Since I Need to Write Some Crap Before I'm Overrun by Blog Squatters or Something:

Looooong weekend of baseball a few days back. A handful of thoughts:

1. The return of Rick Ankiel. For the first time since last October, Busch Stadium was electric again over the weekend. This has been a long season, ridiculously so actually, and it's nice to have something to cheer for again without having the looming fear that some guy named Kip is about to give up 19 runs or remembering that one of the relief pitchers fucking died not four months ago. This season has dragggggged; It has seemed to torture just about everyone involved: players, media, fants, et al.

All of a sudden, there's something to cheer for. There is some life in the room.

It's easy to hearken Rick's return to the bolt of energy Larry Walker put into the team in '04, but that team was already good, and Larry Walker kind of stunk (for Larry Walker, at least) down the stretch. But hell, he was like 87 years old and roamed the outfield on a lil' rascle. No, Ankiels return is reminding me of one Will Clark (his play down the stretch that year still nearly gives me a boner). Of course that acquisition propelled the Cardinals into the playoffs, where Rick Ankiel promptly threw his career to the proverbial backstop, thus completing the circle. Creepy, huh?

(Also, the irony that Ankiel was called up to replace a guy who had to go to rehab with a coke addiction is surprisingly tasty, thank you very much.)

2. With Ankiel getting the call up, the Cardinals rotation all of a sudden deciding to become stable-to-good, Adam from accounts receivable somehow developing a good case of the bad knee, and Bo Hart Brendan Ryan being recalled from Memphis, this team is starting to take shape. While they still may be craptastic, the NL Central is, at best, craptacular. Is it improbable for this team to make a push? Yes. Is it impossible? No. Nothing is impossible (except for dinosaurs).

At the very least, they've kept me tuned in. Stranger things, no?

3. While I normally enjoy cursing and vulgarity (hell, I cuss like a 27 year old former Marine with a substantial slight substance abuse problem), this weekend in the bleachers I sat next to a man who may have made me change my stance; he scared me straight. To paint the picture:

Shortly before the first pitch The Lady Friend and I sat in our bleacher seats, sweated profusely (great weather, St Louis!), and enjoyed some bad hot dogs and luke warm, shitty beers. Two gentlemen, both wearing jorts, sleeveless t-shirts and bandannas proceeded to sit down next to us (I just assume they're friends with this guy). The one sitting directly next to me (lets call him Mrs Buttworth, shall we) had been in his seat for approximately five seconds before -- you guessed it -- he went skins. So now I have a large, sweaty, shirtless man sitting next to me. Mrs Buttworth then proceeds to drink about eight beers, knocking over all of them before they are finished. Awesome.

By the seventh inning Mrs Butterworth was greased. Fuckingly so. I had noticed he did not have the most expansive of vocabularies earlier ("I GOT ME A HAT!" exclaimed Mrs Buttworth in the first inning; this man was clearly a few cocks shy of an orgy), but shortly after the seventh inning stretch, he let out one of the longest string of vulgar hate speech I (and, I presume, the many children around me) had ever heard. To paraphrase: "What the fuck do I care. He's just some fucking fagot who gets off but fucking other fagots. God damn queers are ruining this fucking place. Fucking fagots and butt fucking queers..."

This went on for quite some time.

(He also mentioned knocking over a little girl to get a foul ball during batting practice. He cursed a lot during that story, too.)

I sat there, prety much stunned. Here I was trying to watch a good ol' faashioned pitchers duel and allowing my man crush on Adam Wainwright to reach terrifying heights, and I had to listen to this fuckwad. I would have told him to shut up, but he was, as I mentioned, lubed. And about 285 pounds. And I am nothing if not a giant non-confrontational vagina. He left a few minutes later (they stopped selling beer), so the whole thing kind of resolved itself anyway.

I was, in a way, sorry to see him go. Such a pleasant chap.

4. The power at my apartment (I think I'm going to start calling it a flat) has been going on and off for the last week or so now. I would kindly like to request God and/or Ameren to cut it out. This summer was supposed to be about whiskey and NES; We already did this last summer and nobody likes reuns.



Just 'cause I can:

That show stunk.

That's it. See you assholes in a month or so.

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...a large, sweaty, shirtless man sitting next to you...

and how is this not par for the course in St. Louis?
oh my sweet sweet Juan
"a few cocks shy of an orgy" needs to get used more often.
It really is amazing that there was a time when shows like Hey Dude, Mama's Family, and Small Wonder could not only get greenlit - but retained for multiple seasons.

Then the Real World came along TV executives figured out crap reality TV was infinitely more cost effective than crap fictional programming.

You think Tony Wonder was a big Hey Dude fan before he married Sally Sitwell?
Hey Dude kicked azz.
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