7/18/2007
You know what...
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.
I still can't believe he humped the fucking World Series trophy.
Labels: Awesomness, Chris Duncan, The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals, The Crappy 2007 Baseball Cardinals
12/28/2006
The FYC-zie Game of the Year: Cardinals v. Mets; Game 7, NLCS
As a blogger (albeit a bad one), I feel obligated to write some sort of “End of Year Awards.” There are two problems with this:
1) That sounds like work.
2) I don’t really “pay attention” to “new things” enough to write one.
It’s not that I am afraid of change or new things, it’s that most new things suck. For example, if I were to write an album of the year post, it would look like this:
My favorite book is a constant struggle between “Catcher in the Rye” and “On the Road.” While I don’t doubt that some newer books are good, I can say with 99.9% certainity that they’re not going to throw Salinger or Kerouac off from the top of my list. And in today's modern times, with our frantic lives and porn addictions, who has time to read, anyway? Or, for some, even learn how to read?
Much like Floyd Gandolli, I know what I enjoy.
The one thing I do enjoy that changes (kind of) every year is sports. So, without further ado, I will name my award (I believe we agreed to call them FYC-zies once before, so we’ll roll with that again) for best game played:
The FYC-zie Game of the Year: Cardinals v. Mets; Game 7, NLCS
I did a lot of debating after the NLCS as to what the best Cardinals NLCS game has been in the last three years. Game 6 of the ’04 CS is a favorite of many, and Game 5 of the ’05 (when Albert Pujols unapologetically murdered Brad Lidge’s career) is the cats pajamas for others. Game 7 of the ’04 NLCS, however, was my number one. And I had previously assumed it would stay that way for a long time to come.
I was wrong.
This years Game 7, for many Cardinals fans, will go down as the most dramatic and unlikely game we will ever see. (And yes, I realize that there will probably be a more exciting game in the next year or two, and that the previous sentence may seem like nothing more than hyperbole to you, but some of us plan on dying in a freak warehouse fire somewhere outside of Helena, Arkansas next May, thus making my claim true.)
The first five frames were back-and-forth, tightly pitched innings by Jeff Suppan and Oliver Perez (that about covers the unlikely part already), and with the score knotted up at one, we headed into the sixth inning. With one out and Jim Edmonds on first, Scott Rolen came to the plate.
Perez had begun to struggle in the fifth, but Mets manager Willie Randolph decided to stick with him then and he got Pujols to pop up and end the inning. With the slumping Rolen stepping into the batters box, Randolph decided to stick with Perez again. It was a risky decision to say the least; with shades of the Grady Little – Pedro Martinez fiasco from the ’03 ALCS all over Shea Stadium.
And Scott Rolen got his groove back, crushing a ball deep to left field; only to have Endy Chavez come out of nowhere and make a leaping, snow cone grab to take a two run home run away. He fired the ball back into the infield and doubled up Edmonds at first to end the top of the sixth. The Cards rally was effectively put to rest.
In the bottom of the sixth, Chavez came up to the plate with two outs and the bases loaded. With a highlight reel, game (nay, series) defining, two run saving double play just a few minutes earlier, Chavez (already somewhat of a cult hero with Mets fans) was all set to become the hero on a cold, rainy New York night. With the moment set -- Endy was getting a hit there; I knew, you knew it, it was going to happen. A Phil Collins moment, if you will: it was in the air, and you could feel it calling -- Suppan did what he does best (use his defense) and got Chavez to fly out to Edmonds. Inning over.
We’ll skip through the seventh and eighth innings (I’m pretty sure I blacked out and missed them, anyway) and head into the ninth.
With one runner on, Yadier Molina, the rocket armed, light hitting Cardinals
catcher, came to the plate facing Mets "reliever" Aaron Heilman. Yadi, a lifetime .238 hitter with a mere 16 homeruns in his young Major League career (and only 6 in 2006), took a rip on a first pitch "changeup" by Heilman and... well, you know what he did. I could only spoil it by putting it into words -- It was, and remains to be, virtually impossible to correctly describe. The best attempt at it which I remember reading was by Dan of Get Up Baby, who wrote afterward: “(Yadi) grinned like Charlie Brown after sex”
In the bottom of the ninth, de facto closer Adam Wainwright, the skinny rookie with both a beard and curveball that could destroy lesser mortals, came into the game to finish it off. He immediately channeled his inner Isringhausen and gave up back-to-back singles to Jose Valentin and Chavez. The Wainer looked, to say the least, rattled.
This was not going to be easy.
With runners on first and second, nobody out, and the pitchers slot coming up, Randolph was in perfect position to have a pinch hitter sacrifice the runners over. Instead, he wanted a Kirk Gibson moment and sent up his injured slugger Cliff Floyd.
He struck out.
(Looking back, Randolph really did lose this game for the Mets, didn’t he?)
And we come to two on, one out for Jose Reyes, the dancing Muppet who annoys everyone in the entire world (but man I’d love to have him on the Cards). As chants of “JOSE, JOSE, JOSE, JOSE!” rang throughout Shea, Reyes stepped into the box and ripped a frozen rope to center field, where the ever present Jim Edmonds was there to record the second out.
Two on, two out for Mets catcher Paul LoDuca. Sensing that there wasn't quite enough drama already, The Wainer walks him, bringing up...
Carlos Beltran.
The Cardinals postseason nemesis.
The man who went toe-to-toe with Pujols in a slugging match during the ’04 CS and nearly carried the Houston Astros past the Cards that year, even though he was essentially their only offensive weapon.
He doesn’t just own the Cards in the postseason; he sells them to other people and then buys them back at a greater rate, just because he can.
He was, without a doubt, the last man in the world any Cardinals fan wanted to see at that particular moment.
And the self loathing and doubt began:
“He’s going to get a hit and win this. Fuck.”
Change, strike one.
“We were lucky to even make the playoffs, though. It was a good run.”
Curve, fouled off for strike two.
“Wait a second... wait just one god damn second...”
Curveball, strike three.
“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
[*I take off my pants and start making out with a lamp*]
And I like to think that somewhere, in a parallel universe perhaps, Beltran is still standing there, bat on shoulder, knees buckled, wondering to himself how in the world he was supposed to hit that freaking pitch.
------------------
I said after the game that if the Cards went on to win the Series it would then, and only then, become my new #1 game of all time. Looking back, I think that may have been a bit disingenuous and most definitely unfair to the game itself. The only thing that ‘04’s Game 7 had over ‘06’s is that it was played at Busch, and it’s always more fun to win at home (witness: ’06 World Series).
But the way this year's Game 7 played out: Shea Stadium, in the words of Joe Buck “literally shaking” (I find that a bit hard to believe, Joe), the cold, the rain, Endy’s grab, Supp’s balls, Yadi’s scream, Wainwright’s hook...
There it was: The perfect game.
With apologies to: Bradley over Kansas, Bradley over Pitt, Albert Pujols’ Easter Miracle, Illinois over Mizzou, Texas over USC, Drinko, and Illinois over Arizona in the '05 Elite Eight (a game which could win this award virtually every year).
1) That sounds like work.
2) I don’t really “pay attention” to “new things” enough to write one.
It’s not that I am afraid of change or new things, it’s that most new things suck. For example, if I were to write an album of the year post, it would look like this:
“Album of the Year: “The Bends,” Radiohead
For the 11th straight year, nobody has made a better album than “The Bends,” so it wins again.
With apologies to: Exile on Main Street, Who’s Next, Dark Side of the Moon, Being There, and The Wild, the Innocent & the E Street Shuffle”
For the 11th straight year, nobody has made a better album than “The Bends,” so it wins again.
With apologies to: Exile on Main Street, Who’s Next, Dark Side of the Moon, Being There, and The Wild, the Innocent & the E Street Shuffle”
My favorite book is a constant struggle between “Catcher in the Rye” and “On the Road.” While I don’t doubt that some newer books are good, I can say with 99.9% certainity that they’re not going to throw Salinger or Kerouac off from the top of my list. And in today's modern times, with our frantic lives and porn addictions, who has time to read, anyway? Or, for some, even learn how to read?
Much like Floyd Gandolli, I know what I enjoy.
The one thing I do enjoy that changes (kind of) every year is sports. So, without further ado, I will name my award (I believe we agreed to call them FYC-zies once before, so we’ll roll with that again) for best game played:
The FYC-zie Game of the Year: Cardinals v. Mets; Game 7, NLCS
I did a lot of debating after the NLCS as to what the best Cardinals NLCS game has been in the last three years. Game 6 of the ’04 CS is a favorite of many, and Game 5 of the ’05 (when Albert Pujols unapologetically murdered Brad Lidge’s career) is the cats pajamas for others. Game 7 of the ’04 NLCS, however, was my number one. And I had previously assumed it would stay that way for a long time to come.
I was wrong.
This years Game 7, for many Cardinals fans, will go down as the most dramatic and unlikely game we will ever see. (And yes, I realize that there will probably be a more exciting game in the next year or two, and that the previous sentence may seem like nothing more than hyperbole to you, but some of us plan on dying in a freak warehouse fire somewhere outside of Helena, Arkansas next May, thus making my claim true.)
The first five frames were back-and-forth, tightly pitched innings by Jeff Suppan and Oliver Perez (that about covers the unlikely part already), and with the score knotted up at one, we headed into the sixth inning. With one out and Jim Edmonds on first, Scott Rolen came to the plate.
Perez had begun to struggle in the fifth, but Mets manager Willie Randolph decided to stick with him then and he got Pujols to pop up and end the inning. With the slumping Rolen stepping into the batters box, Randolph decided to stick with Perez again. It was a risky decision to say the least; with shades of the Grady Little – Pedro Martinez fiasco from the ’03 ALCS all over Shea Stadium.
And Scott Rolen got his groove back, crushing a ball deep to left field; only to have Endy Chavez come out of nowhere and make a leaping, snow cone grab to take a two run home run away. He fired the ball back into the infield and doubled up Edmonds at first to end the top of the sixth. The Cards rally was effectively put to rest.
In the bottom of the sixth, Chavez came up to the plate with two outs and the bases loaded. With a highlight reel, game (nay, series) defining, two run saving double play just a few minutes earlier, Chavez (already somewhat of a cult hero with Mets fans) was all set to become the hero on a cold, rainy New York night. With the moment set -- Endy was getting a hit there; I knew, you knew it, it was going to happen. A Phil Collins moment, if you will: it was in the air, and you could feel it calling -- Suppan did what he does best (use his defense) and got Chavez to fly out to Edmonds. Inning over.
We’ll skip through the seventh and eighth innings (I’m pretty sure I blacked out and missed them, anyway) and head into the ninth.
With one runner on, Yadier Molina, the rocket armed, light hitting Cardinals
catcher, came to the plate facing Mets "reliever" Aaron Heilman. Yadi, a lifetime .238 hitter with a mere 16 homeruns in his young Major League career (and only 6 in 2006), took a rip on a first pitch "changeup" by Heilman and... well, you know what he did. I could only spoil it by putting it into words -- It was, and remains to be, virtually impossible to correctly describe. The best attempt at it which I remember reading was by Dan of Get Up Baby, who wrote afterward: “(Yadi) grinned like Charlie Brown after sex”In the bottom of the ninth, de facto closer Adam Wainwright, the skinny rookie with both a beard and curveball that could destroy lesser mortals, came into the game to finish it off. He immediately channeled his inner Isringhausen and gave up back-to-back singles to Jose Valentin and Chavez. The Wainer looked, to say the least, rattled.
This was not going to be easy.
With runners on first and second, nobody out, and the pitchers slot coming up, Randolph was in perfect position to have a pinch hitter sacrifice the runners over. Instead, he wanted a Kirk Gibson moment and sent up his injured slugger Cliff Floyd.
He struck out.
(Looking back, Randolph really did lose this game for the Mets, didn’t he?)
And we come to two on, one out for Jose Reyes, the dancing Muppet who annoys everyone in the entire world (but man I’d love to have him on the Cards). As chants of “JOSE, JOSE, JOSE, JOSE!” rang throughout Shea, Reyes stepped into the box and ripped a frozen rope to center field, where the ever present Jim Edmonds was there to record the second out.
Two on, two out for Mets catcher Paul LoDuca. Sensing that there wasn't quite enough drama already, The Wainer walks him, bringing up...
Carlos Beltran.
The Cardinals postseason nemesis.
The man who went toe-to-toe with Pujols in a slugging match during the ’04 CS and nearly carried the Houston Astros past the Cards that year, even though he was essentially their only offensive weapon.
He doesn’t just own the Cards in the postseason; he sells them to other people and then buys them back at a greater rate, just because he can.
He was, without a doubt, the last man in the world any Cardinals fan wanted to see at that particular moment.
And the self loathing and doubt began:
“He’s going to get a hit and win this. Fuck.”
Change, strike one.
“We were lucky to even make the playoffs, though. It was a good run.”
Curve, fouled off for strike two.
“Wait a second... wait just one god damn second...”
Curveball, strike three.
“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
[*I take off my pants and start making out with a lamp*]
And I like to think that somewhere, in a parallel universe perhaps, Beltran is still standing there, bat on shoulder, knees buckled, wondering to himself how in the world he was supposed to hit that freaking pitch.
------------------
I said after the game that if the Cards went on to win the Series it would then, and only then, become my new #1 game of all time. Looking back, I think that may have been a bit disingenuous and most definitely unfair to the game itself. The only thing that ‘04’s Game 7 had over ‘06’s is that it was played at Busch, and it’s always more fun to win at home (witness: ’06 World Series).
But the way this year's Game 7 played out: Shea Stadium, in the words of Joe Buck “literally shaking” (I find that a bit hard to believe, Joe), the cold, the rain, Endy’s grab, Supp’s balls, Yadi’s scream, Wainwright’s hook...
There it was: The perfect game.
With apologies to: Bradley over Kansas, Bradley over Pitt, Albert Pujols’ Easter Miracle, Illinois over Mizzou, Texas over USC, Drinko, and Illinois over Arizona in the '05 Elite Eight (a game which could win this award virtually every year).
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
11/17/2006
Welcome Back, Scotter
Thanks for re-upping, Speeze. Your triple against the Brewers on Sep. 30th (a hit which essentially clinched the Cards playoff spot -- a playoff spot which would blossom from a tiny worm into a large cobra as the Cards went on to win the World Series) was one of the most thrilling moments I have ever experienced at the ol' ballpark. Glad you're back; I'll give you an "O" anytime.
(That sounded weird.)
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've found a way to make this week drag out even longer. Much like The Phish, The Lady Friend and I are both Down With Disease (Phish jokes the day after The Great American Smokeout, Al? What's next? Spending the weekend eating nitrous balloons and taking shwills of Sammy Smith at the A-Okay Campground outside of Deer Creek, brah?)and will spend this lovely fall day eating soup and, perhaps, crushing.
Hey, a guys got'sta gets laid.
[have a great weekend kiddo-s. godspeed on the drinko-ing.]
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
11/06/2006
"No, Dunc... Oh My God."
Some people know how to celebrate winning the World Series in style, and some people (Chris Duncan) just dry hump the freaking trophy:
And then strip down to their spandex shorts, take their tops off, and just hang out:
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/31/2006
A Night of Champions
Things that I will remember from Friday night:
Driving from my apartment with The Lady Friend to my buddy Mozzy’s house during the 7th inning, the streets of Dogtown deserted – the clerk at Patrick’s Liquor Store asking why in the world we were buying beer and weren’t watching the game. Had to reload, dude. Priorities.
Not being able to sit during the ninth inning, worried that the Tigers were going to pull off an improbable comeback, sending the Cards to game 6 and me to the hospital with a heart attack.
Watching Brandon Inge flail helplessly at Wainwright’s first pitch and saying “this guy’s a strike out waiting to happen. We’re actually going to do it!”
Screaming wildly and hugging liberally as soon as Yadi squeezed that last pitch.
Letting out an "IN YOUR FACE, SPACE COYOTE!" after we won, and wondering if it's odd that I am so ingrained with the Simpsons that I let out obscure non-sensical quotes during times of triumph.
Champagne. Lots and lots of champagne.
To Nick's Pub...
Irish Carbombs.
“Celebrate” by Kool and the Gang.
More Irish Carbombs.
Much more “Celebrate.” In total, I believe it was played twenty times continuously while we were at Nick’s Pub. Strangely, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Oh dear God... More Irish Carbombs.
A continuous barrage of high fives and hugs.
At least 10,000 text messages. Maybe more.
A congratulatory phone call from my buddy Nate, as hardcore a Cubs fan as there is. One of these years it will be your turn, bro.
Meeting up with old friends and making new ones.
Walking home in 30-some-odd degree temputure and not feeling an ounce of cold in my bones, completely and totally warm and content in the sweet, reaffirming warmth of a championship.
Waking up in the morning as hung over as I had ever been in my life; and never feeling better about it.
--------------
There are few moments that I can clearly recall in my life that made me feel as well or better. My high school basketball team winning the first Regional title in school history; flying into Peoria's airport for the first time after the war; watching the Illinois v. Arizona Elite Eight game in ’05; sneaking out of a wedding to watch the ND v. GaTech game with an old childhood friend that I randomly ran into; drinking wine at the lake house with TLF – those all come to mind.
I’m sure there have been others just as I am sure there will be more to come. But that Friday night – all weekend really – is going to stay in my memory for quite some time.
It's what we as fans live for… and it does not come often. This is the first Championship any of the teams I actively root for has won in my adult life. And with the shape most of them are in, I’m not exactly in the position to look forward to any more any time soon. So I’ll relish in it. Yes, paying hundreds of dollars on World Championship merchandise is a little foolish, but once every 24 years I think it is perfectly fine to be more than a little foolish.
Where does it go from here? I don’t know. In a perfect life, the Cards winning the title would coincide with me doing something weird, like boarding a plane for Fiji and joining a professional body boarding tour. This weekend would have been the perfect closure moment.
Alas; I’m back at work, rents due tomorrow, and life as before continues. Just without baseball for a few months.
It’s weird: We spend 8 months of the year watching these guys every night, reading about them every morning. They become, unbeknownst to them, a part of our lives. Carp, Scotty, Belli, Jimmy, Pujols – they’re there, in our living room, with us every night through the spring, summer and fall. Then they're gone for the winter.
But life goes on…
‘Bout 110 days till pitchers and catchers report, no?
Driving from my apartment with The Lady Friend to my buddy Mozzy’s house during the 7th inning, the streets of Dogtown deserted – the clerk at Patrick’s Liquor Store asking why in the world we were buying beer and weren’t watching the game. Had to reload, dude. Priorities.
Not being able to sit during the ninth inning, worried that the Tigers were going to pull off an improbable comeback, sending the Cards to game 6 and me to the hospital with a heart attack.
Watching Brandon Inge flail helplessly at Wainwright’s first pitch and saying “this guy’s a strike out waiting to happen. We’re actually going to do it!”
Screaming wildly and hugging liberally as soon as Yadi squeezed that last pitch.
Letting out an "IN YOUR FACE, SPACE COYOTE!" after we won, and wondering if it's odd that I am so ingrained with the Simpsons that I let out obscure non-sensical quotes during times of triumph.
Champagne. Lots and lots of champagne.
To Nick's Pub...
Irish Carbombs.
“Celebrate” by Kool and the Gang.
More Irish Carbombs.
Much more “Celebrate.” In total, I believe it was played twenty times continuously while we were at Nick’s Pub. Strangely, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Oh dear God... More Irish Carbombs.
A continuous barrage of high fives and hugs.
At least 10,000 text messages. Maybe more.
A congratulatory phone call from my buddy Nate, as hardcore a Cubs fan as there is. One of these years it will be your turn, bro.
Meeting up with old friends and making new ones.
Walking home in 30-some-odd degree temputure and not feeling an ounce of cold in my bones, completely and totally warm and content in the sweet, reaffirming warmth of a championship.
Waking up in the morning as hung over as I had ever been in my life; and never feeling better about it.
--------------
There are few moments that I can clearly recall in my life that made me feel as well or better. My high school basketball team winning the first Regional title in school history; flying into Peoria's airport for the first time after the war; watching the Illinois v. Arizona Elite Eight game in ’05; sneaking out of a wedding to watch the ND v. GaTech game with an old childhood friend that I randomly ran into; drinking wine at the lake house with TLF – those all come to mind.
I’m sure there have been others just as I am sure there will be more to come. But that Friday night – all weekend really – is going to stay in my memory for quite some time.
It's what we as fans live for… and it does not come often. This is the first Championship any of the teams I actively root for has won in my adult life. And with the shape most of them are in, I’m not exactly in the position to look forward to any more any time soon. So I’ll relish in it. Yes, paying hundreds of dollars on World Championship merchandise is a little foolish, but once every 24 years I think it is perfectly fine to be more than a little foolish.
Where does it go from here? I don’t know. In a perfect life, the Cards winning the title would coincide with me doing something weird, like boarding a plane for Fiji and joining a professional body boarding tour. This weekend would have been the perfect closure moment.
Alas; I’m back at work, rents due tomorrow, and life as before continues. Just without baseball for a few months.
It’s weird: We spend 8 months of the year watching these guys every night, reading about them every morning. They become, unbeknownst to them, a part of our lives. Carp, Scotty, Belli, Jimmy, Pujols – they’re there, in our living room, with us every night through the spring, summer and fall. Then they're gone for the winter.
But life goes on…
‘Bout 110 days till pitchers and catchers report, no?
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/30/2006
Oh, That Tyler Johnson! He's Incorrigible!
I'll write something more for tomorrow morning -- honestly, my head is still awrapped in joy --my brain is still swimming in beers, champagne, and pinot.
Scenario... does not... compute... Scenario... does not... compute...
But I did want to drop this gem on you from yesterday's victory rally:
"I would also like to say that I was not personally responsible for the actions of Tyler Johnson and Chris Duncan between the hours of midnight and six on Saturday morning." - Tony La Russa, in what I believe has to be the quote of the year.
Also, the irony that Tony, a guy who wears sunglasses at night as if he was some sort of biker/vampire/Corey Hart combination, was not sporting shades on what was indubitably the brightest day in recent memory, is not lost on me.
Scenario... does not... compute... Scenario... does not... compute...
But I did want to drop this gem on you from yesterday's victory rally:
"I would also like to say that I was not personally responsible for the actions of Tyler Johnson and Chris Duncan between the hours of midnight and six on Saturday morning." - Tony La Russa, in what I believe has to be the quote of the year.
Also, the irony that Tony, a guy who wears sunglasses at night as if he was some sort of biker/vampire/Corey Hart combination, was not sporting shades on what was indubitably the brightest day in recent memory, is not lost on me.Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/27/2006
Eleven Down, And That's Fucking It!
YOUR 2006 ST LOUIS CARDINALS...
WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS!
WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS!
Speechless. Without Words.
More... Later.
More... Later.
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
Ten Down, One (!) to Go
Dear America,
Please do not judge my fair town on what you have seen and heard at Busch Stadium over these past few nights. We do not normally listen to The Venga Boy's "We Like to Party" three times a day. Why someone chose that song and not, say, "Eminence Front" by The Who, or, hell, any other halfway decent non-suicide inducing songs; I have no idea.
Also, why we hear DJ Casper requesting 50,000 people to "Clap your hands" 27 times a game is beyond me. I am looking forward to this series being over as soon as possible, and a large part of that desire is so I can stop hearing horrible techno music, stop looking at people with felt taped their face, and stop dreaming about committing hate crimes against John Mellencamp.
Please, Cardinals, end this thing tonight at stop the insanity.
Sincerely,
Alex Fritz
Chairman of Pretention /Good Music Division
St Louis (Dogtown) Chapter
[have a great, world series clinching weekend, kids. don't forget to vote on who sucks more: mencia or rapaport. it's neck and neck right now; results will be out next week. go cards!]
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/25/2006
Quick World Series Thoughts
Belliard's afro disappearing before Game 3 is sad on too many levels to count.
-----
Every day I go into work, I drive by my company's skywalk over I-44 which has glowing letters reading "GO CARDS." And almost everyday of the playoff's, we have been allowed to wear Cardinals jerseys and tees into work. Hell, even The Lady Friends company, which abides by a strict business-business dress code, is letting their employees wear Cards stuff this week.
It's as if the entire city of St. Louis is one giant High School and the World Series is cause for one giant pep-rally.
I love this fucking town.
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Someday, I will go through puberty. And when I do, I can not wait to grow a playoff beard. With the exception of Chris Duncan's Klopek-esque monstrosity, I am thoroughly enjoying the playoff beard phenomenom here in the StL.
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Since it is highly likely that Game 5 will be Jim Edmonds last game at Busch wearing the Birds on the Bat, I really do hope that Jimmy Baseball gets a standing O for every single thing which he does during the game.
If you're in attendence, please make it happen. Even though I am 26 years old and it's weird to be such a fan of a guy who is pretty much my age; Jimmy Baseball has officially reached the point of "My Favorite Cardinal Ever."
He has been so clutch since 2000 and given so much of himself to the team and to the city... Lets remind him of why he signed that "Hometown Contract" right after he got here.
I honestly doubt we will ever see a better CFer roaming the lawn for the Cards again any time soon... if ever.
And good God has he ever come up clutch in this postseason?
If this week is indeed his swan song, let him hear it, Cards fans.
We will miss you if you leave, JimE. Even if you wear eyeliner, belly shirts and a jacket under your jersey.
Thanks for being around now.
JIMMY EDMONDS -- CLAP CLAP CLAP-CALP-CLAP!!!
JIMMY EDMONDS -- CLAP CLAP CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!
------
I'm not saying Fernando Rodney was high as all shit-out during last night's game, but the last time my eyes were that bloodshot, I ate 22 tacos, drank 9 Sprites, and jerked off into a pile of leftover breakfast casserole.
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Johnny Cougar: I used to love ya, man. I saw you at Farm Aid '97 and after Neil Young got done lecturing the whole crowd and brought us all down below the Earth for being nothing but a crowd of wasteful and ugly Americans; your Americana folk rock set was just what the doctor ordered.
I also saw you play a show at Assembly Hall in Bloomington, IN during the Little 500 in Spring of '98. It knocked my proverbial socks off.
That being said, this whole hostile takeover of the World Series by you and Chevy is too much. I'm cutting ties with you and your entire catalog for the next five years.
It will be better that way.
-----
I can't wait for the musical stylings of one Billy Ray Cyrus tonight.
And, no, that's not a joke.
(Actually, the "I can't wait for it" part is a joke. The fact that Billy Ray will be performing at Busch tonight is not.)
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Seriously, can any of you actually believe that this Cardinals team is two wins away form a Championship? Unbelievable.
What a weird freaking season.
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Between FOX's radar gun picking up Suppan at 92 and Zumaya at 103 during their respective CS's... and now with Anthony Reyes clocking out at 85 and Zoom at 99, I will not be shocked if FOX has Soup throwing a -28mph changeup tonight.
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Do you want to know how inaccurate the "FOX TRAX" box is? They actually have me being listed as sober when this picture was taken:
As always, Go St Phils Tigers... Go St Louis Cardinals!
(And, since that pic was taken while doing a super rock out to ELO's "Showdown" and drinking a strong to very-strong vodka-lemonade on an unforgetable but barely rememberable Saturday night: "Go Dogtown House Parties!")
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Every day I go into work, I drive by my company's skywalk over I-44 which has glowing letters reading "GO CARDS." And almost everyday of the playoff's, we have been allowed to wear Cardinals jerseys and tees into work. Hell, even The Lady Friends company, which abides by a strict business-business dress code, is letting their employees wear Cards stuff this week.
It's as if the entire city of St. Louis is one giant High School and the World Series is cause for one giant pep-rally.
I love this fucking town.
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Someday, I will go through puberty. And when I do, I can not wait to grow a playoff beard. With the exception of Chris Duncan's Klopek-esque monstrosity, I am thoroughly enjoying the playoff beard phenomenom here in the StL.
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Since it is highly likely that Game 5 will be Jim Edmonds last game at Busch wearing the Birds on the Bat, I really do hope that Jimmy Baseball gets a standing O for every single thing which he does during the game.
If you're in attendence, please make it happen. Even though I am 26 years old and it's weird to be such a fan of a guy who is pretty much my age; Jimmy Baseball has officially reached the point of "My Favorite Cardinal Ever."
He has been so clutch since 2000 and given so much of himself to the team and to the city... Lets remind him of why he signed that "Hometown Contract" right after he got here.
I honestly doubt we will ever see a better CFer roaming the lawn for the Cards again any time soon... if ever.
And good God has he ever come up clutch in this postseason?
If this week is indeed his swan song, let him hear it, Cards fans.
We will miss you if you leave, JimE. Even if you wear eyeliner, belly shirts and a jacket under your jersey.
Thanks for being around now.
JIMMY EDMONDS -- CLAP CLAP CLAP-CALP-CLAP!!!
JIMMY EDMONDS -- CLAP CLAP CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!
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I'm not saying Fernando Rodney was high as all shit-out during last night's game, but the last time my eyes were that bloodshot, I ate 22 tacos, drank 9 Sprites, and jerked off into a pile of leftover breakfast casserole.
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Johnny Cougar: I used to love ya, man. I saw you at Farm Aid '97 and after Neil Young got done lecturing the whole crowd and brought us all down below the Earth for being nothing but a crowd of wasteful and ugly Americans; your Americana folk rock set was just what the doctor ordered.
I also saw you play a show at Assembly Hall in Bloomington, IN during the Little 500 in Spring of '98. It knocked my proverbial socks off.
That being said, this whole hostile takeover of the World Series by you and Chevy is too much. I'm cutting ties with you and your entire catalog for the next five years.
It will be better that way.
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I can't wait for the musical stylings of one Billy Ray Cyrus tonight.
And, no, that's not a joke.
(Actually, the "I can't wait for it" part is a joke. The fact that Billy Ray will be performing at Busch tonight is not.)
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Seriously, can any of you actually believe that this Cardinals team is two wins away form a Championship? Unbelievable.
What a weird freaking season.
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Between FOX's radar gun picking up Suppan at 92 and Zumaya at 103 during their respective CS's... and now with Anthony Reyes clocking out at 85 and Zoom at 99, I will not be shocked if FOX has Soup throwing a -28mph changeup tonight.
-----
Do you want to know how inaccurate the "FOX TRAX" box is? They actually have me being listed as sober when this picture was taken:
As always, Go St Phils Tigers... Go St Louis Cardinals!
(And, since that pic was taken while doing a super rock out to ELO's "Showdown" and drinking a strong to very-strong vodka-lemonade on an unforgetable but barely rememberable Saturday night: "Go Dogtown House Parties!")
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/24/2006
Nine Down, Two to Go
Bravo, Carp. As I wrote earlier this summer, when he's on, he's the best there is. Tonight was vinatge Carpenter; Limited Edition World Series '06 Blend.
It's now a four game series. All the Cardinals have to do is manage a split, and they're the World Fucking Champions.
Good Lord, that sounds weird.
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
Keys To Game Three
For the Cardinals to win Game Three, they must concentrate on four things:
Okay, you don’t have to wrestle... Just get in the coffin.
- Get to Nate Robertson early. His last long lay off start was post All-Star break, when he had a ten game layoff and gave up six runs over 6 & 2/3 innings.
- Somehow get Todd Jones into the game. If I was a Tigers fan, I probably would have framed him for arson by now, just to keep him from closing out games.
- Let Juan Enc and P-Dub have a game off. Both of them have looked horrendous both at the plate and in the field the last two games. Let Speeeeze and So get a start. Or wait until game 4 and let J-Rod and Duncan tee off against Bonderman.
- To win the game, they must vanquish fear. To defeat fear, they must....
Wrestle Cousin Mose to the ground!
Okay, you don’t have to wrestle... Just get in the coffin.
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/22/2006
Eight Down, Three to Go
I have a hard time believing this is actually happening.
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/20/2006
Ya Mo Be There
Un-freaking-believable.This is what I wrote on August 16th, not too long after the Cards had finished off their second eight game losing streak:
“Are they going to make the playoffs? I’d say yeah, but probably only by default, since the rest of the NL is just flat out terrible.
Are they a World Series caliber team? Well, if the ‘04 squad wasn’t good enough to win it all, I don’t see how this team possibly could be.
But here’s the catch: Maybe, just maybe, come October, Cardinal Nation’s hopes will be rewarded. I’m not saying it will happen, but every year there is some stupid fucking storyline for a team in the World Series; be it the 2005 Astros who had been left for dead in the regular season or the 2004 Red Sox who had been left for dead in the ALCS; or the overachieving Marlins in ’03 and Angels in ’02.
That’s the rub: That if this struggling Cards squad could put it all together at the right time, get all of their pistons firing and get hot, they could very well make a run to the Series...
It would be that stupid fucking storyline that the rest of the country gets sick of by the second day.
That could be us, Cards fans... Annoying the whole lot of America!
So, um… Go Cardinals!”
Much like when Homer predicted that the doomsday comet would burn up in the atmosphere and end up being smaller than a Chihuahua, I got that one right. And, again like Homer Jay, that scares me.
But you know what? Fuck it, we’re here. World Series. With this bunch of underachieving cast-offs and chumps.
Thank you, Yadi. Thank you, Soup.
Thanks, Randy. And thanks, Wainer.
Unfuckingbelievable. The highlight of the night? Stepping out onto my balcony to scream obscenities at Neighbor Matt after Wainwright broke Beltran’s ankles on a patented nasty deuce to lock up the series, only to see drunken kids running up and down the street yelling, folks on balconies pounding alcohol, and all around shenanigans reigning supreme.
I fucking love my neighborhood.
Now it’s onto the Tigers. Longtime friends of the blog Michelle and JTL have long been loyal Detroit fans, and I enjoyed watching the Tigs play all season; and realizing it has certainly been a magical summer for the good people of Detroit, I’m sorry that the Cards have to be the ones to finish it off for them.
Actually, all I want is a seven game series and for Joel Zumaya to be secretly traded to the Cardinals this afternoon. And a BLT. And a beer.
Is that too much to ask for? I think not.
[have a great world series weekend, kids. go cards.]
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
Seven Down, Four to Go
Cards 3, Mets 1"What's the deal with airplane peanuts?" Jeff Suppan, NLCS MVP and stand up comedian.
Congratulations to your National League Champions, the Saint Louis Cardinals.
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/19/2006
The 2006 NLCS Game 6: Mets 4, Cards 2
"I can recall nothing else that I have coveted for two decades (what else is there that can reasonably be coveted for that long?), nor can I recall anything else that I have desired as both man and boy. So please, be tolerant of those who describe a sporting moment as their best ever. We do not lack imagination, nor have we had sad and barren lives; it is just that real life is paler, duller, and contains less potential for unexpected delirium." - Nick Hornby, Fever Pitch
And last night's game makes can make it all the fucking sweeter tonight.
Go Cards.
Go Soup.
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/18/2006
Six Down, Five to Go
I'd love to say that this is exactly where we, as Cards fans, want to be: Up three games to two and with all the momentum in the Midwest pushing the Cardinals charter plane a couple hours northeast to Shea. Hell, we are right were we want to be... gotta win one of the next two, and while the Mets are throwing out the likes of John Maine and some sort of frankenstinish combination of Darren Oliver/Oliver Perez, we've got our best two pitchers going.
And one of those guys' luggage is extra heavy because he's weighed down by the many pitching awards he has won over the last two seasons. The other fella? He has balls the size of honeydews, once got a blumpkin from Roger Clemens, and has bedded more women than you have even heard of. Plus, our closer's gotta bigger crotch than anyone this side of Kyle Farnsworth.
That's good odds for the men in red, but heeeeres what worries me: These are the last three "big momentum" games from the last two NLCS's'ss's(s):
- Game 5 of the 2004 NLCS - Jeff Kent's walkoff against the Cards, which led to:
- Game 6 of the 2004 NLCS- Jimmy Edmonds' walkoff against the Astros.
- Game 5 of the 2005 NLCS - In which Albert Pujols ate Brad Lidge's career like a bag of Sun Chips and washed down his soul with a grape soda (fuck, I'm hungry).
Of those three games, the team with all of that precious momentum which the national press cares ever so much about has won their next game only once. So all the "mo'" in the world isn't going to help the Cardinals at Shea tonight
As the late, great Earl Weaver* once said "momentum is only as good as tomorrow’s starting pitcher."
Luckily, the Cards got Carp going tonight.
I'll be down at Nick's Pub with the kids if youse St Louis folks wanna party...Should be fun.
"What about work, Al?" you wonder.... Well, let's just say "I think I'm getting the black lung, pop... [cough, cough]"
*Note - Earl Weaver is not actually dead.
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/16/2006
Sarcasm at the Ballpark
There have been three times in my life where I have either said or done something so utterly ridiculous at the perfect moment for such action, that I look back on it not only the next day; but for weeks, months and years to come and still bust out laughing.
The first would be at my senior year prom in high school, when I stood up at my table after our meal, got everyone in the banquet halls attention and said "I'd like to give a toast... To the worst steak I've ever had!" followed by a deafening silence by the wait staff of the restaurant and the chaperones in attendance, which was broken only by a few of my friends laughing at what a jackass I was.
The second time was when I was in the Marines, living on a boat, and frankly a little crabby. Some kid came out of nowhere, wanting me to do some manual labor or something and asked me what my job was. My response: "I'll tell you what I don't do... I don't ask stupid fucking questions. But do you want to know what I do do? I mind my own fucking business." That kid never bothered me again.
The last time I honestly entertained myself was when I was in Spain and walked up to an old Spanish couple and said "Donde esta la biblioteca?" They promptly answered my query, at which point I smiled at them and said "Did I say biblioteca? I meant discoteca!" And then I started dancing around them and ran away. Yes, I had been drinking.
Now, I'm not saying any of those three instances were funny in their own right, but they were three times when I either said or did exactly what the situation called for, and for whatever reason, they stick out in me memory.
Which brings me to last nights beisbol game. Mozzy and I were sitting out in the left field bleachers, the Cards were getting their asses kicked, the sound crew at Busch were playing unbelievably bad techno music the whole time, we were surrounded by idiots, and I was kind of hoping that my head would explode, not only so I didn't have to watch the game anymore, but so the morons around us would have to wash not only their face paint off after the game, but also my blood, tissue, and brain matter. (too much?)
Anyway, with the Mets ahead 5 to 2 in the fifth inning, NY pitcher Oliver Perez came to the plate with two on and two out. Randy Flores was pitching for the Cardinals and he let Perez get ahead in the count when one of the hicks sitting behind me said "Come on Flores, get this guy... this guys swings the bat like...a guy... who... doesn't swing a bat real well."
"Or," I said, "he swings a bat about as well as you make an analogy."
And that was the fourth time in my life I have said exactly the right thing and at exactly the right moment. I leaned forward in my bleacher seat and shared a laugh with the guys around me. I took a nice cold pull off of my Budweiser and relished in the sarcastic moment. I could not have been any prouder.
As for the game itself? Lets just say it made me want to puke. And not in a figurative kind of way.
But this little league-esque picture of Juan absolutely kills me:
Look how happy he is!
The first would be at my senior year prom in high school, when I stood up at my table after our meal, got everyone in the banquet halls attention and said "I'd like to give a toast... To the worst steak I've ever had!" followed by a deafening silence by the wait staff of the restaurant and the chaperones in attendance, which was broken only by a few of my friends laughing at what a jackass I was.
The second time was when I was in the Marines, living on a boat, and frankly a little crabby. Some kid came out of nowhere, wanting me to do some manual labor or something and asked me what my job was. My response: "I'll tell you what I don't do... I don't ask stupid fucking questions. But do you want to know what I do do? I mind my own fucking business." That kid never bothered me again.
The last time I honestly entertained myself was when I was in Spain and walked up to an old Spanish couple and said "Donde esta la biblioteca?" They promptly answered my query, at which point I smiled at them and said "Did I say biblioteca? I meant discoteca!" And then I started dancing around them and ran away. Yes, I had been drinking.
Now, I'm not saying any of those three instances were funny in their own right, but they were three times when I either said or did exactly what the situation called for, and for whatever reason, they stick out in me memory.
Which brings me to last nights beisbol game. Mozzy and I were sitting out in the left field bleachers, the Cards were getting their asses kicked, the sound crew at Busch were playing unbelievably bad techno music the whole time, we were surrounded by idiots, and I was kind of hoping that my head would explode, not only so I didn't have to watch the game anymore, but so the morons around us would have to wash not only their face paint off after the game, but also my blood, tissue, and brain matter. (too much?)
Anyway, with the Mets ahead 5 to 2 in the fifth inning, NY pitcher Oliver Perez came to the plate with two on and two out. Randy Flores was pitching for the Cardinals and he let Perez get ahead in the count when one of the hicks sitting behind me said "Come on Flores, get this guy... this guys swings the bat like...a guy... who... doesn't swing a bat real well."
"Or," I said, "he swings a bat about as well as you make an analogy."
And that was the fourth time in my life I have said exactly the right thing and at exactly the right moment. I leaned forward in my bleacher seat and shared a laugh with the guys around me. I took a nice cold pull off of my Budweiser and relished in the sarcastic moment. I could not have been any prouder.
As for the game itself? Lets just say it made me want to puke. And not in a figurative kind of way.
But this little league-esque picture of Juan absolutely kills me:
Look how happy he is!
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/15/2006
Five Down, Six to Go
10/14/2006
Four Down, Seven to Go
Cards 9, Mets 6"So Taguchi's coming out party" - Pat Imig
"Maybe he has some secret Japanese steroids that we don't even know about" - The Lady Friend
"Best game ever" - Al Fritz
By the way, and I don't know if anyone out here in the Internets can answer this question, but what song does Adam Wainwright have play when he comes in to close out games at Busch? Whatever it is, he needs to have it replaced with My Morning Jackets "One Big Holiday."
Why? Because this song makes me want to run through a fucking brick wall. That's why.
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
10/11/2006
A Day in the Life of Jose Vizcaino
We all knew that J-Rod has a playoff blog going on, but did you guys know that Jose Vizcaino has one, too? (I think it's down for maintenance or something right now.) Well, he does!
Here's his post about yesterday's off day in New York:
7:00 - Alarm goes off. Hit snooze.
7:35 – Finally woke up when I got a call from my old friend and teammate Willie Wilson (I can tell it’s him before I even answer because my phone plays “Quality Time” by Hi-Five whenever he calls.) Him and Shawon Dunston were out at a club last night and were talking about how they couldn’t believe I was still playing professional baseball. Well, I am. Bitches.
7:37 – Listen to “Hey Jealousy” by the Gin Blossoms on my Sony Discman. That’s my cut.
8:00 – Morning meeting with Toucan Sam and Harry Hood. Aunt Jemima is invited, but fails to show, as the Hampton Inn’s continental breakfast does not include hot items.
8:00 – 10:00 - Saved By the Bell reruns. Isn’t it weird that Zack was only of Indian descent for one episode? Also, I’m pretty sure “Max” was a pedophile.
10:00 – Called Tony La Russa and reminded him that I was 9th in the league in both singles and sacrifice flies in 1993. Tony loves stats, and I think this helps my case to start at short in the NLCS.
10:00 – 11:00 – Price is Right on CBS. If I was on Price is Right, I would hope for either “plinko” or “cliff hangers.” I’m really good at game shows, though. I actually got signed by the Dodgers after one of their scouts saw me win the physical challenge on Double Dare in 1986.
11:00 – Called Tony and reminded him of that home run I hit at Shea this year. That was a BOMB! I'm totally starting this series!
11:30 – Went down to Jimmy Johns and got the Sorry Charlie with extra sprouts. For some reason, the manager there kept asking me if I want a job. I kept telling him that I have a job (as a professional baseball player!) but he didn’t believe me. He said I retired eight years ago. I didn’t!
12:00 – Nap.
1:00 – Karate lessons.
2:00 – I headed down to the stadium to get ready for our workout. The security guard at Shea wouldn’t let me in. He said I haven’t played since 1996. I reminded him about my GAME WINNING HIT IN THE 2000 WORLD SERIES FOR THE YANKEES, and he told me I was crazy. Luckily, Preston Wilson was nearby and he could vouch for me. But then he just walked right past me, like he didn’t know who I was. I had to call Joe Pettini to come and get me.
5:30 – It took him three hours to show up, but Coach Pettini is a man of his word and he finally came to the gate and got me. He was on his way out though, and by the time I got to the locker room, everyone was already gone. That’s okay, though. When you’re a veteran like me, you don’t really need the practice. I’ve been here before.
6:00 – I made it back to my hotel. I wish I could stay at the same hotel as the rest of the guys, but they said it was sold out. That’s cool, though. This is a good chance for me to use those Hampton Inn points I’ve been saving up. Since I missed the workout at Shea, I decide to get some exercise.
6:45 – I finished up with my daily workout of 8,000 calve raises. If you kids out there want to play pro ball, you got to have strong calves, and nothing strengthens calves like calve raises. Some people will say the core muscles are most important. NO! It’s calves.
7:00 – Dinner time. Apparently the McDonalds here aren’t doing $1 Big Macs on Cardinal game days like they do in St Louis. That was how I was planning on making the $8 a day per-diem the team is giving me go the extra mile. Now I’ll have to think of something else.
7:10 – The Hampton Inn has free mustard packets and some leftover banana nut muffins from this mornings continental breakfast. Jose likes both of those things!
7:30 – Banana nut muffin and mustard sandwich not nearly as good as Jose thought it would be. Jose needs to lie down.
8:15 – Called WFAN to see if they want to talk about my GAME WINNING HIT IN THE 2000 WORLD SERIES FOR THE YANKEES. They do not.
8:17 – While I’m thinking of it, I call Tony and reminded him about my GAME WINNING HIT IN THE 2000 WORLD SERIES FOR THE YANKEES. I went straight to voice mail, but he is always checking his messages (at least he is whenever I try to talk to him) and I think reminding him that I am both CLUTCH and a PROVEN VETERAN will help my case for making the NLCS roster.
9:00 – Murder She Wrote is on!
10:00 – Called Tony again and reminded him that I hit .303 in 2002. Jose’s playing ball this fall, I just know it!
11:00 – Matlock.
12:00 – Writing this! Then it’s off to bed. I hope I start tomorrow. I know David Eckstein is scrappy and all but did he have a GAME WINNING HIT IN THE 2000 WORLD SERIES FOR THE YANKEES? NO! But guess who did? JOSE VIZCAINO!
Goodnight, fans!
Here's his post about yesterday's off day in New York:
7:00 - Alarm goes off. Hit snooze.
7:35 – Finally woke up when I got a call from my old friend and teammate Willie Wilson (I can tell it’s him before I even answer because my phone plays “Quality Time” by Hi-Five whenever he calls.) Him and Shawon Dunston were out at a club last night and were talking about how they couldn’t believe I was still playing professional baseball. Well, I am. Bitches.
7:37 – Listen to “Hey Jealousy” by the Gin Blossoms on my Sony Discman. That’s my cut.
8:00 – Morning meeting with Toucan Sam and Harry Hood. Aunt Jemima is invited, but fails to show, as the Hampton Inn’s continental breakfast does not include hot items.
8:00 – 10:00 - Saved By the Bell reruns. Isn’t it weird that Zack was only of Indian descent for one episode? Also, I’m pretty sure “Max” was a pedophile.
10:00 – Called Tony La Russa and reminded him that I was 9th in the league in both singles and sacrifice flies in 1993. Tony loves stats, and I think this helps my case to start at short in the NLCS.
10:00 – 11:00 – Price is Right on CBS. If I was on Price is Right, I would hope for either “plinko” or “cliff hangers.” I’m really good at game shows, though. I actually got signed by the Dodgers after one of their scouts saw me win the physical challenge on Double Dare in 1986.
11:00 – Called Tony and reminded him of that home run I hit at Shea this year. That was a BOMB! I'm totally starting this series!
11:30 – Went down to Jimmy Johns and got the Sorry Charlie with extra sprouts. For some reason, the manager there kept asking me if I want a job. I kept telling him that I have a job (as a professional baseball player!) but he didn’t believe me. He said I retired eight years ago. I didn’t!
12:00 – Nap.
1:00 – Karate lessons.
2:00 – I headed down to the stadium to get ready for our workout. The security guard at Shea wouldn’t let me in. He said I haven’t played since 1996. I reminded him about my GAME WINNING HIT IN THE 2000 WORLD SERIES FOR THE YANKEES, and he told me I was crazy. Luckily, Preston Wilson was nearby and he could vouch for me. But then he just walked right past me, like he didn’t know who I was. I had to call Joe Pettini to come and get me.
5:30 – It took him three hours to show up, but Coach Pettini is a man of his word and he finally came to the gate and got me. He was on his way out though, and by the time I got to the locker room, everyone was already gone. That’s okay, though. When you’re a veteran like me, you don’t really need the practice. I’ve been here before.
6:00 – I made it back to my hotel. I wish I could stay at the same hotel as the rest of the guys, but they said it was sold out. That’s cool, though. This is a good chance for me to use those Hampton Inn points I’ve been saving up. Since I missed the workout at Shea, I decide to get some exercise.
6:45 – I finished up with my daily workout of 8,000 calve raises. If you kids out there want to play pro ball, you got to have strong calves, and nothing strengthens calves like calve raises. Some people will say the core muscles are most important. NO! It’s calves.
7:00 – Dinner time. Apparently the McDonalds here aren’t doing $1 Big Macs on Cardinal game days like they do in St Louis. That was how I was planning on making the $8 a day per-diem the team is giving me go the extra mile. Now I’ll have to think of something else.
7:10 – The Hampton Inn has free mustard packets and some leftover banana nut muffins from this mornings continental breakfast. Jose likes both of those things!
7:30 – Banana nut muffin and mustard sandwich not nearly as good as Jose thought it would be. Jose needs to lie down.
8:15 – Called WFAN to see if they want to talk about my GAME WINNING HIT IN THE 2000 WORLD SERIES FOR THE YANKEES. They do not.
8:17 – While I’m thinking of it, I call Tony and reminded him about my GAME WINNING HIT IN THE 2000 WORLD SERIES FOR THE YANKEES. I went straight to voice mail, but he is always checking his messages (at least he is whenever I try to talk to him) and I think reminding him that I am both CLUTCH and a PROVEN VETERAN will help my case for making the NLCS roster.
9:00 – Murder She Wrote is on!
10:00 – Called Tony again and reminded him that I hit .303 in 2002. Jose’s playing ball this fall, I just know it!
11:00 – Matlock.
12:00 – Writing this! Then it’s off to bed. I hope I start tomorrow. I know David Eckstein is scrappy and all but did he have a GAME WINNING HIT IN THE 2000 WORLD SERIES FOR THE YANKEES? NO! But guess who did? JOSE VIZCAINO!
Goodnight, fans!
-JV
Labels: The 2006 Saint Louis Baseball Cardinals
