kkktookmybabyaway

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.

Skunks, by a mile or two, depending on the power of the stench it gives off.

I'm a pussy when it comes to drinking, which is why I stay at least 5 feet away from those things.

Don't worry, Rummy will be out of your hair in another two years or so.

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.

Terry was pissed because Steeler fans are dumber than him. Actually, if memory serves, Bradshaw got hurt during his final days and the fans didn't take too kindly to that sort of thing.

I think Luc gets all the props he deserves, or deserved.

There used to be a thread where you could request name changes in the "Forums Stuff" folders but I don't see one anymore.

Don't be too harsh on him -- there are plenty of things I goofed up on when I was in the early days of being part of the workforce. (I still have brain farts every now and then, too.) And besides, if he "turns heel" on this idiot, the retard customer would bitch about his business to everyone he possibly could tell. Just remember to give labor/parts rates before the work is done. The fact the guy was a car salesman might have been a clue in hindsight that this dildo thought the cost could be negotiated. Perhaps he should buy a car from this place and when the first payment comes due he should say he thought paying $x,xxx was too much for the automobile and send in half of what the bill amount is.

Man, and I missed the good part.

I forgot about that KMart -- I remember going in there for something shortly after the company declared bankruptcy and some lady screaming at the customer service/returns lady and saying, "No wonder you people are going out of business." I remember that buffet restaurant -- there's also a take-out/delivery place near that buffet I have to bitch about sometime down the road.

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.

Well of course, that aged structure is almost four-years old. I wonder which grocery store will go under first -- my guess is that crappy Dillman's another mile or so toward Middletown.

Good ol' Bubby. During his time with the Steelers he signed a contract that paid him more than Bradshaw ever got, and the media/fans made a big deal out of it. Of course Bubby was going to make more money than Terry -- most starting QBs for a football team in the late-80s did when compared to the starting QBs for that same team team in the '70s.

You're aren't quittig the Internet -- the Internet fired you.

Where? In the same complex where Applebees is (or was)?

Congrats, Scroby.

Good luck getting that money -- chalk this up as a life lesson; give your labor rates before doing the work.

When he got booted he said something like "I'm out like ESPN Classic Now." Got quite a reaction, too.

Wait ... was the Mohammed cartoon "censored" on purpose, or did CC really bleep the pic for real?

Which one was that? When the Middletown Wal-Mart opened, right before I was moving out of there, you would have thought the city was going to throw a parade in Mr. Walton's honor.

And I bet that's quite a read.

I love people that want a service like IT work done, then flip out at the cost. This isn't the 1930s where everything was a dime, even the weekly paycheck. Also, if this really was the '30s we wouldn't be posting on an Internet Message Board.

Well that explains JA's comment on yesterday's ATH.

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.