.
• I’m not a big Brett Favre fan, but then again I don’t hate him like some other people I know. However, this whole “Will I or won’t I retire?” saga is getting on my nerves, and I’m not even talking about this past weekend’s incident with the faux news conference. While the NFL is notorious for cutting players who have shown a particular team loyalty for years, Favre is one of those few exceptions who should get to call it quits when he wants. However, that doesn’t mean he should screw his team over by not letting them know if he will be back for another season or two. I get it, Brett. You won the Pack a title, and came close other times with your numerous postseason appearances. You helped turn Green Bay into “Title Town” again, at least for one year back in the ‘90s. But the Packers also provided you with a comfortable lifestyle. For as much as you did for the Packers, the Packers did the same for you. I’m sure it would feel horrible to go out the way you and your team played last year, but if it’s taking you this long to decide on whether or not to give this NFL thing another go that’s a pretty obvious sign that it’s time to hang up the cleats.
• Here’s something that’s been bugging me this young baseball season. While some teams enjoyed opening day last week in their home stadium, it took almost a week for some teams to play their first home game. It is famously said that in baseball everyone has a chance at winning the World Series on opening day. Well, by the time the Pirates lost 8-3 in their home opener this afternoon, they already lost six of their first seven road games. Pirate fans (at least the ones remaining) have 161 other games to see how awful their team is; can’t they get their first home game when they’re only 1-2 games out of first, giving those at PNC Park the chance to dream of pennant races and division titles?
• So illegal immigrants are at it again with protests, or whatever the hell those things are supposed to be (well that explains why that head of lettuce was $10 at the market today). I said this before, but it bears repeating. If these illegals want to “show us” how valuable they are by not working the jobs Americans don't want to work, let’s make it a fair exchange. For the day that these people walk out of work, let’s refuse any kind of social services to people who can’t prove that they are an American citizen. If you won’t pick lettuce in the fields or clean hotel rooms, then you don’t get the emergency room health care and state tuition assistance. Sounds fair to me.
• So my favorite Maury Povich “Who is the baby’s daddy?” couple was on today. This black chick claimed this guy with six fingers (one grew out of his pinky, or something like that) was the father of her crumb snatcher. The accused claims he’s not the father, and that she’s just after the “number one draft pick” who is "230 PERCENT SURE" he’s not the daddy. Even though he was exonerated after the test results came back, the best was yet to come. When Maury told the chick they could help her find who the real daddy is she said that she had a list of FIVE OTHER POSSIBLE FATHERS. I don’t watch these shows all that often, but you can’t get any better than a show that has a title like “I have three kids, and I’m not sure if you’re the father of all of them.”
As I was reading the comments from yesterday’s entry, I was suddenly getting flashbacks to my youth and all the hours I wasted playing video games. Bah, I actually don’t consider that time wasted. Going to school, doing homework, doing required community service in order to graduate high school – now that was a waste.
Although I had a decent variety of Sega Genesis games, I was mostly drawn to the sports-related genre. Below is a trip down memory lane featuring my favorite games of that era from the early-to-mid-1990s. I should note that there aren’t any baseball games below -- no offense to the baseball lovers out there.
#3 Lakers vs. Celtics and the NBA PLayoffs
It’s not the prettiest game out there, and the computer A.I. left something to be desired (my favorite “glitch” was with the Bulls and how Michael Jordan rarely took a shot). Also, you only got to pick from eight teams: Celtics, Pistons, 76ers, Bulls, Lakers, Suns, Spurs and Trailblazers. Despite all these flaws, if you had a few friends over, this was a fun game to play, or at least it was for me. The big feature in this game was the “signature move” one superstar on each team had. From Barkley’s gorilla dunk that started beyond the free-throw line to Magic’s no-look finger roll, these moves were the shizzle back in a time where the shizzle was not even a fizzle. Then there was the ultimate in cheese: the Tom Chambers double-pump dunk that you couldn’t stop no matter what. Next year's version (Bulls vs. Lakers) included more teams and an attempt at improved graphics, but there was something missing from that game which Lakers vs. Celtics had; God knows what it was, though. Oh, another thing I liked about the game was that everytime you scored the sideline coach would cheer, along with some players on the bench; if you missed a shot or turned the ball over, the coach would freak (hey, when it's 2 a.m. and you're running on fumes and Pepsi, a lot of things seem funny at the time).
#2 NHL ‘94
When Electronic Arts came out with NHL Hockey in the early 1990s, my neighborhood found a new favorite game to waste away on. Several of us had enjoyed the Nintendo Entertainment System’s Blades of Steel and that Ice Hockey game where you had teams consisting of fat, regular and thin players. But when NHL Hockey came out, this took hockey gaming to a new level for us. One thing I remember about this game was that for the longest time we thought the player whose jersey was “07” for the Los Angeles Kings was Luc Robitaille, when in fact it was someone else. (Thomas Sandstrom?) Anyway, the next year’s installment (NHL ’93) wasn’t as good and there were many days in which my friends and I chose to play the previous year’s version. However, when NHL ’94 came out, the first two NHL games were shelved forever. What made ’94 great was that it went back to game play more similar to NHL Hockey than NHL Hockey ’93. In addition, one-timers and penalty shots were introduced, there were more stats available for viewing, and players went on “hot” and “cold” streaks. But the greatest addition of all was being able to control your goalie. In the first two games there were certain type of shots that the A.I. goalie couldn’t stop no matter what, so whenever someone was lined up in a certain way it was pretty automatic that there was going to be a goal no matter what you tried to do on defense. That was no longer a concern with ’94; all you had to do was hold down the select button and you could be the Patrick Roy of your block. Out of all the sports games I played during my teen years, this by far the most competitive and exciting contests. Many games I engaged with other kids from my neighborhood in 2-1 or 4-3 affairs, and sometimes we actually had to take a break before playing the next game because we were emotionally spent.
#1 John Madden ‘93
A few years ago I went into an Electronics Boutique to purchase the newly released Madden ’03 game. Apparently, EB had teamed up with the ESPN brand of football games, and when I brought my purchase up to the counter, the clerk, who was wearing a 2k3 button, tried to change my mind about my choice of game. I responded by saying “Getting me to buy ESPN football over Madden would be like trying to get a four-time FDR voter to cast a ballot for Dewey in ’48.” For those that don’t follow political history, this line meant I have been raised on Madden football all my life and I will never switch brand loyalty (one of the few instances, along with Miracle Whip and Heinz Ketchup, that I will not use price or some other factor in my purchasing decision). I mentioned in a comment entry from yesterday’s thread that I had no desire to purchase Madden ’06, but that doesn’t mean I won’t ever purchase a future Madden game; it just means I’m content with the ’05 version. Anyway, my friends and I played our fair share of the original John Madden football game for the Genesis, which only had 16 unlicensed teams; let’s see if I can remember them all: In the NFC there was San Fran, Chicago, New York, Washington, Philadelphia, Minnesota, Los Angeles and Atlanta. In the AFC there was Miami, Buffalo, New England, Shittsburgh, Cincinnati, Houston (the Oilers, not the Texans, you youngins), Kansas City and Denver. The funny thing about these teams was that at the start of every game you could check out each franchise’s strengths and weaknesses. Now although they didn’t have specific athletes, each team was molded in its real-life counterpart. For example, although Philadelphia had a nasty defense and a really agile quarterback *coughRandallCunninghamcough* they had next-to-nothing when it came to receivers and running backs. And of course Denver had this certain “Golden-Armed Golden Boy.”
Anyway, after this game came Madden ’92, which featured every NFL team at the time. Although the graphics were better, much like my experiences mentioned above, there was something missing with this “new and improved” version. Thankfully, whatever it was missing Madden ’93 found. I can’t begin to count all the nights I spent beating my friends at this game. Sadly, although I enjoyed this game, a number of my acquaintances didn’t. So unlike NHL ’94, I had a much smaller pool of human competition to choose from. I can also say that I have never been defeated at this game. The last time I was “challenged” at this game was in ’95. My opponent picked Denver, and I went with one of my favorite teams for that game: the San Diego Chargers. The Bolts didn’t have a great quarterback or core of receivers, and their defense was so-so at best. What I loved about this team was that their trio of running backs was, collectively, the best in the game, and this enabled me to have a field day with my play selections. I was up by at least 21 come halftime, and the game was forfeited sometime early in the fourth quarter.
However, there was something else about this game that I remember. In Madden ’92 there was a new feature in which two players could play on the same team instead of playing against each other. This “teammates” function was in place for ’93, and the wording of this feature in the ’93 instruction booklet was the same as ’92, except for one paragraph at the end of its section. Here it is word-for-word: “When one player is dissatisified or upset with the play of his teammate, there is no need to argue. For example, if the player controlling the quarterback and the play-calling is making a lot of unwise decisions, both players should discuss the problems and come to an agreement – perhaps pause the game and decide together which play to run next. It’s okay to be angry, but don’t let your anger get the best of you, and never resort to violence.” I’m all but certain that this language was put into the ’93 guidebook because some soccer mom called to complain when her kids fought over this issue in the ’92 version of the game.
Another thing about Madden ’93 was that there was this “collector’s edition” which instead of having all current teams, went old-school and used more than 30 teams from the past, from the ’66 Packers to the ’90 Buffalo Bills. I paid nearly $100 for this game, and to this day I don’t regret the purchase because this was by far the most-played game I ever had for my Genesis. Also, the next year Madden football went to a new look and style; I never accepted these “improved” versions of Madden and it wasn't until the PS2 started producing games that I really felt the thrill of playing football on a video game console again.
So there you have it. Sure these three selections haven’t really stood the test of time, but there will always be a special place in my heart for this trio of games. And because I own PS2 versions of Madden ’05 and NHL ’06, with each of these games offering a “retro” option that allows me to play these games in a ’93 and ’94 look, respectively, I can always relive a bit of my younger days whenever I want.
• I love local news, and not in a good way. While Medium-Large Media have their own agenda and chose to ignore stories that don’t have to deal with Abu Ghrab and Halliburton, the more local stations focus on the good stuff, like cops catching some kids peeing in a water supply. A local story in my neck of the woods (although Drudge has since picked it up on his site) deals with this 10-year old who is protesting, with her parents’ consent, over getting “picked on” by school administrators for wearing mini-skirts to class. Of course, with this added attention, I’m sure it will just lure in some of her male classmates to oogle her without knowing why they’re doing so. And of course if something happens to her, like a when group of boys trying to look up her dress at the bottom of a stairwell, her parents will be the first ones bitching to the school about this inappropriate behavior.
Well I see this sort of thing isn't just limited to my neck of the woods. Maybe if parents cared about the quality of education their kids were receiving as they did with the local school's dress code, we as a country might fare better in those academic competitions where we always get beat by those dang Asians.
• As of this writing it looks like the Pirates are still be winless this year, leaving them and the Phillies the only teams without a victory so far this season. And while this team sucks on the field, their marketing department is even worse; then again it’s not like they have much to work with. This year’s slogan/campaign is “We will…” Before the season started, these two words were followed up by words like “Persevere,” “Fight” and “Not give up.” I’m sure there are a few more descriptive words that can follow “We will,” but the ones I’m thinking of don’t portray the team in an all-too positive light.
• I was eating an Eggo waffle this morning and something caught my eye when looking at its nutrition information. According to the Eggo box, one waffle is 100 calories while two waffles are 190 calories – huh? I guess if you eat three waffles then it’s only 270 calories. Going by this math, I guess once you get waffle numbers 11-12 you are home free; I'm sure your carb count will probably leave something to be desired though.
• I finished my first year of franchise mode in Madden ’05, and one thing I like almost as much as playing the games are the various off-season tasks to do, especially scouting and drafting rookies. This off-season had no significant departures from my team, save for Jerome Bettis who was pissy because I wasn’t starting him. So going into this draft, my only real need was to have a power back. I did some scouting, and when it came time for me to make a selection I was torn between a few running backs and a tight end that would really come in handy. The problem for me was that the tight end was projected to go in the second round and the several running backs available were projected to go in the first round, meaning the backs would probably end up with slightly better ability stats. There was some concern with drafting any of these first-round backs though, because I had some doubts about any of these them being high in the “break tackle” category, which is what I was really looking for, and the tight end had some excellent combine stats and a full slate of positive reviews. I bit the bullet and picked the tight end, figuring a decent back would be available next round (there were a few backs I had my eye on that were projected to go in the second round, and the tight end pool in this draft was really shallow; the tight end I was eying up was the highest projected player at his position). I bit the bullet and selected the tight end, and after selecting him got treated to a chorus of boos, meaning my fans weren't too thrilled with the pick. However, after I signed him to a contract, his stats were revealed: 78 overall, which was higher than either of my current tight ends and an excellent score for a drafted rookie. I’ve done a few pre-season games so far in the new year and I’m taking a real liking this guy. Although I still don’t have a “power back,” (my highest rating in this category among my three half backs and two full backs is in the low 80s) I’ll take this tight end over any of the rookie backs that were recently drafted.
What the hell is wrong with motorists? There’s a reason I drive like an old man – because someone has to prevent accidents. I was making my usual commute to work this morning and I came to an exit where I noticed this car in that striped area that can be found between a highway and an exit. It was obvious that the person was going to get off that exit but then realized that he was taking the wrong exit and was waiting to get back on the highway. Fair enough. Now the lane I was in is the only lane that takes me to an upcoming exit I need to get on, and because I try to prepare myself for situations that I fear might take place, I did a quick glance over at the other lane just in case this dipshit was going to try and pull out in front of me. I do this sort of thing many times because you never know when you’ll have to take evasive action one of these days.
Today was one of those days.
This asshole just drives out in front of me, forcing me to swerve into the other lane. I laid on my horn, rolled the window down, and called him every name in the book. For the rest of the quality time we spent together I kept the horn on; I also got behind him and gave him the high-beam treatment. When he got off on the exit before mine, I thought the rest of my commute would be smooth sailing. Boy was I wrong.
While on the next leg of my voyage to work a few minutes later, I had another fun incident. There’s this shitty merge ramp that motorists don’t bother yielding at, and this is why I normally stay in the middle of the three lanes that are available to me in this area. This morning was no exception, but apparently it wasn’t enough for this asshole. Once he merged from his road onto my road he then proceeded to move into the center lane – right where I was. I had to slam on my breaks, causing the “loose traction” light to come on. My reaction was pretty much the same to this asshole as the first one, although I wasn’t able to get behind him and flash the high beams. Instead I just laid on the horn while driving next to him for the next 4-5 miles. Had I known the better half left her plastic juice cup in the car with me when I dropped her off at work, I would have thrown the goddamn thing at his car, hoping that it would have crashed through the passenger’s window.
I know it’s funny to hear me say I’m a defensive driver only to go batshit a few sentences later, but I can’t help it. However, I don’t consider this to be road rage. To me road rage is screaming and swearing because someone in front of you is only going 15 mph above the speed limit and you want to go 40. To me road rage is throwing a fit because the car in front of you is observing the flashing 15 mph lights of a school zone. To me road rage is throwing a temper tantrum because every stoplight isn’t green for your entire drive home from work. I don’t have road rage; what I have instead is motorist rage – the road has nothing to do with it. This is like when someone says I’m not a “people person.” Oh, I’m a “people person;” I’m just not a “stupid people person.”
When someone shows zero disregard for the safety of other motorists by being too fucking lazy to check their blind spot before changing lanes, I consider it more than appropriate to blast the horn and give them the middle finger, along with a few choice words. I could have been seriously hurt in either of these accidents this morning – am I supposed to go “That’s OK”? Fuck that shit. If you’re going to be an asshole, so will I; and let me say that there’s nothing quite like laying on the horn while following one of these people through traffic. I don’t understand why more people don’t practice this behavior – just giving a hippie “beep” for a few seconds is nothing. Follow the bastard in and out of lanes while your “HONK” is going full tilt. Who knows, maybe you’ll freak that person out enough that they will drive more carefully for the next week or so.
When Mrs. kkk and I began our courtship, she never really saw me pissed off. Then there was that lady who almost plowed into us. Here’s the scene: I was in the Shittburgh city limits (around the Civic Arena for those keeping score at home). I was in the left lane and had my turn signal on for several seconds before merging into the right lane. Suddenly this bitch in a SUV behind me swerved over into the right lane without giving any notice, almost crashing into us. There was no need for her to do this; I wasn’t driving slow and there was a decent amount of traffic, so if she was looking to speed she was shit out of luck. Well, I let the cunt pass, and then I got on her ass with the horn full tilt. She went in and out of several lanes trying to avoid me, but to no avail. I even went past my exit just to let this bitch know she cut off the wrong person. I think the best part of this was every lane she merged into while I was behind her she had her blinker on. As I drove past her on the exit she got off I said something about killing her (or maybe her children, I can’t remember) and turned to the better half, who by this time was stepping on the imaginary brake in the passenger’s side while onto the nearby door handle, white knuckles and all.
Accidents happen all the time – it’s a fact of life. If I’m in a Wal-Mart parking lot, I act like ever car driving through the lot doesn’t know I’m there. There have been a few times when I saw some motorist not pay attention to the road for whatever reason and I’ll just stop my car and let them go through. It’s actually amusing to watch them turn to my direction, see that a motorist is there and have that look of panic when they don’t yet realize I’m not driving toward them. I can deal with this because busy parking lots are difficult to maneuver through. However, when you’re doing speeds of 60+ mph, my tolerance for carelessness is all but nil. I’ll probably end up killed in one of these incidents, but at least I know I wasn’t the one who committed the traffic violation.
• Over at the other place LessoninMachismo made the following remark concerning my recent b-day. “Happy birthday to kkk, who is weighing his options: Is a FREE piece of cake and/or scoop of ice cream worth having eight jackasses in red polos singing to you in front of a restaurant full of strangers?” It’s true that I’m a cheap bastard, but even I have my limits. Like I told him over there, when the better half and I began our courtship we agreed on two things that I think are imperative for any relationship to succeed. Forget all that hippie fidelity, love and other mushy shit, we agreed on much more important matters. The first was if we were ever to be married we agreed not to shove wedding cake in each other’s faces at the wedding reception. The second was under NO CIRCUMSTANCES were we to let any of those cookie-cutter chain restaurants know if it was the other person’s birthday. I’m sorry, but if Nicole would have let the staff of Applebee’s know of O.J.’s birthday one night they were dining there I would have acquitted The Juice in a New York minute. Fortunately, neither one of us has broken our word on these two promises we made to each other years ago.
• Jimmy Rollins of the Phillies is making a run at Joe DiMaggio’s consecutive hit record. The problem is he’s doing it over the course of two seasons (the end of last season and the start of this season), while DiMaggio had his 56-game streak take place over the course of one season. The question now is if Rollins can reach, or even surpass, DiMaggio’s record, should it count? I’ve heard that it won’t, but I figure what the heck; to me it seems harder to end one season with a 30-game hit streak (or whatever Rollins had at the time) and start the next season with a 30-game hit streak. If the Baseball Gods want to put an asterisk by Rollins’ record, that’s fine, too. This just in: Rollins’ streak is over. Oh well. I’m still keeping this paragraph.
• Well Eminem and ex/current/recent/whatever-the-hell-she-is-now wife have called it splitsville, again. I guess that’s what you get when you say on a record you’re going to kill the bitch and dump her corpse in a river and don’t follow through.
• For the weekend of March 31-April 2, Larry the Cable Guy’s movie made as much money as did Sharon Stone’s Basic Instinct sequel ($3.2 million each). The sad thing is I’m not sure which moviegoer got the better deal.
• For all you commies out there that bitch whenever you find out how much a CEO makes, this should be right up your alley. Coke is now paying executives for actual performance, rather than just throwing them into a pool of money. I never really cared how much CEO’s make, although I do have a bit of a problem when a company pays some dipshit for running the business into the ground. There’s a difference between that and a CEO who takes charge of a company slated to lose $100 million in the next fiscal year, but due to his new policies/etc. the company only loses $10 million and gets on the path for financial profit. Pay the man in that instance. But don’t reward incompetence, which is was U.S. Air did with years of upper management figureheads that did nothing but screw up the company even more over the years, which eventually helped cause that airline to go belly-up.
• So the NCAA Women’s Final Four is over and done with. Go Maryland. Actually, I don’t care about women’s basketball on the collegiate level (or any other level for that matter), but if other people like watching it, and there's an audience for this market, then more power to them. I was watching some highlights this morning of the final game and something caught my eye. Schools have female cheerleaders for women’s sports? Odd. If I was a male athlete, I don’t know how I’d feel if every time I scored a basket a bunch of guys in matching outfits and pom poms sitting under the hoop would get up and dance around – not that there’s anything wrong with that mind you. Oh, and I am sincere when I say congratulations to Maryland for winning the women’s title – I don’t like college sports, but any team that beats Penn State or Duke is OK by me.
• Lovecraft is still waxing poetic on faux hippies, and he reminded me of a college experience. Back in 1998, before he became the first boss of Homeland Security, Tom Ridge was a Republican governor of Pennsylvania. Even though some of his critics, particularly the union crowd, dubbed him “One-Term Tom” he was for the most part a popular governor, and the Democrats really didn’t have anyone to go up against him for his re-election bid. The Democrats brought out some old guy by the name of Ivan Itkin who had no shot at beating Ridge. Itkin came to our school one night to do a taping for our student television crew, and I spoke with him afterward for an article in our school newspaper. He seemed like a nice guy, and although I had no intention of voting for him, I felt he genuinely believed what he was saying. Of course, this guy had no chance of winning; in fact, his campaign strategy was to go around in only a dozen or so counties pimping what he could do as the state's next governor. The problem was Pennsylvania has more than 60 counties. Granted some counties are bigger than others, but with a strategy like that, especially when your opponent is reasonably well-liked throughout the state, you are destined to lose.
After his television segment was over, and before I was about to talk with him, I was chatting with some blonde chick that was part of the student TV production crew. I was waiting for Itkin to arrive outside the studio, and she was waiting for a nearby elevator to come to our floor. For some reason she must have assumed I was a lib just like her because she began saying what a great guy Itkin was and how he’d make a great governor. Obviously, she hadn’t been reading up on current events, because even the more liberal media in the Shittburgh area were questioning Itkin’s chances of victory against Ridge. I had to break it to her that her guy had no shot of winning this election. When she asked why, I explained to her his pisspoor campaign strategy, lack of a war chest and the fact that the evil Republican governor wasn’t so bad, at least in the eyes of the Pennsylvania voters. At that moment she got a dejected look, the likes I have only seen in former blind dates when they realize that I’m the person they’re going to be spending an evening with, and said, “Oh, no. That means we’re going to have four more years of Governor Tom Ridge.” It was at that moment the elevator door opened, and as she walked into it and hit a floor button I said to her, “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing.” As the doors closed, you should have seen the look of fright and disgust on her face; you would have thought she had encountered the Anti-Christ, or, worse yet, George W. Bush.
• Oh, and for those who wondered what I did on my 30th birthday yesterday, here’s a quick rundown: Went to work, made a vet appointment for Max, who is having issues with going to the bathroom. Left work for a few hours to get him to an appointment slot that was available that day. (If you have a cat, particularly a male, who is struggling to urinate, get them checked out ASAP. Chances are it’s just a urinary tract infection, which is what Max has, but other times it could be more serious, and even life-threatening, as was the case with my in-law’s cat, who had his pee hole clogged up.) Went back to work. Ate at a ghetto all-you-can-eat pizza chain store called CiCi’s. (It’s one of those places I eat at every six months or so, and every time I do I swear I’m never going back. But then whenever I need to intake some more disgusting, greasy food I return and the cycle starts all over again.) Went grocery shopping (saved $40 off a $110 order for those keeping score at home). Picked up Max from the vet. Unloaded groceries. Laid in bed swearing that I’ll never go back to CiCi’s again. The End.
