The FYC

OH SWEET FUCK

2010-11-06T17:40:00.005-05:00

Miles Would Fit Well Back Here

Is "Here" the backseat of a 1970's VW Beetle? If so, I agree.

The Cardinals are in the process or, more likely, have already made their decisions regarding whom they want to retain from their own free agent pool.

Jake Westbrook is a given. They want him back. It's just a matter of if it makes financial sense on both sides. If the Cards and Westbrook's people can come to an agreement...the starting pitcher will be back.

I'd just like to note that so far, this is a very harmless little blog post. Not a lot of new information or really any insight, opinion, or correct grammar... but nothing to really make fun of, either. Just some dude that works at a radio station, his boss probably makes him write blog posts so they can be all multi-media, and he wrote a post about a scrappy, white, terrible baseball player that our stupid city loves. Fucking as harmless as Ed Begley Jr eating a ham sandwich on a 60 degree day.

Besides him, though, it’s a jumble. (1) Randy Winn probably will get offered more playing time elsewhere. (2)Mike MacDougal could work, but maybe not. (3)Jeff Suppan would be a nice fit for depth…but how can you guarantee him anything on the Major League roster?

1. No he will not.
2. Mike MacDougal sucks.
3. No he would not.

Aaron Miles, however, is someone that would be a terrific fit back here in St. Louis. For someone who will, undoubtedly, be your last guy off the bench…you can much worse than Aaron Miles.

“you can much worse than Aaron Miles”? Ignoring the fact that sentence does not make sense… You can not much worse than Aaron Miles.

He can play multiple positions.

Poorly.

He is a switch hitter.

And sucks at both sides.

And most important of all, he does not need to start many games to still give you tough at-bats in late inning pinch hit situations.

Becuase he’s a fucking terrible baseball player and should be thankful to be in the Majors.

Miles is perfectly comfortable sitting on the bench, not getting much time in the field and then all of a sudden having to get up and take a critical at-bat late in a game.

That’s nice?

This past season he did pretty well. Miles was over .300 for the vast majority of the season before settling for a .281 average to go along with .311 on-base percentage.

He was fucking awful.

Do you want Miles to be an everyday starter? No. Do you want Miles to be one of your top utility guys? Probably not. But as your 13th position player who is not in the regular rotation to get some starts? Absolutely.

You forgot to write the word “not” between “Absolutely” and the period. And are we going to have half a dozen “13th men” again next year? At some point in time, you have to stop putting “25th men” on your team. Start now.

In fact, you need a seasoned veteran to be in that role. We’ve seen too many young players come up to the big league level here in St. Louis and not be able to adjust to the job of coming off the bench. When young players come up here, they need to play. A lot.

Allen Craig had a bad month with the most ridiculous BABIP in the history of Pangaea. That’s all you’re referring to, isn’t it?

But not Miles. You can give those valuable starts and valuable at-bats to the younger guys that need them. While you can just let Miles sit there and patiently wait his turn.

Plus he organizes the weekly Jenga tournaments in the clubhouse. TRY DOING THAT, TYLER FUCKING GREENE.

When it’s time to get up and take a critical tough at-bat late in the game…he’ll be ready.

To fail, 69% of the time.

Oh, hello, internet.

2010-07-10T16:39:00.002-05:00

Sorry for not talking to you in a bit. I assure you, it's me, not you. Nothing you did. I just... have... issues.

Anyhoo, how's it been? Everything good? Good.

OH!

This might sound a little awkward, but... I... forgot to tell you, I have a new blog.

I write there every Friday now... Yeah, I'm over there.

They're paying me and everything. Totally on the up and up. Check it out... You know, if it's not too awkward.

Saint Louis SBNation.

Well, five more work days until I have a nine day stay-cation; full of disappointing Cardinals baseball, random Saint Louis touristy stuff, wine, The Burbs, riding a motorcycle (!) and laziness.

Have a great summer, internet!

Dear Virginia Coleman & Gary Halm

2010-02-11T17:05:00.004-06:00

You guys owe John Mozeliak an apology.

Also, write more letters to newspapers, America! I, personally, love them.

In the age of anonymous comments on online newspaper articles [which makes our fair city of Saint Louis appear to consist nearly entirely of racists, fear mongers, the under educated, racists, elitists, suburbanites, and racists (judging by the comments left at the Saint Louis Post Dispatch). Seriously, it's most racist shit you'll ever read], sitting down to pen a message via quill and textile and mailing off said correspondence is not only quaint, it's motherfucking gentlemanly.

In conclusion, Aaron Miles is bad at playing baseball.

Social Commentary in America

2010-02-03T21:05:00.006-06:00

Do you realize we have gone from an America where interracial couples couldn't marry fifty years ago, to one, where, if you listen to certain congresswomen from Minnesota, we will abort your white, Christian child because you ate at Taco Bell when you were seven months pregnant?

Once, you would be discriminated against because you found someone of the the same sex attractive or you didn't want to kill someone from the other side of the world in the name of "democracy."

Today you just aren't allowed to find someone of the same sex attractive as you die or kill for "democracy" or else it's goodbye, fag.

Our society has devolved while progressing at paces literally unimaginable.

Case in point: Great musical social commentary forty years ago was Curtis Mayfield's "We People Who Are Darker Than Blue." Today: Some idiot on Fox saying "Pants on the Ground" over and fucking over.

Sometimes, like right now, I love this country because of our history, and I hate our country because of our reality.

"Pants on the ground."

We are so fucked.

RIP, My Brother... THE DOCTOR!!!

2009-09-17T15:50:00.001-05:00

Off to that great basement incinerator in the sly, Dr Werner Klopek.

Flee To The Cleve!!

2009-05-04T20:52:00.000-05:00

I'm Going To Take This As An Omen

2009-04-06T11:52:00.004-05:00

Whether it's a good or bad omen, I'll let you decide. But it's an omen, damn it.

A few minutes ago, as I was going through an old book of baseball cards while on the toilet (I washed my hands, thank you for asking), I came across this card, a 1992 Topps (#684) of Trinity High All-Stater and recent Detroit Tigers #1 Draft pick, Trever Miller. Now what this means is that seventeen years ago, I --as an eleven year old kid -- took the time to put a baseball card -- of an eighteen year old kid -- into a binder, keeping it in mint condition and never noticing it again.

Again, that is, until today, when Trever Miller will be about a hundred feet away from me, over in the Cardinals bullpen.

Coincidence? Yeah. Absolutely.

Anyhoo, I'm heading down to the stadium in a few minutes for my first ever Opening Day, and wouldn't you know it, it should be one of the worst opening days ever. Not only do I get to see a lineup featuring Brendan Ryan, Brian Barden, and the hideousness of Chris Duncan hitting against a leftie, but it's 38 degrees out and it might, kind of snow.

But six months of inactivity at the ballpark is unacceptable and it's time to get moving on this 2009 season and make sure next offseason is only five months long.

Fearless Predictions:

AL West: Angels
AL Central: White Sox
AL East: Yankees
Wild Card: Red Sox

NL West: Dodgers
NL Central: Cubs
NL East: Mets
Wild Card: Cardinals

World Series: Angels over Mets

NL CY: Lincecum
AL CY: Halladay

NL MVP: Pujols
AL MVP: Tex

AL ROY: Price
NL ROY: Motte

Play ball.

Giggle

2009-03-14T16:58:00.003-05:00

Finally, something to combat the Cubs fans on the internets with when they use this pic, the wonderful folks at Sexy People, give us this:

No further comment.

Boxes Remind Me Of Triangles

2009-03-03T18:23:00.006-06:00

My street runs from east to west. I like that there is a mailbox only a block away, because, for whatever reason, sometimes my mailman doesn't take my mail and I have to drop it off at that very same mailbox. Of course, not many things get mailed anymore. My bills are all paid online. Today I dropped off some invitations in the mailbox, but it was the mailbox caddy corner to my butcher, not the one closest to my house. I bought a ribeye and a loaf of french bread and made a sandwich when I got home. I've noticed it's staying lighter out now and we will be switching to daylight savings time this weekend. Isn't it odd that someone has to tell us what time it is? What nerve.

Work is going well. Well, as well as work can go. There were days in the past when men wore suits to go to work, now they were jeans and tennis shoes. Tennis shoes, I say. Whens the last time you played tennis at work? Well, unless you're Arthur Ashe, you probably... um... Sports are in the news a lot today, but never for what you want to hear about. There was a time when you never heard a bad thing about athletes; like Mickey Mantle, for instance. Then Jim Bouton came around and ruined it for everyone.

Times are tough again. Mustard isn't as popular as barbecue sauce. I've been having some plumbing issues at my house. People sure do like shrimp. I remember when magazines came once a month, not every week. Sometimes, when the wind blows right, I wear a light jacket. Shouldn't we have invented a better way to iron shirts by now? People used to be named "Duke."

Nobody is named Duke anymore.

There you go, Andy. That can be next week's script.

Annnnnnd... star wipe out.

Fiiiiiiinaaaaallllllly

2009-02-11T18:47:00.002-06:00

We have found what could be the democratic Joe the Plumber... Julio the Idiot that Works at McDonalds!

Just sit down, kid. You're embarrassing, well, America. Want better benefits? Join the Navy.

Boooo You, Hollywood Liberal Elite

2009-01-09T21:26:00.004-06:00

I'm watching the incredible boring Oliver Stone movie "W" right now and a scene just popped out that took the movie from crappy (although the dialougue between Powell and Cheney heading into GWII is awesome) to throwaway ridiculous:

George W and George HW Bush are walking in the outfield at the ol' Ranger Stadium (or whatever it was called) in 1990 and HW says "well, you've done a heck of a job, son."

"Even though I traded Sammy Sosa?" asks W.

"We all make mistakes," advises Sr.

Well, the Rangers traded Sosa before the 1990 season to the White Sox, where Shootin' Sammy put up a whopping 92 OPS+. Sammy Sosa wasn't "good" until 1993 and wasn't great until 1998.

I'd be willing to bet nobody really noticed the Sosa trade back in 1990, let alone think of it enough to highlight it as the point of Bush's ownership at that point.

There is more than enough info to kick George W Bush around about, Ol Stone, no need to lie about baseball.

You, sir, have shamed yourself, and America.

Where We Are Headed

2009-01-06T23:08:00.002-06:00

The more and more I hear about the economic stimulus plan the incoming presidential administration is waiting to adopt, the more I think someone high up reads my blog.

Just legalize pot and get it over with, Big O.

Seriously, this old idea string sounds realistic now, no?

Sound Offs!

2009-01-04T17:48:00.002-06:00

I have been meaning, for quite some time, to start capturing the fantastic letters to the editors sent to the St Louis Post Dispatch sports section (titled "Sound Off") in digital form on this here neglected rag, but have been unsuccessful since nobody has written anything in the last few months other than something trivial about the Rams, whom I don't care about (and who owe me a parade, I do believe).

Then, the dam burst. The dam being Aaron Miles and the water bursting Aaron Miles (gross?) being idiots who still miss Joe McEwing and Stubby Clapp.

Case in point, letter #1 in today's paper:

Working For The Cubs?
Mr. John Mozeliak should be ashamed for not keeping Aaron Miles,¹ who gave so much to St. Louis.² And now the Cubs will have another one of our good players.³

Albert Pujols cannot win games without help from players like Aaron Miles.⁴ Does anyone think that our general manager is helping our team or is he working for the Cubs?⁵Virgina Coleman | St John

1. No, no he should not be.
2. No, no he didn't.
3. No, no they wont.
4. Yes, yes he can.
5. Only you, Virgina.

Or, this one:

Undervalued player

Aaron Miles was the type of scrappy ballplayer whose presence in the lineup would win games for you.¹ In a crucial situation when you needed to put the ball in play, he would get the job done.² He was the most undervalued player on a team that had a litany of overvalued underachievers like Mulder, Carpenter, Izzy, and Rolen.³

It is obvious that Cardinals general manager John Mozeliak has a narrow perspective when it comes to his assessment of the value of personnel.⁴ I am sure when given the opportunity, Aaron Miles can't wait to slap one of those opposite-field hits to beat the Cardinals.⁵

Gary Halm | Des Peres

1. a) Scrappy!
b) Aaron Miles is a 32 year old back up second baseman who last year, the best offensive year of his career, had an OPS+ of 99, which is below average,even with the help of a ridiculously high BABIP of .343.
2. With that 54% groundball rate, I'm sure he might. And it will probably be a ground out.
3. Nobody overvalued Mulder or Izzy, Rolen wasn't even on the fucking team last year, and I still hold out hope for Carp. Miles made $1.4 million last year to be an average offensive bat and a below average glove. He was far from being the most undervalued Cardinal. That would be Mark Worrell (just ask him) or, really, Ryan Ludwick, who made $400K and put up a 150 OPS+.
4. Yes, John Mozeliak hates league average "utility players" who make $5 million for two years, the bastard.
5. He can take his negative WPA and try, Gary. But I'll bet you a case of Gold Bond Medicated Powder that doesn't happen and Miles goes the way of Abe Nunez, Hector Luna, and every other utility infielder that has thrived under Tony La Russa's micromanaging thumb only to go elsewhere and wind up playing in the Oblivian League within a few years.

Aaron Miles had a few fine AB's during the 2006 postseason, and I thank him for that. Aside from that magical month and a random grand slam last year, his greatest attribute was pitching from time to time, just because he has the same arsenal of a 76 mile per hour fastball and a lousy curve that I had in high school and I could live vicariously through him once or twice a year when the Redbirds were getting thumped.

He seems like a hell of a great guy (his hotel hostage story still amazes) and I wish him nothing but the best of luck, but also look forward to 2009 when he is replaced by Brian Barden/Joe Thurston/Brendan Ryan/Tyler Greene/Man on the Street, who will make the league min instead of $2.5 million, hopefully not strike out twice more than he walks (which will infuriate the same Miles loving Cardinals fans when it comes to a full year of K-Bot Greene), and is just as scrappy.

Unless that replacement actually is Joe Thurston, who is black. And everyone knows black people can't be scrappy unless their name is Howie and and they get hurt every other month.

Welcome to St Louis, Mr Greene

2008-12-04T16:41:00.001-06:00

This picture makes him look like the (unfairly maligned) Cyborg Juan Encarnacion. It's nice that one robot could replace another on the payroll.

Love that fire, K!

Now, learn how to take a walk and forget last year ever happened.

The End of the Election Season

2008-11-07T08:06:00.004-06:00

Watching Fox News at work these past few days, it is good to see the nation is back to caring about what we should: Missing white people and gas prices.

The ridiculous election cycle has blown us all like a two dime whore, and I, for one, am thankful for it to be over and to not take away crabs from the whole ordeal.

But judging from some of the more hard core right that I work with, the division has yet to break. "No, I don't think Obama will get sworn in with a Koran" (but what if he did? What the hell would be wrong with that?), "No, I don't think he'll have Snoop Dogg and Dr Dre over for the inauguration", "Yes, he's already thanked me for my vote. He sent over a bottle of water which quickly turned into a nice, meaty Merlot." My favorite, of course, was the oft-repeated "He's going to be worse than Carter. We're taking back congress in two years and the White House in 2012!"

I'd like to defer my opinion of his presidency until two or three years from now, but passing judgment two days after the election sounds reasonable, too.

A rush to judgment almost always seems wise. That's what makes one "The Decider." (Okay, final Bush cheap shot.)

I had, in my head -- as my heart couldn't accept it -- coped with the idea of a McCain presidency. That as long as Senator McCain promised to live for the next four years, and that if he were to die, we could just plug him into a wall or something to keep him alive, I would accept his presidency with open arms, as it means the American people had spoken and chose him, and hell, he can't be worse than the last guy. Almost all of the republicans I work with agreed with that.

The point is, I'd give McCain a shot. Until he fucked it up (Re: Bush: Iraq war, Gitmo, Katrina, general worldwide diplomacy, the socialist bailout), I'd give him my full support.

Heck, truth be told, I thought George W Bush was doing a pretty damn good job as president until I found myself driving a humvee aboard the USS Ashland in January of 2003 and thinking to myself "Is this really fucking happening?" So, yeah, homeboy got a shot.

And if you're not willing to give Obama a chance, it will be nothing but a self fulfilling prophecy.

But in the end, it will probably all play out as the geniuses Trey Parker and Matt Stone ended this week's fantastic South Park episode: The hard core democrats will be flustered he's not changing enough and the moderate republicans will realize he's not a socialist, communist, Muslim, Marxist, radical Christian, Arab, anti-Semite, illegal alien, Nazi after all; and, in the interest of self preservation for himself and his party runs a barely left of center presidency.

And this incredibly moderate country of ours, which a decade ago was slight to the left, and now is slightly to the right, will again, cyclically, be slightly to the left.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

And so, for the next four or so years, I leave the politickin' on ye olde blog and focus on bringing my sweet, sweet Edgar Renteria back to St Louis.

But until then, "Celebrate good Obama, come on! Its Obama-Obama!"

[enjoy the fall, everyone. it's chili weather!]

Congratulations

2008-11-04T20:42:00.000-06:00

To President-Elect Barack Obama.

Now, for the hard part: the Secret Service's Super Bowl of keeping him alive.

And, later, Don't fuck it up, Barry. A whole lot of us normal people believe in you.

The Future Says I Blow It

2008-10-31T15:27:00.001-05:00

[have a great halloween weekend, everyone.]

The Race to Above 268

2008-10-24T00:02:00.000-05:00

How I think it will end up:

I'm pessimistic on Ohio, Florida, and Indiana; and optimistic on North Carolina (prove me right, research triangle!), Lovers (re: Virginia), and my show me state.

I think it will be (pretty much) an Electoral blowout, but semi close in the popular vote (three to four percent), but I also think Obama will recieve more votes than any presidential candidate in history.

Regardless, I am looking forward greatly to the third Presidential Election Drinkin' Party of my adult life next Tuesday. No matter who wins, we all win, since it means no more political commercials.

The two fox aired 12 political commercials between 8:30 and 9:00 yesterday (Yes I am keeing track). The season moving into Christmas cannot happen soon enough.

Where I Stand

2008-10-19T04:31:00.005-05:00

Since I don't honestly agree with either candidate for president on all of the issues (although, were I to hire only one of them to run my life for the next four years, Obama would win 99% of the time, hence the adamant endorsement), this is the platform I would run on if I wasn't a 28 years old, alcoholic, budhatholic, non college graduate, moral derelict, long haired asshole who might just fucking curse too god damn fucking much. Yes, this is my plan for running for Presidency:

Al Fritz: A New Beginning

(Welcome to Thunderdome, bitches! Prepare for rape!)

I have only one word to describe how America was founded. What this country fought for to gain it's independence and beat back the oppressive, rapists arms of the tyranny. And the creepy, pretty rapist arms of the Brits. One, as the pig latins would say, owrday: Tariffs.

We are going to impose a whole lot of them on anything coming in, and anything going out. 30% for the next three years. Don't like it? Buy American, sell American. Are we going to be isolationists now? Kind of, at least for the next three years, until we fix this country, not another one.

A flat tax for all incomes. 35% the first year, 40% the next three years. Don't like it? Leave. Less people to take care of makes it an easier job to do. Enjoy the capitalist country of your choosing (a list which is slimming down here). We look forward to you coming back in four years when the country is back to where it should be.

Get the government into business. The business of providing jobs: Jobs building roads, running power plants, maintaining and strengthening the power and telecommunications infrastructure, and making cars. Yes, cars. More on that later.

Our roads freaking suck. The one thing that I took away from driving around Kuwait is that good roads feel like you are driving on pillows. Our roads feel like you are driving on terrible fucking roads.

Get the nation off of oil (and not just foreign oil, all oil. Sure, you can still buy gas if you want to drive your truck muddin' for fun, but it will be oil that has been taxed the fuck out of -- and it's oil which we have still taxed the shit out of, because getting the fuck out of it stilllll wasn't enough -- and it will cost around $20 a gallon. Buy it if you want to, but you will do so with the realization that your "hobby" of muddin' is fucking moronic) by the end of my first term and, consequently, get the military out of the Middle East.

Speaking of: A bigger, more effective military. We train for cold weather in Canada and hot weather in Mexico. Three new MEUs and three new carriers will float the world, at all times, ready to strike. A bigger, better Army and a bigger, better Air Force. A stealth in the air at all times.

Although, since we have left Mecca, the terrorists probably wont have beef with us any longer and the world will be a bit safer.

Marijuana, you're now legal. And taxed. 30%.

Gays, go get married in any courthouse you like. File joint taxes, adopt kids, do everything that straight couples can do. You're now legally married. Try not to get divorced as much as us, though. I'll leave it up to your churches to decide whether or not God approves of your union.

Roe v Wade, my position is clear. As the great twentieth century politicizer Kang once said "Abortions for some, miniature American flags for others."

I actually really like Obama's health care plan and fake Military style-ish draft for free college in exchange for community service (I think he might have stolen that one from me, actually). Those stay.

Teachers, your salary now starts off at 60K a year, topping off at 90K; a raise of one grand every year you stay in the profession, not to exceed thirty years. If your class fails to meet testing standards -- which will be high and independent in every school district, free of nationwide standardized testing -- you lose 10K. The first time it happens. 20K the second in five years. Fail three times in eight years, you're fired.

Strengthen our infrastructure: highways, electric, etc. We've got a big crush of electricity about to hit our grid, and cars to hit the high and/or bigh ways.

An expanded railway system to help get some semis off the highways. And expanded commuter systems to get cars off of the streets.

A nuclear plant per state. Windmills, windmills, windmills. Your roof is now covered in solar panels and powers your house. We, the gov, paid for it. You're welcome and the warranty runs out on it when I leave office in a few years.

Free e-cars for everyone at the end of year three of my presidency (Don't think we can do it? We put a fucking man on the moon forty god damn years ago. We have built an e-car. And it's driving around motherfucking MARS!) Your e-car warranty covers it through my presidency at your local Ford-GM-Chrysler dealership.

Speaking of putting a man on the moon and a car on Mars, NASA, you're out of business for a few years. If we can scrap the space program for three years while we rebuild our nations bridges and get the United States military out of the global cross hairs, so be it. Sorry, Neptune.

Maybe you're worried that you'll lose your home or small business because of these tax hikes. You won't. Because my predecessor went all socialist his last few months in office and we own these motherfucking banks. We ain't foreclosing, brother. Can't make your payments? Go down to the local Secretary of the Interior office and sit down with a rep. Show him how much you make monthly and we will hash out a payment plan that you can afford. It's better off than the bank foreclosing your property for thirty cents on the dollar. Lets really bailout you, Joe Sixpack/Plumber.

And all of you good hardworking people that have been paying your 200K mortgage off at 6.8%, lets bail you out too. Come on down and we will refinance you at 5.5. Why? Because we can. We own the fucking banks. We just bailed out billions and billions of dollars to companies which ran themselves into the ground and were rewarded for their incompetence. We can afford to shave 15 grand off of your house. Besides, it's not worth what you bought it for anyway, six months ago.

What happens after three years of my Presidency? Either the nation is on the upswing and they vote me back in or it is not and they do not. But, I'd be willing to bet it will be looking good.

Good enough that in years five through eight of my presidency, we still have a flat tax. Of motherfucking 18%.

Because we no longer need to pay for protecting oil halfway around the world. We have new, safer roads. New cars (which Detroit won't mind upgrading for you, of course). Better transportation. New jobs fixing solar panels and windmills and down at the local plant and blah blah blah. A better, non being shot at military. Better schools. The same health care (is it really that bad now? I've had gov health care. It sucks and you don't want it.) More affordable homes. And less dumb ass missions to Mars.

And who is the VP? Television's Richard Moll, of course! Every time I do something ridiculous, "Bull" slaps his head, hilarity ensues, and I get off scott free. This VP selection is so easy, I kind of expect Sarah Palin to come up with a catch phrase like "Nah-Uh, Sista, he dih-int!" to use whenever Biden makes a guffaw or McCain throws a zinger just for comedic effect.

Yes, your taxes will be high for the next four years, but we will restore this great nation of ours and make it awesome.

Or, just go the opposite route. Either way, really.

Mo Propmendments 2008

2008-10-17T10:18:00.002-05:00

Two and a half weeks until the elections are over and I can stop thinking about politics and go back to obsessing on how the Cardinals can acquire an actual shortstop this offseason and why I can't teach my dog to talk like Brian Griffin (I can get him to talk like Gilbert Gottfried, and good god is that annoying).

I do wish there was a Senatorial election in Missouri this cycle, mainly so I could vote against Claire McCaskill for voting for the "bailout" after she said she wouldn't if it included any pork, but also because a filibuster-proof Senate (which is possible) to go along with a Democratic White House is way too much power for a group that, were they to be a baseball team, would probably be the Cubs. I mean, these guys can fuck up anything.

Anyhoo, on to the local offices:

For Lt. Governor of Missouri, which is a job that nobody knows what they do (I think it envolves driving a boat) The FYC endorses Peter Kinder (R) over Sam Page (D), because Kinder watches the History Channel and Page's favorite TV show is Scrubs. Scrubs sucks. (Yeah, Gallo, I said it.)

For Governor of Missouri, we take the focus away from TV and head to the library to find out what kind of books these two guys which I don't like read. And with that info, the endorsement goes to: Jay Nixon (D) over Ken Hulshof (R). Why? Nixon's favorite author is Stephen Ambrose, Hulshof is a John Grisham fan. That one is a slam dunk. Also, Hulshof is annoying to spell.

(If you think I'm joking about how I vote on these things, I am not. Joe Biden nearly got my initial support for Democratic nominee simply because he wears aviator sunglasses and likes drinking vodka (he's just like me!) before I sided with Bill Richardson, simply because he's awesome. Then it became clear that he'd never win (but I'm hoping he gets a nice Secretary position, such as Interior or Love), so the allegiance went with the home state Senator.)

On to the props!

Proposition A would like to repeal a cap on gambling losses, which has crippled the hilarious gambling loss story industry for years, and increase the casino tax one percentile. A vote for Yes shall be wagered.

Prop B would make it easier for the elderly to get care inside their home instead of having to move into a nursing home. You would think that after struggling through the Great Depression, WW2, the Korean War, the Civil Rights Movement, Vietnam, and the last thirty years, the old would be able to just suck it up and move into a home (my grandparents moved into a retirement home this year and it's like they're living at an all inclusive resort. Color me jealous.), but they won't. They're all "I want my dignity!" as apple sauce dribbles down their shirt and why does it smell like gold bond powder in the kitchen? Whatever, I'll vote Yes.

Prop C would require, and I quote (hence the quotations):

"[I]nvestor-owned electric utilities to generate or purchase electricity from renewable energy sources such as solar, wind, biomass (including ethanol) and hydropower. The required renewable energy sources must equal the following percentages of retail sales:
2% by 2011
5% by 2014
10% by 2018
15% by 2021."

Initially, this seems like something I could get behind. But then I realize it's not nearly as aggressive as I would like it to be. And where the fuck is nuclear? Nice try, but No.

Amendment 1 is the most important amendment on the ballot, obviously, because it's first. It is also first in: Retardation. Amendment one would like to make English the official language of Missouri, which would hurt half of the business done at the local Home Depot and 80% of the soccer played around St Louis. Have you ever talked to a heated up Serb? Good luck telling him to speak English. Because he can't even understand what your saying. Vote: No! Or, in Spanish: ¡No!

I honestly don't understand Amendment 4 (Bonds? Formulas? Geography?) so I'll probably just ask the old black women that will inevitably be working at the polling place how I should vote. Verdict: Ask the black lady.

So that's where we stand. And by "we" I mean "I." Now, where the fuck did Amendments 2 and 3 run off to?

[have a fantastic fall weekend, everybody. invest in chimineas!]

Debate #3: Why Isn't It Over Yet?

2008-10-15T21:41:00.002-05:00

I thought McCain was winning the debate -- handily -- twenty minutes into it. Then the Ayers question, much like Putin, reared it's ugly head. After Obama -- rather correctly -- explained his connections with Ayers and ACORN (while taking the high road and not mentioning McCain speaking at an ACORN rally last year), Senator McCain was flustered as hell.

Lots of eye rolls, snorts, and smirks.

Very presidential.

By the end of it all:

Also, political adds "attacking" the opponents policies are not "attack ads." These are adds highlighting the differences your administration would have as opposed to the others.

"Attacking" your opponents judgment, character, and relationships, after 20 million Americans have vetted him, are "attack ads." That's the difference.

By the way, Palin's kid has Downs Syndrome, not Autism, John. And Mrs Obama's name is Michelle.

(Not to jinx it, but thanks, Nate: Congratulations, President Obama.)

(Unless Joe The Plumber throws his hat in the ring. Go with the Know Nothings, Joe!)

[Update 10/17]: Joe The Plumber's not even a fucking plumber? We've been had!

And a hat tip to Liam, if McCain would have used his comedy writers on the trail and at the debates, I think he would have been much better off.

Man, he reminds me of Johnny Carson more and more.

I Am White.

2008-10-13T17:56:00.000-05:00

I realized during dinner yesterday that The Wife and I officially are the people this guy has been writing about.

Really white things I did Sunday:

1. Grabbed donuts and coffee at the local donut shop.
2. Drove my Honda to work.
3. Thought about my dog (The Wife took him to a pumpkin patch).
4. Came home from work, read the Sunday paper (excellent endorsement article, by the by).
5. Drove my other Honda to the local Obama office to get a yard sign*
6. Had a very nice sushi dinner at the local sushi spot.
7. Enjoyed an evening of wine, Iron Chef America, Non-Cardinals baseball playoffs, Entourage, and I am Trying to Break Your Heart on the basement couch with the dog and Wife.

On the whiteness scale of one to ten, I think my Sunday came in at an 8.5. A trip to REI/Whole Foods, wearing some North Face stuff, or tossing the Frisbee at the park would have gotten me a ten, but I had to put in seven hours at the ol' air base. Which, I guess, is pretty white too.

My god I've gotten lame in my advanced years.

*I absolutely loathe yard signs, but the neighbor has a McCain/Palin one and we just have to keep up with the Jones.**

**His last name isn't Jones, it's just a saying.***

***Actually, I don't know what his last name is. Maybe it is Jones?

The Sixth Glass

2008-10-06T18:03:00.002-05:00

Missouri's own Boulevard Brewing Company has released a series of specialty crafted beers called The Smokestack Series. The king of the class is The Sixth Glass.

I'm not going to begin to try to describe it, as words like "glorious," "bonerific," and "strumtrulescent" would only do it a disservice so great that I'm afraid it's ridiculous magical abilities would turn my taste buds against me and I would never again be able to enjoy the better than bonerific brew.

Try it, as soon as humanely possible, if not faster. We're talking about world peace makin' taste here.

Kyle McClellan

2008-10-03T11:16:00.002-05:00

Is apparently the commander of US forces in Afghanistan. Or, perhaps, this man has come back from the dead, and will win the civil war half a world away this time.

Granted, I am one of the few that knows who is in command there (It's Gen McKiernan), but if you're going to quote someone on strategy, get their name right please, governor.

I will say that Sarah Palin exceeded the historically low expectations she had set for herself for last nights debate (she didn't yell "FIRE!!!" in the first thirty seconds and run away), but we got a whole lot of style out of the former mayor of a town smaller than Shiloh, IL (admit it, you've never heard of it), even if it was lacking substance. She didn't pee her business skirt, and, somehow, that made her the winner.

While I hate her folksy, populist approach (I'd rather the people leading the country are from downtown, not small town; and the last time we voted for "person I'd like to have a beer with", we are now eight years into being a hated, hated country.) she translates very, very well to some Americans.

And I can't blame her for not answering questions, since the moderator, who is supposed to be in charge of the "debate" let her get away with it.

Sarah Palin during the debate, seemed confidant but ignorant. She "answered" the question but on her own terms. She stuck, religiously, to her talking points and kept her base.

Joe Biden, meanwhile, destroyed John McCain's record on the issues which matters to the working poor and, in my favorite moment of the evening, body slammed Dick Cheney after Gov Palin said she'd like to broaden the role of the VP, fuck the Constitution.

Also, I'd like the president to not smile, wink, and say "you betcha" while answering questions.

I don't want someone who seems "JUST LIKE ME!" to be president, I want someone much smarter than I. Joe Sixpack has lead this country to shit over the last eight years. I want to see what Joe Merlot can do.

When this nation was formed, it was formed by absolutely brilliant people like Franklin, Adams, Jefferson, and Washington. People who hated political parties, but adored the constitution.

The living, breathing document that Gov Palin apparently would love to kill, so long as it's not an incestuous fetus or a gay person who "chooses" to be gay (I honestly wonder if people who are against gay marriages have ever actually talked to a gay person. Being gay isn't a choice; pretending you are not gay and living a terrible life is. Homosexuality is the last acceptable form of discrimination and it is fucking sickening.

The only reason gays are frowned upon is the bible which should be nearly the last thing the government should be referencing to.

And we are at a point in our nation's history where we need such brilliant people, such as our founding fathers. To right the ship; And I honestly believe Barack Obama is a brilliant man.

He is the type of person who cherishes the constitution, not the type to change it to give more power to the executive branch.

Sarah Palin, who is experienced as A PTA member, wants expanded Vice Presidential responsibilities.

Joe Biden wants a stiff vodka drink. I know who gets my vote.

Mr Men

2008-09-08T10:18:00.001-05:00

I had totally forgotten about these.

I'm Going To Go On Record Here

2008-09-08T08:35:00.000-05:00

If the Saint Louis Rams win four games this year, I will throw them a parade down my street.

Sofa King

2008-09-06T10:04:00.000-05:00

Gold, Jerry. Lowest common denominator gold.

In Case You Were Wondering

2008-09-05T11:32:00.002-05:00

Just short of 1,000 people have searched the internets wondering about "sarah palin sextapes" and have hit this blog. Love her or hate her, the American public wants to hit that. Even after that speech of hers (and I could not have disliked it more -- although McCain's was decent yesterday) which was nothing but smarmy, sarcastic jokes told by a person with a prominent smirk and no real substance or solutions regarding the economy, the war, or to the impending energy crisis (it's only going to get worse) other than drilling for more oil (predominantly in a state where her husband happens to work for British Petroleum).

While this may be a bit of hypocrisy considering I have not graduated from college, having a VP who has no advanced degrees after going through colleges like Shawn Kemp does women, and a President who was a serial underachiever in his academic life does not sound like something which I want to live through again for another four to eight years. I'm sick of the American people electing to office "guys/gals they'd like to have a beer with." I'd like to see someone who is obviously smarter than I, joe twelvepack, lead this great nation of ours.

John McCain, eight years ago, struck me as an honest, hard working man, and one that I would have voted for if the 2000 primaries had turned out differently (thanks, Rove). Now, after not only kneeling before the corrupt system which knocked him out of those primaries in South Carolina (if ever there was a time for a man to turn "I" it was then), but also continuously endorsing a war which a fucking 22 year old United States Marine Corps Corporal knew was built on faulty intelligence and fought not with, but against the brilliant doctrine which the then Secretary of State had crafted after his experience in Vietnam, I see him as nothing but yet another weak, little man, without the power to do anything in the Oval Office and with a 40-something far-right, extremely religious, oil drillin', snow "machine" racin', opposin' of stem cell research even though it could have helped her own child, "pitbull with lipstick" down the hall to take over in case a 72 year old five time cancer survivor would unfortunately pass. Not exactly the position this country needs to be in.

/Olberman.

I know this rant wont change anyone's mind, for better or for worse, if they were to hold the election tomorrow it would be no different an outcome than it will be sixty days from now (unless Biden says something really stupid, which he will).

But I have to put this out there: John McCain being president a week ago did not scare me. But now that he/she (Palin) has stirred the religious right once again, the thought of a republican presidency for yet another four years scares the proverbial pants off of me.

Religion has absolutely no fucking place in American politics, and in the last eight years it has helped to destroy through fear and manipulation what should be the golden age of information. I don't want another 4/8 like this.

Of course all of this ranting is in vein, as there is no way America will elect a black man president (I'll be surprised if Senator Obama is still alive by the election).

And, to sum up the last week in media:

The Redeem Team

2008-08-30T11:42:00.001-05:00

I've been cleaning up a few html errors which have been occuring on the ol' blog lately (man, I'm glad that weird .edu script stopped) and looking over some archives, when I saw my comment about the 2004 US Olympic basketball team:

"Sunday's loss to Puerto Rico is still lingering in the back of my mind. It doesn't help that the Wet Dream Team just snuck by a Greek team who had George Papadapolos from Webster playing power forward. I am a fan of basketball, one of 217 Americans who still have a rudimentary understanding of the game. Watching this collection of B-list NBA talent play in Athens has now left me with a facial cringe which may take a few days to go away. When our best "outside shooter", the highly overrated Richard Jefferson, is too concerned about what to yell after his next dunk- that he can't even square his shoulders with the basket before shooting a trey- then our team is in big, big trouble.

This is not the player's fault. Although most of them look like they're trying to duplicate the play of Michael J. Fox in Teen Wolf, they play the way that they have been playing all their lives. The American's who would make the best international players either did not want to go to Athens, for whatever reason (Jason Kidd, Michael Redd, Mike Bibby) or were not invited (Brent Barry, Fred Hoiberg, myself.) The selection process simply must be changed when picking the next Olympic team, remembering that the 2008 Olympics will be held in Beijing, not at Rucker Park. "

I would like to thank not only USA basketball on their decision to include guys who would translate well to the international game (the aforementioned Kidd, Deron Williams), but also to Kobe and LeBron, who are the caliber of American player that have been passing up on the Olympics since the original Dream Team in '92.

Good work, gents.

(Also, does anyone have any of those old 1992 Dream Team McDonalds cups for sale? Those things were t-y-t tight.)

(And, of course go Illini.)

Sarah Palin Sex Tape!!!

2008-08-29T22:26:00.004-05:00

No, there isn't one.

Or is there?

No.

(This is nothing but a social experiment to see how many hits that gets in a week, right here.)

(And, for equal time:

JOE BIDEN WOULD LIKE YOU TO SIT ON HIS LAP FOR SOME HOT BI-CURIOUS SEX!!!)

(Added Sat morn: Just checked the stats for the last 8 hours and good lord. Settle down, sick-os.)

Our Pooch, In The Park

2008-08-25T14:03:00.000-05:00

Sunday was the annual Purina Pooches in the Ballpark game down at Busch Stadium, so The Wife and I decided to take Yadi down to the old ballpark.

It's a pretty awesome promotion: They let you walk your dog around the field pre-game, and have the outfield all inclusive areas reserved for the dogs and their owners.

Here is Yadi getting ready to take the field.

Here he is walking by the bullpen, right after seeing Braves lefty Will Ohman who was nice enough to be posing for pictures with random dogs. The Wife asked if I wanted to get a picture with me, Yadi, and Will Ohman, but considering Will Ohman sucks, I did not.

After the initial confusion of "Whatthefuckisgoingonaroundhere?!?!" and excitement by the dog population overall, the dogs realized they had a few hundred feet of nothing but people wanting to lean over the sidewalls and pet them.

I'm pretty sure in his mind, Yadi though that a few thousand people just howed up to pet him. He fancies himself a bit of a celebrity now.

Speaking of celebrities, it's TV and Radio's Jimmy "The Cat" Hayes, who was kind enough to strike a pose with Yadi. After apparently taking a few bong rips.

Out in Time Traveling Juan Encarnacion's old outfield corner, a chubby man and his dog:

Possible Christmas card? Yep, we're that lame.

Our seats were right next to the centerfield camera, whose operator was a much more patient man than myself and didn't mind yadi trying to take over his camera duties.

Fortunately, there was only one "dog incident" all game messing with his shot.

I was pretty amazed how well behaved a hundred some odd dogs could be in one space, but there was not an incident to be seen. If only people could behave so well. Plus, the Cards won.

And it was the best day of Yadi's life (he's been asleep since we got home yesterday around 5.)

All of this excitement came after an evening of playing with Mr and Mrs Husbands new tiny, tiny animal Kona, so Yadi, who is in fact the laziest eight month old puppy in Missouri and generally sleeps sixteen hours a day, may or may not be dead right now.

He hasn't left the couch in hours.

I wrote it down on a piece of paper

2008-08-09T00:52:00.001-05:00

I know I have posted this before (probably w/ a hilarious desrcription of how I used to sing this version of a Cutting Crew classic while waiting for breakfast aboard the USS Ashland), but it came up during Wed's baseball game with Dennis Quaid (I have no idea how, so don't ask) and it's still hilarious:

Snl - I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight - Click here for more home videos

Love your August, FYCers.

i wish bapo would kiss me

2008-08-06T11:34:00.000-05:00

Just trying to generate some traffic.

The Man Who Made Mike Nadel More Famous

2008-08-01T10:53:00.001-05:00

Yesterday morn, after pursing my hometown's local rag, I forwarded this bizzare column about Erin Andrews whoring it up (or something) in the Cubs locker room to The Big Lead which morphed into this post on Deadspin, then this on TBL, and these on the internets, and this interview with Nadel on Deadspin.

Honestly, I've always liked Erin Andrews (who, while attractive, isn't any hotter than a lot of broads you see at bars these days) (yes, I still say "broads". I also wear fedoras.) (And I also say "these days", making me apparently 68 years old) and she takes too much shit just because she's attractive. howerver, flitting around (whatever the fuck "flitting" means) the Cubs clubhouse is beyond strange, and I figured TBL would like to hear about it. Since I'm one of twelve people who actually reads a paper Nadel writes for, I figured I'd be the only one to spread the message on this weird, weird topic.

(Honestly: "At one point, she placed her hand suggestively on Soriano's left bicep."? How'd this guy even get through junior high?)

The column originally penned didn't come across to me as jealous as it did to some others. It had legs but ended up falling flat on it's face, ending as well as a Joel Pinerio start.

Nadels' not a bad columnist, he's just not funny. When he tries to be, it doesn't translate and makes for a sad trombone.

So, in conclusion, I need to stop reading random papers and forwarding articles before I kill what Al Gore invented. Also, I need to write more on this here digital toilet. And Erin Andrews showing it off in the Cubs locker room kind of pisses me off as a Cardinals fan. What, Braden Looper doesn't do it for you? The guys got an eight inch cock... around.

Retro Summer '08

2008-06-24T01:41:00.000-05:00

I had a theory which I debuted to skeptic ears at a rocking Summer Solstice bbq Saturday evening:

Summer 2008: Retro Summer!

Everything that has already happened and is about to happen in this glorious, messed up, wicked summer of 2008 already happened before, while my friends and I were all between the ages of nine and sixteen. Cases in point:

Indiana Jones and Batman both having box office smashes. You throw a Dick Tracy into the mix and you've got the scuttlebutt of my entire 4th grade year summed up there.
Floods. Somebody get Gregg Jeffries putting up a 142 OPS+ for the 87-75 Cardinals, and it's 1993 in a nutshell.
Olympics. Who will be this years Shannon Miller? Hopefully nobody since me being attracted to a 15 year old now will get me locked up in federal pound you in the ass prison.
Presidential Elections!! Yay! It's an old white guy against America's first (actual) black president!
Gatorade flavored gum. It's out there somewhere, I just know it.
I'd be willing to bet dollars to tasty Donut Drive-In Donuts that we'll be having a 1995 style heat wave, and I will ride it out with nothing but sleeveless t-s and ice cold iced fucking tea.

That's all I can think of off the top of my head right now, but there's something out there this summer -- (cousin) maybes it's moving into a new house in a new 'hood, maybe it's watching The Burbs (and I went down to the deli to get some of those beef sandwiches) and the 1992 Royal Rumble three times in the last week and a half, maybe it's me masturbating to a copy of Cosmo from 1991 -- but something out there feels right this summer, like I've been there before, and things were right, magical, even.

There are other similarities out there, I'm sure. Drop 'em off below if you got 'em.

(Yes, all of this giddy, god forsaken, fascinating optimism is probably because this is the best I have felt this late into the summer about a Cardinals team since Ought Five and feeling good about the old hometown nine by the time air conditioner weather makes not just for a great summer, but for a great outlook all around. In fact, I'm going to go look at my 1992 Score box set and giggle.)

Made me giggle

2008-06-20T12:14:00.000-05:00

have a great solstice weekend.

The Uglysuit

2008-06-14T18:29:00.003-05:00

These guys opened for iron & wine at the Pageant last night... Pretty good stuff. I talked briefly to one of their three guitarists (who do these guys think they are, The Outlaws?) and figured I should recommend them to you, one of the nine people whom still read this rag, since most of the people who share my sense of ~~dick jokes~~ humor also share my sense of music.

So, um... check them out, jerk.

Bloggy Mc Blogs

2008-05-30T01:57:00.000-05:00

Two new blogs to check out while you listen to Kicking Television on itunes and remember just how awesome Wilco's shows at the Pageant were two weeks back and wonder why they don't just play there every night (they'd sell out, no?).

The Rebirth of Slack. Cause you can't keep a nigga down. Even when a "nigga" is a white jew from Lawn Gisland who loves Phish, soccer, and cock, Ace Cowboy is back to rock your god damn muther fucing socks off with racist jokes and half formed opinions. Keep us entertained this summer, Ace.

New Cards blog at the RFT: The Rundown written by the fantastic writer known at VEB as El Rojo De Baron, Aaron Schafer. I'll lie and say that I'm not at all jealous that I'm not the one writing about the Cards at the RFT (I am a two time winner of "local blog 'o the week" there and I do bother their editor every year that the Cards are in the post season that he should get me free tickets to the playoff games and let me write "Man On The Street" columns), but Aaron is approx a 9,000 times better writer than myself, so his new blog serves the general public in a much better manner than anything I would have written (knock knock jokes and crude drawings of a half naked -- bottom half, yes -- Dave McKay).

Anyhoo... check 'em out.

[and have a great late spring summer. try the schafly pilsner.]

Hey World

2008-05-27T10:50:00.000-05:00

Meet Yadi Fritz.

He enjoys lying on the floor, laying on the floor, and napping. He also seems to enjoy hamburgers, walks, and (if I have anything to say about it) will soon enjoy watching his name sake pick off baserunners.

Also, he kind of looks like real Yadi, what with the man-liner and everything:

Harumph

2008-05-07T02:12:00.000-05:00

Following a weekend in Atlanta that made me puke and/or poop in and/or above four states and two time zones on our flight back Sunday afternoon, The wife and I closed on our new house Monday. You know what that means: Moving Week.

I woke up this morning at eight and immediately starting piling shit into the CRV. Four trips and five hours later, I was more than fucking wiped. And our apartment is maybe 1/4 empty. Sweet. Then I got to drive into work [where I did randomly run across long time friend of the show Rob who works for the man out in Cali and apparently does not trust my agency (nor should he -- they employ me)which was a sudden, random, and kind of awesome encounter, in the whole scope of the universe type thing (and this is the second time in a year this has happened -- he met a friend of mine from Peoria in a bar around this time last year through mutual friends)]. So, long fucking day.

But you know what makes it better? Whiskey and packing for tomorrow's move, listening to this:

And I've got a few projects lined up for the new house in the next month or two that I am super pumped about... I'll update on here accordingly, 'cause God only knows, if the people want updates on Al Fritz's home improvement projects, he will God damn give them to them.

(PS. This hot Redbirds start has me flustered. they're ten games over /500 on siete de mayo and the only ones not playing over their heads are Pujols and Ludwick -- whom one could argue is overperforming, but I believe in deeply -- starnge, awesome, great team so far. Looks to be a great 08 summer in the lou.)

I Don't Even Know Me Anymore

2008-04-24T00:54:00.001-05:00

I have no idea why I still have this blog. It's more than apparent that I am updating as infrequently as possible; what's ol' Al been up to you ask? Well, since I last regularly posted, I've gone back to working for el governmento --in a capacity which I actually enjoy, meaning that for the first time since I worked at the neighborhood Thompson Food Basket back in '97, I am getting paid to do something which I like and that every day is no longer the worst day of my life (it got to the point at my last job that I would think to myself, driving in, that I wouldn't mind getting in a car accident. That was the time to get out. And to get some xanax) -- The Wife and I have bought a house, we're a few weeks away from getting a dog, and I may or may not have a man crush on Brian Barton. So, as you can see, stuff has happened; just not a lot.

The main problem with keeping up on this blog thing is the new job. My last job left me with, out of seven hours in the office, six and a half hours of downtime a day (seriously). The new gig allows me about half an hour of brain off time per day. And if I'm not on my toes, from time to time there is a distinct possibility that someone might die, which is a hell of a lot more motivating (and at the end of the day, gratifying) than working just hard enough to not be hassled or fired.

So what becomes of the FYC as Al enters this summer (and possible beyond) of adulthood, responsibilities, and drunkenness (I haven;t changed that must)?

I don't know. I hope to post more often, albeit probably short thoughts, but we shall see.

Until then, watch this:

No Title

2008-02-12T22:33:00.001-06:00

Just... Giggle...

Probably the best video concerning obesity and rocks getting off since Lex Luger body slammed Yokozuna on that aircraft carrier. (

Also, I do believe that man is a "if the mated" of former 2nd Intel BN rock star Phillip Graves and Nic Cage. And he had an unbelievably weird fixation with Eartquake and Tugboat from the Natural Disasters as a child.

Good Job, Saint Louis

2008-02-05T22:53:00.000-06:00

Thanks for doing your part. Lets end this oligarchy which has literally lasted all but five months of my twenty seven and a half years as an American.

Update:

Giggitty!! An unbelievable comeback?!? Illinois - Arizona Elite Eight 2k5-esque!

Bird Poops In Mouth

2008-01-30T13:39:00.000-06:00

Film at 11.

Well This is Just Insane

2008-01-29T13:24:00.000-06:00

Hey!

2008-01-28T17:21:00.000-06:00

A new cartoon!

Three Great Mullets,

2008-01-17T23:26:00.000-06:00

One fantastic interview.

One of the greatest moments of my youth.

Inspired by Major's Top 7 this week, click away and enjoy your Friday.

[have a great weekend watching the packers win the nfc, folks. sorry for the blog neglect as of late.]

For the rest of us...

2007-12-20T08:40:00.000-06:00

FRANK: And at the Festivus dinner, you gather your family around, and you tell them all the ways they have disappointed you over the past year.

KRAMER: Is there a tree?

FRANK: No. Instead, there's a pole. It requires not decoration. I find tinsel distracting.

KRAMER: Frank, this new holiday of yours is scratching me right where I itch.

FRANK: Let's do it then! Festivus is back! I'll get the pole out of the crawl space. (Turns to leave, meets up with Elaine)

ELAINE: Hello, Frank.

FRANK: Hello, woman.

--------------------

It's Festivus times, boys and girls, and who else could handle it but the fine folks over at The Airing Of Grievances . Stop by and kill your workday on this rainy, chilly Thursdee of ours. There will be new grievances up all day.

And nobody is leaving until you pin me.

Why, Cody, Why?

2007-12-14T02:34:00.000-06:00

When debating who the worst baseball player of the last half century was, I have always said Cody McKay.

However, I usually follow it up with: "But, say what you will about Cody McKay... Sure he only had 19 total bases in 76 plate appearances in 2004, and it is true that for a catcher he had an unbelievably hard time actually catching a baseball, and maybe he broke the all time record for transferring ones profession from "Major League Baseball player" to "real estate agent", and, yes, his dad does have a ridiculous attraction to grab a mans ass with one hand, rub his shoulders with the other, and whisper gently, delicately, lovingly into their ear *, but, God damn it, there is no way in hell that motherfucker took steroids!"

Now, that saying is shot to hell. Will the ~~fury~~ light tapping of the wrist of the Mitchell Report know no ends?!?

Also named:

At least we know Taguchi was clean. Or do we?**

*That had to be really weird the first time Cody reached first base in the majors and his dad made it to first base with him.

** Yes. Yes we do.

[have a great weekend, folks. enjoy the pure, driven, midwestern snow.]

I Should Have Been Born in 1870

2007-12-07T00:09:00.000-06:00

Via a link from The Sportsfrog, I cyber stumbled across a piece from 1898 up for auction at the Robert Edwards Auction House. It was issued by the National League and is entitled "Special Instructions To Players."

I'll let the REA blog describe it further:

"Reading this document started out very drab for a sentence or two, but then quickly got our attention as the language used became very unexpected for an official Major League baseball document, let alone one devoted to demanding players not use "any indecent or obscene word, sentence, or expression." It turned "blue," and, well, got "bluer."

This piece is ironic as it provides many examples of exactly the kind of "brutal language" that was being outlawed. In fact, it is so over the top that at first we thought it was some type of a joke. But as we examined the paper, found that this language did exist in the 1890s, considered that general rowdiness and the use of obscene language by players were big issues in baseball in this era, and noted that the accompanying items were all from the same era, we soon realized that that this was not a joke at all.

This was actually a fascinating and historically significant baseball document, distributed to National League players, that captures an aspect of professional baseball from the rough-and-tumble single-League 1890s era that is not well documented. Granted, in terms of language, it is also the most offensive official Major League baseball document that we have ever seen.

That makes it all the more amusing to us, but we also recognize that maybe this is a piece that isn't for the entire family. Truck drivers, yes, sailors, yes, ballplayers in the 1890s, obviously yes. But probably not everyone."

The entire document can be viewed here, with it broken down into two sections for easier foul language reading top and bottom.

The document begins with (and was apparently inspired by) the following anecdote:

"In a contest between two leading clubs during the championship season of 1897, the stands being crowded with patrons of the game, a gentleman occupying a seat in the front row near the players bench asked one of the visiting players who was going to pitch for them. The player made no reply. He then asked a second time. The gentleman, his wife who sat with him, and others of both sexes, within hearing distance, were outraged upon hearing the player reply in a loud, brutal tone, 'Oh, go fuck yourself.'"

That is fucking awesome.

Other outlawed phrases included: "You cock-sucking son of a bitch", "You prick eating bastard", "You cunt lapping dog," and a litany of others.

Just thought one or two other of my fellow baseball history dorks might find it interesting.

And, of course, I'd be remiss not to include a link to the most informative video on Olde Tyme Baseball ever produced.

(Also, if Rolen thought La Russa's letter was too rough, imagine if TLR would have said: "A dog must have fucked your mother when she made you." Olde Tymes sound awesome.)

[have a great winterly weekend, boys and girls. enjoy the x-mas parties and pugilistic exhibitions.]

Al's Mexcellent Adventure: Days Eight Through Ten

2007-12-06T23:05:00.000-06:00

After tonight's icing, my trip from two weeks ago feels like six months ago. And, truth be told, I don't remember that much anyway. So let us just say the following took place: We snorkled, partied it up on the beach, and Dennis Quaid caught a barracuda.

Then we left Mexico to arrive in our present cold hell.

The end.

Al's Mexcellent Adventure, Days Six and Seven: Drunk Monday and Tulum Tuesday

2007-12-06T03:22:00.001-06:00

Tito likes to drink.

Tito also likes to name things. These two passions first came together late in the Spring of '99, when our friends who left town for college returned after freshman year. About ten of us met up at Tito's house for a BBQ and a day drink. That day drink quickly grew out of hand and the next thing we knew it was seven o'clock and we had all run through personal 18 packs of Icehouse.

(Just typing that makes me want to puke.)

The day ended in all of us getting kicked out of a high school girls soccer game, Dennis Quiad going into work at Office Depot stinking drunk and dropping his pants in aisle five, and some lost hubcaps. And I'm willing to bet I passed out on Tito's porch.

That was on a Tuesday; or, as it came to be known: "Drunk Tuesday."

Fast forward to this year. I received the following e-mail from Tito on August 22nd:

"I say we have drunk Monday where we start with tequila shots at 10 and black out by 4. Then do it again starting at 8. Sorry for rambling, I am that excited."

Tito wanted a "Drunk Monday" and that's exactly what he got.

The families of both of The Wife and me, as well as a bunch of our friends, left on Monday morning to return home. Leaving Mexico always sucks, but it was rainy and (relatively) cold, helping out the leaving pains. Our group was down to ten, with Tito's parents set to arrive later in the day (they had passport issues. God damn democrats.)

We met up at noon and the beers started to flow like water. The next thing I know, there's a five-on-five battle of the sexes Catchphrase match going on (the girls would go onto win in three sets) and I was drunk. It was about five in the afternoon. Drunk Monday had come and gone and I spent the whole time drinking and missed it.

We met up for dinner, did some bartering on giant bottles of tequila, and headed off to see a hypnotist show. The hypnotist's (one Danny Doyle) show got off to a rough start when during the introduction the narrated voice-over said "Hypnotism has been around for a thousand years. No one know when it began." I turned to my cousin Jeremy and said "Sure we do. It was a thousand years ago. You just said that."

Danny Doyle succeeded in hypnotizing two out of twenty five people, but their spell (or whatever) wore off by the time his big finale came around and it failed miserably. Danny Doyle bombed.

Afterwards, Mr T showed up and we went snorkeling.*

Tuesday, we took a cab out to the Mayan ruins in Tulum and played around at the beach there. We stayed until around five, then cleaned up in the most disgusting bathroom ever and got yelled at for putting our feet in the sinks. We went into Tulum and enjoyed a whole meal of food and drinks at Charlie's.

The food was fantastic, as were the drinks, but what they poured us for shots would be what you or I here in the states would refer to as double shots. I took my first shot down, but struggled; it was really good tequila, I just can't do that big of a shot.

When it was time for our next round of bangers, I tried to ask the bartender to only pour me half of a "shot." He no comprendo. Dennis Quiad was working the town as our more fluent translator (he majored in Spanish at SMS), so I asked him to ask the bartender about my needs. Now, I may have only have taken two years of Spanish in high school, and, sure, I got Ds in both of those classes, but I'll be damned if Dennis Quaid didn't call me a pussy in Spanish. Pendejo.

The highlight of my trip to Charlie's was seeing this sign in the restroom:

In case you can't tell, it is requesting you to kindly throw your used toilet paper into the trash can, not to flush it. I had never done that before. So, even though I didn't really have to go, I squeezed one out and threw the leftovers into a trash can. When in Rome, as they say.

Later, we went back to the resort and I filled in on the bass during a Journey concert.**

*I have no idea what we did next, but that would have been awesome.
**Ditto.

Al's Mexcellent Adventure, Days Four and Five: A Wedding and a Hangover

2007-12-02T22:40:00.000-06:00

A day, Saturday, my wedding day, in pictures -- many thanks to Matt, Jaquie (who apparently doesn't like being referred to as a coked out lesbian on the internet; my bad, Jaq), and a perhaps bisexual Spaniard who followed us around for an hour, making us pose in very odd manors, until I was near punching him in the eye and he left us alone.

The Groom:

A really cool picture of Will in a ridiculous hat:

The dudes:

During the ceremony, Dennis Quaid watches a kite surfer:

Fists of victory:

The happy couple:

The wedding party:

Ever'body:

(Then there was a dinner, which was the best seven course meal of my life, but apparently there are no pics of it. Whatevs.)

White people dancing:

Drinks, drinks, and more drinks:

From there the reception ended up getting a little too hot and was moved to the discotheque, where my faux cousin Jeremy and I did the world's worst teuila shot (I took it down, looked Jeremy straight in the eye, said "excuse me" and walked outside the front of the disco where I calmly yacked for the next three minutes. Everything got out, lunch, the seven course dinner, the mojitos, everything, all because of the hot bag of garbage they called a shot. I don't know how Jeremy kept his shot down, but he agreed that it very well could have been a shot of luck warm urine.) So, yes, I puked on my wedding night. All fucking class, this guy.

From there, there was a hostile takeover of the disco's ipod and twenty drunken idiots all standing in a circle, screaming Piano Man at each other. The Wife and I bounced soon after and went back to our room to consummate our marriage.

And by "consummate our marriage" I mean "eat club sandwiches and chicken fingers, drink Coronanitas, and pass out watching Arrested Development DVDs." Like I said, class all around.

Sunday: I was hungover. It was sunny. It was my sisters birthday. I was hungover. We had sushi and some Asian food. I was hungover.

That's really all I remember.

Up next: Drunk Monday and Tulum Tuesday

Al's Mexcellent Adventure, Days Two & Three: Pot, Kool Aid Man, and a Belly Flop Competition

2007-11-29T04:15:00.000-06:00

Two great things we learned Thursday morning:

1) Our friends Jacquie and Erin may or may not have shared a bed the night before, thus beginning their coming out party as weekend traveling, coke fueled lesbians, and

2) Daryl had yet to find the voice that he had lost on Wednesday, meaning that we had yet another day of making fun of him for having a light, scratchy voice (my favorite still was "Hey, speak up there, gay guy from Independence Day!")

Aside from that, Thursday morning started off like all others did (wake up at 10, wonder if your hung over, eat something, get some sun, hey! it's noon! start drinking) and nothing too eventful took place. My wandering erstwhile roommate Matt made his way to the resort that afternoon and we commenced playing olde tyme shuffleboard.

Sometime after a large dinner of sushi, Matt, Will, and I began wandering around, mixing it up with the vendors, trying to barter out a deal on some crap. We noticed one guy selling a wide variety of paraphernalia, from pipes to bowls to oneys. That could be fun, we decided. I told him we were interested, but we needed something to go into it. No problemo, said our beady eyed dealer, he had the green.

Matt immediately got very nervous. The whole deal was going down way too easily for him, and I think he thought it was a sting. I told him it was going so easily because it was that easy. Pot is legal down there (note - I have no idea if that's true or not, but it sounded good at the time), and besides, that guy doesn't want to lose his business of selling hastily made and poorly painted merchandise at outrageous prices to gringos.

"But we don't even smoke pot," said Matt.

"True, but we have to buy it," I countered. "For the story."

"Fine. Lets do it."

We offered $110 for a pipe and whatever he had. Our new amigo snuck a bag from his pocket, wrapped it around the pipe, and wrapped that up in newspaper all in the blink of an eye. He threw it in a sack, we handed him our cash, and the transaction was complete.

And that is how it came to be that Matt and I purchased a big sack of weed south of the border.

Later that night, after securing our new purchase in my room, we headed down to the discotheque for some sort of comedy/magic show. I lasted approximately thirty seconds into the show before I felt my brain turning off by how absolutely fuckawful this dude was. I grabbed a drink from the bar and headed outside, where a few of us stood with some affable Canadians, making fun of the comedian who was painfully bombing inside.

Every few minutes another couple of people would leave the disco, generally muttering either "that was the worst five minutes of my life," "that was painful," "that guy should be shot," or a combination of all three. He was a hit.

While we were hanging around outside, we decided that Daryl's now even more hoarse voice was beginning to sound like a combination of Randy Savage's and the Kool Aid Man's voices. Since Josh was wearing a red polo, and Josh's shirts are about five sizes bigger than Daryl's, we figured if Daryl were to put on Josh's shirt, not only would he sound like Kool Aid Man, he would also look like him. We were correct.

And so, a few minutes later, Daryl burst through the doors of the disco, and tried, with all his might, to scream "OH YEAH!" Unfortunately, he still didn't have that much of a voice, so nobody inside really heard him, they just saw a guy in an over sized red polo wildly swing the doors open and stand in the doorway, trying to scream, while a dozen or so people outside were giggling. So, yeah, that kind of bombed, too.

Things did get better for Daryl, however, as a few hours later he would devour 21 tacos and eat his way into a food coma. Good night, friend.

On Friday, I checked into my own room, that way The Wife and I would not (in theory) see each other on our wedding day. The plan for that evening was to get the dudes together in my bachelor room, get zooted off of Mexican schwag, and watch Will's Elimidate episode from '03. Sounded perfect in theory.

Since Will apparently lives in 1991, he brought a VHS copy of the show with him. The rooms came equipped with DVD players but not, natch, VCRs. It was my job to somehow locate a VCR, somewhere in the resort. I called up the concierge, who seemed very confused as to what the concept of a VCR was (did Mexico never have them?), but eventually called housekeeping and told me that they had one and would drop it off in my room that afternoon.

I rambled down to the pool sometime after noon to see if anymore of my friends had gotten in (the rest of The Association was convening that day) and, in fact, Tito and Julia had just arrived. We hung out at the pool, sipping some Vices and cervezas, and waited for everyone to roll in. Sometime around three, the activity directors who hang out at the pool all day listening to bad music and trying to make people do shit asked if any of us wanted to participate in a belly flop competition. We all immediately thought of Josh.

Josh is a big man (if I had to guess, I'd say 6'3" 285lbs -- correct me if I'm wrong, Josh) and if ever a contest was perfectly suited for him, it was this. And still, it took some goading and a "JOSH! JOSH! JOSH!" chant to get him to participate (My fake cousin Jeremy had actually just gotten in and could hear me screaming from half way across the resort; he knew where to find us).

And participate Josh did.

He made it into the finals by a landslide (tsunami?) and was flopping for the crown. His opposition went first and flopped nearly flawless, he wasn't near Josh's size, but he was all fundamentals. Near perfection; a finesse floper. Josh went next and the whole thing went to shit; if they were running backs, contestant number one would have been Barry Sanders and Josh would be William Perry. He was all power.

But by that point in time, it didn't matter. There were forty-some-odd people standing around the pool screaming intensely, passionately, dare I say lustfully for the big man from Knoxville. Despite not bringing his "A" game to the finals, the people had spoken: Josh was our champion.

His prize: A medium sized t-shirt. He wore it ill fittingly and proudly. I'm going to go on record and say that was the greatest moment of Josh's life.

After the athletic display, I headed back to my fake room to check on the VCR status. It was not there, so I once again called up a very confused concierge, who informed me that they do not, in fact, have a VCR and perhaps I should go back to 1987 and be more comfortable. Will's Elimidate showing was officially off.

The Wife and I had our "rehearsal dinner" that night (we didn't actually rehearse anything, we just got everyone together, thanked them all for coming, and ate), during which I started feeling unbelievably sick. Dennis Quaid, who has seen me puke more than any man on earth has seen another man yack, told me that I had "that look."

I ended up choking down dinner, doing a few tequila shots (b/c I'm an idiot), and heading back to my fake room around 8:45, breaking a record for "most lame guy in Mexico." Which meant that Friday night would include not only no Elimidate, but also no getting zooted. In the end, I got back to my room, thought about throwing up but decided not to unless it was absolutely necessary, popping a restoril, and falling asleep to the Discovery Channel by 10.

As fantastically as the day had begun with promise, it had ended with lameness. This would not happen again.

Manana: The Wedding and The Aftermath

Al's Mexcellent Adventure, Day One: Fun in a Fountain

2007-11-27T05:35:00.000-06:00

I woke up around midnight Tuesday night/ Wednesday morning to The Wife banging around in our other bedroom, trying to weigh luggage or something. I really don't know what the hell she was doing, but it was loud. And annoying. She couldn't sleep and was doing counter-productive last minute packing. We had a taxi coming at 4:30 to take us to the airport and if she didn't get any sleep (I had been assed out for about four hours at this point), she'd have been a big bowl of suck traveling.

After convincing her that our downstairs neighbor probably didn't appreciate her incessantly stomping around our apartment, she hopped in the shower and then into bed. Alas, as she drifted off to sleep, it was I who could no longer sleep. Sometime around one, I stopped my futile attempt to slumberand played video games. As far as I know, I am the only guy to do a fantasy draft and simulate an entire season of MLB 2K6 immediately before leaving the country.

I woke The Wife up at 3:30, fixed myself a bloody, and was in the cab and out the door by 4:20 and at Lambert Airport by 4:45. Our plane, which was about 1/4 full of our families (if that sucker were to go down, my nieces and nephews -- none of the four made the trip -- would have been fucked) took off early and landed in Cancun shortly after nine. From there, I pressed a button, it flashed green, and I was officially in Mexico. We rode in a Dodge Stratus (!!!) for an hour and fifteen minutes, listening to an odd playlist featuring Aerosmith, War, and twenty different Cranberries songs (they may very well have been the same song, played over and over again for all I know), and arrived at our resort.

From there is was a big bag of confusion, as The Wife and I tried to check in and assemble gift bags for the rest of our party before they arrived. It was unsuccessful. So, I drank.

I'm not sure what happened in the next twelve hours, but the next thing I know, I'm on a hot dancefloor, listening to a crappy Mexican rock band cover Skynyrd. It was as awesome as it sounds. We closed the discotheque down at one in the morning and headed back to our room for after hours (it was like we were 18 again). During the walk back, our friend Sarah offered me five dollars to hop in a fountain. Since I'm an idiot and will do just about anything just for a story (let alone for five bucks), I accepted her offer.

Big day of travel, twelve hours of drinking, no sleep in over a day, big fat guy in a fountain? Not pretty.
(This is where I remember that Sarah still owes me five dollars.)

We get back to our room, joined by my older sister Maggie, and my Marine buddies Joshtastic and Will. Josh, Will and I conquer my balcony with beers, while the ladies stay inside and talk about their menstrual cycles (or so I imagine). I finally get sleepy and head to bed. When Josh and Will finally leave (after screaming at each other about college football on my balcony for two hours), they find The Wife and my sister both passed out on the couch (presumably eating club sandwiches for effect) and me in bed. According to them, the whole scene makes about as much sense as you'd expect.

And that is how I spent my Wednesday two weeks ago.

Coming up tomorrow: Al and Gallo buy a big bag of Mexican schwag.

Miscellany: Mexico/Book Review/Mizzou/Playlist

2007-11-25T01:11:00.000-06:00

The trip to Tulum was muy fantastico. I am overjoyed to report that The Lady Friend (henceforth known as The Wife) actually said "I do" and we are now happily married. In fact, as I write this, it's 9:15 on a Saturday night and she is already passed out on the couch. Married life is as exciting as I expected.

I'll be doing a series of day by day recaps of the trip as the week goes on; look out Internets.

---------

I read a copy of Bryan Burwell's The Best St Louis Sports Arguments while on holiday. While I will never claim that it is the greatest book ever written, it did serve it's purpose, as I found myself passionately agreeing and disagreeing with many of Burwell's arguments.

Mark McGwire not belonging in the Hall of Fame? Disagree, to the millionth degree. Took a drug which nearly everyone else (pitchers included) was taking and finished with a 10.6 HR/AB ratio? In.

Not blaming Don Denkinger for the 1985 World Series. Completely agree. Blaming him for '85 is as dumb as Cubs fans blaming Steve Bartman for 2003. And the rednecks who sent Denkinger death threats are absolutely shameful and makes me agree with Burwell's assertion that St Louis is not the best baseball town in America; it may be a great baseball town in which we live, but until fan support can be adequately quantified, the random fandom ranking of "best" is absurd.

And of record keeping, Burwell's lean on Gold Gloves when ranking players disappoints me. Gold Gloves, and, really, all BBWAA awards, are a farce. The time has come for SABR or another organization to give out likewise awards so we no longer have to live in a world where Jimmy Rollins is considered the best player in the National League in 2007.

At times it seems as if Burwell is almost too ingrained into the mind of not the St Louis sports "fan" but the "fanatic." The average Cardinals fan does not want Tony LaRussa fired after every bad decision, but the normal message boarder or sports radio caller-in may. There is a big difference. I consider myself way too invested in the St Louis baseball Cardinals -- like Nick Hornby Fever Pitch invested -- however, I compare as nothing to the "people" who populate Cardinals, Rams, and Blues message boards (the moment I realized Viva El Birdos, a site I participate in frequently, had metamorphised from a blog to a fan message board was an odd moment; I loathe fan message boards, yet, I stay on).

This problem, of course, comes entirely from the anonymity which both radio and message boards provide. I may write articles and blogs and post (grudgingly, now) on message boards about my favorite team, but I do so using my own name. Anything which I may write, drunkingly, upsetly, ecstatically, comes back to my name. I must take, as does Burwell, complete accountability for my words. "G0CARdZZ190," "Pujo1s 1s a G0D," and the like do not. They are not real people, only counter identities of people who generally don't like themselves and/or refuse to be accountable for the actions which they take. Their voice is nil and should not be included in this book.

(Sweet fuck, I really get worked up about this. Anonymity has ruined the Internet. It could have been something.)

Arguments left me with two major bones to pick with Burwell. One is not even mentioning the 2000-2005 Cards as one of the best Cardinals eras in St Louis baseball history in chapter 14, but then saying that Tony LaRussa is the best Cardinals manager in history (which I agree with) in chapter 28. Somehow, that just doesn't add up.

My other point or ire, in another argument he makes which I agree with "Should the Cardinals Retire Willie McGee's Number" (yes. Yes they should), he writes:

"He (McGee) may not be the greatest redbird, but he is arguably the most beloved. So beloved, in fact, that Tim McKernan, morning talk show host on KFNS radio, started an online petition last year that now includes more than 7,500 signatures. McKernan's grass-roots movement seemed to have a big impact initially, when a city full of McGee lovers kept logging on to McKernan's InsideStL.com website and pledging their allegiance to the heart and soul of those 1980s championship teams by purchasing "Retire 51" T-shirts and joining the petition."

The problem here is that the movement was promoted by McKernan, but was the original idea of my Joe SportsFan cohorts Pat Imig and Josh Bacott and the shirts were designed by handsome man Matt Sebek. They pitched the idea to McKernan since he had the platforms, both radio and local web, to promote it and it was ran with back in that odd Cardinal summer of 2006. Now, I'm probably the only guy on Earth who knows this information, but it seems like an oversight Burwell could have easily avoided with a simple phone call to McKernan and he could have been able to give the original idea for the push to it's rightful owners.

Or perhaps I'm being too anal (that's what she said).

And, like most great bar arguments, there are many others which I ardently agree with (does Stan Musial deserve a better statue? Yes. The current statue encourages bad posture and makes it look like Stan's hands were three feet long. Should the Rams wear their throwbacks? Every Sunday) and forcefully disagree with (Old Busch beats New Busch, in the words of Lt. Sam Weinberg, everyday of the week and twice on Sundays. Get back to me after forty years of tradition and perhaps I will agree with you).

However, the last time I was in a bar argument and everyone agreed with each other I was strung out on mescaline in an opium den somewhere in northern India. Believe you me, that was no fun.

Arguments are the tequila shots of bar discussion.

Arguments does what it sets out to do: encourage debate and foment discussion. In that it succeeds. Is it a great book? No, but I doubt Burwell, whom I am sure did plenty of research and spent countless hours writing, set out to win a Pulitzer with this; In the end, it is, in all actuality, just a dude, sharing his opions.

However, Arguments is a nice light read and something which just about any hardcore St Louis sports fan would enjoy having on the top of their toilet.

And The Father In Law will be getting a copy of it for Christmas.

----------

If I had to rank my favorite collegiate athletic programs it would go something like:
1. University of Illinois
2. University of Notre Dame
3. Bradley University
.....
435. University of Missouri
.....
9,000,000. University of Kansas

So while I am in no way, shape, nor form a Mizzou fan (in fact, come Dec 22nd, I will spit on my own sidewalk before a certain basketball game), driving around today in the Lou, running errands and getting lunch, the electricity in the air was palpable. As I wrote earlier, before tonight's kickoff, on the one message board I can stomach, if not enjoy:

"In four years of living in St Louis, I've never seen the town have such anticipation about any football game, let alone a college football game. This is a baseball town first, a hockey town second and a soccer town third. Football? Its off the map. Years of the football Cardinals ruined this town for pigskin. Hell, it took one of the most prolific offenses in NFL history for people to give a shit about the Rams.

College football seemed non-existent when I moved here in '04, which was a huge change from the four years prior when I was living south of the Mason-Dixon. Down there, it seemed religion, here it was about as popular as a pine wood derby boxcar race. While I'm sure I'm overstating this and probably offending some ol' die hard, when I got to St Louis, the overwhelming feel at the bars, on the radio, on the message boards, was that nobody here really gave a shit.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say people in these parts haven't cared this much about college football since the forward pass was invented a few blocks down the street. Or twenty or thirty years ago, maybe. Not sure, really; I wasn't a history major.*

It's giddy out there. It is new and fresh and foreign. Nobody knows really what to do or think or say; die hards and wagon jumpers alike. They just hop on and hope to enjoy the ride. A chance for Mizzou to play in the BCS Championship Game? Mizzou? In football? Really?

This is great for the city, for the metro area, and for the state which Abe Simpson will be dead in the cold, cold ground before he recognizes. This feeling, around town, is, as far as I know, completely and totally unprecedented.

And awesome.

*false."

Sticking by that. Great win over Kansas tonight. Although I remain, through and/or through, an Illinois fan, it is cool to see, in this city of bad vibes and constant highway construction, people, not just the old timers but the band wagoners, excited about anything, especially anything college football related.

Missouri is a 17 year old at prom, and we are about to be deflowered by the chance to play for the national title. It's exciting, confusing, surreal. And nobody -- nobody -- would have it any other way.

So, for once in my life, I will say: Go Mizzou. Good luck against the Sooners, Tigers. From your neighbors to the north-east, the guys who own rights over you this decade, with breath stinking of rightly earned Busch gold tops, we say:

Play for the title. I dare you. M-I-Z.
----------

I made an imix of my wedding music*; walking down the isle (first two), into dinner music, into the first dance (La Cienega Just Smiled) slash parentsy dance (I've Been Loving You Too Long>You Are So Beautiful), into the r(c)ock out. If you want to listen, here ye be.

If you want to feel like you were at the wedding drink 12 mojitos and do 8 tequila shots while listening to it.

[see you all later this week with glorious tales of debauchery from south of the border.]

*Well, nearly all of it; some tunes just aint available on the itunes. It's a missing about eight.

Come on...

2007-11-13T08:29:00.000-06:00

Like you were really expecting anything out of me. 27 hours from right now, I should be on the beach with a frosty beverage in my hand, not worrying about commutes, or internets, or pants for the next ten days.

Barring some sort of bizarre accident involving a manatee, a rickshaw, and an eight year old named Hector who teaches me to love again (?), The FYC will return the week after Thanksgiving, with a thorough recap of all hijinks which will inevitably ensue on the drunken white beaches of Tulum, Mexico.

Also, I will be married, and, just to shake things up, The Lady Friend will be a robot.

Adios, amigos.

[have a great two weeks, earth. enjoy the leftovers.]

Illini v. tOSU

2007-11-10T17:29:00.000-06:00

FUCK YEAH!

I was tempted to start livebloggin' it at halftime, but didn't want to mess with whatever in the universe that was working.

Biggest win in the programs history? I vote yay.

And holy god shit, what a fantastic payback for tOSU fucking up Illinois' perfect basketball season of 0'4-'05. HUGE win!

It's Fakesgiving Time

2007-11-09T02:22:00.000-06:00

The Lady Friend and I now have a tradition of being out of the country for Thanksgiving the last two years in a row -- which seems odd to me as Thanksgiving Week in Peoria was my favorite week of the year for about five years running; things change, people move, etc. -- however, we established last year the holiday of Fakesgiving the Sunday before we hopped our flight. I grilled up a spiced turkey breast, she did up some potatoes mashed style, we had some wine and all was well.

And, based on precedent, that means two days from now, this Sunday, is Fakesgiving.

This year, since even more folks will be joining us outside the borders this Thanksgiving, we decided to up the Fakesgiving festivities. It will be a real, huge Thanksgiving style meal, but on a fake day. Fakesgiving, indeed.

This will be my first attempt at roasting a whole, twenty pound bird (wish me luck) (I'm really fucking sick of that bird taking up half of my fridge for the last week. Thaw already!), and we've got a menu of potatoes, stuffing, salad, berries cranned, casserole, jello, and pumpkin trifle to go along with it.

That may sound like a lot of food (and it is), but we've got twenty or so feisty Fakesgiving-ers coming over. Top times and a heck of a way to end the last weekend of The Lady Friend and I's singlehood.

Enjoy yourselves a nice Fakesgiving, too, will ya? It's turkey, it's wine, it's friends and family, it's football; why not do this twice a year from now on?

[enjoy veterans day and the marine corps birthday, too, kids. america, fuck yeah! and go illni.]

Reason #1 Why I Love Mexico: The Company

2007-11-08T08:16:00.000-06:00

Yes, it may sound cheesy, but my favorite part of going to el mejico is the people. And not just the friends I get to hang out with, but also the bartenders and staff which not only put up with my broken spanglish and incessant pointing in a fruitless attempt to communicate with them, but do so with a smile. Incredibly patient and friendly people. Except when waiting on douchebags.

But then there is hanging out with my friends; be it posing as a boy band, getting a drunken four dragons pose, being oddly seduced, wearing sombreros, playing around with and/or inside of storage equipment, or just maxing and relaxing outside of the pool.

And later on, heading back to someone's room at two in the morn', ordering 12 hamburgers, six order of fries, some quesadillas, a few club sandwiches, tacos, 24 beers, and 24 waters and having it all arrive in twenty minutes. It is then fun to watch your friends pass out while eating a 'dilla.

Hell, in Tulum, even hanging out with my alcoholic stuffed dog (or other fake dogs) is nice.

Everything is better in Mexico. Seis más días.

Reason #2 Why I Love Mexico: Bidets

2007-11-07T06:44:00.000-06:00

I'm not a fan of poop. I've never had sex with a girl in her two hole, nor have I come anywhere near a tossed salad, because, well, that's where poop comes from and that's fucking disgusting. I don't enjoy pooping, and I enjoy cleaning up after pooping even less.

But while I'm in Mexico, all my worries are over. Sitting next to the toilet in every bathroom is a bidet. You do your business in the loo, give yourself a quick wipe, then hop on the old bidet and let the water do the work for you.

When my friends and I were first in Mexico, we debated about the proper way to use the bidet. I assumed that sitting on it the way one sits on a toilet was correct, while others thought you should straddle it, facing the faucets.

The main problem with the second approach is that you have to go completely bottomless to pull that off, which really isn't much of a problem unless you're in a hurry. The second problem with the face the handles approach, which I found out the hard way, is that it's very easy to lose one's balance. During my rather scientific testing of this method, I used the towel rack above the bidet to steady myself.

The towel rack quickly was ripped out of the wall. And that is how I came to find myself laying naked on a bathroom floor in Mexico, covered in a towel and a towel rack, with a poopy butt.

Anyhoo, after getting used to the bidet, it's hard to go back to the American way of wiping ones ass with toilet paper. It's quite humiliating, really. What are we, animals?

You're telling me that I've got to wipe my own ass? Let us evolve, people. Lets bring bidets to America!

But, until that glorious day arrives, I will just have to count on my yearly trips outside of the country to get the easy cleanliness that only a bidet can provide. Thanks for having them, Mexico. And thanks for cleaning my poop, bidets.

Reason #3 Why I Love Mexico: The Miami Vice

2007-11-06T08:16:00.000-06:00

(I love you)

The bars in Tulum serve up a generous amount of specialty cocktails -- the leaping lizard, electronic lemonade, a host of others -- but the real star of the show is the Miami Vice. It's half strawberry daquiri and half pina colada.

At first it starts off like a Steak n' Shake side by side milkshake turned upside down, but as the warm Caribbean sun beats down on your glass, the two sides of freezy goodness begin to melt together. That's when the good stuff happens.

If ever there was a perfect drink to compliment playing pool basketball or boccee on the beach, it's the Miami Vice. The only problem is you may get full after taking in four or five of them. My suggestion? Go to the restroom and make room for more. Quit being such a fucking pussy.

Reason #4 Why I Love Mexico: Mojitos

2007-11-02T06:00:00.000-05:00

"I was uh... very pleased and surprised, I was really not expecting an open bar. Top shelf booze, I tell ya. This guy knew his stuff. Made me a mojito. (sips) I don't think its a gay drink. Mojito..." - Brian Griffin

It's five simple ingrediants: rum, sugar, lime, carbonated water and mint; Things which, on their own, are rarely very appealing. Together, however, they form one of the greatest beach cocktails of all time. Once the mint is muddled with the sugar and the lime, the rum is added, and it's topped off with a splash of soda water, all is right with the world. It's the combination of all of it's ingrediants which make it work, the sum of it's parts, if you will. It's perfectly socialist.

Plus, as fake Samuel Jackson would say, "It'll get ya' drunk!"

(note - Mojitos would be higher up on the list, but I once yakked after drinking them for ten straight hours and it looked like I puked up a head of romaine and a citrus stand. Not appealing, that.)

[have a great weekend, everyone. enjoy the sweatshirt weather.]

Reason #5 Why I Love Mexico: Sushi

2007-11-01T03:02:00.000-05:00

Up here in America, sushi is still looked at, in some corners, as an exotic dish. It shouldn't be. It should be thought of as an awesome dish, nothing more, nothing less.

First on this meandering blog post of mine, let us learn a little bit about sushi, no? Yes. Jerk.

The following is from a speech I gave freshman year at SIUE about how to make sushi. As you probably expect, I took it about as seriously as I take everything in my life, that is to say with the passion of Kip Wells on downers. Somehow, I got an A on this -- and the whole course -- and I'd like to think it was from a combination of my wit, Midwestern sensibilities, and keen body language, but I think the truth of the matter is the speech teacher -- a little 23 year old blondie pants grad student -- wanted some of my sushi.

And by sushi, I mean cock.

My cock, wrapped in rice and seaweed. That's exactly what I mean.

Anyhoo, what we now know as sushi was first invented by Hanaya Yohei in the end of the Edo period, I'm going to guess in the year 1830. It was essentially what the Japanese used to counter European's sandwiches during the great intercontinental hand food war of 1831. Suck it, Duke.

This isn't actually Yohei, but we can assume he looked like this because, admit it, Japanese people all look the same.

Many people enjoy eating sushi, and not just the Japanese. Look! White people eat it with Pringles!

There are many types of sushi, including:

Now if you want to make your own sushi, the first thing you'll need is some rice, veggies and or fish, and some seaweed and a sushi mat. Take your seaweed and sushi mat and stand in your kitchen, grinning like one giant fucking moron. There you go:

Next, you'll spread your rice on the seaweed which you have placed 3/4's up on your rolling mat. Push a little divet in your rice and fill with your ingrediants:

Now roll that sucker up like the worlds biggest blunt:

Once you're all rolled up, slice that bitch up like a prison yard snitch:

Plate:

And serve to your Dennis Quaid look-a-like friend:

Look! He likes it!

In conclusion:

Since we all now have a firm grasp on just what sushi is, let me state this now: I fucking love the stuff. It's like crack, if crack was raw fish and not cocaine and baking powder and hobo's ashes as our 5th grade D.A.R.E. officer told us.

And since I live in St Louis, the only way I could get real fresh sushi is if they made it out of disgusting channel catfish or rainbow trout (they don't). So what I'm left with is sushi which is fresh as a week old shit sandwich. It's still good, don't get me wrong (I'm looking at you Sekisui), but it's not Tulum.

The sushi at the sushi bar in Tulum is fresher than fresh. Fresher that DJ Jazzy Jeff. It's so fresh that I once bit into a roll and come up with a tongue full of fishing hook, and it wasn't even disgusting, it was enderaing ("Awwww, I'm going to need a tetanus shot! How authentic!") The sashimi melts in your mouth and the spicymaki still gives me unexpected boners. It's just that good.

And that's why you, sushi, are the number five reason that I want a time machine to fast forward two weeks and get my chubby ass down to the sweet, sweet beaches of Tulum. Until then, you will be in my wet dreams, giving me boners.

Goulet; Countdown to Mexico

2007-10-31T01:15:00.000-05:00

RIP Robert Goulet, who with the exception of a random cameo on The Simpsons, I wouldn't even know existed before Will Ferrell took on his persona on SNL

(that skit still has the funniest use of the n-word I have ever heard.)

And later on Conan O'Brien

RIP, Goulet. Here's hoping for many a diablo martini for you, wherever you are.

---------------------

In two weeks from right about now, I'll be hoping a plane for our neighbor to the south, el mejico. Back to my old haunt of Tulum. Is it odd that all those little guys down there keep trying to come up here and I keep going down (thats what she said) there? Maybe, whatever. Mas mojitos, ~~tiny guy with a nice mustache~~ mi amigo.

Anyhoo, it will be ten days of sunning, swimming, boozing, carousing, eating, drinking, playing, and imbibing with 46 of my closest friends and family members (if my estranged adopted brother David ever gets out of that Turkish prison, it will be 47. I told you not to open mouth kiss a man over there, Dave, but did you listen to me? Of course not, you never do). Also, I will be getting married. No big whoop.

Anyway, as expected, myself, The Lady Friend, and our cast of dozens are rightfully jazzed for this whole excursion [you may remember some of the ca st from my second previous journey south of el bordero -- not to be confused w/ last Novembers -- however, we will be sans Zeus, Injury McProne, and ~~Willie Tripod~~ Johnny Dangerously (damn adulthood and it's stupid careers); but plus longtime friends of the show Nasty & his GF Sarah, Sarah #2, K$, JaqE, Just Plain E, Joshtastic, Gallo, Elimidate Will & his wife Haley, and Daryl & his wife Laura.] Holy god shit, that's quite the fucking crew.... and that's not even including the family.

Tito, or as he was known on the previous journey, "Lionel Hutz" -- here's a picture of him humping a passed out Nasty after Cookman's wedding! -- has asked for me to starting priming the ol' blog up for the Mexico trip, mainly b/c he was jealous of my orange peeling skills and thought that this post sucked (it did).

So, in order to appease the hairy, drunken Peorian, I will begin doing a top five things I love about Mexico.

Coming up tomorrow: Sushi.

Saint Louis Soccer United

2007-10-25T02:40:00.000-05:00

There's a major push to build a new soccer only stadium outside of St. Louis on the Illinois side in hopes of luring a Major League Soccer franchise to the area. Seeing as how The Lady Friend would really like me to watch even more sports and drink more, I think this is a fantastic idea. If we get a franchise, I'm getting season tickets as soon as they become available. It'd just be dumb not to.

They (it seems as if they're going to be going by "St Louis Soccer United" which I don't hate, per se, but I'm not in love with, either. We just need a cool nickname. Suggestions?) have a website set up for information and support, including stadium plans (it's no St James Park, but it should do) and bizarre testimonials from soccer luminaries like Mike Shannon and Kim Tucci, the owner of the Pasta House. There is also this quote from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch's Bryan Burwell:

"If you know anything about the history of soccer, you know about the young men from The Hill that beat England in 1950 at the World Cup in Brazil. It only seems logical that MLS would eventually find its way here."

I'm not sure if Mr. Burwell understands the concept of logic or not, but I have no idea why a game played 57 years ago (which was later made into one craptastic movie staring that brat from Home Improvement) should award the St Louis area a pro soccer franchise, but whatever. I disapprove of his means, but approve of his ends. Or something.

So if you're interested in being a drunken hooligan with me, head on over to the site and register. I'll buy you a beer at the new park if you do.

1985 Dwight's Gift For 2005 Dwight

2007-10-18T06:32:00.000-05:00

While priming myself to get ready for tonight's epsiode of The Office, I stumbled across Dwight Shrute's "blog." It is, as you probably expected, the awesome.

"Hello internetizens. I have returned from my web logging hiatus. You may be asking yourself, “what happened to Dwight all summer?” Shut up. It’s none of your business. Just focus on the present. In this case, the present has two meanings. In its first usage, it is temporal. The present is the here and now. It is also being used to mean “a gift.” This web log is a present from me to you, the reader, because you do not pay for it and I am giving it to you. Enjoy your present (both meanings).

This weekend, while my cousin Mose was aerating the soil in the East Field, he came upon a metal box labeled “For Dwight. DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 2005.” Luckily, Mose is not nosey and brought it to me unopened right away.

As it turns out, the box was a time capsule that I had left for myself in 1985. It was quite interesting to see what 1985 Dwight had left for 2005 Dwight, even though 2005 Dwight forgot it was there and had to be reminded by 2007 Mose two years later.

These are the contents of 1985 Dwight’s Time Capsule:

1. A dehydrated beet sculpture of myself holding a very small metal box meant to represent a miniature version of the time capsule. I was very much into beet miniatures when I was teenager. I did not, however, know my “BeetDwight” would shrivel into dehydration. That occurred because of science, not intention.

2. A friendship bracelet. They were all the rage amongst agricultural teenagers in 1985. I was susceptible to fads back then. This has since been corrected.

3. Half of a Twix Bar. It must have fallen in.

4. A letter to myself. It said: “Hello Dwight. If you’re reading this, then you are not dead. Good. If you are not Dwight and you are reading this, be aware that this letter is cursed and the ghost of me will haunt you forever. Dokken Rules. Dwight.”

5. A letter to my wife. This is a sensitive subject as I am unmarried and have obviously disappointed my former self.

6. The carcass of a vole. At first I thought it had either fallen in or been trapped while attempting to retrieve the Twix bar. After careful thought, however, I remembered that this was the skeleton of my neighbor’s pet. I despised him and kidnapped one of his voles. Unfortunately, the vole perished before I could return her, so I threw her into the time capsule so there would be no evidence. This serves as my confession. If any authorities are reading this, I willingly accept any punishment bestowed upon me, although I believe the statute of limitations on vole manslaughter has run out.

This “blast from the past” has cast an interesting shadow over my week. It has provided cause for great self-reflection. In truth, however, I am proud of who I have become and regret nothing. Now I must make a time capsule for 2025 Dwight. I hope he is alive when he opens it. And married. And running a large paper company. And a beet magnate or mogul, whichever is most powerful in 2025. Additionally, I hope he has created a way to keep miniature beet sculptures hydrated over long periods of time, thus making himself very rich yet unburdened by the pressures of being overly wealthy.

That is all,
Dwight K. Schrute
2007 Version"

Truth be told, anytime I hear "cousin Mose" I laugh, so I just might be a sucker for this whole thing.

Dane Cook is Hilarious!!!

2007-10-15T12:32:00.000-05:00

False.

Dane Cook is not funny. I've said this before and I'll probably say it again, if Dane Cook were to go out for beers with my friends, he'd be the least funny guy in the bar (excluding myself, of course). He being considered "funny" is the dumbest thing which has happened to America since people started putting those "No Fear" stickers on their cars.

For a while, I just didn't care, though. Other morons can find him funny, that's fine. I just know well enough to not turn on one of his specials when they're on HBO and to steer clear of his "movies." I don't see him, he doesn't annoy me. Simple as that.

But now with his relentless ad campaign for the MLB playoffs -- which are dumb in and of themselves; why do you run an ad for something that the viewer is already fucking watching? -- I can't take it anymore. Avoidance is no longer an option; annoyance, however, is. He's a gigantic asshat. I hate everything about him, and I just want these playoffs to be over so he goes the fuck away from my tv screen.

On my way back from Indiana this weekend, I stopped by the Christian pilgrimage site which is Effingham, Illinois and had a little talk with God.

Turns out, He hates Dane Cook, too.

Fall has Fallen

2007-10-12T09:36:00.000-05:00

I'm off to the lake for a weekend of baseball playoffs (go indigenous peoples of north america), chili, football (go indigenous peoples of north america located in the upper Mississippi River valley!), and of course:

(Man, I wish I was old enough to have drank beer brand beer. That stuff always tantalized me as a young boy shopping with his mom at Krogers back in the day. Alas, in was nothing but Big K and Shasta grape sodas for me.)

But when I get back, there will be a special message to the person I hate the very most in the entire world (besides terrorists, the blind, and Carlos Mencia of course). So hopefully that will get you through the weekend.

[have a great one, ya'll. get out there and be somebody!]

Let Those Of You Who Have Not Got Into A Fight,Taken Off Your Pants, Led A Dangerous Drunken Police Chase, And Been Tazered Cast Thy First Stone

2007-10-11T01:44:00.000-05:00

Wow.. A ridiculously funny crime took place in Peoria this week! What are the odds of that happening?

Woman strips down, leads police on high-speed chase

PEORIA - It took police from two different agencies to arrest an East Peoria woman early Monday who allegedly caused a ruckus at a bar by taking off her clothes then drove her minivan drunk, fleeing from an officer.

Stacey S. Nelton, 35, of 1180 Upper Spring Bay Road was arrested on charges of driving under the influence of alcohol, aggravated battery, aggravated fleeing and eluding, reckless driving, resisting arrest, disorderly conduct, criminal trespass, driving on the shoulder and two counts each of speeding and improper lane usage.

According to a Peoria County sheriff's report, a deputy was dispatched about 11:30 p.m. Sunday to Aberle's Bar, 5721 W. Farmington Road, to investigate a naked woman, who had just left in a minivan after earlier fighting with bar patrons and slapping the bartender.

As the deputy approached the bar, he spotted the van heading east on Farmington Road driving at a high rate of speed, reports said. The deputy noted the driver, later determined to be Nelton, reached a speed of 78 mph. The speed limit on Farmington Road is 40 mph.

The deputy, with his lights and siren activated, pursued Nelton as she turned north onto Sterling Avenue. He clocked her at 96 mph at that point of the pursuit.

Nelton took Sterling to Interstate 74 and headed east. While on I-74, the deputy said she struck a guardrail and passed a motorist on the right shoulder. When she left the interstate at the North University Street exit, Nelton almost collided with a Peoria police squad car.

She turned onto Main Street, followed the curve which turns into Western Avenue and headed down the hill where she drove through the yard at 1913 W. Martin while negotiating the turn.

The pursuit ended in the parking lot of Mount Zion Missionary Baptist Church, 305 S. Madison Park Terrace, when her van got hung up on a cement parking block. Police used a Taser on Nelton, who was not wearing any clothes from her waist down, when she refused to get out of the vehicle.

---

Well then. Sounds like one hell of a night, really. Three thoughts:

1. The word "ruckus" needs to be used much more frequently.
2. I wish this was on tape.
3. My bachelor party really should have gone to Aberle's Bar, apparently.

I Am The World's Greatest Orange Peeler

2007-10-10T04:12:00.000-05:00

Yes, That's Right. And I still gots game. I can peel an orange in one peel. If anyone wants to challenge me, go ahead. But you'll lose.

(Man this is a slow night.)

Bachelor Party -> Sports

2007-10-05T03:32:00.000-05:00

So the bachelor party was just about a complete and total success. We grilled some man meat from the Peoria oasis which is Pottstown Meat & Deli, rode around greater central Illinois on a bus, rocked ass at three different redneck bars, and ended up in downtown Peoria around one. Shortly thereafter, I went black and was asked to leave a drinking bar for the first time in probably five years.

From there I was denied entrance to world famous Big Al's (for being too drunk, natch), thrown in a cab, and may or may not have passed out on my buddy Tito's back porch for an undetermined amount of time. I woke up in his guest bedroom around 11 and how no idea how I got there. Neither did Tito.

Neither did anyone else, really. Nearly everyone blacked out.

A group of 28-27 year old guys, and the majority of us all blacked out? Real mature, gents, real mature. (And awesome.)

So the brain cells I killed Saturday night and the fluish symptoms I developed from sleeping outside for [scene missing] have left me with a good case of the bad week. Luckily the weekend is here with a veritable smörgåsbord of sports:

Baseball playoffs, Illinios v. Wisconsin (not on the Big Ten network!), Mizzou v. Nebraska, more baseball playoffs (go Indians!), and topping it all off with a Packers v. Bears Sunday night game.

Which leaves me to a whole weekend of recharging my batteries on the couch, eating chili, wings, and burgers, and killing even more brain cells with vodka and wine. Then next week, I can complain of being sick and poopy all week before rinsing and repeating next weekend.

It's a vicious cycle.

[have a great weekend, everyone. i hope youre as bonerly inducing excited for illinois game as i am; this could be epic.]

The Chicago Cubs Are Trying To Ruin My Life

2007-09-28T02:46:00.000-05:00

I don't have the normal hatred of the Chicago Cubs that many of my fellow Cardinals fans possess. While I'm not exactly sympathetic towards them, I am pretty apathetic. I don't exactly cheer for them, but I also don't root against them (except when they're playing the Cards). This apathy generally comes not from growing up in Peoria, which is equally divided in Cubs and Cards fans, but from growing up in Peoria while both franchises sucked. Hard.

A good chuck of my primary childhood/adolescent years (1988-1999) were pretty rough on both teams -- what with only three playoff appearances during the combined twenty four seasons -- and if I was ten years older or ten years younger, perhaps I would feel some more vitriol towards my friends who cheer on the Northsiders. But I don't. It's all apathy, (almost) all the time. Maybe things would be different if I didn't grow up when Mark Whiten and Felix Jose were among the "stars" on the team; I don't really know.

So with the Cubs pushing to win the NL Central earlier this week, I was perfectly content with it. "Let the baby have their bottle" was a mantra I could get behind, especially after winning the fucking World Series last year (If, in fact, that really did happen). I'd be happy for my Cubs fan friends, that they get to enjoy some cold baseball for the first time in four years, get their nerves racked and their livers punished. They're great fucking times, the playoffs (although I am looking forward to a stress free one for the first time in a while).

Then, in Miami earlier this week, the fucking wheels fell off of the Cubbie wagon. They lost their first two games against the Marlins. Meanwhile, the Brewers were beating up on the hapless Cardinals. The magic number would have remained at four for four consecutive games had not Brewers manager Ned Yost made one of the most idiotic managerial decisions I have seen in a fortnight and put an insurance run for the Cards on base in the 8th inning instead of -- I don't know? -- trying to win the fucking game. So the magic number fell to three.

Last night, the Cubs finished off getting swept by Florida. But the Brewers (and Ryan Braun) threw their game (literally) away and lost to the Padres. So now the Cubs magic number sits at two. With three games left.

Where am I going with all of this? My bachelor party is Saturday. Every guy going -- sans myself -- is a Cubs fan.

Which means that either the party could be an absolute complete fucking downer (if the Cubs somehow blow this) or it could be kicked up like nineteen notches (if the Cubs clinch). If something drastic happens and the Brewers move into a tie with the Cubs Saturday night, I would not be surprised if my best man, Nate, knifes me. And that's on the low end of the outcome scale.

Tonight the Cubs have "Bat Shit Insane" Carlos Zambrano going up against "Noted Crap Rocker" Bronson Arroyo of the Reds. Saturday's matinée will feature Cubs rookie Rich Hill battling based balls with Aaron Harang, who recently escaped from a zoo. In the same two day span, the Brewers will be throwing Chris Capuano (who hasn't won a game since the Ford administration) against future Hall of Famer (and one heck of a scotch drinker) Greg Maddux and Dave Bush against Chris Young, respectively.

I have no idea who's matchups favor whom -- honestly all four look like decent matchups -- but for the first time in my adult life, I will be pulling for the Cubs this weekend (we had a brief tryst back in 1984; what can I say? Leon Durham was a heck of a ballplayer and a surprisingly sensitive lover). So, go Cubs.

(shudder)

Because if they keep losing they could, in all actuality, ruin my bachelor party.

And if they do that, well, I don't know what I'll do, but it will probably involve an upper decker and Ron Santo's toilet.

[have a great weekend, everybody. enjoy the penn state v. illionis game. oh wait, you probably can't, because the big ten network is also trying to ruin our lives.]

Cartoons, Jury Duty, Cardinals

2007-09-25T03:30:00.000-05:00

A quick programming note: Weekend cartoons will be getting run up over on the Joe Sports Fan for the foreseeable future, be them either in The Absurd Times or just a Sunday Funnies.

-------------------------

Jury Duty Week came and went with all the luster one would expect. While I had been hoping to watch a judge perform magic tricks, see a tall bald bailiff slap his own head, and be witness to John Larroquette lustfully hit on women, all I really saw was a bunch of ugly people (although John Larroquette was there hitting on chicks. Weird).

I knew I wouldn't get picked for a jury -- the defense wouldn't want me since I'm related to two cops and did a stint as a terrible military cop, and the state wouldn't want me since I have a criminal record and wouldn't convict a guy just for possession of marijuana -- but was looking forward to a week of non-third shift and getting some reading done. Which is exactly what I got. Booooooring.

--------------------------

The Lady Friend and I went down to Busch for Sunday night's Cards-'Stro's match. We hung out in the Casino Queen Party Porch and downed some Boulevard Wheat's before heading up to our seats about half an hour before first pitch. Apparently, Sunday's game was free popsicle night and our seats and the ground below us were covered in red, sugary goodness from the fucking little brats sitting directly behind us. Fantastic.

Luckily, one of TLF's friends wasn't able to make it to the game and we used her seats, located annoyingly close to sign guy. Other than that common street whore, it was a fine game all around and one of the better Cards match we caught this season. I got to give a standing ovation to future ~~Intercontinental Champion~~ Hall of Famer Craig Biggio, Pujols continued to own Lidge, and Ankiel had a walk off triple (those have got to be rare). The 80-something year old lady who tapped me on the shoulder to give me one of the weakest high fives ever capped the night off well. (Well, a bottle of wine and Superbad actually capped the night off; it did it well, too. Whatever.)

And while the game -- and the pregame tribute to Mike Shannon (Bob Uecker's tribute to Mike's coaching legacy with the Denver Broncos was pretty funny) -- were both winners, I believe the real winners Sunday night were us, the fans: No longer do we have to waste our money on sticky seats and crappy beer to watch the likes of Kip Wells, nice-guy-bad-pitcher Mike Maroth, or The Strangest Looking Man Ever give up 27 runs a game.

Heading into the offseason, I want the cards to do two things:

1) Trade for Edgar Renteria. Our sweet little Columbian has been gone for too long.
2) Acquire two of the following three pitchers: AJ Burnett, Cliff Lee, or Livan Hernadez.

Trading for a right handed outfield bat wouldn't hurt, either and I'd love to see Brian Barden get a chance to be the backup infielder (along with concentration camp survivor Brendan Ryan), replacing Aaron Fucking Miles. Actually, I'd love to see the fat kid from Salute Your Shorts on the Cards if it means no more Miles.

Ideally my lineup would be:

Renteria
Ankiel
Pujols
Duncan (or possible RH OFer)
Rolen
Edmonds
Molina
Pitcher
Kennedy (gack!)

w/ Ludwick, Spiezio, Ryan, Barden (or the Hoff), Terrible Backup Catcher #9, and Schumaker filling out the bench and Rasmus coming up from AAA when Edmonds goes on the DL with over-lined eyelashes in July.

and a rotation of:

Wainwright
Hernandez/Lee/Burnett
Hernandez/Lee/Burnett
Looper
Mulder/Thompson/Reyes/Me

(I'm not banking on Mark Mulder ever throwing a baseball well again and I don't think Reyes will be here next year, but I think Thompson and I can hold down the fort until Carpenter comes back. If, in fact, Mulder/Thompson/Reyes/Me are pitching well when Carp does come back, then have Carp take Loopers spot and send Looper back to the pen before his arm falls off in a unicycle accident.)

And a bullpen filled out by the normal scrubs.

That team, I think, wouldn't exactly run away with the NL Central in 2008. But they also wouldn't give up double digit runs in twenty fucking different games and would be sniffing both the Central leader and the Wild Card.

That is, of course, if the whole team doesn't die in a plane crash this week, which the way the seaon has gone, seems probable if not possible.

Must of Been Something You SAAAAIIIIID

2007-09-18T05:07:00.000-05:00

Because this song just came on VH1 Classic, I am compelled to show this:

Snl - I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight - A funny movie is a click away
On a side note, I spent many a morning in the mess hall of the USS Ashland back in 2003 screaming the SNL version of this fine Cutting Crew classic. Some liked it, others didn't. I, for one, fucking loved it.

And if anyone wants to do this at my wedding, I'm all for it. It's a go.

Busch!

2007-09-14T09:37:00.000-05:00

I support families. While I don't know if I really want one of my own (children are disgusting), I can understand why others might. Me, I'll be on the porch with a beer, listening to the game. Have fun changing diapers, teaching your kids to read, and loving. Suckers.

Anyhoo, part of being a family is sharing a family meal together. Now I know that the old tyme big Italian-style family meal has gone the way of the employed Italian, to be replaced with such cheap family dinner alternatives like a bucket of KFC or the greatest meal ever invented, Monical's Family Pleaser. That's all well and good, but there's nothing in there for the real dysfunctional family. You know, the boozy, cursing, redneck family. Until now:

As seen at the Conoco in lovely Glen Carbon, IL, it's the Busch Beer Family 12 pack! Awesome. Grab the youngin's from Aunt Lurlene's Daycare and Nails, pile 'em up in the wagon, bail the hubby out of the clink, and swing by the corner gas station for some cool ranch doritos and a family 12 pack of Busch heavies.

Remember: The family that drinks together, stinks together.

(I've got to work on that one.)

[have a great weekend, kids. enjoy suckbowl I.]

How about you, sideburns?

2007-09-12T02:52:00.000-05:00

You'll have to excuse the infrequent at best posting as of late. I have jury duty next week and the thought that some guy may get the chair because I was thinking about Quantum Leap and snoozing underneath my fake eye glasses is a little unnerving. (Question: "What in the world does having jury duty have to do with you not posting on your blog in a week and a half, Al?" Answer: "Shut up.")

Anyway, two things on the baseball front:

1) Barring a minor miracle taking place over the next five days, the 2007 Baseball Cardinals season is officially over. I can say without a smidgen of doubt, that this was the oddest season I have ever seen a baseball team go through.

Case in point: Your utility man (Scott Spiezio) goes into rehab. Three weeks later, he's rocking out on stage with REO Fucking Speedwagon out at Riverport. Meanwhile his team is playing baseball in Arizona. And that's maybe the 237th oddest thing to have happened this season.

Someone needs to write a book on this season. And it should include sex scenes.

2) Former Major League "baseball player" and "guy who don't write good" Mike Pagliarulo has a blog (or something; to call it a blog is almost disrespctful to bloggers everywhere).

What does this have to do with anything? As always, it doesn't. However, for one of the more entertaining reads on the internets, check out the skewering over at the always enjoyable Fire Joe Morgan.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a big weekend of doing nothing* at the lake planned to gear up for this jury duty thing next week (which, hopefully, will actually give me something to write about).

*Nothing = Drinking and watching sports

Labor Day: A Time to Unwind and Spread Your Commie Rhetoric (?)

2007-08-31T04:03:00.000-05:00

I went on record back in March that the combo of St Patrick's Day/NCAA Tourney was putting the weekend of 3/17 high in the running for weekend of '07. It officially has some competition: St Louis is bringing it this weekend. Air Show/Blues Fest/Japanese Fest/Greek Fest? That's more than this sleepy little burgh can normally muster in an entire year, all crammed into three days of late summer wonder.

Throw in a Cardinals team in the middle of a playoff mosey (I refuse to call the NL Central a race anymore) limping back into town to take on the Reds and the return of the Illinois - Missouri football rivalry, and that is one packed weekend.

Personally, I am the most excited about the start of college football (although eating my own weight in gyros down at the Greek fest is appetizing as well), however I am not nearly as excited for the Illini-Mizzou game as I should be. The Busch Braggin' Rights game is well documented as being close to my favorite day of the year (Summer solstice), this contest should really be getting my spirits up. If I had to gauge my actual interest level, it would be somewhere between tepid and mild.

Why? Well, one: Illinois is going to get smoked, and two: There are no rights on the line.

Instead of getting sponsored by a beer favored by rednecks, the powers which be sold the rights to State Farm and decided to name it "Arch Rivalry."

Get it? "Arch Rivalry?" It's in St Louis! We have an arch! Fuck, that's clever.

(Current list of hates: 3. Hee Seop Choi, 2. Ragtime Music, 1. Arch. God, I hate the fucking Arch.)

So instead of putting rights to another local product (I personally like "Imo's Impressin' Rights," Liam once suggested the "Sub Shop vs. Jimmy John's Cut Above Game" -- feel free to drop off any other ideas below), they went with a pun. Great.

Unless, of course, they are subtly putting access to the arch on the line, which would be fine with me seeing as I want nothing to do with that deathtrap until they put some doors on it and Illinois is going to get destroyed anyway.

Man, this post really veered off topic.

So, in conclusion: I could not be looking forward to this weekend anymore. If you're in Dogtown this weekend and smell some sweet cherry wood burning, it is I, smoking a pork shoulder, probably drunk and most definitely without pants. Come on in and grab yourself a bloody mary and a round of good time on the house. Just don't hit me with your cucumbers.

[have a great labor day weekend everyone. seriously, illinois is going to get killed saturday.]

The Cucumber Saga Continues

2007-08-30T06:17:00.000-05:00

We have a follow up!

Putting produce to bad use
By Phil Luciano

Ricky Dean got beat up pretty bad, walloped by bricks and jabbed with car keys.

But what really hurt was the cucumbers.

Dean ended up in the hospital after he was pummeled by two alleged cuke-wielding carjackers.

"It was wild," says Dean, 45, smiling while rubbing various bruises all over his body.

Early Tuesday, Dean, who lives near Northwoods Mall, was with his girlfriend, Sara Peterson, 22, who lives in Far North Peoria. About 2 a.m., they were "just driving" near Harrison Homes, he says.

With Dean in the passenger seat, Peterson was at the wheel of her souped-up '93 Ford Escort. In the 2700 block of North Trewyn Avenue, they heard two women scream, "Help!"

Peterson stopped the car. Dean stepped out, telling her to stay put while he went to talk to the women. They were standing outside a car, which apparently one of them owns, Dean says. He says he does not know the women.

Dean now thinks the pair had been looking for an easy mark.

"They were looking for somebody, I guess," he says.

He started to ask if they needed help. But they yelled at him, "Get away from your car!"

They were packing heavy ammunition: Bricks, apparently swiped from a nearby construction site. Each flung a brick at Dean, with one bashing him in the left shoulder.

Bereft of more bricks, they reached into their car and hoisted out a grocery sack. It was stuffed with cucumbers.

In recollection, Dean's eyes widen and he holds his hands about two feet apart: "The cucumbers were this big."

They rushed Dean and started pounding him with the cukes. He ducked and turned, but the women belted his back with the gargantuan gourds.

Dean, who stands about 5 feet 9 inches and weighs a robust 325 pounds, did not hit back.

"They were ladies," he says.

As the beating continued, he tried to get them off him. "I kept pushing them," he says. "(But) they were pretty big women."

They then noticed Peterson had stepped out of the car. An attacker dashed over, grabbed the keys from the ignition and yipped, "We're taking this car."

But first she sprinted to Dean and poked him hard with keys "all over my body," he says. For reasons he doesn't understand, the two women ordered Peterson into the backseat of the car. Then they sped off.

Dean dug his cell phone out of his pants and called 911. Soon, police found the car, with the women still inside. Absent was Peterson, who'd been forced out not far from Harrison Homes. Police found her walking nearby a while later.

Police arrested two women: Martella M. Brown, 19, 2719 N. Trewyen Ave., and Nicole S. Bailey, 23, 2414 W. Malone St. Both have been charged with aggravated battery. Brown, whose residence is on the same block as the attack, also faces a count of vehicular hijacking.

Banged up, Dean took up the cops' offer of an ambulance ride to Methodist Medical Center. He suffered multiple bruises, but otherwise is all right. He was released later that morning.

Peterson was unavailable for comment. Dean says that her mother, after hearing about the assault, drove to Peoria and brought her daughter to the mom's home in Champaign - where, apparently, law-abiding citizens are free from the risks of vine-ripened weapons.

Dean just shakes his head and grins at the weirdness.

"It was crazy, man," he says.

-----

1. People don't go "just driving" near Harrison Homes, especially at 2 in the morning. Why? Because you get attacked with fucking cucumbers.

2. "The cucumbers were this big." That's what she said.

3. I'm still pretty flustered. This story is just too awesome for it's own good.

Probably the Only Time "Beaten With Cucumber, Car Keys" Has Ever Been Written. Ever.

2007-08-29T05:16:00.000-05:00

This is the type of story which I would normally provide some sort of commentary on. I, however, can not. I'm beyond flustered right now. I'm just really fucking proud of my hometown.

Peorian reportedly beaten with cucumber, car keys

PEORIA - A Central Peoria man was hospitalized early Tuesday for a back injury allegedly inflicted by women armed with bricks, keys and a cucumber.

Ricky D. Dean, 45, and Sara E. Peterson, 22, also of Peoria, were driving in the 2700 block of Trewyn Avenue about 2 a.m. when three women yelled at them to stop their car.

When Dean pulled over, two of the three women, later determined to be Martella M. Brown, 19, and Nicole S. Bailey, 23, approached and started throwing bricks at the car, police said.

Dean got out of the car to confront the women, but continued to be battered by the them. One of them reached inside the car, stole the car keys and then used them to hit Dean, reports said.

As he was hit with the keys, the other woman struck him on the back with a cucumber.

The trio then got into Dean's car and drove away, with Peterson still inside.

Police stopped the car about 30 minutes later in the 3800 block of Southwest Adams Street, but Peterson was not in the car. She was located elsewhere in Harrison Homes uninjured.

Brown, 2718 N. Trewyn Ave., and Bailey, 2414 W. Malone St., were arrested on charges of aggravated battery. Brown also faces a charge of vehicular hijacking for the crime.

The third woman, whose name was not available, was not arrested because she did not partake in the brick-throwing and beating, police said.

Dean, who complained of back pain, was taken to Methodist Medical Center, treated and released.

The State

2007-08-24T02:27:00.000-05:00

I make references from "The State" all the time (particuarly sandwich feet/penis face jokes), but I don't think many people ever get them. Which is a damn shame, really and makes me look like an even bigger dolt than normal. Anyway, here's some good youtubage of the ol' MTV classic:

$240 Worth of Pudding:

Monkey Torture:

And my personal favorite, Old Fashioned Guy (I wish I could find more of these):

[have a great weekend, kids. enjoy the balloon race. (?)]

Cubs are Blue and Stink

2007-08-21T08:42:00.000-05:00

This is a birthday card I recieved from my eight year old niece:

I could not be any prouder.

Four Nights and/or Days in August

2007-08-17T02:46:00.000-05:00

Last night in Forest Park, in my softball leagues championship game, I was playing third base with my team holding a 10-3 lead, with two outs in the top of the sixth inning, I caught a liner to end the inning (more, commas, please,). I jogged off the field and into the dugout. A few moments later, the game was called on account of darkness. We won, and I had caught the final out.

I just checked with the good folks at Elias Sports Bureau, and it was officially the most anti-climatic championship of all time.

Speaking of bad championships, the tallest midget contest which is the race to win the NL Central heats up this weekend in Chicago. After pronouncing the Cardinals dead not even a month ago, I gots to wondering why weren't actually dead yet, Larry noticed the team may or may not actually be zombies, and some (odd looking) kids came on up, and all of a sudden, don't you know it, we got ourselves a pennant race.

(I apparently wrote that last paragraph with a strong country accent. What the fuck?)

May the most mediocre win!

Anyway, if all goes according to plan, the Cards will be in first come Tuesday. Of course, since God hates plans and Mexicans, the Cards will get swept. Either way, I get to get drunk, eat brats, and watch meaningful baseball this weekend.

In the dark. By myself. Without any pants on.

That's all I can really ask for.

[have a great weekend kids. remember, todays game is floppy hat day at wrigley! because everyone likes looking like a douche!]

Yet Another Example Of Why Having A Ridiculous Knowledge Of The Simpsons Makes My Life More Enjoyable

2007-08-16T03:52:00.000-05:00

"I saw this in a movie about a bus that had to speed around the city, keeping its speed over fifty. And if its speed dropped, the bus would explode! I think it was called... 'The Bus That Couldn't Slow Down.'" - Homer

"I saw good action movie last week but I can't think of the name of it... it was about this guy that was a fugitive who escaped in a train crash and was wanted and this other guy was looking for the fugitive in Chicago... I wish I could remember what it was called." - The bagging lady at my friendly neighborhood Schuncks who is a few cocks shy of an orgy (back by popular demand!!), during a conversation I overheard last weekend.

I butted in and told her it was "The Guy Nobody Could Catch."*

*No I didn't, I just shook my head and walked away. Like I talk to people who work at grocery stores.

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

2007-08-14T02:14:00.000-05:00

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.

-------------

Links:

Dan's got some pictures.
Will enjoyed his time as well.
If Juan leaves, I will miss him. This pic still cracks me up and he may or may not have made out with my friend Cathy.
One of my favorite wrestlers as a kid died.
We're all fucked! And not in the good way.
I'm pretty sure I enjoy the few weeks where I am all pumped up to watch a new college football season more than I do the actual college football season. Oh, hell, thats not true -- I just love Bloodys and wings too much to say such a thing -- but EDSBS helps to get me so.

Just 'cause I can:

That show stunk.

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

Dear Brewers and/or Cubs

2007-08-09T01:58:00.000-05:00

Please win some games so I can stop having hope that the Cardinals will somehow miraculously win the division with this ~~inconsistent, bad~~ (actually, they're quite good at being inconsistent) fuckawful pitching staff / lineup. Also, would you mind trading for Aaron Miles and David Eckstein? That would be great.

Thanks,
Al

Jesus Effingham Christ

2007-07-31T03:03:00.000-05:00

I love going to my family's cabin in Indiana. It's the perfect place in the world to drink whiskey, bbq, throw some washers, listen to the Cards broadcast from their radio affiliate in historic Linton, In, and watch Mama's Family reruns till my heart is content, all things which I hold both near and dear (that Bubba will just be the death of Mama, no?!). The drive back and forth from the Lou to the lake could use some spicin' up (Directions: Get on 70, set cruise to 74mph, attach the club on the steering wheel to keep it straight, take nap, wake up after three hours, exit at Brazil.), but it does let me catch this glorious, absurd, gaudy sight which looms large over the interstate hamlet of Effingham, Illinois, like a giant looming loom machine:

Every time I see it, I can't help but to think "You know, I bet Jesus would really like that. When He comes back to surprise Liam next week, I bet He'll say 'Fuck spending the money it cost putting up that cross to build some poor people a home and buy them some food; or instead of just donating to help a charity or find a cure for cancer or some shit, nope, build a giant hideous fucking cross over some hick ass town in the middle of fucking nowhere. That will help humanity. You fucking dumb shits. Oh, and thanks for arbitrarily picking the cross to symbolize Me. I love reliving that fucking day every time I check in on you assholes. Me!'"

Jesus curses a lot.

I Love Corporate E-Mails

2007-07-19T08:38:00.000-05:00

Many moons ago, back when I gave an assbag about this blog thing, I wrote:

"My company’s campus has three different cafeterias. Like most cafeterias, they have suggestion boxen. Once a month the management of the company which runs the cafeterias sends out an e-mail which features all of the suggestions, along with a note from the cafeteria management saying (in kinder words) "Go fuck yourself. You’ll eat what we put out there and you’ll pay what we charge. Don’t like it? Go waste half an hour of your lunch hour just walking to your car in the parking lot and eat elsewheres."

These "suggestion e-mails" generally please me, as I like it when companies don't care about their customers and have no bones in saying so."

This is still the way I feel about company wide, suggestion style e-mails. The tickle me absolutely silly. And it is with a sadness knowing no end that I have learned that my company will forego "Town Hall" e-mails for the foreseeable future, instead opting to have live "Town Hall" meetings hosted by our CEO live streamed into everyone's office. This upsets me for reasons two-fold: 1) I'll miss the e-mails, and 2) this is more work for me.

But with this sad news, I bring joy. Well, I don't actually bring it; Will from Deadspin does. His sources leaked him a company wide "Town Hall" style e-mail from the giant, easy to pick on, jumped the shark, corporate monstrosity which is ESPN.

And it's funnier than any e-mail I have ever received.

Some highlights:

Question:

What is being done, (if any), to address sleeping issues of on-duty security personnel? Is there a radio/phone-in person check-in at specific intervals during the overnight hours to prevent an officer from falling asleep on duty?

Answer:

Security posts are rotated every one to three hours to keep the security officers alert on the third shift. The contract security supervisors and our security staff patrol at night to make sure individuals are performing their duties. Any employee who sees a security officer sleeping should immediately report it to the ESPN Security Shift Supervisor on duty at x2486 or x2214.

That sounds safe.

Question:

When will the bicycle rack in front of the south door of Building 3 be reinstalled? It was removed last year during construction.

Answer:

The bike rack has been reinstalled.

Pay attention, asshole.

Question:

Is there or could there be an option to receive a pay check once a week instead of every other Thursday? Many of us live pay check to pay check. Being able to be paid every week would help tremendously.

Answer:

All ESPN employees are paid on a bi-weekly basis and have the same pay date. Payroll is a shared service provided by our parent company and ESPN cannot operate under a different system.

Mr. Morgan, you earn a decent living. If you could control you $10,000 a week faberge egg habit, this would be a non-issue

Question:

What qualities do you feel a Leader should possess?

Answer:

For guidance, please review the Leadership Competencies in Performance Connection on the intranet for information on what is expected of a leader. Another good source for guidance is your department's HR generalist.

Believe it or not, that's actually a quote from Dwight Eisenhower. France, 1945.

Question:

Given the success of Dancing with the Stars" on ABC, (and "So You Think You Can Dance" on FOX), does ESPN plan to capitalize on this nationwide dance obsession, (and high TV/internet ratings), and offer similar programming? Would ESPN strongly consider seeking rights agreements to air existing competitions and/or would EOE develop its own dance competition and/or reality show? If aired in months when neither of the two above series air, it could potentially capture the same audience without direct competition. ESPN would also further expand its viewer base by offering this diverse programming option. Considering the success of pro-athletes Emmitt Smith and Jerry Rice on DWTS, it might be just the right time for a dance competition featuring only pro-athletes. [I have read that
the 2nd Annual World Salsa Championships, (Albert Torres And Salsa Seven Inc.), will be broadcast on ESPN International and ESPN Deportes and I very much hope that they will also be broadcast on ESPN 2.]"

Answer:

We often include content from and play off the success of Dancing with the Stars within our existing studio franchises, including regular updates in SportsCenter and other studio shows, particularly involving the participating athletes. We have looked at ballroom dancing programming and will continue to. One challenge is that the dancing audience is generally not our typical audience. To have a shot at success would require devotion of significant resources, and at that point, it becomes a matter of prioritization.

Oh, sweet fuck.

You know what...

2007-07-18T09:16:00.000-05:00

The Cardinals may suck right now, but they'll never take this away from us:

I still can't believe he humped the fucking World Series trophy.

2007-07-10T06:43:00.000-05:00

Congrats, St Louis Post-Dispatch, you have now literally sucked the fun out of comedy.

You Suck, Al!

2007-06-29T03:19:00.001-05:00

Well that was the suckiest week of sucky blogging to ever suck. My apologies, but I'm slacking this summer; it's pretty much on purpose -- I'm enjoying one last summer of simple pleasures like video games and drinking -- this time next summer I'll be married [(?)(!)] and it seems like those kind of things aren't allowed when you're married (for some reason I picture my life rapidly descending into some kind of "King of Queens"-ish CBS bad family sitcom hell; I'll start working for a deliver company, The Lady Friend's dad will own The Malibu Sands, we'll befriend a black couple).

So I'm neglecting just about everything during this glorious little summer of ours; relationships, commitments, careers, houseplants, hygiene -- seriously, everything... including this blog.

Honestly, I just don't have shit to write about and I'm not putting forth the effort to think of something. I'll have something next week, as I hit a very special anniversary, but other than that it's going to be hit and miss the rest of the summer.

FYI.

Anyway, that's it for me for a little -- I'll get back at you whenevers. Hell, maybe something cool will actually happen in my life and I'll be compelled to write about. In fact, I can only hope this weekend's fun can match that of last weekend's copious amount of ribaldry, where we found ourselves at a 'q down the street at long time friend of the shows Erin and Cathy's house. That party was the first party I have been to in over eight years to have the cops called on it. The cops (who were younger than most of the party goers) were really confused about why they were called to a yard full of mid-to-late twenty somethings, all drinking, gabbing relatively quietly, and enjoying some bags and washers. The cops almost seemed disappointed in us for not being wilder.

Maybe this weekend, we will be!

[anyway, have a great weekend, kids.]

Good Cop/Baby Cop

2007-06-27T03:56:00.001-05:00

Babies are funny.

Good Cop, Baby Cop

Weekend!

2007-06-22T04:54:00.000-05:00

I dare you to read this:

Misunderstanding leads to punch in the face

Peoria - A 69-year-old Table Grove man received a punch to the face on Tuesday after his attacker mistakenly believed his wife had been insulted, police said.

The victim, along with his 69-year-old wife, were in the parking lot of the Luthy Botanical Garden removing his motorized scooter from the trunk of their car about 2:30 p.m. when another vehicle began backing up towards the couple, police reports said.

The victim reportedly yelled at the driver to stop, about the same time he accidentally dropped part of his scooter to the ground and uttered, "Son of a (expletive)¹," reports said.

A passenger in the moving car, got out demanding to know what the victim had said. The victim said he tried to explain but was punched in the face and fell to the ground, police said.

The victim's wife told the attacker she was calling police only to have the man allegedly threaten to strike her, as well, police reports said. The driver and attacker then drove off.

The victim told officers he did not direct his comment toward the driver and was just upset about dropping his scooter, reports said.

and not think of this:

Man, I miss Seinfeld. Thank god for the interwebs.

¹What if the expletive wasn't "bitch" like you think it was? Maybe he yelled "Son of a Godshit!" or "Son of a fuckcracker!" I'd just like you to keep an open mind when reading "(expletive)" in the future.

---------------------------

If you find yourself in Dogtown tomorrow and notice a sweet smell of hickory and whiskey, that is me, smoking about seven pounds of brisket, sipping some bloody's, sours, and vodkades, sitting in one of these, getting ready for the first big Dogtown 'Q of the summer.

If you're in Dogtown tomorrow and smell something disgusting, that's probably my sweaty softball jersey, rotting in the hamper. TLF is seriously slacking on some laundry.

[have a great solstice weekend, kids. In case you were wondering what is the perfect vodka for a bloody, it is this, it seriously fucking rocks.]

Nothing

2007-06-21T03:11:00.000-05:00

I learned a long time ago that every six months, I need to take a week off to do nothing. It's what keeps me going. Without the biannual break, I'd probably go insane. Well, more insane than I may or may not already be. Whatever.

Last week’s week off was just about perfect. Late Sunday afternoon, besides feeling a bit hung-over, I felt completely and totally rejuvenated, which is odd because I can't remember ever being juvenated in the first place.

The Lady Friend and I set off the weekend before last to my family's cabin in Indiana where we spent four days hanging out with my grandparents. We drank a few bottles of wine, I chopped up some cherry logs and smoked a pork shoulder which fed the four of us for about nine meals, we gabbed with the old folks over cards, did some swimming, and rolled some bocce. Just a great, relaxing weekend.

[Things I learned from my grandparents over the weekend: 1) All of the worlds problems would be solved if we just nuked the entire Middle East. 2) While they don't approve if it, in the upcoming presidential elections their friends (and I believe they speak for every American over the age of 75) would not vote for "the Jew" (I assume they mean Lieberman) or “the Morman” (Romney, I guess), they think "the black" (I'm assuming Obama) might be a good president, but they’ll probably vote for “the Mexican” (I think they mean Richardson, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they think Giuliani is Mexican. They’re kind of freaking crazy.) 3) When your grandmother asks the exact same question three times in a ten minute span, it's best to just nod and smile. Chances are she'll nod off in a few minutes and won’t remember anything, anyway.]

We came back on Wednesday; TLF went back to work and I set off on a Ray Peterson style vacation. I watched some ball games, drank a couple hundred beers, even did some work on the closets... If I just had a Rick Ducommun look-alike neighbor to help me solve some mysteries, my week would have been complete.

I was all set to get back to work -- nothing like ten days off to recharge the batteries.

But then, by the second hour of Tuesday morning, I was ready for a vacation. The last vacation only furthered my hunch: I am good at nothing. And by that, I don't mean I'm not good at anything, I mean I'm good at doing nothing.

I enjoy doing nothing; well, really I enjoy doing lots of things, but for the most part, all of those things are nothing things. Yes, I have a career (and it's a pretty good one) which I am now essentially seven years deep into (which scares me), and I'm pretty good at what I do, but I wouldn't be doing this for free if money was not a concern.

I am nearly 27 years old, and there is not a single thing I can think of that I would enjoy doing for forty hours a week besides sleep.

This, I fear, is what I may still be thinking in thirty years. And that, in a way, depresses me. But I guess that’s adulthood...

One more day till the weekend!

(Twenty eight years till retirement.)

WE Σ Δ Τ ALOT

2007-06-19T05:18:00.000-05:00

Giggle.

Vandals paint sorority house near Bradley

Peoria - Vandals damaged and mocked a West Bluff sorority house by adding a couple choice words before and after its Greek acronym.

In the last week, someone used black spray paint to write the words "WE" and "A LOT" between the Sigma Delta Tau sign on the front of the sorority's building, police reports said. Since the organization's Greek letters resemble the word "EAT," the sign appeared to read "WE EAT A LOT." The vandalism was discovered about 3 p.m. Monday by a resident.

Damage estimates for the building were not listed in the police report.

So Long, Jerkasses!

2007-06-08T04:41:00.000-05:00

I'm outta here for the next week, it's Summer vacay time and no work means no blogging, so you kids will have to find another way to waste 45 seconds of your morn for the next nine days. The Lady Friend and I are hitting the road east to my family's cabin in Indiana, where we will be doing what we do best: eating and drinking.

After that, it's back home for five lazy days of doing absolutely nothing. Except, maybe, if I'm lucky, pushing a giant ball of oil out of a window.

Glorious.

[have a great week and enjoy some summer, everyone. if you really need me, i will be in an intertube, sipping a whiskey drink, somewhere around here.]

Vote!

2007-06-07T08:16:00.000-05:00

Following around the links from the Deadspins yesterday, I stumbled across some sort of a handsome man contest involving bloggers, and noticed one of Joe Sports Fan's own, noted handsome man Matt Sebek, is in the competition. I urge you all to go here and cast a vote for the #18 seed.

Although, I do wonder about the validity of a hottest blogger contest when neither this guy, nor this guy, nor even this guy is participating.

Luckily, though, neither is this guy, this guy, or this guy .

(Sweet fuck, I take some bad pictures.)

(Also, I'm fairly certain it's illegal for me to talk about handsome men without linking to a picture of Handsome Mark Mulder.)

(And I'm pretty sure this post has just wiped away the twenty seven year record of staunch heterosexuality which I once had.)

(Although I think this now makes me eligible for a "Gay/Bi Bloggy Award" at the end of the year, so I got that going for me.)

(Which is nice.)

(More parentheses.)

Wade Boggs Drinking Beer on a Horse

2007-06-05T09:15:00.000-05:00

This story, which I have been replaying in my noggin once a week for the last five or so years, never gets old. In fact, I believe that we, as a Nation, need to consciously replace our mental image of this picture with this:

And yes, Wade Boggs drinks Beer brand beer. Apparently he shops at Peoria area Krogers, circa 1984.

Hey!

2007-06-04T03:52:00.000-05:00

Everybody! ~~An old man's talking!~~ Al actually wrote something for the first time in like 5 years!

Now let's all go read it and remember that trees date back to frontier times!

Goodbye Slack, Hello Prostitute!

2007-06-01T05:24:00.000-05:00

Horrible week for The FYC, my apologies. I've been gearing up for summer and summer is not exactly conducive to blogging, what with all it's bbqs and pools and extra sunlight. I'll try better next week (total lie).

Anyways, just wanted to wish a fond farewell to longtime blog friend Slack LaLane. Ace is hanging things up in good fashion on the ol' blog, not letting it go whimpering into the night, but instead leaving us with one last Saved By The Bell clip. Mucho appreciante, Senor Ace. If you want to see what he's up to in the future, the Phish friendly Hidden Track is where he's now laying his hat. Check it out if you're so inclined. Go. Do it! Now!

Also, great news story from the ever crime riddled world of Peoria:

Peoria man robbed by pimp and prostitute

PEORIA - A Peoria man said he was swindled out of money by a prostitute and a pimp early Thursday after he had been drinking at Downtown pubs for hours.

The 27-year-old victim told police he went for a walk about 1:30 a.m. and stumbled upon a prostitute at the corner of Monroe Street and Spalding Avenue.¹

The woman convinced the victim to follow her behind a house in the 400 block of Monroe where she then demanded he pay her $12, police reports said.

The victim, who later denied making a deal for a sex act in exchange for money², said because he was intoxicated he decided to just give the woman the money.

As he pulled out his wallet, a man wearing a white tank top emerged from the shadows behind the house.

"We're real. Give it up," the man said to the victim, reports said.

The man then slapped the wallet out of the victim's hand, took an undisclosed amount of money from it, threw it back on the ground and ran with the woman into the darkness toward Spalding.³

¹ What luck!
² Yeah... riiight.
³ I hope he was wearing this.

[have a great summer weekend, kids. have fun drinking, but watch out for the pimps.]