The Annals of August 2001!

THE ANNALS OF AUGUST 2001
The FIRST Hawaiian Shirt Night! The LAST Dave Winfield Day!
"I love the Tom drum...whats your name again?"

Tuesday, August 14th, 2001 - Yankees vs. Tampa Bay

With Tampa Bay in town it was an easier ticket to get than a peeing in public one, and I have enough of those, so most of the regular crowd shuffled in. An old man was sitting next to me, making love to his tonic and gin.

Talk turned to the upcoming Hawaiin Shirt night, and where to pick up the offending outfits. Someone mentioned a magical bodega-ish sort of place where you could "get a Hawaiin shirt, a number 6 with white rice, and an umbrella all in the same trip" I decided I needed to visit this fantasyland, as Bad Mouth Larry horiffically warbled a croaking "Yo!!!!.....Beeeeernie!!!!!" to kick off the roll call, proving just how out of practice he was. "Someone shoot that old horse." we heard someone mutter after Larry's wretched display.

A pack of nerdy guys ambled up, prompting the always jolly Little Mike to yap, "finish your math problems later - find your seats now!" Larry stolled over to his little adversary Mike, extended his hand, and said as greeting, "what's up, can I squash you like a grape?"

It was the first inning and the crowd was already turning on Jeter in surly fashion for whatever reason. The prickly heat was probably getting to them. "Come on, pretty boy, get a hit!" Junior hollered. "Hey, sorry, you can't order champagne out there!!" Little Mike added.

Diggety Dan placidly sat eating creamy white ice cream out of a ridiculous little Yankee helmet cup. When this was pointed out to "Mr. Make It Happen" Phil, he snidely said with a wink and a grin, "That's not ice cream."

This soon became photo night for me at least, as I spent a high propensity of the game gazing through photos handed to me from Bald Ray, the new bride Lindsay, and Nicole of security-duty fame. Interestingly noticed that in Nicole's pics, I noticed the girls can pose jollily with the Toronto Blue Jay mascot in friendly international peace, but in contrast us guys riled up a guy in a cow suit so much he gives us a finger, or a hoof, every time we step to a Staten Island Yankee game . And even as I leafed through yet even more pictures of Ray in compromising positions with bottles of beer, Security Honcho "Honeymooner" Sean, Ralph Kramden lookalike extraordinaire, plodded up to confiscate a plastic horn from an overzealous, or drunk, fan near the top rows. Of course he was met with a crescendo of appeals to "play us a tune on it Sean!" but he beat a hasty retreat, crumpled horn in hand.

Meanwhile Grover was the life of the party. Between calling all his fellow white men "crackers" and "white boy" he pawed through his odd collection of Bazooka Joe comics with all the jokes in Israeli. Stupid things were going on above us on the scoreboard, as Fox News Channel's conservative talking head Bill O'Reilly was actually asking Bad News Bears Trivia questions up there. Following that, a Mickey Mantle tribute video was played, with the background music of "Hey Mickey!" from Toni Basil, whose sole claim to fame was making me very horny when I was 11 in her silly cheerleader costume. Very disrespectful. To top it off, bullpen stalwart and Texas native Randy Choate had to actually answer a dumb question about the Alamo from a fan with nothing else to do but send in questions about the Alamo to a guy who pitches mop-up for a living. I am not sure what Choate said in response, but it may have sounded like, "I did not shoot any Mexicans."

For some reason a USA! USA! chant started, prompting Grover, just looking to be on the other side of every issue to rankle others, to yell, "Boooo!!! We should have lost the Cold War!!!"

Meanwhile, out on the field, where rumor has it the reason we show up is being played out for all to see, a ball clanked off Clay Bellinger's glove, providing the birth of the "way to Bellinger it!" prop to errors. This went on to supercede the old "Thanks a lot, Knoblauch!" whenever a Yankee commited a boner on the field.

Junior was feeling vibrant, hopping up and down every time the count reached 2 strikes, which is like every batter if you really think about it. This popping up and down prompted us to dub him a "Jack-off in the box." A beefy blonde fan next to him, who looked a bit like Chris Jericho, Edge, Christian, Test, and HHH all at once was greeted with "way to be a generic blonde wrestler lookalike" by Muttssuckballs Marc. As all this was going on, the Yankees win, theeeeeeeee Yankees win!!!! (Geez, that is as annoying to type as it is to listen to, although winning does rock). Next game please.

Wednesday, August 15th, 20001 - Yankees vs. Tampa Bay

With also rans Tampa Bay still polluting our town, security figured there would be so little interest in the nights proceedings they only had one bleacher gate open to enter through. So I spent the better part of the first inning in line trying to get in and leafing through Raw Magazine, which is wrestling, not porno for once. The first thing I saw upon entering the Stadium was someone eating corn on the cob, so I figured this was going to be one of those nights.

15 year old Cactus James was running around annoying the public, with a thin mustache that looked like it was put on by eye liner. I told him to get some milk to cover it, and he could shave it off by having a cat lick the milk. Cactus was in rare form, arguing with a few latecomers and stolidly asserting his weight. (all 110 pounds of it)

It was bottle opener night, and of course me being the biggest alcoholic out there I someow managed to not get one. Even people who hand out cheap props at the gate don't want to encourage me, I guess. However, practically a dozen fans volunteered theirs to me as they apparently find me entertaining either drunk and sleeping or fighting the innocent, so rest assured, I can open Saranac bottles for life after that nights giveaway.

Diggety Dan, fresh off his ice cream helmet cup travesty the night before, was munching a pretzel with so much salt on it that I believe it was Phil that said the pillars of salt on it would come in handy to "in the event of snow."

A fan booed as David Justice was intentionally walked in the 3rd, explaining it away by saying "any man who beats Halle Berry is ok with me."

This game was a romp, and the guy in the music booth upstairs was in such a subsequent good mood he dusted off and played "My Sharona" which of course became "My Bologna" in a spontaneous tribute to songster maven Weird Al. Although we noticed the chick factor was "down 200% from last night" while the little kid factor was "up 500%" we made due. As I shared pleasantries with Bald Vinny near the end of the Yank spank, a fan of mine came over for a picture together and said, "You're the best, I'm a big fan of the Tom drum...what's your name again?" No joke.

A guy in a referee type shirt then leaned in from the loge seats to see what was going on, and heard a cacophony of "Time out!" calls and signals for holding and false starts. Well, that seems to be all on that game. Forward march.

Friday, August 17th, 2001 - Hawaiin Shirt Night (T. Bay)

Well, it was weeks in the planning, but the fruits of our labor finally came to fruition, as Hawaiin Shirt night commenced in Section 39. Most guys thought it was a gag on them all along, and they would arrive to be the only one showing up and looking like an ass, only to pull up to the gates of Yancey Park to see a dozen guys, beer in bags, bedecked in the ugliest collection of shirts since the 1970's era Houston Astros. Palm trees, tropical drinks, boats, sand dunes. But for some reason 41's shirt had cars on it. Could have been worse, could have been KISS on there. Walkman John, missing the point, had an Oriental theme, albeit colorful. Bald Ray was wearing a mesh Hawaiin shirt, I had never even heard of such a thing. "Fat Rak" Scott topped all, with a Hawaiin colored shirt with women playing golf on it. In one of the more blatant oddites, Phil and "I'm not Israeli" Joe had the SAME SHIRT ON, and anyone who went in to buy one of these and saw how many hundreds were on every rack knows how strange a fact that really is. The fact these two had no use for one another made it even more amusing.

Strolling in that night we noticed Security Codger Old Man 200 had been demoted, as his stupid security baseball cap now has the number 175 on it. "Way to slide 25 spots" we hollered in greeting. He got me back an inning later, accusing me of "misdirecting" people who could not find thier seats, only to spark a snippy exchange with Tina the Queen, who was in fine form and fighting with everyone like in the old days. Crazy Dave roamed around passing out pictures, so I dubbed him "Johnny Photoseed."

Just about 30 Creatures went with the theme, complete with Ignorant Evan handing out lei's and Metssuckballs waving around the Tiki that F'd with the Brady Bunch on those Hawaiin episodes of lore. Bald Vinny proudly announced he had his hula girl boxers on and showed them proudly on the 4 train out of there.

Basically, according to my notes, these names will go down for posterities sake as participating...Uptown Mike, Phil, Walkman John, Little Mike, Big Tone Capone, Bald Ray, Bald Vinny, Cowbell Man Milton, 41, Diggety Dan, the future-Navy Tommy, 2 guys I do not really know, me, Justin, Metssuckballs, Cuban Monica, Felix, Fat Rak and his friend Paul, Blonde Rachel, Ignorant Evan, Water Girl Debbie, X-pac Kenny, Kwik, "I am not Israeli" Joe, Stacey, my future sister-in-law Laura, and Frankie Vybe. Junior missed the boat, despite the fact that he seems to wear a Hawaiin shirt every other day he shows up. Donald also went un-Hawaiin, but I was too afraid to ask him why. And of course, Mike Donahuge was not there even though this was the brainchild of he and I. Ironically enough he was in Florida on a beach (posing for pictures from wayward whale watchers, most like) but the show must go on and without him, it did, though it was pretty much his idea in the first place.

The shirts themselves went over as expected, they were met with disgust. I went over in 37 to rap with chicks, and the concensus over in that section was that Little Mike had the worst shirt, some sort of red-based analogram of putridity. My shirt was an orange hue, but going in I had a goal, I wanted natives on my shirt. Along with the requisite boats and oceans, my shirt featured some native folk climbing trees for no reason. Sad to say, these were an ugly lot of natives, the same color as the coconuts they held aloft. One native was sitting behind a mound of coconuts, which looked more like a drum set. Wounded have sounded great with the horn Honeymooner Sean destroyed earlier in the homestand. People immediatly deemed the shirt "racist" saying they may have well just put cotton on it when they made the shirt.

Late in the game the girls in 37 pointed out that one of the guys on a boat in my shirt had a strange protrusion extending from his shadowed self, and upon closer inspection, yes - I must admit I had a Hawaiin shirt on featuring a guy on a sailboat seemingly with a rampant boner.

The game was nondescript despite the fact that in a non-drinking phase I killed off 6 Gatorades and Cowbell clank Milton ushered in the return of the RKB 2000 ("Rally Killing Bell 2000 as dubbed by Gang Bang Steve) as every time he clanked on this night we rapped into a double play. Oh, also there was an Eddie Munster lookalike who did a rousing version of the Cotton Eye Joe dance, but that was it.

The postgame was even more amusing, as Diggety Dan was drunk and in an inviting mood. He coaxed a score of us down to his place to "swim in his pool" and "drink a lot." Dan was way ahead of us even still at the Stadium, swigging beer and letting it cascade down his chest in his best "Stone Cold Steve Austin" impersonation, which was a pretty bad one.

The ride down on the 4 was priceless, mainly cause I was sober and I remember it. First there was a sign on the train from the Pork Board (I would love to chair THOSE meetings) with the hokey slogan "I scream, you scream, we all scream for pork loins." - Um, ok. Sure we do.

Bald Vinny, in his zest to make a needless point whomped his head on a subway pole, only to be followed by Dan doing the same thing moments later. Basically once down to his apartment things got out of hand with the likes of Pops and Milton diving on top of one another and myself in the blowup pool, beer and gatorade being dumped in the cloudy seas of water, and near fisticuffs between the always bombastic "Big Tone Capone" Anthony G and everyone else.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 18 - Yankees vs. Mariners

Dave Winfield Day. Ceremony was to be as expected, with Queen Bee Tina breaking into tears twice, and the pompous John Sterling using such flowery verbiage as "donned the pinstripes", "blossomed", and "exemplary."

We sat through the ceremonies, Teddy and I side by side complaining about everything in the world, and watched Don Mattingly get an ovation twice as loud as Big Daves on his own day. Cuban Monica scored an autograph as the Don waited down in the ramp to drive a gift car to the plate, which I offered to trade a dance with me for. Needless to say, it is still her ball. "They should have held this ceremony in May." Bad Mouth Larry quipped, scoring off the infamous Steinbrenner "Mr. May" tag. Of course Winfield kissed pinstriped Yankee ass during the speech, but as many rightfully grumbled he "still went into the Hall as a Padre."

The Ichiro Suzuki jokes abounded in fine fashion. The Mike who sits down near the front, in retort to a Japanese homosexual tag hollered off of a translation sheet we printed off the computer, claimed Ichiro could not be gay as he was a "real man's lady." I bought out my old line saying that the worst thing about Ichiro manning right field is that every time an inning ends he leaves a menu behind.

After getting kudos for my S.O.D. shirt from Bald Vinny (Milano Mosh for life) I settled in for the ongoing, and ultimately boring, ceremony. Winfield got some dumb gifts, including a treadmill and a pogo stick for his kid. I immediatly made a note to self to go pogo stick shopping. Capone was down on the rail chatting up a cop for some reason, prompting Bald Ray to hop up and yell, "Hey, get off his blackjack!!" Business as usual in 39.

Teddy was leading rollcall today, and it went without incident until we made our way to third base, and he boomed out a bombastic "Scott Brosius!" instead of a tepid "Clay Bellinger!" with Clay manning the sack and Brosius riding pine. Got to love the rollcall blooper.

Bad Mouth Larry came down to join Angry Teddy and I in complaining about everything, bedecked in a Gran Teton shirt. "I have a Gran Teton hat at home, too." he said with unabashed glee and oddly enough no shame. At this moment an Oriental woman (oops, wait, RUGS are Oriental, PEOPLE are Asian...)swooped up and ushered him out of his seat, and it all happened so fast I told him he was "Pearl Harbored."

Joe Torre was introduced, which must have thrilled him to death cause there were cameras and a microphone on hand, to hand Winfield some sort of useless proclomation, prompting a bored fan who had enough of it to boo. Tina went bezerk, hopping up to physically threaten the man, adding the famous quip, "I LIKE to get arrested!" This harried attack actually prompted to the guy to cheer the next guy introduced, Bobby Murcer, like he was Jesus Christ making bread rain from the sky, just to escape her rage. At this point, I think he would have popped for Dion James, Dale Mohorcic, or Wayne Tolleson. But maybe not Tucker Ashford.

Tina was in fine form, after some Japanese chick hollered out that Ichiro was God she snapped "God is not Japanese!!" "No, he's black." someone retorted from the back, prompting yet someone else to question wether or not God is unemployed then.

Behind us a string of rowdies on stop number 1 of a frenetic Bachelor Party were looking in vain for a strip club to check out later, being Mayor and resident party pooper Rudy G closed them all and I know all about it. Someone mentioned the village, which oddly provoked a strangely bitter Junior to grumble that there are "a lot of faggots in the Village." These guys were a Hell of a lot of fun, and promised to make the Stadium an annual visit, as they enjoyed our mix of supreme fandom and theatrical carnivality. (EDITORS NOTE 10 years later - they were never seen again)

Soon enough, as I went down the aisle to wish Nicole a Happy Birthday and ask her to pop out of a cake for us, a USA USA chant sparked up due to Ichiro's annoying presence on the field. What was funny about this one was a bunch of the Japanese in attendance merrily chanted along, in between taking pictures and planning on driving badly later of course.

This is the annoying game that saw us fall behind 7-1 by the 2nd inning, prompting a madcap argument between Stat Man and Tina, which had more comedic value than even the "Cripple Fight" on South Park. Of course we came back to pull within 7-6, only to lose anyway.

I got to do a wild Rocky reenactment, and even ended up hurting my arm doing it, throwing shadow boxes at Bald Ray's outstretched hands for the sake of the scoreboard cam. Only I can hurt my arm in a bit that really consists of running up stairs and being doused with literal bucketloads of water.

The highlight of the Rocky dance to me was not the mention on Fox 5, or the Sheriff Tom Groupies I met out on River Avenue after the game, but the fact that the handicapped section was so into the bit, God Bless Them, that they all wheeled over to the stairs to see better and actually got a couple of wheelchairs stuck together that I had to help pull apart. It was then I went to slap someone 5 down there only to see there was a big bandage wrap on what looked to be a seriously burned hand. Being the Sheriff, he let me sorta slap anyway.

Well, that is all. I am going now to contemplate who actually looks up the word dictionary in the dictionary and how do they know to do it, and who exactly cuts a barbers hair. Keep following the antics of all your friends from Section 39 here on The Tom Drum! Now go drink something.