JULY 25th, 1993
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! Mother of all comebacks! Beer!
Ah, my infamous birthday game, 1993. July 25th...I turned a whopping 25 years old that day, and what better place to ring it in than the vaunted Yankee Stadium, for an afternoon tilt against the Angels.
This game was a Sunday affair. Round this time I was a Saturday regular, there is no record of me attending the game the day before. Upon checking with a reliable source, I was "getting inebriated the day before" at Down the Hatch instead. Yay me!
This was THE COMEBACK GAME. Yankees were down 8-0 in the second inning, only to come back and win. But I get ahead of myself...
The scorecard is mainly full of a tribute to me. Not only did I headline it with "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME" I seemingly coaxed anyone who was out there to sign it for me. If you were there way back then, you may have signed this card. Looks like there is a "Bill Butler" and a "Mike Cornell" on here, as well as 3 autographs under the denomination "Upstate Yankee fans!" Bleacher Legend Captain Bob also took time to scrawl a birthday wish.
One dominating and interesting autograph, scrawled after the game and right in the middle over everything, was that of Yankee broadcaster and horsehead Michael Kay. I can just imagine how thrilled he must have been to autograph my scorecard outside after the game, considering how drunk I must have been. Hell, I dont even know how anyone could have possibly coaxed me around to the back near the players exit in the first place, a place I usually staunchly avoided, especially when there was more beer to be drank elsewhere.
I see I spilled yet another beer, my 3rd of the week. And this was "before the game." There was a "Shove those Hot Dogs up your ass...we want more beer" ditty or chant that sparked up to greet the hot dog sliner, and someone went as far as to yell "Punch the soda guy!" when he came ambling up.
Any of you yolks remember doing the Munsters song when Mike Gallego used to come to the plate for us? With dozens of people all on cue, it was a beautiful thing. It was in full effect that day - Hell, that may have been the day it started, as I dont recall it appearing on a scorecard before, or since, and I chose to mention it on this fine day.
The Angels blasted Melido Perez and Rich Monteleone for 8 runs in the 2nd (although Monteleone ended up righting the boat and hurled 4 more scoreless innings on the day)
In another funny note, my cousin Jim came to the game that day and sauntered in during the bottom of the 2nd, all grins and giggles. He happened to take a offhand look at the scoreboard and nearly choked. "Is that 8-0?????" he suttered in shock and awe.
The scorecard became a veritable mess as early as this crazy 2nd inning. Its peppered with mystery outs and items in the wrong place. Of course I was blamed as someone wrote, quite succinctly, "Tom fucked up the scorecard!"
Someone that looked like Spike Lee was out there, and someone yelled "hey, 'Do the Right Thing' and sit down, asshole!" Sometime in the 5th inning a "renegade bird" swooped down and scared the crap out of everybody. I used to enjoy that.
As it was my birthday, I made the famous Gang Bang song for the first time. Captain Bob threw me in there, that big galoot. An early "Wave Stops Here!" sign and chant made its appearance in the bleachers, and subsequently on the scorecard.
As for the game, after falling behind 8-0 in the top of the second, the Yankees came back with 1 in the 2nd, 2 in the 3rd, and 1 in the 4th, and it was now split in half. Luminary Hilly Hathaway was on the hill for the Angels, enjoying his second (and last) season in the majors. He got out of there after the 5th, still holding an 8-4 lead. On came Gene Nelson, and by the time he left it was 8-7. And that is where we stood rolling into the bottom of the 9th.
The 9th, on my scorecard, is unfortunately illegible. Someone was trying to write with a pen that had seen better days. Not only that, they were probably drunk cause it just can not be read. I do see an arrow to the margin noting "2 wild pitches" so it looks like Steve Frey, now manning the hill for the Angels, was having problems of his own.
I honestly dont remember the exact play that won the game, but I do remember talking about it for years later. I thought it was Pat Kelly all along...he did come in as a pinch-runner and later went 1-1 with an RBI, so lets say he got the hit. Of course I can check it all these years later on Baseballreference.com, but its more fun being legend to me. Mike Stanley had the only Yankee home run on the day, back in the 2nd inning.
There was a nice crowd out there on a day that was "too fucking hot!" - 50,429. After some of the paltry crowd totals I have thrown up on here from that season, it must have been quite the pain in the ass for us, so used to having a seat for our bag, and a row for our feet when we were still thin enough to lift them. Your arbiters for this Sunday afternoon affair were Tim Welke, Ed Hickox, the late and lamented Durwood Merrill, and John Hirschbeck.
Thanks for reading!
Friday, July 30, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
We never forget our first time!!!
April 15th, 1993
MY FIRST EVER DOCUMENTED BLEACHER REGULAR SEASON GAME!
Love me or hate me, I have made sort of a name for myself in that block of seats that has since upped and moved across the street. A heap of stories, capers, and antics. I (and many before and after me) will never be forgotten, and others are building their names right now. And it all had to start sometime...
In 1992 I hit a few games out there. As I touched on, around then I was intimidated by old school creatures like Big Nose George, Animal, or Queen Bee Tina and was nervous to even speak to them. Can you imagine? I sat there and kept my lip zipped. I never found any scorecards from the 1992 season, so I guess I was too busy trying to fit in to keep score. That, or gulping down beers off to the side.
I kept score during the Mayors Trophy Game in 1993, on April 4th. But my first regular season game - the first of nearly 600 games (Six-Freakin Hundred!) I have documented came 2 weeks later.....it was...
APRIL 15th, 1993
And, oh Christ, what an ending. Steve Howe and Steve Farr blew a FOUR RUN LEAD IN THE 9th and the Yankees fell 5-4. Holy fuck. This was the night the infamous "HOWE FARR can they hit it?" axiom was born forevermore.
First, the notes on the card. Not much happening here. I guess I was still finding my footing. I actually saw fit to write down that we were told to "stay off the seats" when we stood on them to do some such thing. And I even found it worthy to write down the time of the first pitch, quite the silly stat. Incidentally, it came at 7:36. Now we can breathe easy.
I noted that the weather was cool and foggy. When the Hell have you ever seen it foggy out there? I wrote that Brian McRae was "Daddy's Little Girl" . I noted that there was a "big fat guy in the box seats." Not much effort on my part there.....not even one fat joke. Can you imagine any of us jokesters simply writing "big fat guy in the box seats" on a scorecard today? Total lack of creativity, not even a simple "he's so fat he stepped on a dollar bill and made change."
I used to note EXACTLY where certain rhymes and ditties were sung...on this particular night "Horses Ass" was belted out with Felix Jose the unhappy beneficiary in right with Wade Boggs coming up in the bottom of the 7th and the Yankees up 3-0 at the time.
I "gave a star on the play" to what I termed as an "unbelievable leave his feet catch" by McRae on a liner by Pat Kelly in the 8th inning. This ended up being a HUGE play as it came with 2 outs and 2 men on, and would have plated some runs which the Yankees ended up truly needing. Then again who is to stay Howe and Farr would not have choked up a 6 run lead as easily as a 4 run lead?
THE GAME ITSELF
Jimmy Key manned the hill for the Yankees, and pitched an insane 8 innings of shutout ball. 3 hits, a walk, and 4 Ks. The Yankees had a fat 4-0 lead going into the 9th when Steve Howe ambled in to start the 9th. All was calm.
Howe promtly gave up a single to Wally Joyner, a double to Hubie Brooks of all people, and another double to Felix Jose who was probably still smarting from being called a Horses Ass in verse, which plated both runners and it was now 4-2. Here comes Farr, the idiot...
BANG! GONE! 2 run home run to tie the game by catcher Mike McFarlane. Holy crap, I will never forget the rage this instilled. Just like that it was tied, in mere minutes.
After a popup to the catcher Farr gave up 2 more singles, then got the second out on a fly ball from Greg Gagne (the scrawny shortstop and not the scrawny AWA wrestler). And then McRae, the bastard who made that catch to save those 2 runs in the bottom of the 8th notched an infield single that somehow scored the run to put the Royals ahead.
And I BROKE MY BAT. I had one of those stick souvinier bats, and I broke it at this point, as noted on the card. John Habyan of all people had to come in to notch the last out, the Yankees failed to score in the bottom of the 9th off of Royal closer Jeff Montgomery, and the game was history.
As Farr left the field to a barrage of boos, someone snarled "Joey Gasoline....Fireman of the Year!" and that made the card.
What pain. I am sure you all remember games that are somewhat similar. The fact that this was the FIRST regular season game I decided to score out there is sort of funny, when you think of it.
There were a whopping 14,091 fans in attendance..as I go through these I think I may find that this will be one of the lowest attendance figures I was ever a part of. I mean, holy crap, 14,091!! There were times more people than that were in front of me in the beer line behind the bleachers! Your umpires were Tim McClelland, Joe Brinkman, Derryl Cousins, and Rick Reed.
Thanks for reading, and check back here at The Tom Drum DAILY as I march through these like Sherman through Atlanta!
MY FIRST EVER DOCUMENTED BLEACHER REGULAR SEASON GAME!
Love me or hate me, I have made sort of a name for myself in that block of seats that has since upped and moved across the street. A heap of stories, capers, and antics. I (and many before and after me) will never be forgotten, and others are building their names right now. And it all had to start sometime...
In 1992 I hit a few games out there. As I touched on, around then I was intimidated by old school creatures like Big Nose George, Animal, or Queen Bee Tina and was nervous to even speak to them. Can you imagine? I sat there and kept my lip zipped. I never found any scorecards from the 1992 season, so I guess I was too busy trying to fit in to keep score. That, or gulping down beers off to the side.
I kept score during the Mayors Trophy Game in 1993, on April 4th. But my first regular season game - the first of nearly 600 games (Six-Freakin Hundred!) I have documented came 2 weeks later.....it was...
APRIL 15th, 1993
And, oh Christ, what an ending. Steve Howe and Steve Farr blew a FOUR RUN LEAD IN THE 9th and the Yankees fell 5-4. Holy fuck. This was the night the infamous "HOWE FARR can they hit it?" axiom was born forevermore.
First, the notes on the card. Not much happening here. I guess I was still finding my footing. I actually saw fit to write down that we were told to "stay off the seats" when we stood on them to do some such thing. And I even found it worthy to write down the time of the first pitch, quite the silly stat. Incidentally, it came at 7:36. Now we can breathe easy.
I noted that the weather was cool and foggy. When the Hell have you ever seen it foggy out there? I wrote that Brian McRae was "Daddy's Little Girl" . I noted that there was a "big fat guy in the box seats." Not much effort on my part there.....not even one fat joke. Can you imagine any of us jokesters simply writing "big fat guy in the box seats" on a scorecard today? Total lack of creativity, not even a simple "he's so fat he stepped on a dollar bill and made change."
I used to note EXACTLY where certain rhymes and ditties were sung...on this particular night "Horses Ass" was belted out with Felix Jose the unhappy beneficiary in right with Wade Boggs coming up in the bottom of the 7th and the Yankees up 3-0 at the time.
I "gave a star on the play" to what I termed as an "unbelievable leave his feet catch" by McRae on a liner by Pat Kelly in the 8th inning. This ended up being a HUGE play as it came with 2 outs and 2 men on, and would have plated some runs which the Yankees ended up truly needing. Then again who is to stay Howe and Farr would not have choked up a 6 run lead as easily as a 4 run lead?
THE GAME ITSELF
Jimmy Key manned the hill for the Yankees, and pitched an insane 8 innings of shutout ball. 3 hits, a walk, and 4 Ks. The Yankees had a fat 4-0 lead going into the 9th when Steve Howe ambled in to start the 9th. All was calm.
Howe promtly gave up a single to Wally Joyner, a double to Hubie Brooks of all people, and another double to Felix Jose who was probably still smarting from being called a Horses Ass in verse, which plated both runners and it was now 4-2. Here comes Farr, the idiot...
BANG! GONE! 2 run home run to tie the game by catcher Mike McFarlane. Holy crap, I will never forget the rage this instilled. Just like that it was tied, in mere minutes.
After a popup to the catcher Farr gave up 2 more singles, then got the second out on a fly ball from Greg Gagne (the scrawny shortstop and not the scrawny AWA wrestler). And then McRae, the bastard who made that catch to save those 2 runs in the bottom of the 8th notched an infield single that somehow scored the run to put the Royals ahead.
And I BROKE MY BAT. I had one of those stick souvinier bats, and I broke it at this point, as noted on the card. John Habyan of all people had to come in to notch the last out, the Yankees failed to score in the bottom of the 9th off of Royal closer Jeff Montgomery, and the game was history.
As Farr left the field to a barrage of boos, someone snarled "Joey Gasoline....Fireman of the Year!" and that made the card.
What pain. I am sure you all remember games that are somewhat similar. The fact that this was the FIRST regular season game I decided to score out there is sort of funny, when you think of it.
There were a whopping 14,091 fans in attendance..as I go through these I think I may find that this will be one of the lowest attendance figures I was ever a part of. I mean, holy crap, 14,091!! There were times more people than that were in front of me in the beer line behind the bleachers! Your umpires were Tim McClelland, Joe Brinkman, Derryl Cousins, and Rick Reed.
Thanks for reading, and check back here at The Tom Drum DAILY as I march through these like Sherman through Atlanta!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
July 23rd! My bags on fire!
JULY 23rd, 1993
Mark Huttons vaunted debut!
Lets go to July 23rd, 1993. 2 days before my 25th birthday. Geez. (ok, do the math!)
Mark Hutton's debut! The lanky Australian who went on to a lifetime 9-7 record in 84 games (18 starts) in his 5 year career. A nifty 4.75 ERA too!
Australia was described on the scorecard as a place where "they eat a lot of Kiwi and stuff." I noted that a little kid was walking around with a tag on his hat...considering I saw about 10 people doing that years later as I was first writing this up in 2002 or so, I think he was a trendsetter for what is now a fad.
Apparently I was VERY drunk during this game. After all, it WAS a Friday game. A note in the margin that says "incomplete inning for TJ....drunk beyond belief!" is one hint. The way my writing was getting more difficult to decipher inning to inning is another. The totally impossible to read sentences on there make it quite obvious what was going on.
I seem to have wrote the lineups in a steady hand, so we know this was part of the golden era, when beer was on hand inside the bleachers and I would get progressively drunk, rather than have to pound outside and show up drunk due to the beer ban. Someone else's hand wrote "If you can read this you are lying" which may have been either directed at me, or anyone trying to read my gibberish in the middle innings.
The most telling part of my inebriated nature is this note - TJ PUKES HIS GUTS OUT IMMEDIATLY AFTER GAME! - this I remember and there may be a few of you who do as well. I remember holding it in, and the second the game ended I spewed right on the floor in front of me. I ended up doing this again a couple of years later when I was experimenting with chewing tobacco out there. Ah, peer pressure!
The game went fast. Officially, checking retrosheet.org, it ended in 2 hours and 22 minutes. "Outta Here Before 10!" is on the card, which means I must have pounded my beers pretty fast. These were the days of the 7:30 start. I forget where we were drinking before games back then....could have been inside the Stadium cause we did some serious heckling back then before games when beer was sold inside. I did write "3 Fosters" on the top margin....possibly sucked down in the early days of our Yancey Park excursions on the other side of 161st, or even outside the Stadium against the wall. Jesus, I hope that is not all it took to get me this drunk, 3 Fosters.
"This game is going faster than a car thief in Newark" was a line in which variations of have appeared throughout the wildest years in Section 39 over the next decade that was broken out here. The top of the 6th was noted as being at 8:48....during a game that started at 7:30!! Its like someone pressed the FF button and it got stuck.
Ah, another note regarding "self inflicted cigar ashes in TJs beer!" - this was the cigar era when there would be 40 people peppered around Section 39 and 20 of them would be smoking cigars from that store that is still on the corner, although purchases can no longer be bought and burned inside Stadium confines. I remember clearly Tina "the Queen Bee" ambling up there one night, looking at all of us with smoking cigars clenched between our teeth, and snarling to the guy that started that trend, "Cigars??? What the Hell did you start here, Dave!"
Ah, heres another funny note about my drinking which is scrawled with an arrow to the 7th inning....."TJ SET HIS BAG ON FIRE!" - I believe that was due to dropping cigar ash on cheap vinyl Yankee bag. Yay me!
With Tim Salmon in right, the infamous "Salmon's Mom smells like fish" line made an appearance. We also used "Salmon does Curtis and Pees on Snow" referring to Tim, Chad, and J.T, of course. Thats some original work right there.
A bunch of fans autographed this scorecard. Remember, this was a gimmick I seem to have been running around this time. Under one autograph (a Victor something) is the description "I got hurt at Yankee Stadium!" I have no idea what happened there. I hope I didnt hurt him! Possibly burned by one of those cigars out there...And under a choppily written sig that looks like "Kenny" is the description "a real cool 5 year old!" I hope this lad lived to carry on this lunacy! And this happens to be the game where Dennis R., who has been mentioned on here already, signed his autograph. Worth money, surely!
And the most special one of all - Ali Ramirez signed the scorecard. The original cowbell man, who sadly passed away in 1996. Beloved, and revered, to this day. And underneath he simply wrote "cowbell" as if anyone would forget...
Some game notes. Mr. Hutton won his debut with a splendid pitching performance...8 innings of 3 hit ball. 2 runs, 4 walks, and 5 K's. I got this off retrosheet and not my messy scoresheet, as the person replacing me due to inebriation on my part did not compile the pitching stats and there are times where the factoids are impossible to read clearly. Amazingly enough there does not appear to be ONE mystery out the whole game. That means whoever was in charge of the card somehow missed only ONE play...there have been times over 20 plays were missed due to distraction at the time! The losing pitcher in this 5-2 Yankee win was one Mark Langston.
Luis Polonia led off for the Angels, and the infamous Torey Lovullo manned second. Mike Stanley hit the games only home run, and Steve "How Farr Will He Hit It" got the save for the Yankees with a shockingly uneventful 9th. Someone actually did write "3 up and 3 down for Farr? I cant fucking believe it!"
There were 25,989 on hand (someone probably predicted 25,982 in Chicos attendance pool and somehow lost) and your umpires were the late Durwood Merrill, John Hirschbeck, Tim Welke, and Ed Hickox.
Thanks for reading!
Mark Huttons vaunted debut!
Lets go to July 23rd, 1993. 2 days before my 25th birthday. Geez. (ok, do the math!)
Mark Hutton's debut! The lanky Australian who went on to a lifetime 9-7 record in 84 games (18 starts) in his 5 year career. A nifty 4.75 ERA too!
Australia was described on the scorecard as a place where "they eat a lot of Kiwi and stuff." I noted that a little kid was walking around with a tag on his hat...considering I saw about 10 people doing that years later as I was first writing this up in 2002 or so, I think he was a trendsetter for what is now a fad.
Apparently I was VERY drunk during this game. After all, it WAS a Friday game. A note in the margin that says "incomplete inning for TJ....drunk beyond belief!" is one hint. The way my writing was getting more difficult to decipher inning to inning is another. The totally impossible to read sentences on there make it quite obvious what was going on.
I seem to have wrote the lineups in a steady hand, so we know this was part of the golden era, when beer was on hand inside the bleachers and I would get progressively drunk, rather than have to pound outside and show up drunk due to the beer ban. Someone else's hand wrote "If you can read this you are lying" which may have been either directed at me, or anyone trying to read my gibberish in the middle innings.
The most telling part of my inebriated nature is this note - TJ PUKES HIS GUTS OUT IMMEDIATLY AFTER GAME! - this I remember and there may be a few of you who do as well. I remember holding it in, and the second the game ended I spewed right on the floor in front of me. I ended up doing this again a couple of years later when I was experimenting with chewing tobacco out there. Ah, peer pressure!
The game went fast. Officially, checking retrosheet.org, it ended in 2 hours and 22 minutes. "Outta Here Before 10!" is on the card, which means I must have pounded my beers pretty fast. These were the days of the 7:30 start. I forget where we were drinking before games back then....could have been inside the Stadium cause we did some serious heckling back then before games when beer was sold inside. I did write "3 Fosters" on the top margin....possibly sucked down in the early days of our Yancey Park excursions on the other side of 161st, or even outside the Stadium against the wall. Jesus, I hope that is not all it took to get me this drunk, 3 Fosters.
"This game is going faster than a car thief in Newark" was a line in which variations of have appeared throughout the wildest years in Section 39 over the next decade that was broken out here. The top of the 6th was noted as being at 8:48....during a game that started at 7:30!! Its like someone pressed the FF button and it got stuck.
Ah, another note regarding "self inflicted cigar ashes in TJs beer!" - this was the cigar era when there would be 40 people peppered around Section 39 and 20 of them would be smoking cigars from that store that is still on the corner, although purchases can no longer be bought and burned inside Stadium confines. I remember clearly Tina "the Queen Bee" ambling up there one night, looking at all of us with smoking cigars clenched between our teeth, and snarling to the guy that started that trend, "Cigars??? What the Hell did you start here, Dave!"
Ah, heres another funny note about my drinking which is scrawled with an arrow to the 7th inning....."TJ SET HIS BAG ON FIRE!" - I believe that was due to dropping cigar ash on cheap vinyl Yankee bag. Yay me!
With Tim Salmon in right, the infamous "Salmon's Mom smells like fish" line made an appearance. We also used "Salmon does Curtis and Pees on Snow" referring to Tim, Chad, and J.T, of course. Thats some original work right there.
A bunch of fans autographed this scorecard. Remember, this was a gimmick I seem to have been running around this time. Under one autograph (a Victor something) is the description "I got hurt at Yankee Stadium!" I have no idea what happened there. I hope I didnt hurt him! Possibly burned by one of those cigars out there...And under a choppily written sig that looks like "Kenny" is the description "a real cool 5 year old!" I hope this lad lived to carry on this lunacy! And this happens to be the game where Dennis R., who has been mentioned on here already, signed his autograph. Worth money, surely!
And the most special one of all - Ali Ramirez signed the scorecard. The original cowbell man, who sadly passed away in 1996. Beloved, and revered, to this day. And underneath he simply wrote "cowbell" as if anyone would forget...
Some game notes. Mr. Hutton won his debut with a splendid pitching performance...8 innings of 3 hit ball. 2 runs, 4 walks, and 5 K's. I got this off retrosheet and not my messy scoresheet, as the person replacing me due to inebriation on my part did not compile the pitching stats and there are times where the factoids are impossible to read clearly. Amazingly enough there does not appear to be ONE mystery out the whole game. That means whoever was in charge of the card somehow missed only ONE play...there have been times over 20 plays were missed due to distraction at the time! The losing pitcher in this 5-2 Yankee win was one Mark Langston.
Luis Polonia led off for the Angels, and the infamous Torey Lovullo manned second. Mike Stanley hit the games only home run, and Steve "How Farr Will He Hit It" got the save for the Yankees with a shockingly uneventful 9th. Someone actually did write "3 up and 3 down for Farr? I cant fucking believe it!"
There were 25,989 on hand (someone probably predicted 25,982 in Chicos attendance pool and somehow lost) and your umpires were the late Durwood Merrill, John Hirschbeck, Tim Welke, and Ed Hickox.
Thanks for reading!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
July 18th, 1993! Singalong!
JULY 18th, 1993
An Old Standard Makes an Appearance!
Was this the evolution of the "everybody sucks!" chant? July 18,1993. On one side of the scorecard is this little melange...
Mets Suck!
Ruben Sucks! (Sierra was in RF for Rangers)
Box Seats Suck!
Boston Sucks!
Your Mother Sucks!
Security Sucks!
The Blimp Sucks!
There is no "Everybody Sucks!" at that point, which became the bow on this chant package over time. This raucous refrain, which became a popular bleacher standard must have been at least fairly new, for it to be written on the scorecard, methinks. I would not simply write down something we had been doing all along, I imagine. Interesting to see the harangue against the RF ahead of the slam at the Box Seats in the pecking order. That switched its way around in time.
Yes, there was the Met Life blimp hanging around, according to the notes, thus the addition of "the blimp sucks!" I am guessing it was a Saturday afternoon game as the heading is "televised ass-kicking in the Bronx" as the Yankees notched a TEN SPOT in the 7th against the A's (described in the boxscore as the ASS - how original) - I am thinking there was a sock giveaway as well, as "Its raining socks!" is written in big, loopy letters near the top. Of course I can simply check the treasure trove www.baseballreference.com and confirm what day of the week this was played, but Ill wing it instead.
Not many notes on here. Either drunk or lazy, it appears Someone broke out the old "does your shirt come with a volume control" line. This was a favorite towards those in yellow (unless they were fat, and then they were called "the sun.") Apparently "Friend of Mine" was sang to Ruben Sierra with one out in the Yankee 8th. You know....
"Ruben is a friend of mine! (Ruben is a friend of mine) - He will blow me anytime! (He will blow me anytime) If you have a credit card! (if you have a credit card) He will blow you extra hard! (he will blow you extra hard) If you have a season pass! (If you have a season pass) He will even lick your ass! (he will even lick your ass)
And for those of you that have wondered, "Syphillis" was indeed sung all the way back in 1993! Syphillis Joe sang this ditty made famous by "Doctor Dirty" John Valby with the A's batting in the 7th.
For the uninitiated, it goes a little something like this, sung to the tune of "Yesterday"
Syphillis, it started with a simple kiss, now it hurts to even take a piss, oh how did I get syphillis?
Leprosy, all my skin is falling off of me, I'm not half the man I used to be, oh, how did I get leprosy?
There was a nod to Beavis and Butthead as someone wrote "uh, the A's got their ass kicked or something" on the scorecard. And the line of the game, howled to the field, seemed to be "you're so dumb you think ringworms is a lawn game!"
Who was the beneficiary of the beatdown? For the most part Goose Gossage, who was torched for 7 hits and 6 runs (unofficially, remember who was keeping score and how much we drank) in one and two-thirds innings. He was replaced by Dennis "Upper-Deck" ersley.
Yankees starting pitcher? Bob Wickman. Home runs from Tartabull, Mattingly, and Mike Stanley. Wade Boggs led off the Yankees, and Tartabull was in the cleanup spot. The one and only Paul Gibson closed out the game for our beloved Yankees.
Some of the luminaries in the A's lineup included Jerry Browne, Mike Aldrete, and DH Troy Neel, who ended a 3 year career with 37 home runs in 230 games, and a .280 batting average. Always wondered where he dissapeared to.
Time of the game was a "slower than evolution" (as described) 3:38, and there were 29,645 on hand. Your umpiring crew was Larry Young, Chuck Meriwether, Rich Garcia, and Dale Ford.
As always, thanks for reading.
An Old Standard Makes an Appearance!
Was this the evolution of the "everybody sucks!" chant? July 18,1993. On one side of the scorecard is this little melange...
Mets Suck!
Ruben Sucks! (Sierra was in RF for Rangers)
Box Seats Suck!
Boston Sucks!
Your Mother Sucks!
Security Sucks!
The Blimp Sucks!
There is no "Everybody Sucks!" at that point, which became the bow on this chant package over time. This raucous refrain, which became a popular bleacher standard must have been at least fairly new, for it to be written on the scorecard, methinks. I would not simply write down something we had been doing all along, I imagine. Interesting to see the harangue against the RF ahead of the slam at the Box Seats in the pecking order. That switched its way around in time.
Yes, there was the Met Life blimp hanging around, according to the notes, thus the addition of "the blimp sucks!" I am guessing it was a Saturday afternoon game as the heading is "televised ass-kicking in the Bronx" as the Yankees notched a TEN SPOT in the 7th against the A's (described in the boxscore as the ASS - how original) - I am thinking there was a sock giveaway as well, as "Its raining socks!" is written in big, loopy letters near the top. Of course I can simply check the treasure trove www.baseballreference.com and confirm what day of the week this was played, but Ill wing it instead.
Not many notes on here. Either drunk or lazy, it appears Someone broke out the old "does your shirt come with a volume control" line. This was a favorite towards those in yellow (unless they were fat, and then they were called "the sun.") Apparently "Friend of Mine" was sang to Ruben Sierra with one out in the Yankee 8th. You know....
"Ruben is a friend of mine! (Ruben is a friend of mine) - He will blow me anytime! (He will blow me anytime) If you have a credit card! (if you have a credit card) He will blow you extra hard! (he will blow you extra hard) If you have a season pass! (If you have a season pass) He will even lick your ass! (he will even lick your ass)
And for those of you that have wondered, "Syphillis" was indeed sung all the way back in 1993! Syphillis Joe sang this ditty made famous by "Doctor Dirty" John Valby with the A's batting in the 7th.
For the uninitiated, it goes a little something like this, sung to the tune of "Yesterday"
Syphillis, it started with a simple kiss, now it hurts to even take a piss, oh how did I get syphillis?
Leprosy, all my skin is falling off of me, I'm not half the man I used to be, oh, how did I get leprosy?
There was a nod to Beavis and Butthead as someone wrote "uh, the A's got their ass kicked or something" on the scorecard. And the line of the game, howled to the field, seemed to be "you're so dumb you think ringworms is a lawn game!"
Who was the beneficiary of the beatdown? For the most part Goose Gossage, who was torched for 7 hits and 6 runs (unofficially, remember who was keeping score and how much we drank) in one and two-thirds innings. He was replaced by Dennis "Upper-Deck" ersley.
Yankees starting pitcher? Bob Wickman. Home runs from Tartabull, Mattingly, and Mike Stanley. Wade Boggs led off the Yankees, and Tartabull was in the cleanup spot. The one and only Paul Gibson closed out the game for our beloved Yankees.
Some of the luminaries in the A's lineup included Jerry Browne, Mike Aldrete, and DH Troy Neel, who ended a 3 year career with 37 home runs in 230 games, and a .280 batting average. Always wondered where he dissapeared to.
Time of the game was a "slower than evolution" (as described) 3:38, and there were 29,645 on hand. Your umpiring crew was Larry Young, Chuck Meriwether, Rich Garcia, and Dale Ford.
As always, thanks for reading.
Monday, July 26, 2010
June 1st, 1993! Take Me Out to the Ocean!
Scorecard Memories - 1993
June 1st, 1993 (Take Me Out To The Ocean...)
Poring through old scorecards here. I will be doing this from time to time. I will post funny quotes from the past, and obscure factoids from these scorecards. Maybe this will conjure up some memories, maybe this will piss you off. I may even scan some of these, where you may see some of your own writing, or some crazy drunken scrawls.
First fact from this night - The "Take Me Out To The Ocean" song was actually penned on June 1st, 1993, obviously during a Yankee/Indian affair. It was actually titled "Ode To Indian"
This was the season following the spring training boat crash that killed Steve Olin and Tim Crews, of course, and in which Bobby Ojeda survived. Here are the original lyrics (which never really changed) as they appeared on that night 11 years ago.
Take Me Out To The Ocean
Take me out on the boat
Buy me a 6 pack and a bottle of booze
We'll hit the pier just like Olin and Crews
Drink drink drink till you're drunk
If you dont die its Ojeda! (suck my Peter!)
Cause its 1, 2 dead Indians
On the ole speedboat!
Song notes are scrawled on the back, and the lyrics are printed in their entirety on the front. While I obviously shared a heap of credit, the actual names of the lyricists is nowhere to be found.....where you there on 6/1/93?
Funny notes off the scorecard include a couple of us were stopped outside the gate and told to "leave our sodas outside" - we apparently sang Row Row Row Your Boat to the Indians which caused Indian rightfielder Wayne Kirby to inexplicably laugh, and someone cracked that "Indian Pitchers win the Die Young Award"
Yet another Indian boat crash joke was "Indians and drinking....who'd have ever thought?" And, as if the song we penned was not historical enough, this apparently was the night oldtime bleacher legend George was told to stop his act of banging on the seats at the top of the bleachers with his miniature bats....anyone who was out there back then would remember that as a regular (and very annoying) feature out in Section 39.
On to the game notes themself....Jose Mesa started for the Indians, against Mike Witt for the Yankees, making one of his rare starts (and he only lasted a full one-third of an inning here, as the Indians put up a 5 spot) - the Indians won 15-6, with Albert Belle cranking 2 bombs. The Yankees made 3 errors (Boggs, Spike Owen, and Randy Velarde, who was playing centerfield, and someone commented was playing out there like he was on rollerblades)
Kenny Lofton led off for the Indians, Dion James for the Yankees. After Lofton led off the 4th with a bunt hit I wrote "a bunt? hit like a man!" in the margin.
Jim Leyritz was batting cleanup for the Yankees, and hit a home run. Among the parade of relievers that came in for the Yankees was Neal Heaton, who I forgot was ever on the team and current bullpen coach Rich Monteleone.
Hope you enjoyed your first of many Scorecard Flashbacks!
June 1st, 1993 (Take Me Out To The Ocean...)
Poring through old scorecards here. I will be doing this from time to time. I will post funny quotes from the past, and obscure factoids from these scorecards. Maybe this will conjure up some memories, maybe this will piss you off. I may even scan some of these, where you may see some of your own writing, or some crazy drunken scrawls.
First fact from this night - The "Take Me Out To The Ocean" song was actually penned on June 1st, 1993, obviously during a Yankee/Indian affair. It was actually titled "Ode To Indian"
This was the season following the spring training boat crash that killed Steve Olin and Tim Crews, of course, and in which Bobby Ojeda survived. Here are the original lyrics (which never really changed) as they appeared on that night 11 years ago.
Take Me Out To The Ocean
Take me out on the boat
Buy me a 6 pack and a bottle of booze
We'll hit the pier just like Olin and Crews
Drink drink drink till you're drunk
If you dont die its Ojeda! (suck my Peter!)
Cause its 1, 2 dead Indians
On the ole speedboat!
Song notes are scrawled on the back, and the lyrics are printed in their entirety on the front. While I obviously shared a heap of credit, the actual names of the lyricists is nowhere to be found.....where you there on 6/1/93?
Funny notes off the scorecard include a couple of us were stopped outside the gate and told to "leave our sodas outside" - we apparently sang Row Row Row Your Boat to the Indians which caused Indian rightfielder Wayne Kirby to inexplicably laugh, and someone cracked that "Indian Pitchers win the Die Young Award"
Yet another Indian boat crash joke was "Indians and drinking....who'd have ever thought?" And, as if the song we penned was not historical enough, this apparently was the night oldtime bleacher legend George was told to stop his act of banging on the seats at the top of the bleachers with his miniature bats....anyone who was out there back then would remember that as a regular (and very annoying) feature out in Section 39.
On to the game notes themself....Jose Mesa started for the Indians, against Mike Witt for the Yankees, making one of his rare starts (and he only lasted a full one-third of an inning here, as the Indians put up a 5 spot) - the Indians won 15-6, with Albert Belle cranking 2 bombs. The Yankees made 3 errors (Boggs, Spike Owen, and Randy Velarde, who was playing centerfield, and someone commented was playing out there like he was on rollerblades)
Kenny Lofton led off for the Indians, Dion James for the Yankees. After Lofton led off the 4th with a bunt hit I wrote "a bunt? hit like a man!" in the margin.
Jim Leyritz was batting cleanup for the Yankees, and hit a home run. Among the parade of relievers that came in for the Yankees was Neal Heaton, who I forgot was ever on the team and current bullpen coach Rich Monteleone.
Hope you enjoyed your first of many Scorecard Flashbacks!
Friday, July 23, 2010
April 14, 1996! Cough Syrup! Beer! Sex! Well, not really
April 14th, 1996 – Yankees host Rangers
Drinking Robotussin, Eating Calendar, Piling on!
Drunken haze or no, I remember this one like it was yesterday. So much stands out from this one game, it has become legend in my annals. Started with drinking Robotussin on the top deck of the parking garage with Blue Lou before the game, moving on to eating pieces of the giveaway calendar for shits and giggles inside, and debuting a “new tradition” that was thankfully shortlived, the infamous “home run pile on” this was one for the books.
Our day began at one of the very first Blue Lou barbecues, and it was a wild one. People were taking golf clubs and balls out of Lou’s trunk and sending screaming moonshots towards the buildings across the way. We either drank too hard or bought too little as we ran out of beer, and at a bad time too. Too close to first pitch to make a run downstairs, and as odd as it seems we were all about getting in on time in those days. That one homeless guy ambled over and started talking about cough medicine in times of need, and oddly enough someone had some in their trunk. Our homeless friend took the first swig, and passed the bottle on to Lou, who sucked one down and passed it on to me. I couldn't wait. We did a couple of rounds of that, and all was right with the world. Time to move this bitch inside.
People were getting thrown out at every turn. A Red Sox hat, then a Rangers hat, went flying and left tossed-out fans in their wake. Orignal Cowbell man Ali was in “kiss-ass” duty, trying to keep the piece and pleading to security to leave us be. Even though he was doing us favors we still laughed at him. It got so bad with people getting the boot someone walked up to me and said, “what are you still doing here. I thought you got thrown out?” I actually went to security to check, and the guy was like, “nah, you’re good for now.”
We were all handed 1996 Yankee giveaway calendars at the gate, and somehow decided it would be a good idea if each of us ripped off some pieces of the players enconsed within and ate them. I have no idea why this was considered a good thing to do, but here is your roster of those who partook in this fare and who they ate. I believe it was based on players you did not like.
Sheriff Tom – Tony Fernandez
Gang Bang Steve - Bob Wickman
Tom J (?) - Tino Martinez
Blue Lou - Dwight Gooden AND Joe Girardi
I had a fight with a pack of mustard and lost bad. Why I was opening up mustard is beyond me, I was notorious for not eating anything out there ever in fear of losing my buzz from drinking. This one packet blasted me, and I was marked. I looked like a Keith Haring poster. For the rest of the day people were literally lining up to hand me mustard packs, hoping to see me get pasted with yet another yellow hue. Being drunk and belligerent, I was all about proving them wrong and showing them that yes, I CAN open up mustard. That was still a disaster in itself, cause once I opened them successfully I would drop them on the ground where people would subsequently step on them – both by mistake and on purpose – and make a total mess of things. It got difficult to see the field ahead with streaks of mustard sailing through the air like hoisted bombs.
“Sit down, you alcoholic!” someone yelled at me at some point while I was standing up either eating mustard packets or eating a piece of the calendar.
There was an old man sitting in our midst, spinning yarns about the old Yankee Stadium. Because he was old and particularly wistful, we decided he was full of shit. “Old man telling lies” I wrote on the scorecard.
In one of the more comedic faux celebrity sightings we have had out there over the years, a dead ringer for Burt Reynolds walked up the steps and took his fair share of heckles. I think someone asked him if he just took a Cannonball run to the bathroom. Then, ironically enough, he made his way to his seat and plopped down right next to his date...a dead ringer for Loni Anderson.
The real fun started after a seemingly innocuous Mariano Duncan home run in the Yankee 6th, which made the score 8-2 in favor of the good guys. Two of the guys dancing a jig on the seats took a tumble, and rather than help them up a few people decided to pile on instead. Its noted here that our friend Gang Bang Steve ended up on the very bottom with an otherwise unidentified “John.” I ended up losing my “Cousin Brewski” pin in the ensuing melee. After it was over everyone hopped up all grin and guffaw, but when no one was looking they became all wince and groan. We thought it was so much fun we reenacted the whole scene when Gerald Williams hit a totally meaningless home run in the Yankee 8th to make it 12-2. I friggin’ hated this tradition, and quite frankly I am happy that security did not take too long to get tired of it, and smack on the kibosh.
There was an early nod to our candy-tossing friend Gail here on the scorecard, known for standing up at the worst possible times to chuck Hershey Bars and peanut butter cups to the drunks in the crowd, as there is a scrawl alluding to “Captain Cavewoman” in the front row of bleacher seats. Other random notations on here include “Marge Schott should be Schott”, the ever-popular “show your tits!”, and that there was a chubby Jewish guy in a yarmaluke eating peanuts that we dubbed “Saul T Nuts.” We also had a girl walking around in a fur wrap, and she was promptly dubbed, “Animal killer!”
The Yankees pasted the Rangers on this day, to the tune of 12-3. Andy Pettitte was the beneficiary of the Yankee attack, with Kevin Gross getting smacked around on the Ranger hill. By the time he left in the 2nd, it was 5-1 New York. For the Yankees Bernie, Tino and O’Neill all had a pair of hits, while Mariano Duncan smacked 3, including his jack. Duncan drove in 3 runs on the day. Gerald Williams also homered, drove in 3, and scored 3 times. Your Yankee lineup was interesting, and looked like this – CF BW, 1B Tino, RF O’Neill, DH Sierra, C Leyritz, 2B Duncan, 3B Fox, LF G Williams, and SS Jeter. After Pettite went a strong 8 Mark Hutton came in (lol) and Bob Wickman finished up.
Texas managed 10 hits of their own, with Rusty “Queer” having 3 and hitting a home run of his own. The Rangers had countered with CF Lou Frazier, C Pudge Rodriguez, 1B Wil Clark, DH Tettleton, 3B Craig Worthington, LF Rusty Queer, 2B McLemore, RF Buford, and SS Kevin Elster. After Gross was smacked around we got to see one Mark Brandenburg, followed by Matt Whiteside.
Lets hit up a profile – and Damon Buford (son of Don) it is. The guy stuck around from 1993, and wore many hats, making stops with the Orioles, Mutts, Rangers, Red Sox, and Chicago Cubs. Usually played 60-100 games a year although the Cubs saw to it to give him 150 games of the 699 games he played in his 9 year career in the 2000 season and were rewarded with a .251 average and a piddling 15 home runs for it. On his career he batted only .242 in 1853 at bats, with 54 home runs and 218 RBIs. He had some speed, swiped 56 bags, but was also nailed 35 times. Struck out 430 times, while walking 173.
Played all the outfield positions, and when it was all said and done made cameo appearances once at both second and third. 96 was actually his highwater mark, as he batted .282 in 90 games (145 Abs) and we got to see him go 1-3 on this day in April. Born in 1970 he was a 10th round draft pick in the 1990 draft, by way of USC. He was an all-star by no means, but I am thrilled to say I got to see this fleet of foot world class athlete ply his trade for my enjoyment.
There were only 20,181 on hand (and a good portion of those were drunk and thrown out of the bleachers) and the game was played in an even 3 hours time. Your umpires on the day were the late Durwood Merrill, Gary Cederstrom, Dale Scott, and Rocky Roe.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this installment of Toms Scorecard Memories, circa 1996!
Drinking Robotussin, Eating Calendar, Piling on!
Drunken haze or no, I remember this one like it was yesterday. So much stands out from this one game, it has become legend in my annals. Started with drinking Robotussin on the top deck of the parking garage with Blue Lou before the game, moving on to eating pieces of the giveaway calendar for shits and giggles inside, and debuting a “new tradition” that was thankfully shortlived, the infamous “home run pile on” this was one for the books.
Our day began at one of the very first Blue Lou barbecues, and it was a wild one. People were taking golf clubs and balls out of Lou’s trunk and sending screaming moonshots towards the buildings across the way. We either drank too hard or bought too little as we ran out of beer, and at a bad time too. Too close to first pitch to make a run downstairs, and as odd as it seems we were all about getting in on time in those days. That one homeless guy ambled over and started talking about cough medicine in times of need, and oddly enough someone had some in their trunk. Our homeless friend took the first swig, and passed the bottle on to Lou, who sucked one down and passed it on to me. I couldn't wait. We did a couple of rounds of that, and all was right with the world. Time to move this bitch inside.
People were getting thrown out at every turn. A Red Sox hat, then a Rangers hat, went flying and left tossed-out fans in their wake. Orignal Cowbell man Ali was in “kiss-ass” duty, trying to keep the piece and pleading to security to leave us be. Even though he was doing us favors we still laughed at him. It got so bad with people getting the boot someone walked up to me and said, “what are you still doing here. I thought you got thrown out?” I actually went to security to check, and the guy was like, “nah, you’re good for now.”
We were all handed 1996 Yankee giveaway calendars at the gate, and somehow decided it would be a good idea if each of us ripped off some pieces of the players enconsed within and ate them. I have no idea why this was considered a good thing to do, but here is your roster of those who partook in this fare and who they ate. I believe it was based on players you did not like.
Sheriff Tom – Tony Fernandez
Gang Bang Steve - Bob Wickman
Tom J (?) - Tino Martinez
Blue Lou - Dwight Gooden AND Joe Girardi
I had a fight with a pack of mustard and lost bad. Why I was opening up mustard is beyond me, I was notorious for not eating anything out there ever in fear of losing my buzz from drinking. This one packet blasted me, and I was marked. I looked like a Keith Haring poster. For the rest of the day people were literally lining up to hand me mustard packs, hoping to see me get pasted with yet another yellow hue. Being drunk and belligerent, I was all about proving them wrong and showing them that yes, I CAN open up mustard. That was still a disaster in itself, cause once I opened them successfully I would drop them on the ground where people would subsequently step on them – both by mistake and on purpose – and make a total mess of things. It got difficult to see the field ahead with streaks of mustard sailing through the air like hoisted bombs.
“Sit down, you alcoholic!” someone yelled at me at some point while I was standing up either eating mustard packets or eating a piece of the calendar.
There was an old man sitting in our midst, spinning yarns about the old Yankee Stadium. Because he was old and particularly wistful, we decided he was full of shit. “Old man telling lies” I wrote on the scorecard.
In one of the more comedic faux celebrity sightings we have had out there over the years, a dead ringer for Burt Reynolds walked up the steps and took his fair share of heckles. I think someone asked him if he just took a Cannonball run to the bathroom. Then, ironically enough, he made his way to his seat and plopped down right next to his date...a dead ringer for Loni Anderson.
The real fun started after a seemingly innocuous Mariano Duncan home run in the Yankee 6th, which made the score 8-2 in favor of the good guys. Two of the guys dancing a jig on the seats took a tumble, and rather than help them up a few people decided to pile on instead. Its noted here that our friend Gang Bang Steve ended up on the very bottom with an otherwise unidentified “John.” I ended up losing my “Cousin Brewski” pin in the ensuing melee. After it was over everyone hopped up all grin and guffaw, but when no one was looking they became all wince and groan. We thought it was so much fun we reenacted the whole scene when Gerald Williams hit a totally meaningless home run in the Yankee 8th to make it 12-2. I friggin’ hated this tradition, and quite frankly I am happy that security did not take too long to get tired of it, and smack on the kibosh.
There was an early nod to our candy-tossing friend Gail here on the scorecard, known for standing up at the worst possible times to chuck Hershey Bars and peanut butter cups to the drunks in the crowd, as there is a scrawl alluding to “Captain Cavewoman” in the front row of bleacher seats. Other random notations on here include “Marge Schott should be Schott”, the ever-popular “show your tits!”, and that there was a chubby Jewish guy in a yarmaluke eating peanuts that we dubbed “Saul T Nuts.” We also had a girl walking around in a fur wrap, and she was promptly dubbed, “Animal killer!”
The Yankees pasted the Rangers on this day, to the tune of 12-3. Andy Pettitte was the beneficiary of the Yankee attack, with Kevin Gross getting smacked around on the Ranger hill. By the time he left in the 2nd, it was 5-1 New York. For the Yankees Bernie, Tino and O’Neill all had a pair of hits, while Mariano Duncan smacked 3, including his jack. Duncan drove in 3 runs on the day. Gerald Williams also homered, drove in 3, and scored 3 times. Your Yankee lineup was interesting, and looked like this – CF BW, 1B Tino, RF O’Neill, DH Sierra, C Leyritz, 2B Duncan, 3B Fox, LF G Williams, and SS Jeter. After Pettite went a strong 8 Mark Hutton came in (lol) and Bob Wickman finished up.
Texas managed 10 hits of their own, with Rusty “Queer” having 3 and hitting a home run of his own. The Rangers had countered with CF Lou Frazier, C Pudge Rodriguez, 1B Wil Clark, DH Tettleton, 3B Craig Worthington, LF Rusty Queer, 2B McLemore, RF Buford, and SS Kevin Elster. After Gross was smacked around we got to see one Mark Brandenburg, followed by Matt Whiteside.
Lets hit up a profile – and Damon Buford (son of Don) it is. The guy stuck around from 1993, and wore many hats, making stops with the Orioles, Mutts, Rangers, Red Sox, and Chicago Cubs. Usually played 60-100 games a year although the Cubs saw to it to give him 150 games of the 699 games he played in his 9 year career in the 2000 season and were rewarded with a .251 average and a piddling 15 home runs for it. On his career he batted only .242 in 1853 at bats, with 54 home runs and 218 RBIs. He had some speed, swiped 56 bags, but was also nailed 35 times. Struck out 430 times, while walking 173.
Played all the outfield positions, and when it was all said and done made cameo appearances once at both second and third. 96 was actually his highwater mark, as he batted .282 in 90 games (145 Abs) and we got to see him go 1-3 on this day in April. Born in 1970 he was a 10th round draft pick in the 1990 draft, by way of USC. He was an all-star by no means, but I am thrilled to say I got to see this fleet of foot world class athlete ply his trade for my enjoyment.
There were only 20,181 on hand (and a good portion of those were drunk and thrown out of the bleachers) and the game was played in an even 3 hours time. Your umpires on the day were the late Durwood Merrill, Gary Cederstrom, Dale Scott, and Rocky Roe.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this installment of Toms Scorecard Memories, circa 1996!
Friday, July 9, 2010
On the Road with 41! PHILLY PHUN
Another jaunt into the archives. Road trip, with the drunken Sheriff Tom and the genial Ron, aka "41" - featuring some other Creature pals. All the way back to 2001 when i had fun at games!
ON THE ROAD TO PHILLY WITH 41
Sunday, July 15th, 2001
Being that my N train was running that morning as effectively as
that shark mauled boy would through the Baltimore Raven defense, I started
to wonder if this trip to Philadelphia last Sunday was a good idea. I had
to head out from LIC to meet that derelict 41 near his Jersey coven by
8AM, and with no beer sales before noon was shamed into buying a
grapefruit juice at the local bodega (Bodega -(noun) - cover for a drug
establishment) instead. The clerk actually laughed at me. "Mixing
with vodka, so early in the morning?" he chuckled, asking seriously if I
needed a cup and straw with it, and a bag to hide the "drink." "Even
drunks have breakfast, you know!" I stammered, heading out between some
oldtimers playing a morning round of Dominos by the door.
After the interminable Ice Age of Amtrack rides, I arrived at our
convergence point in Rahway, floored by the knowledge that this was my
first time heading into New Jersey for a reason other than to get laid in over
5 years. I met up with 41, hearing the 80's metal coming from blocks
away, and we earmarked McDonalds as our first stop on our jolly
excursion. It was there that we somehow ended up spending well over $10
for a Big Breakfast, Hotcakes and Sausage, an Egg McMuffin, and 2 milks
due to the wonders of the mentally ill grabbing all the good cashier jobs
these days.
The ride there in 41's truck was as goofy as to be expected. 41 had
lovingly prepared the soundtrack for the ride, everything from Ace Frehley
to Slash's Snakepit, a bit of old Anthrax to classic KISS. We were even
subjected to a dose of irony, as Judas Priest's "Heading Out To The
Highway" chimed in just as we were PULLING OFF the highway.
I watched in awe as we passed a farm. Then a vegetable stand.
Meanwhile, buses of alcoholics rumbled by, on their way to the Vet, fans
with Munson jerseys and open beers, cheering us through the window and
shooting moons. Thanks to 41's stupid and outdated "no beer in the car,
not even for the passengers" rule, I could only wave my lowfat milk and
look longingly at the frolic on the bus. "I want to pass out on there!"
I whined, as 41 sang along to "Cold Gin" from KISS Alive.
I knew we were no longer in New York environs anymore simply by the
stupid signs we passed along the road. One such sign said "DRIVE
FRIENDLY" - and featured 2 smiling cars seemingly driving side by side,
shaking hands. Another sign had a guy pictured picking up garbage on the
side of a road. Just to keep him busy I flung my now empty milk carton
out the window.
Because of some mysterious traffic that seemingly was only due to
people slowing down by an underpass to read a sign that said "normal
traffic conditions ahead" we did not arrive by the Stadium until 30
minutes before gametime. We scrambled out of 41's truck like a pit crew,
running to the side door, opening it in tandem, and began pulling out
beers in robotic fashion. First one was downed in less than 5 minutes,
and after 12 minutes of drinking we had each downed 3. Phillie fans waved
amiably as they walked by, generally hand in hand, no doubt impressed by
our feats of power drinking. Nearby an attendant stood in cadence,
nodding appraisingly as we blitzed through the cooler without offering him
any.
We ended up scoring 2 $8 tickets for $20 total from some fat guy who
was actually sweating spaghetti sauce, plus a $2 tip 41 decided to throw
in, apparently mistaking the tarmac of the Vet for the Moulin Rouge Cafe
or something. Before this he had a nasty exchange with another scalper
who looked like a black Gene Hackman, who went off and told 41 he was
going to "shank him" and "kill his mother" or some such thing. "KISS
rules!" 41 hollered back with a wave as we forged ahead.
I remarked to 41 how, although I had skirted the immediate area, I
had not been to Philly before outside of ECW wrestling shows and a
subsequent trip to the hospital. "I drove up here to get my copy of
"Private Parts" autographed by Howard Stern!" he trumpeted, as frightened people
walking aside us surreptitiously moved off to the side.
Once inside, no sooner had I sat in my seat and tried to find a
secluded spot to put my beer so I would not kick it over than I heard
the sounds wafting from the PA of Sesame Street's own Ernie, singing
"Rubber Ducky." Now, I like that song as much as the next guy (so much
so that I once used that soundtrack as sex background music) - but not
during a ballgame when I am trying to get my drink on. What is worse is
that it was not the original classic version (you know, the one that goes,
"Rubber Ducky, you're the one...") but instead it was a stepped up reggae
model which actually had families hopping up to dance in the aisles.
"What the HELL is going on here?" I asked, as a Phillie shill popped up
on the scoreboard in a Hawaiin shirt, no less, proclaiming today as RUBBER
DUCKY DAY! Then I noticed what the kids were holding in thier fists, at
first I had mistaken them for guns, this being Philadelpia and all. It
was a giveaway rubber ducky, with the face of the Philly Phanatic! Just
when I thought things could get no worse, these Kool Aid coerced minions
were coaxed by the jackass on the scorboard to "squeak away" - and the
ensuing cacaphony was the worst thing mine ears had heard since 2
beautiful bleacher vixens said an emphatic, dual "no" to my generous
offer of a threesome.
All of this was just the sideshow to what was set up as the main
feature of Rubber Ducky Day, the Phillie Phanatic jumping up on the dugout
between innings to dance to Disco Duck. It almost makes one forget there
is a BASEBALL GAME GOING ON! As I frantically tipped my empty bottle
for one more needed drop of beer, thinking it could get no worse, it did.
A guy dressed like a duck hopped up on the dugout, too, and engaged the
Phanatic in a waltz. And the fans CHEERED. Are these the fans we have
to worry about? These ruffian Phillie fans? People were telling me when
I headed up there in my Yankee gear I was going to get my ass kicked. By
this point, I was instead expecting the jolly Phillie fans to offer me tea
and an invite to a poetry slam.
Around this point a guy in a Red Sox jersey ambled up, prompting 41
to clamber out of his seat and howl, "Boston sucks! What are you doing at
this game!!! This game does not concern you!!!" Laughing, I turned to
the left and - walla! A guy in a Braves jersey. I tapped 41 and
pointed, and he repeated his refrain. This went on all day. We even saw
a Brewer cap. What was this, the Island of Misfit Baseball Fans? About
the only people not sporting thier colors were Phillie fans, who cheered
politely like they were watching Vijay Singh line up at the tee while
Jimmy Rollins was racing across the plate. I was very unimpressed by
these fans, and their bad 1950's version of a movie spaceship, Vets
Stadium, which 41 referred to with disdain as a "Concrete Donut."
Between innings, to avoid seeing the shill on the screen giving away
passes to a pizza party to some "lucky" fan in Section 478, Row 11, seat
2 or first baseman Travis Lee continuing to earn his $10 million amateur
signing bonus by giving a speech on how "smokers will be ejected" - I
fiddled with my scorecard, drawing stick figures running from other stick
figures brandishing axes, and breasts. Big, succulent ones. An
oldtimer behind me, eating cotton candy and therefore keeping with the
surreal nature of the day, leaned forward and asked if I keep track of
FOULS HIT INTO THE STANDS. I thought he was kidding, and laughed, and
only realized he wasn't when he seemed hurt at my guffaws. I later heard
him tell his cryptkeeper of a wife that "those New Yorkers sure can be
rude."
Another inning passed, and therefore yet another hokey showing on
the board. This time they put up a graphic reading "Kiss Cam" along with
a pan of the crowd, showing various couples, waiting for that special
kiss. Of course, no one kissed during the kiss-cam, which was the saving
grace of the thing. 41, missing the point of the thing, upon seeing the
words Kiss Cam, started sticking out his tongue in Gene Simmons fashion and singing Cold Gin again.
As for the lunacy of the scoreboard, I could only wonder what stupidity
would they put on thier next, some idiot acting out scenes from Rocky?
Oh, wait, that's my gig...
"Way to crack the liberty bell!!" 41 bellowed out of nowhere, then
catching one of the seemingly few sporting Phillie Red, "Phillies suck!"
"Have another beer, you fat f*ck!" the guy retorted, and 41 hit
him with a thumbs up and said "you got that right!!"
41 plodded downstairs to get more beer, leaving the crowd with a
"Nice turf ya got there!!" bellow, as an Asian family slid in beside me
no less than 4 innings late, featuring a Chinese dad wearing flip-top
glasses. I was beginning to wonder if this was all a Candid Camera bit.
One of his daughters promptly began playing hand held Donkey Kong. I was
impressed, though, when Phillie Pat Burrell came out to the swinging
sonnets of Ozzy's "Mr. Crowley" - but my impressiveness was dashed when
pitcher Robert Person strode up to bat later in the inning to what sounded
conspicously like Prince. "Way to get hogtied!" I yelled, to blank
stares, showing Philly fans care little enough about their team to not
know during the offseason Person got hopped up in a club, scuffled with
the authorities, and upon being dumped in the back of a cruiser in cuffs
began kicking at the windows. They ended up having to drag him out of the
car and hogtie him in Condit to Levy fashion. No truth to the rumor one
of the cops was quoted as saying, "this is for the 6.34 ERA!"
Time clicked away, and no sign of 41 with the precious beers. There
was a really annoying group of frat-type Phillie fans behind me and to the
left, and one of them took this time to say loudly how "Mike Mussina stinks"
and he was glad the Phillies did not go after him and give up on the likes
of Randy Wolf, a man with an ERA that looks like an AM radio frequency.
In the course of the ensuing argument with a Yankee fan who was waving
beers in both hands and sported a tattoo of an elephant for some reason,
he also spouted out that Mariano Rivera was a "bum." As this was going
on, Paul O'neill drove one deep into right, but it nestled into the glove
of Bobby Abreau, who had last been spotted in a calmer moment on the
scoreboard cam between innings, imploring fans that "obscene language
would not be tolerated." Showing these Phillie fans know at least some
of thier stuff, they all yelled "throw your helmet!" in unison at the
rabid right fielder, and sure enough Paulie obliged, and the fans popped
with glee as if a magician pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
It was then that I saw a worse sight than that of 41 coming up the
stairs towards me....it was 41 coming up the stairs towards me with NO
BEER! After like 20 minutes. Turns out he decided to spend his time in
line trying to cut further ahead, and when called out on it by a vendor
with nothing better to do than abuse those with an intertwined NY on thier
chest, decided to yap back "don't give me a hard time cause you have to
work on Sunday afternoon while I drink beer and have a good time!"
Well, that was the end of the "drinking beer" part of 41's "good
time" Sunday afternoon, at least from this loser of a vendor and the ones
in earshot he told not to serve our friend 41. So he came back up sans
beer, and I had to make the jaunt. I was quite grumpy at that, cause
while I will dish the cash, I HATE lines and would send a guy in a
wheelchair to pick up the round before I will do it. Turns out I met a
bunch of Yankee Stadium denizens down there, though, and even ended up
signing a couple of ticket stubs (I am sure Mom is proud) - so it was
worth it. I also saw a cool mountain of empty cardboard boxes off to the
side, which I was able to scout out for a swan dive into later.
So I finally get these beers and head back up, getting more "how ya
doin's" and "nice first half for you guys" than "Yankees suck" and "way
to be fat and ugly" 's from the amiable Phillie fans I passed. I mean,
Jesus Christ, we had a friendly vendor outside trade us TWO pretzels for
ONE bottle of Coors Light. I was beginning to think this was going to
turn into a Yankee-Phillie fan orgy before it was over.
Soon enough, though, as the Phillies smacked around Mark Wohlers to
the point I was wishing he was once again tossing pitches back to the
screen, the Phillie fans turned on us like a man who after 20 years of
marraige finally realized he had an ugly wife. We heard all kinds of
basically good-natured barbs, most of which were directed to 41, as I was
not yet drunk enough to make a spectacle of myself and had accidentially
left inciteful accoutrements like my badge and Foul Mouthed Puppet at
home.
This happened to be a game Jorge Posada was throwing the ball around
like it was a slab of ice, and letting it roll by him like it was the
wind. Due to this both teams were making constant pilgramages to the
mound. As that hothead Larry Bowa strolled out to the mound for the
umpteenth time to chat with that criminal Person, 41 spouted, "what's he
going to tell him?? Don't walk anyone else? It's a bad idea?"
Of course we end up losing the game to the sounds of derisive
laughter, and a soundtrack over the PA that I SWEAR featured kazoos. "Is
that a kazoo?" I asked 41, but he was too busy trying to invite Phillie
fans to come out and visit us back in the confines of Section 39 at Yankee Stadium,
obviously a trick to have them jumped by the likes of Swingin' Phil and
paid back for all the fat drunk jokes he had to endure there in the city
of Brotherly Love / Lust. Then again, we made some friends, and let them
know if they go out to Shea to see the Phils slay the Mutts, we will go
out and sit with them, combining forces for one night only, an unholy
alliance.
On the way out I made for the mound of boxes, fully intending to
Louganis into them. Actually, considering diver Louganis' sexual
preference, I should not use his name as any kind of reference. Anyway,
for the entertainment of 41, and Justin (who we met up with on the way out)
and a bunch of at first amused and at second "scared for
their lives" families, I did a perfect dive into this pile of boxes. I
had honed this skill after moving into the city area a decade ago, and
stopped cause too many times I ended up diving into a pile of boxes only
to find a homeless man or a guy getting oral from a club tramp staring up
at me. I also became quite acquainted with the old broken bottle, as
well. But this was Philly, and I had not gotten in any trouble yet, and
was trying like Hell.
As we strolled down and I tried to get my cell phone working again
since the dive, 41 yet again engaged in banter with some Philly fans
clustered in a group for safety and support. I swear I thought they were
roasting marshmallows. This exchange culminated in his kicking over a
garbage can, met with a huge chorus of booes. And at that moment, I felt
a sense of almost fatherly pride for jolly old 41, seeing him booed
lustily, so much so it made me jealous. I needed to be booed to, and
after a series of crotch chops, I was. I actually had something thrown at
me.
And it was then, after some minor consideration given to driving out
to the Rocky statue for me to run up and down the steps, we headed back to
New York, stopping at Boston Market just so we could holler Boston Sucks
at the obviously sketchy people working the cash registers.
Sure, this trip was no Carnal Carnival like Miami, or not even as
raucous as the always expected tumolt of Toronto. For one thing, no one
hit me, and there aren't any new women "no longer talking to me" from my
escapades on this trip. So this one ends up as low key as a trip to the
bathroom to pee.
Sheriff Tom
Code Name: Bad Body Brown
R.I.P. "Fabulous Freebird" Terry Gordy (1950-2001)
Badstreet USA
"The Further Down The Block You Went, The Badder It Got"
ON THE ROAD TO PHILLY WITH 41
Sunday, July 15th, 2001
Being that my N train was running that morning as effectively as
that shark mauled boy would through the Baltimore Raven defense, I started
to wonder if this trip to Philadelphia last Sunday was a good idea. I had
to head out from LIC to meet that derelict 41 near his Jersey coven by
8AM, and with no beer sales before noon was shamed into buying a
grapefruit juice at the local bodega (Bodega -(noun) - cover for a drug
establishment) instead. The clerk actually laughed at me. "Mixing
with vodka, so early in the morning?" he chuckled, asking seriously if I
needed a cup and straw with it, and a bag to hide the "drink." "Even
drunks have breakfast, you know!" I stammered, heading out between some
oldtimers playing a morning round of Dominos by the door.
After the interminable Ice Age of Amtrack rides, I arrived at our
convergence point in Rahway, floored by the knowledge that this was my
first time heading into New Jersey for a reason other than to get laid in over
5 years. I met up with 41, hearing the 80's metal coming from blocks
away, and we earmarked McDonalds as our first stop on our jolly
excursion. It was there that we somehow ended up spending well over $10
for a Big Breakfast, Hotcakes and Sausage, an Egg McMuffin, and 2 milks
due to the wonders of the mentally ill grabbing all the good cashier jobs
these days.
The ride there in 41's truck was as goofy as to be expected. 41 had
lovingly prepared the soundtrack for the ride, everything from Ace Frehley
to Slash's Snakepit, a bit of old Anthrax to classic KISS. We were even
subjected to a dose of irony, as Judas Priest's "Heading Out To The
Highway" chimed in just as we were PULLING OFF the highway.
I watched in awe as we passed a farm. Then a vegetable stand.
Meanwhile, buses of alcoholics rumbled by, on their way to the Vet, fans
with Munson jerseys and open beers, cheering us through the window and
shooting moons. Thanks to 41's stupid and outdated "no beer in the car,
not even for the passengers" rule, I could only wave my lowfat milk and
look longingly at the frolic on the bus. "I want to pass out on there!"
I whined, as 41 sang along to "Cold Gin" from KISS Alive.
I knew we were no longer in New York environs anymore simply by the
stupid signs we passed along the road. One such sign said "DRIVE
FRIENDLY" - and featured 2 smiling cars seemingly driving side by side,
shaking hands. Another sign had a guy pictured picking up garbage on the
side of a road. Just to keep him busy I flung my now empty milk carton
out the window.
Because of some mysterious traffic that seemingly was only due to
people slowing down by an underpass to read a sign that said "normal
traffic conditions ahead" we did not arrive by the Stadium until 30
minutes before gametime. We scrambled out of 41's truck like a pit crew,
running to the side door, opening it in tandem, and began pulling out
beers in robotic fashion. First one was downed in less than 5 minutes,
and after 12 minutes of drinking we had each downed 3. Phillie fans waved
amiably as they walked by, generally hand in hand, no doubt impressed by
our feats of power drinking. Nearby an attendant stood in cadence,
nodding appraisingly as we blitzed through the cooler without offering him
any.
We ended up scoring 2 $8 tickets for $20 total from some fat guy who
was actually sweating spaghetti sauce, plus a $2 tip 41 decided to throw
in, apparently mistaking the tarmac of the Vet for the Moulin Rouge Cafe
or something. Before this he had a nasty exchange with another scalper
who looked like a black Gene Hackman, who went off and told 41 he was
going to "shank him" and "kill his mother" or some such thing. "KISS
rules!" 41 hollered back with a wave as we forged ahead.
I remarked to 41 how, although I had skirted the immediate area, I
had not been to Philly before outside of ECW wrestling shows and a
subsequent trip to the hospital. "I drove up here to get my copy of
"Private Parts" autographed by Howard Stern!" he trumpeted, as frightened people
walking aside us surreptitiously moved off to the side.
Once inside, no sooner had I sat in my seat and tried to find a
secluded spot to put my beer so I would not kick it over than I heard
the sounds wafting from the PA of Sesame Street's own Ernie, singing
"Rubber Ducky." Now, I like that song as much as the next guy (so much
so that I once used that soundtrack as sex background music) - but not
during a ballgame when I am trying to get my drink on. What is worse is
that it was not the original classic version (you know, the one that goes,
"Rubber Ducky, you're the one...") but instead it was a stepped up reggae
model which actually had families hopping up to dance in the aisles.
"What the HELL is going on here?" I asked, as a Phillie shill popped up
on the scoreboard in a Hawaiin shirt, no less, proclaiming today as RUBBER
DUCKY DAY! Then I noticed what the kids were holding in thier fists, at
first I had mistaken them for guns, this being Philadelpia and all. It
was a giveaway rubber ducky, with the face of the Philly Phanatic! Just
when I thought things could get no worse, these Kool Aid coerced minions
were coaxed by the jackass on the scorboard to "squeak away" - and the
ensuing cacaphony was the worst thing mine ears had heard since 2
beautiful bleacher vixens said an emphatic, dual "no" to my generous
offer of a threesome.
All of this was just the sideshow to what was set up as the main
feature of Rubber Ducky Day, the Phillie Phanatic jumping up on the dugout
between innings to dance to Disco Duck. It almost makes one forget there
is a BASEBALL GAME GOING ON! As I frantically tipped my empty bottle
for one more needed drop of beer, thinking it could get no worse, it did.
A guy dressed like a duck hopped up on the dugout, too, and engaged the
Phanatic in a waltz. And the fans CHEERED. Are these the fans we have
to worry about? These ruffian Phillie fans? People were telling me when
I headed up there in my Yankee gear I was going to get my ass kicked. By
this point, I was instead expecting the jolly Phillie fans to offer me tea
and an invite to a poetry slam.
Around this point a guy in a Red Sox jersey ambled up, prompting 41
to clamber out of his seat and howl, "Boston sucks! What are you doing at
this game!!! This game does not concern you!!!" Laughing, I turned to
the left and - walla! A guy in a Braves jersey. I tapped 41 and
pointed, and he repeated his refrain. This went on all day. We even saw
a Brewer cap. What was this, the Island of Misfit Baseball Fans? About
the only people not sporting thier colors were Phillie fans, who cheered
politely like they were watching Vijay Singh line up at the tee while
Jimmy Rollins was racing across the plate. I was very unimpressed by
these fans, and their bad 1950's version of a movie spaceship, Vets
Stadium, which 41 referred to with disdain as a "Concrete Donut."
Between innings, to avoid seeing the shill on the screen giving away
passes to a pizza party to some "lucky" fan in Section 478, Row 11, seat
2 or first baseman Travis Lee continuing to earn his $10 million amateur
signing bonus by giving a speech on how "smokers will be ejected" - I
fiddled with my scorecard, drawing stick figures running from other stick
figures brandishing axes, and breasts. Big, succulent ones. An
oldtimer behind me, eating cotton candy and therefore keeping with the
surreal nature of the day, leaned forward and asked if I keep track of
FOULS HIT INTO THE STANDS. I thought he was kidding, and laughed, and
only realized he wasn't when he seemed hurt at my guffaws. I later heard
him tell his cryptkeeper of a wife that "those New Yorkers sure can be
rude."
Another inning passed, and therefore yet another hokey showing on
the board. This time they put up a graphic reading "Kiss Cam" along with
a pan of the crowd, showing various couples, waiting for that special
kiss. Of course, no one kissed during the kiss-cam, which was the saving
grace of the thing. 41, missing the point of the thing, upon seeing the
words Kiss Cam, started sticking out his tongue in Gene Simmons fashion and singing Cold Gin again.
As for the lunacy of the scoreboard, I could only wonder what stupidity
would they put on thier next, some idiot acting out scenes from Rocky?
Oh, wait, that's my gig...
"Way to crack the liberty bell!!" 41 bellowed out of nowhere, then
catching one of the seemingly few sporting Phillie Red, "Phillies suck!"
"Have another beer, you fat f*ck!" the guy retorted, and 41 hit
him with a thumbs up and said "you got that right!!"
41 plodded downstairs to get more beer, leaving the crowd with a
"Nice turf ya got there!!" bellow, as an Asian family slid in beside me
no less than 4 innings late, featuring a Chinese dad wearing flip-top
glasses. I was beginning to wonder if this was all a Candid Camera bit.
One of his daughters promptly began playing hand held Donkey Kong. I was
impressed, though, when Phillie Pat Burrell came out to the swinging
sonnets of Ozzy's "Mr. Crowley" - but my impressiveness was dashed when
pitcher Robert Person strode up to bat later in the inning to what sounded
conspicously like Prince. "Way to get hogtied!" I yelled, to blank
stares, showing Philly fans care little enough about their team to not
know during the offseason Person got hopped up in a club, scuffled with
the authorities, and upon being dumped in the back of a cruiser in cuffs
began kicking at the windows. They ended up having to drag him out of the
car and hogtie him in Condit to Levy fashion. No truth to the rumor one
of the cops was quoted as saying, "this is for the 6.34 ERA!"
Time clicked away, and no sign of 41 with the precious beers. There
was a really annoying group of frat-type Phillie fans behind me and to the
left, and one of them took this time to say loudly how "Mike Mussina stinks"
and he was glad the Phillies did not go after him and give up on the likes
of Randy Wolf, a man with an ERA that looks like an AM radio frequency.
In the course of the ensuing argument with a Yankee fan who was waving
beers in both hands and sported a tattoo of an elephant for some reason,
he also spouted out that Mariano Rivera was a "bum." As this was going
on, Paul O'neill drove one deep into right, but it nestled into the glove
of Bobby Abreau, who had last been spotted in a calmer moment on the
scoreboard cam between innings, imploring fans that "obscene language
would not be tolerated." Showing these Phillie fans know at least some
of thier stuff, they all yelled "throw your helmet!" in unison at the
rabid right fielder, and sure enough Paulie obliged, and the fans popped
with glee as if a magician pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
It was then that I saw a worse sight than that of 41 coming up the
stairs towards me....it was 41 coming up the stairs towards me with NO
BEER! After like 20 minutes. Turns out he decided to spend his time in
line trying to cut further ahead, and when called out on it by a vendor
with nothing better to do than abuse those with an intertwined NY on thier
chest, decided to yap back "don't give me a hard time cause you have to
work on Sunday afternoon while I drink beer and have a good time!"
Well, that was the end of the "drinking beer" part of 41's "good
time" Sunday afternoon, at least from this loser of a vendor and the ones
in earshot he told not to serve our friend 41. So he came back up sans
beer, and I had to make the jaunt. I was quite grumpy at that, cause
while I will dish the cash, I HATE lines and would send a guy in a
wheelchair to pick up the round before I will do it. Turns out I met a
bunch of Yankee Stadium denizens down there, though, and even ended up
signing a couple of ticket stubs (I am sure Mom is proud) - so it was
worth it. I also saw a cool mountain of empty cardboard boxes off to the
side, which I was able to scout out for a swan dive into later.
So I finally get these beers and head back up, getting more "how ya
doin's" and "nice first half for you guys" than "Yankees suck" and "way
to be fat and ugly" 's from the amiable Phillie fans I passed. I mean,
Jesus Christ, we had a friendly vendor outside trade us TWO pretzels for
ONE bottle of Coors Light. I was beginning to think this was going to
turn into a Yankee-Phillie fan orgy before it was over.
Soon enough, though, as the Phillies smacked around Mark Wohlers to
the point I was wishing he was once again tossing pitches back to the
screen, the Phillie fans turned on us like a man who after 20 years of
marraige finally realized he had an ugly wife. We heard all kinds of
basically good-natured barbs, most of which were directed to 41, as I was
not yet drunk enough to make a spectacle of myself and had accidentially
left inciteful accoutrements like my badge and Foul Mouthed Puppet at
home.
This happened to be a game Jorge Posada was throwing the ball around
like it was a slab of ice, and letting it roll by him like it was the
wind. Due to this both teams were making constant pilgramages to the
mound. As that hothead Larry Bowa strolled out to the mound for the
umpteenth time to chat with that criminal Person, 41 spouted, "what's he
going to tell him?? Don't walk anyone else? It's a bad idea?"
Of course we end up losing the game to the sounds of derisive
laughter, and a soundtrack over the PA that I SWEAR featured kazoos. "Is
that a kazoo?" I asked 41, but he was too busy trying to invite Phillie
fans to come out and visit us back in the confines of Section 39 at Yankee Stadium,
obviously a trick to have them jumped by the likes of Swingin' Phil and
paid back for all the fat drunk jokes he had to endure there in the city
of Brotherly Love / Lust. Then again, we made some friends, and let them
know if they go out to Shea to see the Phils slay the Mutts, we will go
out and sit with them, combining forces for one night only, an unholy
alliance.
On the way out I made for the mound of boxes, fully intending to
Louganis into them. Actually, considering diver Louganis' sexual
preference, I should not use his name as any kind of reference. Anyway,
for the entertainment of 41, and Justin (who we met up with on the way out)
and a bunch of at first amused and at second "scared for
their lives" families, I did a perfect dive into this pile of boxes. I
had honed this skill after moving into the city area a decade ago, and
stopped cause too many times I ended up diving into a pile of boxes only
to find a homeless man or a guy getting oral from a club tramp staring up
at me. I also became quite acquainted with the old broken bottle, as
well. But this was Philly, and I had not gotten in any trouble yet, and
was trying like Hell.
As we strolled down and I tried to get my cell phone working again
since the dive, 41 yet again engaged in banter with some Philly fans
clustered in a group for safety and support. I swear I thought they were
roasting marshmallows. This exchange culminated in his kicking over a
garbage can, met with a huge chorus of booes. And at that moment, I felt
a sense of almost fatherly pride for jolly old 41, seeing him booed
lustily, so much so it made me jealous. I needed to be booed to, and
after a series of crotch chops, I was. I actually had something thrown at
me.
And it was then, after some minor consideration given to driving out
to the Rocky statue for me to run up and down the steps, we headed back to
New York, stopping at Boston Market just so we could holler Boston Sucks
at the obviously sketchy people working the cash registers.
Sure, this trip was no Carnal Carnival like Miami, or not even as
raucous as the always expected tumolt of Toronto. For one thing, no one
hit me, and there aren't any new women "no longer talking to me" from my
escapades on this trip. So this one ends up as low key as a trip to the
bathroom to pee.
Sheriff Tom
Code Name: Bad Body Brown
R.I.P. "Fabulous Freebird" Terry Gordy (1950-2001)
Badstreet USA
"The Further Down The Block You Went, The Badder It Got"
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